He Reacts This Way For Several Years Papyrus X Self-Insert Master Post

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My Hero - Mikey x Reader (fem!reader)

requested? yes/no

“Well i just found your blog and im super excited to see where this goes! My request is April has a cousin the turtles have heard of but never met and before they finally do she warns them that shes a little reserved, keeps to herself but over time when she warms up shes super dorky and like mikey? Idk if that makes sense. Just some fluffy michelangelo x reader 😅”

a/n: My first request! I was sooo excited for this one! I kinda took it in a different direction, but I tried to keep it as close to your request as possible. I can’t wait to write all of the other requests you guys have sent me!

warnings: none :)

Seguir leyendo

Sorrows and Partings

TW: A bit of suicide ideation, like a tad bit but is not expressed further than one statement

Word Count: 3.6K

A/N: this is part of the cut up chapter posted previously!!

Twisting the doorknob, the soft glow of your lamp fills the room, and you sit in bed, curled up against the bed frame. He hadn’t noticed it before, but your room is a mess, clothes strewn about, knickknacks and figures collecting dust, and books layered above each other in a tower of spines. 

“You stayed,” you say in a soft voice that if not for the night, he would have never heard your words.

“Of course, I did.” 

You smile sadly as the confession. Scooting over on the bed, you pat the space beside you. 

Even with the mess, your bedroom is as he still remembers it. It’s cluttered with your things, pictures are placed on the wall- pictures for your friends and family, posters of your favorite films, candles stacked and strewn on flat surfaces. And on your nightstand, is a picture of him and you, pressed close together as his arm is stretched out, and he remembers the day. He remembers the warmth of the sun, the soft press of your lips against him, the way that you had sugar on your tongue and the way that he became addicted to it in a matter of seconds. 

He steps on the soft rug on the floor, and taking your invitation, he sits on the bed. It’s soft, and the blanket that touches his thigh, still tickles the way it used to. Your hands flutter over his, and they grasp onto his wrist. You tell him to make himself comfortable, and as if it were like the first time that he was in your room, you stay still, trying not to think about how you tug on him, how your hands are much softer now, how he can recall what it was like to lay on your bed. 

He turns and twists, and he lays on your bed, and you’ve let go of his wrist. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to just grab you. But you just sitting there seemed like an uncomfortable way to have a conversation.”

“You don’t have to apologize.” He’ll take a chance, just to have you touch him again, to feel your touch, to know that you’re real and he’s in your room and not shivering in his bed, thinking of what ifs. “You can touch me if you’d like.”

As if he were made of porcelain, you grab his hand in both of yours, lifting the mass and watching as his fingers tremble from being touched. Holding his hand in yours, you turn it around, examining it as if it were anything more than a hand. You circle your thumb and index over his wrist, trying to pinch your fingers close together but giving up quickly. You turn his hand over, palm face upwards and you trace over nothing, your index curving around a spot. There is nothing to trace, and yet, you continue to ghost your finger over his hand in a touch so soft that if he weren’t paying attention, he wouldn’t have noticed it. 

“Your skin feels different,” you mumble.

“What does it feel like?” You press your thumb over the swell of his palm, right under the ends of his fingers. 

Humming, you massage and pinch at his skin. “Rubber, I think? Wait, no.” Your mouth pulls into a thin line. Your eyes drag down, heavy with sleep, but you stay determined to stay awake. “Latex?” Turning to him, you give an apologetic smile. “I’m bad at recalling textures.”

“What are you doing?” He asks.

“I miss your freckles.” You ignore his question.

If he could frown, he would. Actually, he’s sure that the spot on his face emotes; maybe it could emote frustration. “I still have my freckles. Technically.” With his free hand, he points to a small cluster of spots that float near his collarbone, right under where the bone would protrude. “Some of the spots move, but there are some that usually remain stationary.”

Nodding, you keep your focus on his hand. “You said it's- your white- that it’s all skin?” He makes a noise of confirmation. “So you’re like naked, right now?” His spots pulse in a moment of surprise, and you drop his hand. “Oh! Sorry.” You look at him sheepishly, and he hopes that you grab his hand again. “I just- You’re like gallivanting all over New York- naked.” There’s a smile teasing its way, and he straightens him, trying to keep what little resolve he has left.

“I wear clothes!” He says defensively. 

“Like what?” You lean back against the bed frame, and give him a teasing smile.

“Like jackets and- and hats.” You roll your eyes, and pull the blanket closer to you. Your hands have found their new home in a blanket. “I don’t have a lot of options now- things stretched out.”

He’s gained your attention again. “No pants?”

“Well- it’s not like I have to,” he says in an almost squeaking voice. You crane your head, and he’s covering his crotch with both hands. Your name is yelped, and there’s a phantom of what the two of you used to be laced into your name. 

“What?” You say through a laugh. “I’ve seen you before, remember? Plus, you're literally like you know-” you skirt around saying the word, and he can’t stop looking at you- “on my bed. And-” your hands pat on the blanket and they flat- “you walk around without pants!”

“It’s different! That’s different!” 

“I’d argue that it isn’t.” Your legs shirt under the blanket. You take another glance. “Not even boxers?”

“It’s not necessary,” he mumbles, and he can’t stop looking at you. He won’t stop. “Most people think I’m wearing something anyways,” he confesses in a quiet voice. “Most of my clothes don’t fit now. The sleeves bunch up-” he stretches an arm and his hand circles around his forearm where the jackets usually begin to bunch- “and really, if I just hide my face, most people think I’m some eccentrically dressed man.”

“You always did wear bright clothing.” You lay on your side, your arms bent to cushion your head more than the pillow ever could. 

“I did not,” he pouts.

“Yeah, you did.” You try to sink yourself deeper into the bed. “You had that one button-up. It was um, it was bright blue with like white shapes all over it. Or- Or your orange one! With the design on it.” Your grin is growing, and he can’t help but be captivated by you. You laugh, and it’s the sweetest sound that he’s ever heard in his life, sweeter than honey, sweeter than anything he’s ever had. “I’m sure the pants are something close to what you owned,” you say in a whisper. “Somehow, you always did make those clothes work.” You look to where his eyes should be and as if you could, he feels himself being peeled away, layers taken apart until you stare at him- just at him.

A part of him wished he left your apartment when he had the chance.

“Why did you want me to stay?” He asks, voice tight and full of want.

“I already told you.” You look ashamed. “I miss you.”

He should have left. He should have closed this chapter in his life. “I miss you too.” He can’t stand it. He hates how you look at him. Look away. Look away from him. He wants you to look away from him.

As if hearing his prayer, your gaze shifts elsewhere and he needs it back. “I’m sorry Johnathan,” you say his name with tenderness that he hasn’t heard in a long time. Your words kiss his skin and leave him aflame. “What I did to you, you didn't deserve that. I wish I could tell you that I was young and dumb, but we both know that would be a lie.” You don’t look at him again. “I asked you to stay for my own selfish desire. I thought that if I could give you a meal and let you lie on my bed, that it would somehow make up for all the bad that I’ve done to you.” You look at him, and he can’t look at you when you’ve said something so true. “A cold sandwich and a cold bed would never repair what I’ve done to you.”

He should tell you something mean- something sharp and unforgiving, something that would make you feel the way that he had that night and all the nights and days that followed. When he looks at you, and sees the bags under your eyes and the way that you look so small lying down- he can’t say anything of the sort. His words don’t form, and they aren’t tangible thoughts that he could at least grasp and stutter out, they’re simply gone. Malice and greed is absent, and he wants to cling to you. He wants to hide himself in your arms and in the soft spot where your neck and shoulder meet. 

“You really miss me?” He asks in a scared voice, one that cracks and exposes all of his hopes and fears.

“Every day,” you reply earnestly, finally looking at him again. “I know I shouldn’t. But I do.”

Unbeknownst to him, he’s found his hand in yours. “How can you stand to look at me?”

“Exposure therapy. I thought that if I could stand spots and holes-” you pull a grimace as if even the word is too much and if the word is too much, then he must be plentiful and he must be cast away and you must be thinking of someone else. “Small clusters kinda fuck me over, but bigger ones don’t as much anymore.”

“I shouldn’t have dropped by that night.” He wishes he hadn’t, that way, maybe in death you could still care for him and mourn him. “I knew about your phobia and I still came by.”

“You wanted comfort.” Your voice cracks and the tips of your cheeks flush. “You needed me. That isn’t something you have to apologize for Johnathan.” Tears water at your eyes and you cling to his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“I meant what I said.” You knit your brows. “I meant it when I said that if you took me back, we could forget about all that was said. We could start fresh.”

By the look in your eyes, he knows he said the wrong thing. “That wouldn’t be fair to you Johnathan.” Your words are muffled by the skin on your arm, and he can hear it clearly, every word is drenched in pity. 

He shakes his head. “I wouldn’t care. Not when I’d have you.”

“You could do so much better.”

“No,” he corrects. “No, I couldn’t.”

“I don’t deserve that type of grace, Johnny.” Your arms tense, and he wonders if you really do miss him. “If we went back to how it was before, I’d still know. I’d still hate myself, and I wouldn’t see you, I’d see me.” Your eyes shine with tears. 

“I could never hate you,” he tells you with sincerity dripped onto his words. “I tried-” you blink and a tear tracks down- “but I couldn’t. I had so many things that I wanted to tell you- that I hoped I could tell you, but I could never even form the sentence.”

“Can you try?”

“What?”

“Can you try to tell me what you would have wanted to tell me?” You lift yourself up by your forearms, and push yourself close to him, He can smell the cream on you- something sweet and soft. “You can think of it like payback,” you mutter, your hand reaching to grab his.

“I can’t.” he shakes his head, and closes his hand around yours. “I could never tell you what I felt or what I thought. It wasn’t anything bad- it was just-” he sighs and keeps his gaze on your hands- “disappointment? Shock?”

“Why did you stay Johnathan?” He doesn’t answer you, nor does he even make a noise to show that he heard you. “Johnathan?” He squeezes your hand in response. “You asked why I had asked you to stay. Why did you?” Your head tilts and you lower yourself to come into his view, and he can’t look away- not this time. “How can you still hold my hand after what I’ve done to you?”

“Because I wanted to,” he tells you with his words wavering as if they’re about to crash. “I knew that you were the one that I wanted. That hasn’t changed at all.” Tears curve down the side of your face, and drip down your chin. “I’ll always want you.” He lifts his head upwards,  and you sit with him, your hand gripping onto him as if the slightest tremble would make him vanish. “Do you need a hug?”

Nodding your head, all he has to do is lift his arms and you’re clinging to him, body above his with your face hidden into the crook of his neck. With tightly wrapped arms, you cling to him like a child that clings to a stuffed animal after a bad dream, and he wonders just how much of this is a bad dream. Hearing you cry is certainly something that makes him want to hold onto you even tighter, to press you against his body despite the spots and holes that litter him. However, in the same shaky breaths that you take, you call his name, hushed and full of grief, the same grief that holds warmth and familiarity. 

He hopes that you don’t slip into one of his spots. “I would think about you at work,” he starts. “A lot. I’d have your picture set as my lock screen.” He wraps his arms, and you get comfortable above him, shifting and nuzzling onto his shoulder. “Sometimes, I couldn’t focus on work because I’d be too busy thinking about you. And I’d wonder if you missed me as much as I missed you.” Your hands lay flat against his back, and he wonders if by chance, you missed his spots. He runs his hand up and down your spine, making sure that he remembers how warm you are, and how your heart beats against his chest. “My coworkers always wanted to meet you, but I couldn’t let them. I couldn’t let you get near them. I was scared that maybe, you’d realize that I wasn’t all that you made me out to be, and that you’d leave me.”

Tears wet his skin, and the way that the droplet runs over the rim of a spot, has him unable to breathe. He dips his head, wanting to press a kiss against your crown. He’s forgotten that he no longer has lips, that any gentleness that he could have given you has been torn away. 

“I wanted you. I thought- I would think about how when the project was over, I’d leave. I’d give Fisk and Dr. Octavius my research and notes and I’d leave. And in a good life, in a happy ending, I would be able to. We’d move elsewhere, get a cat or maybe a snake. I’d get to sleep beside you every night and and I’d get to wake up to you every morning.”

“Your co-workers called me- one of them. They asked if I had seen anything strange.” You sniffle, and you pull away, and your hands only move to clasp onto his biceps.

“What did you tell them?”

“That I wasn’t sure what they meant.” A heavy hand of white contrasts against your skin, and he wipes away the tear that has fallen. “I asked what happened to you- played dumb and they bought it.”

“What did they say?”

You lean into his touch. “They hung up on me and they haven’t called again.”

“Has my family contacted you?” You shake your head. “Good. I never wanted you to meet them.” At your frown, he continues. “You deserve to be surrounded by good people. Not them.” Your nails dig into his back, and the same hands that traced over his veins and cradled him, are the same that drag down and make him bleed. “I knew about your phobia, and I still came to you. I thought to myself that out of everyone, you wouldn’t turn me away. It was silly, I know.”

“I’m sorry,” you croak out. “I’m so sorry.” All that you can do is repeat your apologies, whispered and broken, repeated like a prayer, and in every word, in every syllable, there is grief and regret, and it tastes bitter. You cling to him, and you apologize, like a child crying to their mother, apologetic over a broken vase, begging their mother to still love them even after all the wrongs that have been committed, and at the end of the day, the love is still there, but the vase is broken. “I wish that you met someone better than me.” 

He’s silent, and he looks at his hands, the same ones that run up and down your spine, and he wonders if you would hold his hand again. 

“Sometimes, when I can’t sleep, I think about how you looked at me that night. And sometimes I wish that I had died that night. That I wasn’t-” his voice wavers and in a hushed whisper he continues- “this.” His hands clench over your shirt, balling up the fabric. “Then maybe you’d have a nice last image of me. And then maybe you’d still want me. I wonder what would have happened to me. If they would give me a funeral, or if they’d rip my body apart and never lay me to rest.” You only cling tighter to him. “When I can’t sleep, I think about what I would tell you. I would tell you that you were mean, and I would never have done that to you. And that as awful as you were that night-” he lets out a shaky breath- “I never stopped thinking about you. I wanted to stay right by your side. I would have done whatever it is that you had wanted me to- I would have hidden myself and only came out when you asked me to.” He hopes that you’ll cling to him just a bit longer, that you won’t pull away. “When I came by that night and found you crying in the living room, I wanted to hold you again; make whatever bad happened, disappear. But it was me. I was the bad thing that happened,” he whispers.

“It wasn’t you. Not entirely. It was me” His spots jolt. “It- It was the way that I treated you. How I still missed you, but that I didn’t have to because it wasn’t like you were gone.”

“Just my good looks.” There’s a hint of sarcasm buried into his words.

You laugh, and the hands lay flat on his back, cradling over his shoulder blades. “You’re still tall- I’d count that as a win.” Your breath is warm against him, and when you pull away, looking at him, there are tears in your eyes. “I wish that I told you that night to stay. I really wanted to, but it felt selfish to ask that of you. I couldn’t do that.”

“I wish you did,” he says without hesitation.

“I wish I did too.”

“When I grabbed my clothes, I uh- I took a shirt of yours. It’s creepy-” he turns his head and even if he is unsure if blood still runs through him and makes him human, he feels warm- “but I wasn’t thinking. I just- I’m sorry.” He bows his head and your hands slip away from his back, to cradle at his head.

“Johnathan,” you say quietly, “I’m literally sleeping in one of your shirts.”

“That’s different. That’s cute. You’re cute. I’m- Look at me. I stole something of yours. I just- I had to be reminded of something of yours. I needed you to keep me warm at night.”

“Can you stay tonight?” He leans closer, your hand cradling his face, moves to hold the back of his head. “I don’t think I can handle watching you leave right now.” He’s silent, unsure if he heard you correctly. “Please, Johnathan.”

“Ask me that again.”

You comply. “Can you stay the night, Johnathan.”

If he could, he’d kiss you. He’d carve himself a mouth, give himself jaws and teeth and lips, pick apart at his flesh and fashion his bones into canines and molars, just to give you one last kiss- tender and parting, just to show you that he really did care for you. He’d bleed himself out, let himself get torn apart if only he could kiss you. Even now, without lips and a tongue, the sugar still rests heavy, and the blood that you’ve spilled is overpowering and makes him unable to speak without threatening to give you his all, to have you look at him, and to forever look at him.

Your eyes stare into a black hole that will never stop looking at you, that will continue to take in all the light and capture it for itself. He’s selfish in staying, and you are terrible for asking him to stay. And in this room where the lamp casts a golden glow, and he holds you in his body, limbs entangle, words that tore apart skin and hands that rubbed over the wounds, there is no safer place that he would rather be. He’d stare at you every day, swallow you whole and take the poison that runs through your body and is seeped into your blood. 

He holds you in the orange glow, lets you hide yourself in his chest, and lets your body twist to not enter him. And he holds all of you, hoping that in the morning, he’ll remember the smell of your lotion, and the soft thumping of your heart under his thumb.

Despite everything, it’s still you.

Hi! Idk if you are taking requests but I hope so? Could you do a scenario or Headcanon with TMNT x reader ( all of the boys but separately, or who ever you think it’s more interesting to write this scenario about ) who has drawn them on their notebook or smth in several different poses, also hugging, kissing, handholding the reader? They accidentally forgot the book there and they found it? How they would approach the reader with such a private thing and such? Thank you!

Word Count: 6.9k (Total)

I changed up the request slightly but I hope you still enjoy it!

Leonardo

“Oh,” your voice caused his eyes to pop open, staring up at you while he sat cross legged in the center of the dojo, “Is it okay if I come in?”

He nodded before fluttering his eyes closed, he could hear as your footsteps carried yourself over to beside him. Your clothes made noise as you fell to the floor, the pencil in your hand scraped against the paper after you had flicked to your recent drawing.

“How is it going?” You were slightly surprised when you heard him speak, normally when you came in to draw he wouldn’t say a word.

“Uh, good,” your tongue flicked over your lips to hide the small smile that was forming, “Good.”

“You don’t know how to talk to me, do you?” One of his eyes opened to peek at you, you were staring at your book with a thin mouth, he could tell that you were too unfocused by his statement that you weren’t reading at all. “It’s alright.”

“It’s just,” you sighed and placed your book on the floor to give him all of your attention, “You are nothing like your brothers.”

“Most people consider that a good thing.” You both smiled softly at his amused tone, “I don’t think the world can handle two of any of my brothers.”

“I can’t even handle one of your brothers.” His deep mixed in an odd melody with your giggles, he relaxed from his meditation pose and turned to look at you entirely.

“Be thankful that you don’t have to lead them.”

“Oh, that is all you.” You placed a hand on his upper arm while your giggles were becoming softer, “Trying to draw is near impossible with them around.”

“Why do you think I meditate?” His smile almost doubled in size when your hand didn’t move from his arm, “It’s an excuse for some quiet.”

“Well,” for a moment he thought you could hear his heart pounding when your eyes met his, the colorful swirling captured in your eyes lured him into its depths, “If you ever need some space my apartment is always open for you.”

“I might have to take you up on that offer.” The shared smile between the both of you held high hopes, “Any excuse for some space.”

“Draw with me.” He felt his body betray him with a blush as you placed a hand on his, “It’s an excuse for some space.”

“Okay,” he cleared his throat slightly, doing his best to not let his voice crack, “Drawing it is.”

When you offered to draw with the turtle, you didn’t think it would go this far.

“Stop stealing my pencils, Leo!” You lightly slapped his arm before snatching the pencil from his hands, “I bought you a drawing kit so that you wouldn’t.”

“I like your pencils better,” he shrugged and looked at your pursed lips with a smile, “Can I have the pencil back?”

His smile melted your will and you handed him back the pencil with a sigh, “You’re lucky I like you, Leo.”

“Consider me grateful.” He accepted the pencil and when back to his drawing, his non-dominant arm blocking your view of his drawing.

“What are you drawing?” You leaned over to try to catch a glimpse of his drawing but he pulled the pad away from your sight.

“Nothing,” he shrugged, a slight panic in his voice.

“Really?” You scoffed and looked at him, “You’re lying to me now, pencil stealer?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“I’m pretty sure I do want to know.” You offered your hand from him to place the book in, “I promise I won’t tell your brothers.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” He looked away from you, ashamed. You softly placed your hand on his wrist, he looked up to see your small smile,

“It’s me, Leo, you don’t have to worry about anything.”

It was always you, you were the one who could make him smile, you were the one that assured him that he was doing the right things, you supported him, you trusted him, and he fell for you the moment April brought you to the lair.

It had always been you.

He hesitantly handed you the book, part of him feared that you would flee or scream but he knew you, you wouldn’t never hurt him like that.

You smiled softly at the drawing he had handed you, “It’s us.”

His face fell as he watched you blink away tears, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have drawn that. I shouldn’t have drawn you. You’re just so amazing and I-“

“Leo, Leo,” your hands left the book to grab his, the action causing him to stop his rambling, “I love it.”

“You do?” He was slowly relaxing to your touch.

“Of course!” You giggled and moved to sit next to him, your legs brushing against his. You placed the book between you two as you stared at the drawing of you and him cuddling, “Do you have more?”

“You,” his eyes blinked in disbelief, and his breath was ragged, “You want to see more?”

“If you’d let me,” you stared at him with a kind smile blessing your lips. He gulped before nodding his head quickly, his heart and stomach punching him. You turned back to the book and turned to the next page,

“Wow.” You breathed out while Leo was slowly dying of suspense as you stared silently at a drawing. Both of you had closed eyes, he was leaning down as well as you popping yourself on your toes. His fingers were laced with yours as his lips were softly placed on yours. The kiss was sweet and small, you couldn’t tell if it was a brief, nervous first kiss or if it was a kiss that was just to remind him how much you tenderly cared for him.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered after a pregnant pause, “I fell in love with you, I tried to hide it but,” he stared at the side of your face, your eyes never leaving the drawing, “I feel you taking over me: my thoughts, my actions, my everything. I fell in love, and I fell hard.”

His breath hitched to his throat when you turned to face him,

“You aren’t the only one.”

A nervous chuckle fell from him, a smile on his lips, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you smiled back at him, you lifted your hand from the book to place it into his, “I fell hard too.”

Michelangelo

You were definitely the one.

He was laying on your bed, his arms behind his head and one of his legs dangling off of the bed, as he watched you with tired eyes as you rummaged through your desk trying to find something.

“When you said you had a surprise for me, I didn’t think you meant getting a great view of your butt, sweets,” He smirked while you shot him a glare, switching from bending over to view the stack of books next to your desk to crouching as you inspected them.

“For it to be a surprise I had to hide it really well because you like to snoop around in my drawers.”

He chuckled at your words, his eyes peeling from you to look at your ceiling - his smile remaining on his face. He had been forced into an all-nighter patrol with his brothers, to escape from his tired and cross siblings he snuck out to go see you, his grin never leaving as he got to spend the rest of his consciousness with you.

“Finally!” You shouted and bolted up from the floor, papers and books stacked next to you tumbled from their stacked form, “Here it is.”

You walked towards him with a grin on your face, you hid an object behind your back as you sat on the edge of the bed he had reserved for you. He pulled himself up with a groan, his arms instinctively resting on your outer thighs as he crunched up to rest his tired head on your shoulder.

“I don’t think I can move anymore.” He muttered, his heavy eyes closing while he breathed in your comforting scent.

“So no gift then?” He softly moaned as your fingers began to softly rub his shoulders, a smile bloomed on your face as his arms tightened their grip on you.

“I didn’t say that, sweets.” He lazily smiled, turning his head so that he could get a view of the side of your face.

“You’re cute when you’re sleepy,” You traced the shape of his arms while he giggled under your touch, one of your hands slipped from him as you pulled the gift from behind you.

“What is it?” The object was blurry to his eyes, the only thing he could focus on was the side of your face and your burning touch.

“It’s a drawing pad,” you explained with an amused tone, “That way you can draw while I do homework.”

“What makes you think I can draw?” His eyes shut as the rise and fall of your shoulders while you breathed was beginning to allure him into a slumber.

“I’ve seen you spray paint the tunnels,” you only knew he was awake when a smile spread across his face as your fingers unknotted the stress and tension built up in his arms. “You doodle on my homework and notes all the time, and you always have marker on your arms.”

“Guilty,” he mumbled, he moved his head from your shoulder to your neck, his hot breath bringing a shiver down your spine and a blush to rise from your neck to your face.

“C’mon,” you whispered, not wanting to awake him from his much needed rest, “Let’s get you to bed.”

“No,” he dug his head more into your neck, his hands slipping under your thighs and using the last on his strength to pull you into his lap. His arms didn’t move from your legs and he leaned back into the bed, his face still nuzzled into your neck, “I’m not tired.”

“It’s okay, Mikey,” you could feel as the rise and fall of his chest was becoming more steady, you shifted to be more comfortable in his arms, “I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

Mikey groaned as he heard his brother’s voices, half expecting that he was in the lair and seeing you last night was a fever dream, but he was happily mistaken.

“You woke him up.” He heard your voice chime in next to him, his eyes were stuck with sleep but they shuttered open as you were forming in his view, “Hey, Mikey.”

“Hey, sweets.” He mumbled comfortably, his arms that were wrapped around the back of your upper thighs hoisting you higher and closer to him.

“Mikey,” he hummed as you spoke with a humored tone, “Your brothers are here.”

He popped his head out from your neck to glance at his brothers, Raphael snickering while Leo was scolding the laughing brother, Donatello had a small smile on his face and gave his brother a thumbs up.

He let out weak huff before tucking his head back into your neck, tightening his arms around you and taking note of how your hands were resting on his chest and carving shapes into his plastron.

“Mikey,” Leo’s voice was rough and irritated, “We have patrol.”

“Go on without me,” his arm briefly left your body to wave away his brothers before returning with its heat.

“Patrol includes everyone.”

“Let him be, Fearless,” Raph nudged his older brother with a harsh elbow, “Loverboy here is enjoying himself.”

There was a pause in their conversation, Mikey didn’t have to look up to know that the two were having a tense stare down, when one spoke he knew which one won,

“You have five minutes Mikey or I’ll drag you out of that bed myself.” He could hear his brother’s angry stomping out of your apartment followed by the laughter of his other brothers.

“What’s his problem?” Your fingers were becoming lazy as they moved along him.

“-Shredder-“ was all that you could hear from his mumbling, burying himself as deep as he could in your neck, not wanting to leave you at all.

“Mikey,” you sang his name while the only response you got from him was him squeezing you for a short moment, “You’ve got to go.”

“No,” he whined loudly from your neck, his protests followed with his hands sliding to your back to press you tightly against him.

“Mikey,” chuckling, your hands made their way to cup his face before you pulled away from him, a groan coming from the boy due to the lack of contact, “You can come back after the patrol.”

“Or I don’t leave at all,” he leaned his head back to rest on your pillows, his half lidded eyes staring up at you, “What do you say to that, sweets?”

“I’d say no,” you both turned to see the owner of the voice with crossed arms at your bedroom doorway, “Let’s go, Mikey.”

He sighed as he closed his eyes completely, his head falling back onto your pillows in defeat.

“It’s okay, Mikey,” your words sent a shiver down his spine, his eyes peaked open as you crawled off of him and sat next to him instead, “Knowing you, you’ll be back before sunrise.”

A smile formed on his lips, his mouth opened to say something but his brother’s hand seizing his arm and pulling him from the bed caused his focus to shift,

“Come on, Leo,” he groaned as he watched you giggle while he was being dragged out of your home, “Just a few more minutes?”

He let out a groan as the air in his lungs was knocked out of him when his brother threw him against the wall, “Let’s go.”

The younger brother rolled his eyes as he stood up, his eyes lingering where your bedroom door was before he reluctantly slipped out of your house to greet his brothers.

He groaned as he flopped into his bed, the sweat that beaded down his forehead and the weights his eyelids carried was something that he didn’t want to bother you with at 3 am.

He was too tired to take off his gear, only taking one thing off of his person, a drawing book that he slammed down on his already crowded nightstand. His eyes rested on the pad, half wanting to relive the night you gave it to him and the other half wanting to just be in your arms as he drifted into unconsciousness.

Music blared in his ears while he mouthed along with the fast paced words, he laid on his bed as he dragged his pencil in long strokes against the paper. Each stroke adding to a drawing of you in his arms, similar to the position he held you the other night.

A smile crossed his face as he was almost done with the colorless sketch, his heart was full with the idea of having you in his arms again.

He was dragged from his thoughts as his headphones were ripped from his head, he turned to see his older brother glaring down at him,

“Mikey, you left the kitchen a mess again.”

“I’ll be down in a minute,” he sat up to reach for his headphone in his brother's grip but his brother stepped away from him.

“Now, Mikey.” He tossed the headphones back at his little brother before leaving the bedroom.

“Now, Mikey.” He mocked behind his brothers back, he stood up reluctantly and went to the messy kitchen - his attempt at baking a sweet snack for you and him to share when you were supposed to come to the lair after work went to the drain rather quickly. He groaned when he finally noticed the aftermath of his rampage, knowing that he would really have to work to get it done before you arrived.

You slipped into the lair quietly, knowing that it wouldn’t be unlikely for one of the brothers to be fast asleep on the couch, and began to make your way to the youngest brother's bedroom.

You expected him to be in his room, but he was absent. You dropped your bag against one of the walls before flopping onto his bed, landing rather uncomfortably on his pencil. You shifted to pull the pencil out from under you when you caught sight of an open drawing pad.

You sat up as you pulled the book into your lap, a smile on your face as you examined the drawing.

“Sweets,” your eyes popped up from the drawing to see Mikey standing at the doorway. You flipped around the pad so that he could see what you had discovered,

“I knew you were good at drawing.”

“Sweets,” he lunged after you as you began to flip through his drawings. “Give it back!”

He threw himself at you while you giggled, you managed to keep the book from him while you flicked through some of the drawings. You immediately froze when you came across the one he feared that you would, he snatched the pad from your hands in your moment of weakness. He turned away from you with the drawing pad in his hands, a heavy blush settling on his face and tears prickling at his eyes.

“Get out.”

“Mikey,” your voice was soft as you reached out towards him.

“Just get out!” He whipped around as he yelled, his face falling when you flinched away from him.

“Just go,” he croaked, shaking his head before turning his back to you while his hands gripped the book. One of his hands raised to clamp over his mouth when he felt your weight leaving his bed, he tried to choke back a sob as his tears ran across his hand.

“Talk to me,” he watched through tears as you sat in front of him, your hand going to the one that was going pale due to his grip on the thick book, “Please.”

“I-“ he pulled his shaking hand away from his mouth, “I-“ he sniffed and wiped his running nose, “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“Mikey,” you scooted closer to him, your hands moving from his to wipe away his tears, “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” he leaned into your touch, his watery eyes stared into yours, “Because I fell in love with you.”

He could feel himself shattering as you pulled away from him, your eyebrows knit in confusion, “I-“

“I’m sorry,” he turned his head away from you, his voice fragile like broken glass, “I’m so sorry.”

His breath left him when you stood up, taking long strides towards the door, freezing before your hands could touch the doorknob. You turned back to look at the turtle. He was curled into a tight ball, his knees pressing against his chest and his arms wrapped around his legs, his head buried between his knees as he let his tears spring from his eyes and fall along his legs.

Your feet brought you to stand above the boy, your hands slipped under his chin and tilted his head to look at you, your body acting without consulting your mind as you captured his lips in yours.

He slowly unraveled from his fetal position, your hands slipped to the back of his head as you crawled into his lap, your body curving into his. His hands hesitated slid to your hips, gripping them tightly when you pressed yourself against him. Your lips parted from his for a moment, the pants coming from both of you assuring that he too had lost his breath in the kiss.

“Sweets, are you sure-“ before he could even finish your lips desperately attached to his, his soft churring grew louder as your nails clawed at his neck.

He pulled away, gasping for air, frozen under your touch,

“Kiss me,” your hoarse voice made his eyes flutter to a half lidded state, “Please, Mikey.”

He nodded frantically before slipping his lips into yours, his hands beginning to roam your body earning soft moans from you.

The book discarded on the floor meant close to nothing to you both in this moment, it’s open pages revealed just what brought on the declaration of passionate love: you were straddling his lap, your shirt was in the process of being discarded while his hands inched along your exposed skin that were littered with small marks of love.

Donatello

It was more of an accident than purposeful.

He was slouched in his lab, looking over his notes trying to find what he did wrong but his mind was too liquid for his own sentences to make sense. He would pause to sigh and rub his face, take a sip of his now cold coffee before attempting to go back to his work. The words swirled like vultures circling prey, he groaned before pulling his glasses off of his face and softly massaging his pounding head. His head hurt too much to focus on his work, but his stubbornness refused to let him succumb to sleep.

He clicked the pen in his hand and squinted at the words on the page, his eyes slowly devouring the words while his hand absentmindedly started to doodle on the margin of his notes. His eyes crawled to the drawing, his attention now on the swirls that he drew. He frowned tiredly as he began to make the swirls into a legible drawing.

He didn’t realize quite what he was drawing until he was done, the single eye he drew was familiar, but in his tired state he barely recognized who it belonged to until he heard a soft knock at his locked lab door.

“Donnie? Are you still awake?” Your soft voice killed the headache that fought his brain, he was jolted with a sudden alertness as he managed to piece together that the eye he drew belonged to you. A soft yelp escaped from his lips at the realization, he scrambled to cover up the drawing before he shouldered his way to the door - unlocking it quickly to meet your surprised face.

“I didn’t think that would work,” You chuckled lightly, you took his arms into your hands and led him to his room, soft and tired protests falling as mumbles from his lips.

“You need sleep, real sleep.” You kicked open his bedroom door and led him to his bed, his steps getting more off-balanced and sluggish.

He barely made it to his bed before he collapsed, resting on his side, he felt as your hands pulled off his glasses followed by all of his other equipment littering his body. He watched with heavy eyes as you tucked him into his bed, part of him wanted to grab you and ask you to lay with him. As he watched you, his imagination ran wild with the idea of you: laying down next to him, your warmth forcing him to be addicted to your touch; how your body would fit perfectly against his, your head deep in his neck that he’d be able to smell your fruity shampoo, your legs tangled in his, your arms rested against his chest while his were snug around your waist; you’d wake up with slightly parted lips, begging him to kiss you awake but he wouldn’t, he couldn’t wake up your peaceful state and would stay there as long as he could hold you in his arms.

“You’re pretty,” He didn’t know if he said it out loud or not, but your response told him that you did.

“Thanks, Don.” You giggled, he cursed himself for forgetting your giggle in his short day dream, and pulled his blanket up to his chin. You pressed a soft kiss to his temple, a giggle and snort came from him in response as well as a toothy grin and a blush, “Sleep well, Donatello.”

He hid in his lab after he woke up, reflecting on his behavior last night that brought a maddening blush to his cheeks and thoughts that he couldn’t quite shake from his head. His notes were now filled with your name surrounded by hearts, small scribbles of you littering the margins. His eyes casted over to the photos of you crowding his desk, he hadn’t dared to try to trap your beauty on a page but as he stared into your eyes that held nothing short of love and glee, he pulled out a blank sheet of notebook paper and began his new project.

“Oh, hey,” you shot a quick smile at the dragon who finally left his cave, in his hands papers of treasure he clutched close to him, “I just made some coffee.”

A nervous smile twitched on his lips, he accepted the mug of the dark liquid as you slid it over towards him. His hands shook slightly as he picked up the mug, his eyes never leaving the kind smile on your lips.

“We’re doing a movie tonight,” you offered the creamer to him, despite knowing that he would refuse as always, “Mikey and Raph claimed the couch, and Leo his chair as always, so I guess you’re stuck with the floor and me.”

He nodded at your words, fearing that if he spoke his voice would crack under your kind, soft gaze.

“Raph is choosing the movie tonight so I’m sorry if I cling onto you during the movie,” a soft chuckle escaped you while you spoke, knowing that you very well would be cuddling with the turtle with or without the horror movie of Raphael’s choosing.

A blush rose to his cheeks thinking of you clutching onto him all night, how the movie wouldn’t matter to him as long as you were in his arms.

“I-“ his voice cracked, earning a muffled giggle from you, “I look forward to it.” He managed without his voice cracking, but only doing so by forcibly lowering his voice an octave.

“Okay,” you chuckled and brushed your hand against his arm as you walked past him, “I’ll see you then.”

He could feel his whole body light up with your touch, he scrambled to grab the cup of coffee before fleeing to his lab, inspiration striking every fiber of his being.

“Donnie?” You slipped into the quiet lab, calling the turtle’s name, “We’re about to start the movie.”

You carefully stepped through his lab, avoiding the steaming beakers and messily placed papers, “Donnie?”

You walked to his main desk, disappointed by the lack of his presence at the desk but bursting into a smile at the sight of photos surrounding various papers. You sunk into his large leather gaming chair, your eyes glancing over the papers crowding his desk. Your eyebrows knitted in confusion at the sight of drawing, not knowing that Donnie had an artist side to him, and began to inspect the drawings.

You let out a grin at the sight of a drawing of you holding a stack of papers with goggles askew on your head, you shifted through the drawings, finding all of them of you. Some just random moments of you - giggling at something Mikey had said, smiling with Raphael as you read one of his comic books, squished on the couch with his brothers while you all encouraged Mikey as he played a video game.

You didn’t notice eyes on you as you rummaged through the drawings, part of him wanted to stop you, but seeing the smile on your lips he didn’t dare move an inch.

You chuckled lightly as you discarded a drawing of you snuggled on the couch while clutching a pillow and a large hoodie devouring your figure, your eyes moved from the drawing to the next one. Heat rose to your face immediately, at the sight of the one in your hands: you were straddling him standing on your knees while his arms pressed against your bottom, pulling you completely into him, your fingers brushing against his lips while your foreheads were pressed together.

You would have never tore your eyes from the drawing if another hadn’t caught your attention, you gently held the new drawing in your hands: you were leaning against him, as if you were falling, your hands were placed on his chest while one of his was steadying you by pressing against the middle of your back, the other gripping your waist, his head leaned down towards yours as your lips were connected.

Your breath was caught in your throat as you stared at the intimate drawing, almost feeling his lips on yours as they were in the detailed art.

He leaned on the table to watch you closer, he placed his hand on a shelf to see if he could catch sight of your face but the shelf gave up his weight and he fell far less gracefully than he meant to. Papers flew as he fell, along with the destruction of all of that was on the shelf.

“Donnie!” You were quick to his side, helping him up with blushes on both of your faces, his arms rested in yours as you faced him, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he couldn’t look in your eyes, not wanting to know how you stared at him knowing what his favorite recent pastime was.

“I-“ you breathed out, not knowing quite what to say; whether to admit your guilt or play off the butterflies that fluttered in your stomach.

“You’re allowed to hate me,” his voice was weak, matching his slumped and small posture, his voice cracking as he spoke on the verge of tears, “You can yell, tear up my lab, hit me, or-“

You cut him off with your lips on his, a soft kiss that was only a second long but didn’t fail to make his knees wobbly and a nervous laugh and snort coming from him, his hands shook as he reached for yours.

“Or I can do that.” You accepted his sweaty hands into yours, fitting like a missing puzzle piece, “And you can come watch the movie with me.”

“And cuddle?” His voice was high pitched, not recovering from the kiss yet.

“Yes, Don,” you giggled, “And cuddle.”

Raphael

At first, Raph was angry.

He had wanted a new set of weights but instead he received a leather bound notepad with a phrase engraved on the back,

To Bring Peace To The Hopeless

He would stare at the phrase for days after his birthday, never understanding what the cryptic words meant or what it will mean. He would flick through the blank pages, waiting for some forbidden knowledge to pop out at him but there was nothing.

It wasn’t until a few weeks later did Raph find a purpose for it, he had shoved it between his mattress and the frame of his bed to even out his bed - out of sight, out of mind - but when he stormed to his room after another fight with Leo, his father was the one that came for him.

He started by asking if his son had kept the book, a scowl on his face when his son pulled the notepad from under his mattress. He gave a brief lecture of how to maintain care of the leather book and its blank pages before he told his son,

“I have hopes that drawing will bring you the peace that you deserve, my son.”

With his words of wisdom, the humanoid rodent left the room with a small, knowing, smile on his face.

Drawing will bring you the peace, Raph stared at the book with his father's words running wild in his mind, his large finger following the dents that the engraving on the back had left.

He huffed before flipping open the book, the blank page almost mocking him, he grabbed a broken pencil off of his floor and debated whether or not to dig the pencil into the cream colored page and make dark marks of scribbled anger. He growled before tearing his eyes from the page, not knowing what to draw on the page.

He fell back into his lumpy mattress, clutching the book to his chest as he rolled over to his side to get more comfortable. His eyes immediately fell on the photo resting next to his bed, he lifted himself up by his elbows and reached for the picture. A smile formed on his lips as he stared at the moment captured in glass; you were smiling brightly, your face squished up against his - blushes heavy on both of your faces - you eyes held nothing but pure joy as you both were lightly covered in flour. That day you both were banned from the lair’s kitchen, but it was worth the memory that never failed to bring a smile to his lips and a familiar feeling of punching butterflies in his stomach.

He placed the picture next to his notebook and began to sketch the photo onto the blank page.

“Hey stranger,” he promptly slammed the book shut as you leaned over his shoulder, your hands resting on his shoulders, “What’s that?”

“Nothing,” he huffed, a blush flooding his face as you moved closer to him.

“Nothing?” You repeated, not convinced by his words in the slightest, “Since when do you keep secrets from me?”

“It’s not a secret,” he shook his head and placed the notepad next to him, “It’s nothing.”

You opened your mouth to say something, but shouting from your kitchen pulled you away from the turtle to his two younger siblings who were both bickering and breaking things in your kitchen.

He sighed in relief as you left from his side, trying to prevent any more chaos in your apartment from the brothers. He reopened his notebook, his recent drawing unfinished but was close to being done. It was another drawing to his collection of your portraits, some of just you, others of you and him. It began with just normal poses, you smiling, you laughing, you reclining on your couch with your phone in your hand, you dancing when you won against his youngest brother at a video game. But the most recent ones, they were ones of pure fantasy. You holding his hand - your fingers laced with his, so detailed that for a moment he could feel your hand in his; you snuggling into him as if letting him go would be your downfall; your lips - the way they pulled when you smiled, teeth digging into your bottom lip as you tried to muffle a laugh or suppress a smile; and his favorite, one that he had filled most of the pages with, was of you and him kissing - of what he imagined the softness and nervousness of a first kiss with you would be like, how you would kiss his cheek to calm him down, kissing his forehead to remind him of your devotion to him, how your kisses would travel across his skin reminding him that you wouldn’t shy away from loving him completely. But they were all dreams unlived, he knew he could never love them or match the real you.

The way you tilted your head back when you let out loud laughs, your smile that would never fail to make his legs weak, your eyes that he could look into forever if you would have let him, your hands that always left a lingering warm touch to his skin.

That he could never capture on a single page.

“Raph,” his eyes popped up from his book that he shut quickly after being pulled from his mind, “Help!”

You were holding back Mikey who was attempting to throw sugar at Donnie, making quick jabs at how Donnie needed to be sweeter to him, the eldest was holding back the genius who managed to weaponize coffee grounds.

Raph discarded his notepad and went to aid you, managing to get the sugar out of his brother’s hand and pull him from the kitchen.

“Both of you, lair, now.” Leo commanded after he was able to push Donnie to the ground, glaring at the two youngest boys, “You two are going to work this out or so help me.”

They grumbled something as they made their way to leave your apartment, apologizing curtly as they passed you for making a mess in your kitchen.

“Come on, Raph, I’ll need help.” Leo nodded towards you as a farewell before pushing his brothers out of the door towards your small balcony.

“Right,” he groaned, sending you a kind smile before going after his brothers.

The apartment was almost deafening silent as the brothers had left, making your way to the broom closet to get out cleaning supplies when a foreign object was on your couch.

Your hands slipped around the leather book, almost immediately recognizing the book as Raphael’s. You felt guilty and dirty with the book in your hands, you felt even worse as you peeled open the book.

The very first drawing as an odd looking face, the proportions fairly off which brought a small smile to your face. You continued to flick through the pages when the face began to morph and become recognizable.

“Oh my god,” Your smile fell as you saw a drawing that was almost a mirror image of you, you continued on, watching your life through the eyes of Raphael before the drawing were no longer memories or moments of past time but images that you were sure to remember if they were true.

They were soft and tender, kisses, hugging, hand holding, sleeping in his room with his arm draped across your body, sleepy smiles, and one that you lingered on, tracing where his pencil once was: a drawing of his hands softly cupping your face as his scarred and splitted lip inches towards what you believed were yours, your fingers lingering on his hands.

“Hey, sweetheart, have you-“ you turned to see the owner of the drawings pulling himself into your home, his face void of emotion as he stared at you with his book in your hands.

“I-“ you shut your mouth as he stormed over to you, snatching the book from your hands, you were unable to read his face but all of your breath left your body and you wanted to hide under his glaring.

“How much of it did you see?” You flinched at his growling, your eyes slowly traveling from the floor to meet his.

“I really like them,” He stumbled away from you, one of his hands gripping the top of his head, his eyes were closed as he debated the dilemma swirling in his mind. “I didn’t know you thought of me like that.”

“I didn’t know either,” his eyes were still closed as he responded, his voice barely about a whisper and his body frozen, “Not until I start drawing you. You were-“

He took a deep breath, removing the hand from his head in the process, his eyes catching a look of everything on its way to meet yours, “You were my muse. My peace.”

He began to take steps towards you, his fingers lightly hit yours as he stood in front of you, his head bowed, “You are my peace.”

When your fingers wrapped around his wrists, the fire of your touch made him look into your eyes, you led his hands to your jaw - his hands lightly cupping your face out of an unknown instinct.

“You drew something like this,” you looked into his shining eyes as he stared down at you - his eyes were wide, his lips were parted as he struggled for breath, his stomach was punching itself at how close you were to him and he was frozen in place. “It’s my favorite one.”

“It is?” His voice was small, soft, fragile.

“Yeah,” you smiled at the boy, you bit your lip to hide your excitement as he leaned closer to your lips, your eyes were fluttering to a close as he pressed his lips against yours. His rough lips were softly pressing against yours but didn’t dwindle the fire that erupted in you both. He could feel the flames as it rose to your face, as your fingers danced from his wrists to his shoulder, fire spreading with your very touch. One of his hands slipping to the back of your neck to pull you closer to his lips, the soft noise that came from you made the fire explode from his stomach to his entire being.

You slowly removed your lips from his, smiles wide on both of your faces as you both took some time for air, his hands moved from your head to your hips, keeping you trapped near him,

“Wow,” he breathed out, soft chuckles coming from both of you.

“Better than you thought it would be?”

“It was amazing,” his forehead rested against yours, his thumbs softly tracing strange shapes on your hips, “You’re- I-“

You cut him off with a kiss on his cheek, abruptly stopping him from searching for words, “I liked it too.”

Your fingers traced the scars that littered his shoulders, your forehead never leaving his and both of you couldn’t quite catch your breath together, but you both were at peace in each other's arms. Drawing did bring him peace, with you in his grasp and your lips ghosting over his, his peace was you.

A peace that he deserved.

“Why can’t I do this??

I’m failing you...”

this is what matters

everyone shut the fuck up they’re sleeping

(video)

art + lemony snicket

x x x x x