Donatello X Reader - Blog Posts

hey, i'm back!! sorry if this is annoying, but i REALLY loved your headcanons for donnie from my last request and I was wondering if you could write even more! i think i’ve always liked donnie growing up, i think i really just need someone who can balance out my energy lmao. you don’t have to if you don't want to, i just really loved your headcanons 🫶

updated request if you want to write more:

she loves fighting, loves working out, loud asf, short-tempered, blunt, sarcastic, cursed with resting bitch face, all that jazz. but, once you get to know her, she’s actually really funny and sweet. NEVER afraid to speak her mind, so she may come across as rude or sassy at times, but she never really means to be. DEFINITELY has ADHD and is on the autism spectrum. ❤️

im so happy you enjoyed my last tmnt mm post!!!! donnie is my absolute fave so im really excited i got to do another rq about him (i love donnie sm tbh,, its unhealthy atp)

Donnie (mutant mayhem) x hyper fem! reader

tw: none

youre both autistic so it evens everything out

hes done alot of research on how he can help you release all your energy while also maintaining his personal boundaries

when youre especially loud he communicates that and if its something you cant control hell put on his headphones and text you so you know hes not ignoring you but also keeping himself from getting overstimulated

he has a little bit of a resting bitch face too so he gets that even if you look upset youre not most of the time

hes usually pretty chill and is blessed with patience when it comes to you so its harder for him to make you lose your temper, even if its short

he will train with you (he just wants you to be able to get the fight out of your system for the day usually, especially if it helps you keep your temper in check)

he also works out with you alot so youre both pretty compatible when you train as well

he loves that youre blunt because it makes it easier for him to understand what you mean when youre talking to him

he struggles a bit with sarcasm at times but hes pretty good about it because he has three brothers

even though you seem mean, he knows that youre actually super soft and sweet inside and loves to death because of it

also a little extra because youre so sweet when sending in requests

he uses tone tags while texting and sometimes says them out loud because he uses them so much

you: "hey donnie i miss you"

him: "nuh uh joking"

you: "did you just use a tone tag while talking to me in person"

him:

he loves to listen to midwest emo music unironically, specifically the band the front bottoms

i headcanon that he smells like a mix of vanilla and sage with a hint of lavender

hes not a huge fan of physical contact but he doesnt mind it when its coming from you

it takes alot to get him overstimulated because he grew up with three brothers so hes more accustomed to chaotic environments

hey!! if you are taking requests, i wanted to request the tmnt mm! boys having a crush on a fem! reader who’s EXACTLY like raph. she loves fighting, may or may not have anger issues, cursed with resting bitch face, BUT, she’s actually really sweet and outgoing. never afraid to speak her mind, so, she may come across as rude sometimes, but, she never really means to be. (lowkey a biased request but SSSHH, we’re not gonna talk about that)

omg finally a tmnt mm request!! this was so much fun to write!! sorry if theyre short btw im struggling with writers block rn

TMNT (mutant mayhem) x fem! reader sfw

tw: none

Donnie

he wouldnt really understand that he was actually falling for you until one of his brothers mentions how you act and he starts telling them that youre suprisingly nice

he definently makes you little trinkets as a sign of appreciation (and as a way of flirting with you)

whenever youre not around and theyre not busy he constantly talks about you and how youre actually really sweet even though you act like a dick to he rest of them most of the time

his brothers think hes lying and that you cant be that nice until they get to know you better

when you start softening up around his brothers he finally asks you out

hes autistic so dont be overly touchy in private, it makes him uncomfortable

Raph

honestly he loves girls that have similar personalities to him so when he meets you hes head over heels

hes also secretly a softie too so when you start to trust you more he does as well

you guys are so cute together omg

he suprisingly doesnt have the guts to ask you out on his own so his brothers do it (he was so embarassed that they did that to him even though it was his idea)

if you say yes to going out with him hell be so happy

dont tell anyone he has a soft side for the sake of his reputation though

Leo

Mikey

it takes a bit for him to warm up to you at first but after his brothers convinced him you were fine he decided to give you a chance to know each other

he didnt expect you to like fighting or anything and if he didnt know you he could easily mistake you for his brother raph

raph can already be alot on his own so essentially having two of him around is insane

eventually you get to know him better and start trusting him more and start to loosen up around him

he eventually asks you out when he has the chance and you two are away from his brothers

hes a little scared of you at first tbh since youre almost exactly like his brother personality wise

it doesnt take very long before you two get comfortable around eachother though

he also notices that he has feelings for you pretty soon after he gets to know you better and sees that you have a soft side

he asks you out pretty quickly actually

Donnie todo asustado y la t/n tipo;

Not Quite Human - Part IV

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

Mystified by your date’s bizarre actions, you wandered about your apartment, racking your brain as to where you’d gone wrong. Overthinking was your specialty, and you feared that perhaps you moved too fast, making him feel uncomfortable. Mortification painted your face as you hoped that wasn’t the reason. Noticing Noodle sniffing around excitedly by the couch, you walked over to see what he was so interested in. Kneeling down for a closer look, you found a few pale green flecks dotting your carpet. They were lightly iridescent with a rough texture, almost like the skin of a snake. “…Are these…Scales?”

Keep reading

Looking for a specific fanfic.

It's a rottmnt Donatello fanfic where he's a streamer using a very "detailed" turtle persona when in reality it's just him. I can't remember anything other then it was written beautifully and was still being written when I lost it a few month ago maybe a year or two ago I'm not sure I've got horrible sense of time.

Edit: Adding to this, it was an x reader fic where he interacted with the reader on his alt account bootyyyshaker9000 while his main streamer account that reader watched was Ryan von orthelo or however its spelt

Edit 2: it's been found! Ty for the help yall <3

Fanfic is called Therefore Love on wattpad written by MadamMuffins

TMNT 2012 with a s/o on their period

Note(s): I wrote this with a ftm Reader in mind, but there are no gendered pronouns or gendered titles used.

Characters included: Leonardo, Raphael, Donatello, Michealangelo, April O'Neil, Casey Jones.

Leonardo

Listen, as much of a leader and confident guy you may believe he is, he is still a mutant turtle who does not get periods and only knows because it was mentioned in a show once and he wanted to know more. He will not understand, beside the basics of 'bleeding down there, intense hormones, and sometimes unbearable pain depending on who you ask.'

If you're someone who goes through a lot of physical pain expect an overbearing mother figure now in your life, he will literally be there with all the advice he can find that'll help.

With the limited resources in the lair and the fact he can't exactly go shopping himself, he'll ask April or Casey to buy period products or pain relief tablets for you if you complain. Even if he's awkward and shy about asking, he doesn't want to burden you by making you wait for a reply over text or have to get up, the fact it helps you makes it worth it.

Soup is also good, he knows how to make traditional teas and soups for you, with great difficulty, and help from Splinter, that will lessen your stomach cramps. Though if you get cravings he may be a little less helpful, it's hard to get ingredients when you live in the sewers and are hated by most of the world.

If you like company he would stay off patrols once or twice, but he's fairly strict about his schedule and won't go too far off it, even if he wants to help you.

If you don't get much pain, he's still by you in his free time and asking questions, you're literally bleeding he's never going to stop worrying.

Whenever you talk to him he basically soaks in the words like a sponge and uses it to help you, a one off 'yeah, this food helps.' and he's on his knees begging for April to buy some.

Raphael

Raphael... I love him, but he needs help when it comes to this. I imagine most of the other turtles at least know the basics, Michaelangelo is the worst but he still knows what a period is, but Raph just never really cared enough to learn.

He knows that a period happens... But that's about it. So, if you're in intense or even a small amount of pain and or wake up with blood around you, he's freaking the hell out, he thinks you've been stabbed or something or maybe he accidentally hurt you with his sais as you slept.

If you explain he's sort of like 'yeah whatever, how do we stop it from hurting you?' and then he never leaves your side.

You run out of products? Step out the way Casey and April, he's sneaking in the shop and thieving- I mean, he's putting on a trenchcoat and hat to hide his turtleness, and buying the products like a good mutant ninja turtle should. But seriously, he doesn't trust the two to buy the right ones, he gets the exact brand right somehow, even if you never tell him what one you want.

He pushes the exercise side of it, even if it doesn't help much, exercise is something that helps him so when he hears it can help he doesn't research further. It takes you explaining that it not only depends on the person but the exercise for him to pout and let you lead.

Donatello

He'd probably panic for a while but then tries to look through a science lense, like, oh! You need to level your blood sugars in this week, these excersises will help you but these won't, make sure to keep your stomach warm so you can lessen the contractions and pain.

Gets a bit sad if you're the type to be more distant and want alone time on your period, especially if you don't like loud noises. Donatello usually has you watching him while he works on his science stuff, so when you aren't it's a demotivator.

Ends up completely abandoning his work just to follow you around like a sad puppy, tending to your every need or waiting outside your room for a text from you if you need something.

If you want him around he's a lot more easy going, if you don't mind sitting in the lab with him while he works then he's all for it, of course he's checking on you every once and a while, and will talk when he wants to, but it comes from him wanting to help you.

If you have health issues caused by your period or your period is made worse by your health issues he's helping you a lot, he knows a lot about human anatomy and how to help ease pain, especially since April and Casey started hanging out with the Turtles more often.

He has a whole section of a diary dedicated to you, and that includes your period, when you're due, what food you've told him helps you, what foods you've said make it worse, what pain you usually describe as, etc, etc.

Michealangelo

Michaelangelo is 100% the type of guy who just goes along with what you want because he wants to help, he probably knows that you bleed, you get mood swings, and you're in pain. And that's all he needs to know.

He's watching you for your entire cycle and just PRAYING nothing bad will happen, gives you all the food you want, no matter how unusual. This can sometimes make it worse, because cravings aren't always foods that will help you, and he feels really really bad if that happens.

He tries to hold himself back on just giving you whatever you want, but when you look up he just folds and starts treating you like royalty.

He can't make a lot of normal foods, he can make pizzas and maybe a decent sandwich, but besides that he's a bit useless, so he tends to buy you microwaved dinners. Unless you don't like them. And then he's just lost.

Mikey asks Donatello to help on the more science level, like no, chocolate will not help, that's a dumb myth, it will only make your sugar levels higher and increase pain, plus blood flow, and nobody wants that.

Cue Mikey closing the oven to hide his chocolate pizza he was making for you.

When buying or storing products, he tends to sort of forget how expensive they are, he'll go in with only a couple of dollars and fall to the floor in utter shock upon realising that is not nearly enough.

But he may or may not steal a few, he saves the city, he gets no money from it, this is completely justified in my opinion.

It's not like he tells anybody anyway.

April O'Neil

She understands so much, whatever you need she'll get for you within minutes.

If your cycles match up April and you will have days where you just sit down and cuddle together, usually at her apartment or in the lair.

She's most likely the one who goes shopping for stuff since she's usually shopping for the turtles as well, though you can come along or even do it yourself if hers is painful and yours is bearable enough to go and vice versa.

If you don't get much pain or mood swings, she makes a few jokes on how she wishes she was you, but if you ask her to stop she will.

Understands the pain that might come mentally, if yours is really bad during the month she even ignores the Turtles to help you out. Unless you want to be left alone in which case she can do that as well, but she will text you every few hours, this is probably happening with or without your period given how dangerous being friends with her is.

If you have intense pain, she's extremely worried for you and will try to help in any way she can, especially if you have other issues that impact your period and or your period causes you other issues.

Casey Jones

Once he gets it Casey doesn't care for the exact details, all he needs to know is when he needs to be involved. Then he's actually really helpful

Usually gets too embarrassed to buy pads for you so he asks April to do it for him, if she refuses he awkwardly makes his way over and will be red the entire time he buys them.

He will begrudgingly be mushy if it means you'll feel better, but also reluctantly leaves you alone if you prefer being alone, he's complicated when it comes to you.

Tends to try to make you laugh or smile if you get sad, but fails to realise that the flood gates of hell spill over with unholy blood whenever you do laugh too hard.

If you're someone with less blood and or pain he'll be asking once every few hours if you're okay, every month is the same, he never learns that you're going to be fine, or that you don't experience too much pain, but it shows he cares.

If you have intense pain he's next to you always helping and at your beck and call, he's fine with skipping out on time with April or the turtles because he doesn't want you in pain.

This has been in my drafts for a little over a year, I've only just got the strength to finish it (⁠｡⁠ŏ⁠﹏⁠ŏ⁠)

TMNT : Mutant Mayhem X Gender Neutral Reader dating headcanons

Note(s): 2003 has me in a chokehold so I might accidentally mix their personalities, also you can probably tell who my favourite turtle is 💀

I've only seen this movie once, and I can't afford to go to the cinema again so I'm sorry that I didn't write a lot!

Leonardo

Leo basically has a full time job of trying to impress you, one time he even tried to drive a car and do tricks for you. It, unsurprisingly, went so bad that Splinter grounded him for a week.

While Splinter has always dug in that humans were dangerous and hateful, which is semi true, meeting April and you have diluted Leonardo's faith in that. He realises that you're just... People. People who make mistakes, who need to change, and who largely, have changed.

He likes learning about things you take for granted everyday, what was school like? Have you ever been to a restaurant? Do you like going outside a lot? Do you have a pet? Etc, etc.

Leo needs to try really hard in school because he's not naturally talented in science or math like Donatello, so he appreciates any help you can give him! He surprisingly likes homework, he views it like training, sort of like something to improve his skills.

He 100% searches a 'how to flirt' wikihow and gets absolutely slammed by his brothers for trying some of the worst pickup lines in history on you.

Leonardo wants to train you with self defense skills if you don't know any already, he puts on the training videos that Splinter used to learn himself and teach Leo and his brothers, so that you two can at least spend time by training together.

Raphael

Despite loving violence and fighting, he's always happy and his rage is never directed at you, he even tries to get you to let out your anger by training sometimes.

If you don't know how to fight, or don't want to learn, then he's perfectly fine with just giving you one of his sais and letting you stab a punching bag with it, or something.

Raph occasionally gets into more friendly fights and sparring matches with his brothers or classmates, he's always bragging to you about how cool he was and how awesome it was to fight.

He likes it when you initiate hugs or hand holding, it's not that he's embarrassed or doesn't want to initiate affection, or even have it at all, but Raph isn't the best at guessing what you want without outright asking. Which he does do a lot, but he feels awkward constantly asking for a hug, and he lets you know that he's always up for one.

Raphael doesn't want you in danger, but he does 100% egg you on to participate in fights and pull some chaos, even if minuscule.

Donatello

He's a complete dork and LOVES to try and impress you with knowledge on your favourite musical artists, TV shows and movies, etc, etc. Donnie gets super into anything you're into, and he even tries to subtly get you interested in things like K-pop or science, if you're not interested in them already.

Always rants about his interests, he could go on for HOURS about the hidden messages in a music video, especially when he can get out more often and speak to more people about what he likes.

He's so curious about humans and their biological functions, don't be weird not like that, he always used to watch documentaries to Splinter and his brothers confusion.

Donnie frequently imagines what life would be like without a shell, with his skin a different texture, with his ears all weird and sticking out, he constantly asks you questions about living as a human.

He adores it if you know a lot about biology, especially if you know about turtle biology, even if he and his brothers are different than regular turtles for obvious reasons.

Donnie loves holding your hand, whenever he's nervous, or if you're nervous, he likes squeezing your hand and just holding it for a while. Even if it's kind of awkward because of his three fingers.

Michelangelo

Mikey loves showing off his ninja skills to you. Oh, you're just watching a movie? Watch him do the stunt from that one scene about fifty times.

He doesn't have much of a 'taste' in movies or music, he just sort of watches whatever captures his interest. His most watched media consists of an intense crime documentary and Pingu.

Mikey loves hugging you, no matter what you're doing he just (⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠)⁠つ⁠⊂⁠(⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠) His favourite way of hugging you is from behind, because then you can do whatever you want and he isn't bothering you, but he also gets to give you a hug.

As the youngest sibling, Michelangelo loves getting you involved in pranks that involve screwing over his brothers. He will beg you, BEG YOU, to let him stand on your shoulders to place a bucket of water on top of a door, to help him dye his brothers masks the wrong colours, basically anything!

He loves making friends and would like to meet your friends and family, that is if you have any or have a good relationship with them, and if you do, he's trying to impress them so he can in turn impress you.

He also expects you to get along with his family, you don't need to constantly hang out with them, but he likes to have the knowledge that his family accepts and trusts you, he also likes to have the knowledge that you trust his family.

While not being the most perfect and strong guy, he has full respect for you and he shows it in semi unconventional ways. Mikey constantly likes to play video games with you, and while he's never been able to play the newest or most expensive, he may or may not steal a game or two just for you.

If you have a console, PC or even just a god damn phone that can handle a decent game, expect you two to play for HOURS.

What shows both his family and you that he does truly love you is when he gives you a slice of his pizza, if you're vegan or allergic to his favourite flavour, he'll order what you can eat instead of what he wants.

His brothers genuinely have a full hour of just staring in shock at you and him when that happens.

Can I have the Rise boys with a reader that yaps constantly and dosent do a lot of touching other than small acts of hand holding, poking, and just being physically close-? Like can and will talk about anything under the sun, like cats, space, their toaster they named Bermuta whilst being next to Donnie while he’s working, or holding Leo’s hand whilst Helen he’s reading a comic, poking Raphs arms or cheek when he’s doing something, and their head on Mikey’s shoulder while he cooks/draws.

But on the rare occasion they’re silent, like dead silent, not even a hello or good evening just nothing. And they’ll sit down on the ground next to said turtle and lean their head on the turtles legs slash thighs and wrap their arms around them, looking really zoned out or just not there because they had been yelled at or got into an argument with someone else or their parents for being so animated and talking so much.

Also I really love your writing!! Small reminder to rest up and take care of your needs, have some roses for the road :333💐

I'm gonna take this as a headcanon request, and tysm for the request(s) and reminder! You're greatly appreciated. Yapper hcs here we go!

°•.•°

Raph

He doesn't mind one bit, your constant commentary reminding him of when he and his brothers were turtle tots

He finds it really cute, and is sure to listen just enough to keep up with what you're saying

Eventually he starts to prefer listening to you yap about your day over his music when he's working out

When you start poking him it makes him laugh, opting to lift you instead of the weights, which gets you squealing

The fact it brings him so much joy makes it all the more heart wrenching when you end up sitting on the floor in his room, quiet with distant eyes

When you grab his leg, his eyebrows knit together, confused even as he finds it a little endearing

He'd press for an explanation on what had you so quiet, voice quiet and gentle, and your answer would make him sad

If it was your parents, he'd offer a sleepover, preferring you stay at the lair then at home when things were turbulent

Leo

You and Leo could go on and on and on if other things didn't get in the way, he was just as talkative

That also meant he was especially attentive laughing and nodding and giving input

Even when he was reading or trying a new trick on his skateboard, he'd still have something to add when there was a pause for him to

He also rather enjoyed the little bits of affection youd offer, sitting right next to him when he'd read or on movie nights

The first time you're silent his beak wrinkles, as the quiet is the most unwelcome thing in the world

He's much more aggressive in asking what's wrong, refusing to drop it until you told him what happened

Once you would, he'd go off immediately, saying the person who told you to shut your trap was a loser and boring and all sorts of other things

Then, after getting through his own rant, he'd raise an eyebrow considering you're still attached to his leg, mischievous mind working before he'd start walking with you hanging on, trying to make you laugh

Donnie

He likely struggles with it the most, but the fact you speak so much means he doesn't have to worry about small talk

Even so, he mentally catalogues every topic of conversation, able to keep up with anything and everything you spew

He feels a little bit of accomplishment everytime he can add input based on things you've mentioned before

As for your less typical signs of affection, they matched him perfectly; he greatly appreciated being able to focus on his projects while you're nearby

But then one day you're not saying anything after a surprising amount of time

When he swivels in his chair, you're on the floor, and immediately he's set into a panic, asking what happened

He'd be pretty similar to Leo, insisting you tell him, and then scoffing and bad mouthing the plebeians who dared to raise their voice at you

As for your clinging to his leg, it's a little odd, but he never comments on it, just standing in place until you're done, maybe ruffling your hair

Mikey

Mikey loves talking to you, listening to anything and everything that comes from your mind

It makes him laugh, why wouldn't he enjoy it, especially when you hold his hands or sit in the kitchen while he cooks

Even when he's feeling creative, you still choose to sit with your side against his, more intent on whatevers caught your attention that day then what he's working on

When you started poking him, though, he'd do it right back, which would end in a tickle fight that he'd never lose

When you're quiet, it's a different story, and he's sensitive to your feelings

You hug his leg, eyes unfocused, making him frown and meet you on the floor, sitting with his knee up so you can keep hugging him

He wouldn't push on what's wrong, instead asking if you wanted to talk about it, and if you did he'd listen and offer his sympathies

If you didn't want to talk about it, he'd sigh but nod, and rub a hand over your back, talking himself to fill the quiet when you had nothing to say

Under Streetlights One Year Anniversary!!

That's right, the first chapter of my first rottmnt x reader fic, my first fic ever, came out a year ago today! I'm so glad for the readers I have and for the friends I made thanks to this fanfic, thank you all. The fact I reached thousands of hits and hundreds of kudos amazes me. I read and even reread most of the comments too <3

If you have any questions about the fic, my other projects, or just me, feel free to send an ask, I'll be answering them all day!

Also, if you'd like to see fic updates, sneakpeaks, and even concepts for future projects, check out the discord server <3

My gummy is always gonna be reposted [which is fine because I barely post anything ever I'm so slow now]

chubby!reader × Donnie? he gets a tad bit flustered? maybe a bit of a spicy peice? praise kink🙏🙏🙏🙏

-👾🐈‍⬛️

already writing limes in the sfw blog, are we ?

jules fears NOTHING !!

i love writing this kind of content anyway >:)

if you wanted something higher on the citrus scale i shall direct you to my other blog, @fungalittlefreak where you could get even more specific with whatever you desire !!

i initially wanted to make this longer but i'm swamped with so many things to do, might have a part two if there's demand for it.

one chubby reader x flustered donnie coming right up B)

thank you for the request anon <3

important side note: while i don't deem this as "mature content" i feel more comfortable if anyone 15+ could interact with this post, otherwise please don't read or interact. while i can't force you not to, i hope anyone below 15 years old could respect my wishes.

May I?

It's movie night in the Hamato household and you're invited! April said you didn't have a choice, so here you are contemplating on wearing something comfortable or something cute.

Delivered (18:42 PM): is this too much? i'm bringing a change of clothes because i'm sleeping over

apes (18:42 PM): oooo who are you trying to impress

apes (18:42 PM): god i hope it's not leo

apes (18:42 PM): you deserve better

You shake your head, grinning at your phone as you send your last message to April.

Delivered (18:43 PM): i'll never tell :)

You finish getting ready and grab your overnight bag, heading over to the lair. The clattering and chattering in the kitchen tells you that the brothers would be in there, but you spot Donnie alone on his phone in the projection room. He seems comfortable enough not to wear his battle shell, which you find surprising. You take a step toward him and he looks up, turning to you as you put your stuff down beside the couch. He stops, staring while you move to sit beside him, even though you already greeted him, waiting for his response.

"Uh, yes. H-hello. Greetings. Good evening."

He looks away, then looks at you out of the corner of his eye. You grin and lean in with a smirk. He blushes, then a nervous smile plasters itself on his face. "D-do you need anything from me?" Donnie asks politely, but his eyes darted everywhere, scanning you as if he is committing the way you look right now to memory.

"A kiss might be nice."

The softshell freezes and it looks like his brain is malfunctioning, his face warming at the thoughts racing through his mind.

"May I?"

He reaches up to cup your soft face in his hand. His fingers twitch as if he's holding himself back from holding you firmly. You nod with a whispered yes, leaning in for a delicate, soft kiss. The softshell perks up and a dopey smile spreads across his face after you part, then he leans in for a deeper kiss, the heat on both your faces burning a little hotter.

"Your lips taste so good," Donnie breathes, threading his fingers through your hair at the base of your skull, holding you close as the two of you made out on the couch. "So sweet for me..." He whines, his blush darkening his face even more while he reaches for you with his other hand, holding you against him. His fingers knead the plushness above your hip for a moment, the hitching in his breath apparent. After another minute or so the two of you officially part, noticing the lair has gotten quiet.

You turn around to find nearly everyone with their jaws dropped to the floor, eyes boggled. Donnie sneers, wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you against him possessively. The way his hand grips your tummy made you yelp, feeling embarrassed now that the two of you were caught. April snaps a picture, Leo snickers, Mikey cheers, and Raph narrows his eyes in suspicion, then smiles, proceeding to whack Leo upside the head before he moves over to tease Donnie. The Caseys walk in with two bowls of popcorn, Junior has a knowing look on his face while CJ looked on in confusion to the commotion. You sigh with a grin, shaking your head and relaxing in Donnie's arms as movie night started to kick off.

Meltdown

@ramblehour @oleander-nin

A short one shot I wrote about Donnie helping reader with a melt down. It's in the first person. Could be read as platonic or romantic!

Word count: 366

Donatello had just put the tank into park, Mikey having told him he'd seen me on the verge of tears. I had tried to say I was fine, that we shouldn't stop, but Donnie just shook his head. Raph and Leo looked at me with confusion, and, of course concern, but that wasn't what my brain chose to focus on. Not at this moment. I didn't even know what was wrong, one moment having enjoyed the atmosphere, the next feeling as though the lights were too bright and the road too bumpy and the conversation too loud.

Now I was pulled to a somewhat separate space inside the tank, Donnie's grasp on my upper arms soft. "Do you know what's wrong?" His eyes were searching mine.

"No," I hissed. I didn't mean for it to sound so aggressive. I looked at one of his hands on my arms, feeling tears build in my eyes as I fucked up again. Like how I ruined this trip. Like how I ruin everything. I-

His hands moved to my cheeks, more force than his hold on my arms but still gentle. My eyes closed. The pressure was a welcome feeling. It grounded me. I only noticed he was plugging my ears when he lifted his fingers to ask if I wanted his headphones. I nodded, so he lifted his hands away, quickly putting his head gear on me before returning his hands to my cheeks. I didn't ask, didn't want to talk, but he still answered in a soft voice through the speakers on my ears, "I've noticed this is one of your regulating behaviors, I can stop if-"

I grabbed his wrists so fast I actually felt him flinch. Before I could start feeling bad about that, I heard him chuckle, "that's an answer." I realized about halfway through all of this that I had been close to a meltdown, though of course couldn't focus on it with all the other thoughts racing. I finally opened my eyes, taking note that the lights were somehow dimmed. Donatello was smiling softly at me, his thumb swiping back and forth on my cheek bone once.

"Thank you."

"No probbles."

incorrect quotes because I find them funny despite it being probably outdated, oh well.

Raph : Sometimes I like to place my hands on someone’s cheeks, look into their eyes...

Raph : ...And violently jerk their head until it snaps.

Donnie: ...That took an unexpected turn.

Mikey : So did their neck.

-

Raph: Schrödinger’s cat is overrated. If you wanna see something that’s both dead and alive you can talk to me any time of the day.

-

Leo: Um, Raph, why are you pretending I'm this guy's family?

Raph: We need money!

Leo: You're scamming him?

Raph: I was thinking more like flat-out stealing from him?

Leo: What?! No way!

Raph: Why not? We already stole [Name]!

[Name]: Hey guys.

Leo: No, we didn't. [Name] can think and talk for themselves, they can do whatever they want.

[Name]: I wanna steal.

-

[Name]: Am I in trouble?

Leo: Take a guess.

[Name]: No?

Leo: Take another guess.

-

[Name]: It's not like I try to blow things up, exactly. It just sort of happens. You've got to admit though, fire is fascinating.

-

Raph: Okay, can we all stop saying stupid shit for a moment, please?!

Donnie : Alright.

Mikey: Hey, I-

Raph: SHUT UP!

Mikey: I HAVEN'T EVEN FINISHED MY SENTENCE!!

Donnie : It was bound to be stupid.

-

Mikey, holding out a cookie for [Name]: Look! This ones a heart, that’s how I feel about you!

[Name]: *Ugly crying*

Mikey, holding out another cookie for Donnie : This ones like Michigan, that’s how I feel about you!

Donnie , throwing his hands in the air: What does that mean?!

-

Raph: I am free of all prejudice. I hate everyone equally.

-

Mikey: In my defense, I was left unsupervised.

Raph: Wasn’t [Name] with you?

[Name]: In my defense, I was also left unsupervised

-

It's cold!!

Donnie and Leo x GN reader

Heheh cute shit I love Christmas

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A Snowy Retreat

It was one of those rare days when the city felt serene instead of chaotic. Snow blanketed New York, softening the harsh angles of rooftops and muffling the usual cacophony of life. Leonardo, leader in blue, stood atop a building alongside his partner, gazing at the cityscape as snowflakes spiraled down lazily.

"You know," they said, breaking the silence, "it’s kind of magical up here."

Leo smiled. "Yeah, it’s peaceful. Makes you forget all the craziness for a bit."

They turned to him with a mischievous glint in their eye. "Too peaceful."

Before Leo could react, a snowball smacked him square in the chest.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, brushing off the snow.

Their laughter echoed through the snowy silence. "You looked too calm. Had to fix that."

A smirk spread across Leo’s face as he crouched to gather snow. "Oh, it’s on now."

The fight began with a flurry of snowballs flying back and forth, each trying to outmaneuver the other. Leo’s ninja reflexes gave him an edge, but his partner’s determination leveled the playing field. He slid behind a chimney for cover as they pelted him with an impressive barrage of snowballs.

"You’re good," he admitted, peeking out to return fire.

"I’m better," they teased, narrowly dodging his shot.

After what felt like an hour, both were breathless and soaked from the snow. His partner was shivering, their gloved hands fumbling as they tried to scoop up another snowball.

"Alright, truce," Leo called, dropping his handful of snow.

They stood up, shaking out their jacket. "Alriiigghhhttty. But only cuz I'm cold!"

Leo stepped closer, concern replacing his playful grin. "You should’ve said something sooner." Without waiting for a response, he shrugged off his scarf and draped it over their shoulders. "Come on, let’s head back to the lair. I’ll warm you up properly."

They didn’t argue as he led the way back, expertly navigating the rooftops despite the snow.

When they arrived at the lair, the warmth was immediate and comforting. The hum of Donnie’s gadgets, the faint sound of Mikey humming in the kitchen, Raph training, and the scent of Splinter’s incense made it feel like home.

"Sit," Leo instructed, motioning toward the couch. "I’ll grab some blankets."

They sank into the cushions as he disappeared briefly. When he returned, he was carrying an armful of thick blankets and handed them a steaming mug of hot cocoa.

"You planned this, didn’t you?" they teased, taking a sip.

Leo grinned as he sat beside them, draping a blanket over the two of them. "I always have a plan."

They leaned against him, sighing contentedly as the warmth seeped into their bones. "You know, you’re pretty good at this whole ‘taking care of me’ thing."

Leo’s arm wrapped around their shoulders, pulling them closer. "That’s because you’re my favorite snowball rival."

They laughed softly, letting the exhaustion from the cold slip away. "You’re lucky I let you win."

"Sure," he said, his voice tinged with amusement. "But next time, I’m bringing reinforcements."

The sound of their laughter filled the lair, blending seamlessly with the comforting chaos of the turtles’ home.

A Chill in the Air

Snow dusted the rooftops of New York, creating a winter wonderland that felt oddly out of place in the city’s gritty backdrop. Donatello stood beside his partner, watching the snow fall silently under the glow of streetlights.

"It’s beautiful," they said softly, gazing out at the serene landscape.

Donnie nodded, his bo staff resting against his shoulder. "It is. But it’s also ridiculously inefficient. Snow impedes infrastructure, slows down transportation—"

"Donnie," they interrupted, turning to him with a grin, "can you ever just enjoy something without analyzing it?"

He tilted his head, lips quirking into a smirk. "Not really."

Their grin widened as they bent down to scoop up a handful of snow. "Maybe this will help."

Before he could compute the implications, a snowball splattered against his plastron. He looked down at the damp spot in mock offense. "Oh, so this is how we’re playing?"

"Obviously," they teased, already preparing another snowball.

Donnie adjusted his goggles and crouched down. "Alright, but don’t blame me if you regret this."

The fight began with flurries of snowballs arcing through the air. Donnie’s analytical mind turned the skirmish into a tactical exercise, calculating angles and wind speed to land his shots. His partner, however, relied on spontaneity and speed, often catching him off guard.

"Gotcha!" they cheered as a snowball hit him square on the shoulder.

Donnie wiped the snow off, shaking his head. "You’re infuriatingly good at this."

"Maybe you’re just bad," they teased, ducking behind a vent for cover.

He chuckled, lobbing another snowball their way. "Oh, you’re going to regret saying that."

But the cold was starting to seep into his hands and feet, and after a particularly well-aimed snowball smacked him in the face, Donnie called for a truce.

"Alright, alright! I concede!" he said, throwing his hands up in mock surrender.

His partner stood up, grinning triumphantly. "Admit it—I’m the snowball champion."

"Fine," Donnie muttered, brushing snow off his goggles. "But only because my body temperature is lower than it should be."

They stepped closer, brushing snow off his shoulders. "Come on, let’s go back to the lair. I think you’ve earned some hot chocolate."

Donnie sighed dramatically. "Hot chocolate and maybe a blanket. Or two. Or three."

When they arrived back at the lair, Donnie immediately headed for the couch, shedding his gear as he flopped down with an exaggerated groan. His partner chuckled, grabbing a couple of blankets from the pile Donnie always kept handy for "emergency relaxation purposes."

They sat beside him, draping one blanket over both their laps and the other over his shoulders. Donnie let out a contented hum as he leaned into them, his cheek brushing against their shoulder.

"Much better," he murmured.

They smiled, wrapping an arm around him. "You’re such a baby about the cold."

"Excuse me," Donnie said, voice muffled by the blanket, "I’m a scientist, not a snow creature. This is not my natural environment."

They laughed softly, running their fingers through his snow-dampened mask tails. "Well, you’re in your natural environment now. Warm, cozy, and with me."

He turned his head to look at them, a small smile spreading across his face. "You make a compelling argument."

Donnie shifted closer, resting his head against their shoulder. They stayed like that, wrapped in warmth and quiet companionship, as the sounds of his brothers echoed faintly in the background.

"Next time," Donnie murmured, "we bring portable heaters to the snowball fight."

They laughed again, pulling the blanket tighter around him. "Next time, maybe you just stay inside."

"Tempting," he muttered, already half-asleep. "Very tempting."

"Fatherly Advice"

TMNT 2012 Donatello

2012! Donnie x Fem! Reader

Fluuufffffyyyy

Hiya my lil bookworms, hope everyone is weellllll! I know its taken me a hot minute but my jobs kicking ass right now :') I'm so sorry and I'll try to update more but also give people chances to request!!! ANyway, thought this was cute cuz Splinter from 2012 is like... an awesome father figure and I love Donnie soooo- Here is some fluff!! Also, definitely make sure to check out writer Grem's stuff, they're working hard right now<3

ANYWAY, Requests are 100% open so pleaaaaseee ask away<33

-Writer Icy<3 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the serene and dimly lit dojo beneath the bustling streets of New York City, Master Splinter sat in quiet meditation. The soft glow of candlelight flickered against the walls, casting gentle shadows that danced around the room. His keen ears caught the sound of hesitant footsteps approaching.

"Enter," he called, his voice calm and inviting.

A young girl with h/c hair stepped into the dojo, her eyes filled with uncertainty. Y/n had been a friend of the Turtles for some time, often joining them on their adventures. Recently, however, her heart had become overwhelmed with emotions she struggled to understand.

"Master Splinter," Y/n began, her voice barely above a whisper. "I need your advice."

Splinter opened his eyes and looked at her with a kind and knowing gaze. "Sit, my child. Tell me what troubles you."

Y/n took a deep breath and sat cross-legged before the wise old rat. "I... I think I've caught feelings for Donatello," she admitted, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "But I don't know what to do. I don't want to ruin our friendship or make things awkward between us, especially if he has a crush on April."

Splinter nodded slowly, considering her words. "Love is a powerful and beautiful emotion, Y/n. It is natural to feel uncertain when your heart is involved. Tell me, what is it about Donatello that draws you to him?"

Y/n smiled softly, her eyes lighting up as she thought of Donnie. "He's so intelligent and kind. He's always thinking of others and working so hard to help everyone. He's brave, but he also has this gentle side that... that makes me feel safe and cared for."

Splinter's whiskers twitched in amusement. "Donatello is indeed a remarkable young turtle. Your feelings for him are understandable and sincere."

Y/n sighed, her shoulders relaxing slightly. "But what if he doesn't feel the same way? Or what if it makes things complicated with the team?"

Splinter reached out and gently placed a hand on Y/n's shoulder. "In matters of the heart, there is always a risk. But love is not something to be feared. It is a gift to be cherished. If you speak honestly and openly with Donatello, you will find your path."

Y/n looked up at Splinter, her eyes filled with gratitude. "Thank you, Master Splinter. Your words mean a lot to me."

"Remember, Y/n," Splinter continued, "Love requires patience, understanding, and courage. If your feelings are true, they will find their way. And no matter the outcome, your bond with Donatello and the rest of the Turtles will endure."

Y/n nodded, feeling a sense of calm wash over her. "I will talk to him. Thank you for the advice sensei."

Splinter smiled warmly. "Go with confidence, my child. Trust in your heart and in Donatello's."

With newfound resolve, Y/n stood and bowed respectfully before leaving the dojo. As she made her way to the lab where Donatello was undoubtedly working on his latest invention, she felt a renewed sense of hope. Whatever the future held, she knew that Master Splinter's wisdom would guide her through the challenges ahead.

And in the quiet of the dojo, Splinter returned to his meditation, his heart full of pride for his son and the young girl who had bravely sought his counsel.

Donnie's POV~

Donatello adjusted his goggles, his focus completely absorbed by the precision needed to tend to the chemicals in front of him. The hum of machinery and the faint scent of chemicals filled the air, creating a familiar and comforting backdrop to his work. He was in his element, surrounded by the tools and gadgets that defined his world.

"Hey, Donnie," a voice called out, pulling him from his concentration.

He looked up, a smile spreading across his face as he saw Y/n standing at the entrance of his lab. Her presence was always a welcome distraction, though he could tell something was different this time. There was a nervousness in her eyes that made his heart skip a beat.

"Hey, Y/n! What's up? Need help with something?" he asked, setting his tools aside.

Y/n stepped closer, her eyes locking onto his. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something important."

Donatello's curiosity piqued, and he gave her his full attention. "Sure, what's on your mind?" He asked, raising his goggles.

Y/n took a deep breath, her voice trembling slightly. "Donnie, we've been through a lot together, and I really value our friendship. But lately, I've been feeling something more. I think… I know...Okay...I have feelings for you Donnie."

Donatello's eyes widened in surprise, his mind racing to process her words. "Y/n, I… I don't know what to say."

Before he could find the right words, a loud hissing sound filled the lab. Donnie's eyes darted to a beaker on his workbench, which was boiling over and fizzing violently.

"Oh no!" he exclaimed, rushing to grab a towel.

Before he could reach it, the top of the beaker exploded with a small, harmless pop, sending a shower of foam and liquid across the lab. Donatello and Y/n were both splattered with the pink fizzing mixture.

For a moment, there was stunned silence. Then, Y/n burst into laughter, her eyes sparkling with amusement. Donatello couldn't help but join in, his own laughter filling the lab.

"Well, that was unexpected," Y/n said, wiping foam from her face.

Donnie grinned, shaking his head. "I guess I got a little distracted. Thankfully, the mixture wasn't harmful."

They both laughed again, the tension of the moment melting away. Donatello reached out and wiped a bit of foam from Y/n's cheek, his touch lingering a moment longer than necessary.

"You know, Y/n," he said softly, "even with exploding beakers, this has been one of the best moments of my life."

Y/n's heart swelled with warmth, and she leaned into his soft touch. "Mine too, Donnie."

Donatello took a deep breath, his eyes locking onto hers with a newfound determination. "Y/n, I need you to know something. I've had feelings for you too, for a long time. I was always afraid to say anything because I didn't want to risk our friendship. But now, I don't want to hide it anymore. I care about you so much and I do reciprocate those feelings."

Leah's eyes widened in surprise and joy. "Really? What about April?"

Donatello nodded, his expression earnest. "Yes, Y/n. I got over April. Look, You're amazing, and I want to be with you...I-If you'll be my girlfriend, that is..."

They stood there for a moment, Donnie reaching slowly to hold her hand gently. The world around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in their shared happiness.

In that moment she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close foe a hug. he hesitantly wrapped his arms around her, stiffly before relaxing slowly. It was quiet a promise of many more moments to come, filled with love, laughter, and the bond that had brought them together.

As they cleaned up the lab side by side, their hearts were light, knowing that they had taken the first step on a new and exciting journey together. Donatello couldn't help but feel a sense of joy and contentment, knowing that Leah felt the same way. And with her by his side, he knew that their adventures would be even more special.

Little did the duo know, Splinter was just outside, listening to the whole exchange with a proud smile on his face, "That's my son." he nodded and made his way back to the dojo to continue his meditation.

Okay Update: I'm sorry for not posting much! Going through a hard time with emotions and mental health, I'll be okay!! Please send in requests, it helps aloooot!! Please don't fear us, we won't juuudgeee!!!

Here's a snipit of a story for a Platonic/Father figure Master Splinter x Fem! Reader who likes Donnie and needs advice on how to feel

-Writer Icy<3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Splinter opened his eyes and looked at her with a kind and knowing gaze. "Sit, my child. Tell me what troubles you."

Y/n took a deep breath and sat cross-legged before the wise old rat. "I... I think I've fallen in love with Donatello," she admitted, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "But I don't know what to do. I don't want to ruin our friendship or make things awkward between us."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Enjoy that little snippet! I'll try to update tonight or sometime today if I can!!! Please Request guys🥹🙏🏻🙏🏻

Surge of Emotions

ROTTMNT Donatello

Overstimulated/Overworked Donnie x GN! Reader

Fluff/Character comfort

I love Donnie and ik some people need comfort. For me, personally when I get overstimulated, I get super touch sensitive to everything and need to sit on a hard floor and draw small patterns on my hands unless someone does it for me-

~Writer Icy<3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Things can get busy sometimes, especially with Donatello, the genius of the group, who was often stuck in his lab per usual, surrounded by various gadgets and glowing screens of all his tech. His mind was sharp and relentless and it often pushed him into long hours of inventing and strategizing. It was like his tech and projects to help his brothers or himself in battle, often consumed him.

But recently, there’s been a distraction in the lair. April had introduced Y/n to the guys a little over a year ago and it had been an enjoyable way to make a new friend for them all. Well, everyone except Donnie.

Donnie was never good with feelings, “Yes, Feelings, hot, cold, hungry, sleepy-”

It was hard enough for Mikey to get him to even consider his feelings but Y/n made him feel things he wasn’t used to feeling and it stressed him out. On top of all the projects, ideas and everything piled up for him to work on, he now had his new friend consuming another part of his mind.

One particularly stressful evening, Donatello found himself overwhelmed. His projects were piling up, his mind racing with too many ideas, and the pressure of his responsibilities pressing down on him. He could feel the familiar sense of overstimulation creeping in, the world around him becoming too much to handle. The beeping, whirring and all his tech making noise along with his work mask and anything he put his hands on seemed to make it worse. He sat at his desk, head in his hands, trying to force himself to calm down but it felt like the world was closing in on him, everything feeling too much all at once.

Y/n had gotten to the lair not long after April had told them Donnie had been working for a few days and hadn’t come out unless it was for another cup of coffee. They got their and went straight to Donnie’s lab, knocking softly. Upon not getting an answer, they peeked into the room and spotted the purple clad genius with his head in his hands. They rushed over to him, feeling worried and nervous for their closest terrapin friend.

"Hey, Donnie," they said softly, not wanting to startle him. "You okay?"

Donatello lifted his head, eyes filled with a mixture of frustration and exhaustion as they darted around the room, scanning their friend’s face. He shook his head slowly, unable to find the words to explain how he felt. His hands had been shaking and his breathing was irregular. Y/n knew he would get overworked but they’d never seen him this bad. They walked over and crouched in front of his chair. “Here let's do this differently,” Y/n coaxed him out of his chair and over to a less cluttered area of his lab, letting him sit down on the cold, hard floor.  

Sensing his inability to speak, they sat down beside him and put their hands up to show they wouldn't touch him. “Can I touch your shoulder D?” They asked softly. Donnie simply shook his head no and they nodded, understanding he was definitely touch sensitive to almost everything. “Can I sit next to you?” He nodded. It was quiet for a few minutes other than the occasional beeping of his machines. After the silence, Y/n decided to ask,

"Is it your work that's overwhelming you?" Addi asked.

He nodded.

"Too many projects at once?"

Another nod.

"Do you need to take a break from it all?"

A hesitant nod followed.

Y/n smiled softly. "Okay." Their calm and steady presence provided the grounding he needed to slowly calm down.

Eventually, as the tension began to ease, Donatello leaned on Y/n's shoulder, feeling an unfamiliar but comforting sense of peace. Feeling him relax against them, they filled the silence, “Can I try something D?” He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them, looking at her with a mix of confusion and vulnerability and nodded. They gently took his hand and traced soft patterns on top of it. His breathing hitched until he felt his heart rate slow as he realized this was helping him focus on something else other than the things around him. 

"Y/n," he began slowly, "I am a smart individual, I could rearrange space if I wanted. I understand the most complex equations and situations...but I don't understand why when it comes to you, things are harder to think about."

Y/n looked at him confused before giving a knowing smile. "Donnie, have you ever thought about the possibility of having feelings for someone?"

Donatello hesitated, then nodded. "Yes but feelings aren't helpful for I, the great Donatello-"

“Donnie,” His heart skipped a beat at their voice. “Donnie. Feelings can be confusing, especially when they're new. You might not understand them to the fullest but they're also a beautiful part of being who we are."

Donatello felt a warmth spread through him, a new kind of understanding dawning. "I... I think I feel things for thou..." he mumbled, not daring to look up at his newly found reason of his feelings.

They smiled, eyes softening as they knew what Donnie meant. "I like you too, Donnie. And if you're comfortable, I can help you figure out whatever feelings you want to understand.” He finally looked up at them, his eyes full of awe as he nodded. They let a soft laugh through their nose as they relaxed on the floor, relishing the feeling of being in one another's calm presence.

⋰ ⊹˚. ♡ Alone on Valentines? ⋰ ⊹˚. ♡

I was halfway done before most of this got deleted. I am going to scream cry and convulse on the floor. As it's way to late for me to be awake rn, I'll just do this in two parts, for the sake of my sanity </33

I know for a fact that most of us are probably gonna be spending this Valentine's alone, reading fanfic, and honestly same. But let's imagine for a second that that isn't the case.

The turtles react to you being alone on Valentines Day

GN reader, romantic, crushing/pining, fluff

Raphael

flabbergasted

like that's his initial reaction

i imagine that you guys would just be chilling in the lair, talking, and you slip out that you might be spending valentine's alone

he goes "oh, okay!" before he double takes and says

"wait- really?"

he honestly thought that you would've had a date for valentine's this year

because like... why wouldn't you? you're so attractive, and charming, and lovable, who wouldn't want to date you?

no matter how you feel about being alone (unbothered, sad, etc etc) raph will do everything he can to make you feel better

you don't deserve to be alone! no one does!

so he proudly states that "if you don't have anyone to spend the day with, then raph'll spend it with you! there! now you won't be alone anymore."

he says this all with this big smile

doesn't realize that he basically just asked to be your date

you realize it tho

ofc, you say yes, because who can say no to raph?

and raph just nods to himself, proud, before he processes what he just said

oh. he just scored a date with you.

jaw drops at this realization. OH. HE JUST SCORED A DATE. WITH YOU.

BY ACCIDENT??

vows to make this the best valentine's you'll ever experience

it might be hard, being a giant turtle and all, but by pizza supreme is he gonna try his best anyways

Donatello

bro you didn't even tell him this information

he literally eavesdropped on your conversation with april while he was nearby

pretends to be really engrossed in whatever he was doing while he strains to listen to what you guys are saying

is also confused when he finds out. according to his statistics, you have plenty of qualities that make you attractive. so why are you spending valentine's alone?

forgets that the data he used to make said statistics are based off of his experiences with you. He then considers that maybe not everybody got butterflies in their stomach whenever you were around

BRO HAD TO REMIND HIMSELF THAT NOT EVERYONE HAD A CRUSH ON YOU LMAO

when april leaves the room, he internally goes aha! an opportunity! and tries to make a move

he acts cool as he talks to you, but don't be fooled, he is internally combusting

not so subtly suggests that you should spend valentine's in the lair with him instead of being alone. tells you that not all love is romantic, and as... friends... you guys have a right to celebrate today as well

damn he is not making this easier on himself

of course, his brothers and april are gonna be there too!! obviously!!

you get to spend time with all of them.

... mostly with donnie, though. especially with donnie.

if you agree, he'd say "perfect! shall we call it a date, then?"

say yes. the look on his face and the growing blush on his cheeks is so worth it

Fear Won’t Strike Twice

Hurt! Donatello X GN! Reader

|Author note: Thank you for your request! I’ve always loved the concept of Donnie getting his soft shell scratched tf up. I had a blast with this and hope you enjoy it! This is based on Season 2 Episode 2, but the outcome of the attack on Donnie has been altered for plotline purposes.| EDIT: HELP I FORGOT TO PUT IT UNDER THE ASK, THIS IS FOR @queenwoomy

|WARNINGS: Lot’s of blood, Angsty shit, Donnie being a little bitch, Reader being a loving S/O, Angst, Hurt with comfort, Mentioned sex scene (Donnie is of age in this story), slight making out, Worried S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N, Reader slaps tf out of Donnie|

|Word Count: 1,808 words/10,583 characters|

⎯⎯ ୨ ୧ ⎯⎯⎯⎯ ୨ ୧ ⎯⎯⎯⎯ ୨ ୧ ⎯⎯⎯⎯ ୨ ୧ ⎯⎯⎯⎯ ୨ ୧ ⎯⎯⎯⎯ ୨ ୧ ⎯⎯⎯⎯ ୨ ୧ ⎯⎯⎯⎯ ୨ ୧ ⎯⎯⎯⎯ ୨ ୧ ⎯⎯⎯⎯ ୨ ୧ ⎯

        The concept of what was going on was almost too hard to grasp. The internal fear of what hit the ground- of who hit the ground with a sickening thud and a scream of pain stuck in your mind. And it will remain in your mind till the end of your days. At some point, you heard a shout; probably from Raphael, but you couldn’t tell; echo off the walls of the alleyway, making the remaining turtles turn to face what had happened to their beloved sassy brother. Before your broken form laid Donatello, covered in his own blood. His mask on his face was shredded, revealing a clawed-up face that was unsightly to anyone who saw it. His hands and arms harbored claw marks as well, the wounds deep enough to require stitches. But all of it was just child’s play. Your eyes shifted to his battle shel- where was his battle shell? Where was his battle shell?! 

        Looking around frantically, your eyes finally found the beloved piece of tech-or, what was left of it. The entire thing was ripped away from its owner and destroyed into what seemed like, millions of pieces. You dreaded returning your gaze to your boyfriend, heart-stopping as you spotted his ever-so-delicate shell. The ridges on the bottom of his shell were torn off, leaving some of the soft tissue exposed for everyone to see. Four long deep cuts; which punctured through his shell, reaching the delicate skin beneath; raked down the surface, leaving a trail of blood in its wake. You couldn’t see, eyesight blotched with spots of white, but you felt yourself get dragged away from your lover (Probably by Leonardo, you couldn’t tell) as you could hear Raphael and Michelangelo rush to Donnie. You remember you screamed, scratching Leo’s hands for him to let go of you so you could return to the blood-soaked turtle’s side. At some point, you got free, running back to your original spot, you needed to know he was ok, or at least alive. 

        Leo was quick on your tail, gaining his grip once again to pull you back once more, shouting at you, pleading you to calm down. To stay sane. You don’t remember much, knowing that you felt nothing, only pure rage. Rage that built up and made you shed hot tears that quickly rolled down your cheeks. Your eyesight left you, running off in your time of need, leaving you with blinding rage. You didn’t see Shredder running off towards the fireworks on the boat. You didn’t see the fear in all of the brother’s eyes. Mikey had never seen so much blood. He wasn’t smiling like his usual, playful self. He cried. Hard. Raph tried to stay strong. He was the leader, and right now they needed a leader, but his fear stink filled the alley. Leo, whilst holding you back, was probably scared the most. Seeing his beloved twin (though Donnie would disagree) laying limp in front of him. 

        You didn’t see them drag Donnie’s lifeless body to the manhole, delicate with him but rushing to save their brother. You didn’t see Splinter’s reaction, fear etched on his scrunched-up face, tears slowly beginning to fall at the sight of his second youngest son. You didn’t see S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N’s face, but could vaguely hear his worried sobs, lines of unspoken code reaching out, trying to communicate to his father. His maker.  

        Time moved so slowly. Too slow. The incident felt so long ago, but only a week has passed. You weren’t allowed to see Donnie, weren’t even allowed to be near the room he was held in, and it hurt. While time passed, you and S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N kept each other company. You never left the lair to go home, besides on the first day, when you left to bring stuff to stay in the lair for however long was needed. You slept in Donnie’s bed, Face always in the pillows, huffing his scent, which began to fade after the 4th day from lack of use from its owner. No one disturbed you, per your request. 

        At night, you would stay in his bedroom, and during days, you would be locked up in his lab. Not to build something, but to feel closer to him. You two would always have long talks about his fucked up sleep schedule after you found him asleep on his lab table, a newly-build battle shell in his clutches. You felt yourself chuckle softly at the memory that played in your mind. He would always say he would go the bed, but you learned over time that those words were just something to give you else hope as he would tinker away for another two hours. He would only stop when you would gently kiss him on his lips and softly lead him to his bed, detaching his battle shell and removing his mask while you set him down and climbed in with him, snuggling up to his soft plastron as he would share exciting news about his achievements softly while you would gently rub his back. 

        You missed him, even though he wasn’t dead. He was recovering and you were grateful, but you wished he would wake up from his medically induced coma so you could scold him angrily about how stupid he was. How stupid he was to scare you the way he did. You missed him so much. You missed his egotistical remarks, awkward hugs, and passionate kisses behind locked doors. You missed the way you two would make love. His ‘bad boy’ persona was left at the door as he would savor your skin, leaving your neck covered in dark purple splotches. He never thought of himself during sex, always making it his goal to satisfy your wants and needs, and never wanting anything in return. You longed for his soft touch again, to feel him in between your legs once more. You missed his soft moans, they always sounded like smooth silk waving through a gentle, warm summer breeze. You miss the way he held you after you both would clean up, keeping you as close as physically possible to his plastron. You missed the way he would quietly churr as you would softly rub his shell.

        In his absence, you shared Donnie’s plush bed with his son, S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N, his curling up into your chest, seeking your warmth. With how far you and Donatello’s relationship has god, S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N has begun to call you his mother, which you didn’t mind in the slightest. You laid your hand gently on his metal back, slowly moving up to his ears, which you gave a gentle scratch just like how Donnie taught you when S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N was first created. You loved the little drone, seeing him as your son practically. He nuzzled into you, softly letting out mechanical purrs at your touch. He missed his father. For the first few days, he lay in denial, refusing to believe his father was gravely injured, but finally accepted it in the past few days and sought you out for comfort. You both sought each other. 

        Days went by, and you heard nothing about your lover’s condition from his brothers. They would come to check on you multiple times a day and make sure you were eating and showering, but when asked about Donatello, they remained quiet. Splinter locked himself away most days, only coming out at night to get food, and he lost his taste in the television, finding it boring while he remained locked up. No one heard a word from April, but that was expected, she didn’t take the news lightly. The brothers had their own way of grief, all involving violence and yelling. Sometimes Mikey would come to the lab and talk with you, try to keep your spirits up despite the attack. You enjoyed his company. It was needed.

        About 3 weeks have passed when you received a call from Leo. You never knew why he insisted on calling you instead of coming to you (it was probably because of your angry outbursts on everyone) but reluctantly, you picked it up. His voice was shaking, you couldn’t tell what emotion he was portraying but you just remember dropping your phone, picking S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N up quickly, and running to the medbay; leaving poor Leo on the phone, calling out your name. You ran like your life depended on it, S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N asking what the hell you were doing before you both bolted through the medbay doors. S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N  understood now. Laying on the bed, with a thick cast on his back, was Donnie. Awake and smiling softly at you. You dropped your ‘son’ as he let out a yelp of alarm and a string of coded curses. You ran to him and didn’t hesitate to jump on the bed, burying your face into his plastron as you released ugly sobs. S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N  was beside you in an instant, showing his father about the same amount of affection as you did. You felt Donnie tilt you’re head up slightly before bringing your lips wet with tears to his chapped ones. You instantly melted into it, placing your arms around his neck, careful of his injury as your lips rolled against his in a fiery passion. You missed this. You missed him. Everything in that moment was just…perfect. Gently nibbling at your lip, Donnie made his way into your mouth, absorbing your flavor  like a starved man. With a soft moan, you felt his hands get slightly braver as they moved to cup your bottom before giving it a squeeze.

        “Ewww Dad”… S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N’s disgusted voice rung through the room as he pulled away, a slight blush present on his cheeks and neck. You chuckled softly before looking him in his eyes. He returned his gaze to you, smiling at you.

        “I missed yo-“. He was cut off by a harsh slap to his face. He revolted, lifting a hand to the place of impact.

        “How. Dare. You”. You snarled, placing your forehead against his, and grabbed his hand that was cradling his cheek, intertwining your fingers together. His face retorted from pain to confusion.

        “W-what”? More hot tears fell from your eyes.

        “How dare you scare me like that. Do you have any idea how fucking scared I was”? He looked away, a face full of shame. What could he say to make this better? You where pissed, scared, and concerned at the same time. You rested your head against his plastron again, silently sobbing as S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N nuzzled into your side. “I love you too much to let you go Donnie”.

        “I know babe, I love you too”.

The Secrets we Inherit ♡ Donatello x Stockman's Niece!Reader 《 Part 2 》

Summary: After your eccentric uncle, Baxter Stockman, vanishes without a trace, you're the only one who can investigate his sudden disappearance.

Your father doesn't believe you and you're alone in your search for your missing uncle. You decide to take matters into your own hands.

Context: This continues right after Season 1, Episode 11: Mousers Attack!

Content Warnings: Not proofread, mentions of blood, some minor injuries, reader is a certified nerd and a bit dorky, I don't remember if I mentioned but this is going to be a slow burn because I like torturing myself, be warned— terrible dad jokes are present in this chapter

Word Count: Idk some 8k words

----

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Your knee bounced up and down, matching the frantic rhythm of your pulse. Everything had blurred together— swinging katanas, laser flashes, your uncle being dragged away by that... monster, a swarm of metallic figures that seemed to swallow the entire building as you could do nothing but watch.

The thoughts in your head overlapped one another, and you wanted to say a million things, do a million things. You wanted to say 'I'm sorry' and 'I have no idea what just happened' but nothing but air came out.

Your body was shaking as if you were just pulled out from freezing water in the Arctic. Was it the blood loss? The concussion? Or just the shock? Maybe it was everything all at once, you couldn't tell. All you knew was that your dad was standing there, staring at you with those eyes— big, disappointed, and expectant eyes. You just about regretted calling him to pick you up.

You sucked in a breath, fighting back the tears that burned at the back of your throat and threatened to spill at the slighest of sounds. Your hands, slick with sweat, were locked so tightly together they hurt.

You didn't dare answer.

Never did you think silence could be deafening, but in this moment you finally understood what this phrase meant— New York had never felt so quiet, the city’s pulse muted in those seconds that seemed to stretch on, everlasting.

The only thing that broke this illusion of silence were the strangled sniffs and hitches of your breath. Quiet, stifled sobs that wanted to turn into an ugly, uncontrolled cry. Then came something different, a sigh, deep and defeated coming from your father.

You heard his footsteps retreat, the creak of his car door opening, and then it shut suddenly. His boots squeaked against the concrete before he kneeled in front of you, gently lifting your chin, forcing you to look at him.

He grunted when he saw your face—swollen, bloodied, the cut over your eyebrow has painted a good part of your face red.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he asked, his voice flat. "You sneaked out and came out to this abandoned place. What the hell happened here?" When you still didn’t answer, he called your name sternly.

You let out a small laugh but forced your eyes shut and sucked in a breath, your lips trembling. "I needed to know what happened to Uncle Baxter."

God was this deeply, utterly humiliating.

Your dad scoffed, his fingers pinching your face but gently turning it around so he could inspect your injuries. He pressed a cold water bottle to your eye. "Come on, kid."

He leaned back, studying you. "I get it. You two were close. But Baxter—" Your father paused, a quiet sigh escaping his lips. "He’s kind of a loser, honestly."

"Uncle Baxter’s not a loser," you protested, but it came out weaker than you intended.

"He's a loser," your dad repeated, pulling your chin up to inspect your black eye more closely. His fingers pressed the cold bottle with more pressure into your face, drawing a low hiss from your clenched teeth.

He paused, looking at his watch. "And by the way, as of two weeks, three days and 7 hours, he’s also a wanted criminal." He rolled his eyes. You could tell your dad was deeply annoyed and angry at your uncle for his recent shortcomings, but you wished he at least gave him the benefit of the doubt.

However, your dad had a good argument, and the growing evidence was quite hard to dispute. He’d botched his chance at that big tech job. Then, he got fired from his last office gig for breaking the copy machine. And if that wasn’t bad enough, his face had been plastered on the morning news as he terrorized his poor ex-colleagues, not once, but twice.

"He's just... going through a tough time," you added, but even you didn't believe the words.

His brow furrowed in concern. "Did he do this to you?"

"No."

"Then what the hell happened?"

You let out a dry laugh, closing your eyes.

"You wouldn't believe me even if I told you."

"Try me."

You hesitated and drew in a sharp breath, licking your lips as you sought for courage.

"Well, I found out that Uncle Baxter had this secret hideout... like a base or something that he used for his experiments. He told me about it once, and I came here to— argh!" You let out a sharp wince as your dad checked your strained ankle.

"And?" He prompted, putting your foot down on the ground gently.

"And then I found out Uncle Baxter’s got beef with, like, four human-sized turtles who do karate. And then he got kidnapped by some giant dog-man." You stated very matter of factly, as if it was the most natural thing to tell someone, almost as if you were answering what kind of coffee you had this morning, black or an expresso? "And I fell down the stairs, that's how I cut my eyebrow and sprained my ankle."

Your dad’s expression didn’t even flinch.

He raised an eyebrow slowly. "Yeah, hallucinations are a telltale sign of a concussion." He stood with a slap on his thighs and picked you up. "We're going to the hospital."

"Dad!"

-------

You sat stiffly in the passenger seat, arms folded tight across your chest and eyes staring at your faint reflection in the car window. You could see the jagged line of stitches above your left brow— fresh, red, and still itching. You kept your jaw clenched so tightly that you could see some veins jutting out of your neck.

"You want to uncross those arms or what?" Your dad said, eyes still on the road back from the hospital. "Any tighter, and they'll fuse like that forever."

You exhale sharply through your nose. "You don’t believe me, dad."

"Not even a little," he answered, not missing a beat.

He glanced over, and when he saw your expression, he sighed softly. "Look, kid. I know Baxter was into some shady stuff, and you’ve got that wild imagination— probably from your mom’s side—but human-sized turtles? Mutant dogs? You've got to know what you sound like."

Yep, there it is. That quiet judgment of his.

Your head snapped toward him. "Dad, this city’s weird. You know it is. Remember when the streets filled with rats? Like, biblical levels of rats. That’s not normal. Rats don’t coordinate en masse." You turned too fast and smacked your sprained ankle against the door, hissing through your teeth as the pain flared up your leg. "And what about that thing running loose in the sewers scaring the workers? Or those UFO videos—there are hundreds."

He let out a snort. "Have you been watching too much Grody to the Max again? That show’s gonna rot your brain with conspiracy theories. Ninjas, mutants, government cover-ups— it’s entertainment, not evidence."

"I know what I saw!"

Your voice cracked, high with frustration. You swallowed it down.

"Uncle Bax’s been missing for weeks. No calls. His apartment’s a mess—cobwebs, food rotting, mail piling up. And you think that’s fine? I mean, look—"

You search your pocket, finding your phone, and you show him the recording from earlier. He slows down at a red light and takes the opportunity to glance at the screen. You can see his eyes slowly furrowing and then squinting.

"And what am I looking at?"

You look at the screen. The recording is mostly a blur of colors and noise. You sigh in frustration. "Oh c'mon, it's the fight! Here, look!" You pause the video on a particular frame, where one of the turtles you saw from before stood, holding its katanas, ready to strike at one of the robots.

"See? That's evidence!"

"Nice costume, kid." Your dad squinted at the screen and then glanced back at the road. "Look, do me a favor, and don't let fake videos on the internet warp your brain. Okay? That stuff is not real."

"Fake videos?! I recorded this myself!" You threw your arms in the air.

"Right, and I'm the king of England."

"Unbelievable." You put the phone back into your pocket and fold your arms tighter, sinking into the seat with a pout.

"If you’re not gonna do anything to find Uncle Baxter, then— I dunno. I have to. If he’s a criminal—"

"Which he is," your dad cut in, firm and weary.

"Then shouldn’t he be in jail?" You completed.

He sighed, rubbing his jaw and scratching his beard. "Maybe. But that’s not your job. That’s the cops'. And let’s be real—you’re not exactly law enforcement material, kid. Not in that ‘Space Heroes’ t-shirt and with those little chicken arms. Just… leave it alone. Please."

"I know you love him. And I—" He sighs. "Well, he’s still my brother. But he made his choices. Don’t get caught up in his bullshit, okay?"

You stared out the window, the glass suddenly fogging from your breath.

"I’ll… I’ll try, dad."

-----

"Sorry, dad."

Over the past few weeks, whenever your father was out for work, you'd turn your room into a crime board— articles, notes, printed maps, and odd bits of evidence scattered across your desk and your bed. As much as you loved your dad, you couldn’t ignore what your gut—and your heart—told you. Your uncle meant the world to you, even if he was a bit eccentric.

You owe your love for science and robotics to him. The one who helped you build your first hot chocolate-spewing volcano, who stayed up late soldering wires and testing circuits with you. He took you to your first robot fight tournament, and together, you built a champion.

Your gaze drifted to the wall, to the collages of memories and trinkets and memories you had with your family. One photo caught your eye—your younger self, beaming atop your uncle’s shoulders, a gold medal hanging proudly from your neck. The robot you two built gleamed in the background like a loyal knight after a bloody battle. You smiled softly at the memory.

Maybe you should have known there was something odd about your uncle, the way he still held decade old grudges as if he was wronged just a couple of minutes ago, but you knew there was some good inside of him too— in some hidden part he only revealed to you, but it was there.

And that's why you couldn't just forget about him. He was still out there, and you needed to find him. Even if it meant lying to your dad.

You'd buried yourself in research these last two weeks— downloading articles, compiling headlines, and cross-referencing every bizarre incident you could find in New York. Ninjas. Criminals appear tied in alleyways, ready to be taken by the cops. Strange sightings. You didn’t know how it all connected yet, but you had to believe it did.

Two shurikens lay side by side on your desk. One bore a flower emblem, delicate and strange. The other, a crude engraving of a foot. You trailed your finger over the marks and tapped them both thoughtfully, then lay back on your bed with a groan, holding the flower-emblazoned star above your head.

"Okay," you whispered.

You turned the weapon over in your fingers as if some great truth might reveal itself if you just stared hard enough. Maybe, if you focused—just a little more—something would click.

Then your hand slipped, and you grasped it a bit too tightly in the sharp edge.

"Ow!" You hissed, shaking your hand and instinctively sticking your bleeding thumb in your mouth.

You shake your hand and instinctively shove your bleeding finger in your mouth. Welp, at least your tetanus shots were up to date.

You sighed and let your head fall back onto your pillow. "Maybe dad was right. This is way over my head. If the cops can’t figure it out, what am I supposed to do?"

But as you sat up to retrieve the fallen shuriken, your eye caught where it had landed—smack on top of a forgotten article.

You crawled over and snatched it up. The piece of paper interested you. A piece about a little restaurant in Chinatown. Harmless, at first glance. Just some local spot run by a blind man named Mr. Murakami. But it seemed to have something else to it.

The article mentioned how the area had been under the Purple Dragons’ control for years… some local thugs. Nothing new, but interestingly, a neighbor had reported strange noises coming from the restaurant one night. A fight. Some type of loud disturbance. But when questioned about the occurrence, Mr. Murakami only offered one cryptic statement:

He’d been saved.

By four mysterious samaritans.

Your heart gave a thump. Four. Four mysterious samaritans. What else did that remind you of?

You scrambled through your notes until you reached a notebook, and you flipped through the pages until you reached your sketches of the four strange turtle people you saw fighting your uncle weeks ago.

You looked down at the ninja star with the flower again, a slow smile forming on your face.

"Some Chinese food sounds pretty good right now."

----

The bell above the door gave a soft ding as you stepped into Murakami’s restaurant. The warmth hit you first—savory steam, old wood, soft chatter. The place smelled like soy broth, sesame oil, and oddly comforting.

"Welcome," said the old man behind the counter. "Please, sit anywhere you like."

You chose one of the seats farther away, dropping your backpack beside you as casually as you could. From here, you had a clear view of most of the dining area. Perfect.

A few minutes later, he shuffled over. "What can I get for you?"

You leaned in a little and gave him the small wooden token from the ordering machine outside.

Mr. Murakami ran his finger over the small piece of wood, lips curling into the faintest smile. "Ah, pizza gyoza."

"I never heard of it before," you said, voice low. "But it sounds good."

He gave a slow, approving nod. "My invention. Strange, but comforting. Not many request it—but I always remember who does." Then, without another word, he turned and slipped behind the swinging doors, the muffled hum of the kitchen swallowing him up.

The moment the swinging doors closed behind him, you started moving. You popped open your backpack and pulled out a tiny spy cam— something you’d built yourself back when you and Baxter used to sneak them into science fairs for fun. You’d hollowed out a fortune cookie holder and disguised the lens in the plastic.

You slid out of your seat, took a quick glance around, then crouched low by the condiment shelf near the counter. You tucked the fake cookie holder behind a soy sauce bottle, adjusting it slightly so the lens had a wide view of the dining room.

Then you slipped back into your seat just as Murakami returned, a small plate in hand.

"Pizza gyoza," he said with quiet amusement. "Fresh from the pan. Careful—they bite back."

You smiled awkwardly. "Thanks."

----

The glow of the computer screen paints your face in pale blue. Noodles gone cold and abandoned somewhere in a far corner of your desk. Eyes rimmed red from hours of squinting. Your room is dark except for the screen and a small desk lamp.

Click. Fast-forward. Click. Rewind. Pause.

You exhale through your nose, leaning in, you rub your eyes as you watch the pixelated footage from Murakami’s restaurant. The camera has the perfect angle for the dining area of the restaurant, but so far, you haven't seen anything but the ordinary noodle shop customers come and go.

You shove your chair back from the desk and grab your controller, flopping onto the bed while the footage plays on screen. The screen keeps playing as you mash buttons in a half-focused blur. You pause the game occasionally to squint at the screen, chewing your lip.

Later, your controller sits forgotten on the floor, amidst the crumbs of potato chips. You’ve swapped it for an old edition of Space Heroes, propped open on your knee while the footage fast-forwards again. You dog-ear the page, frown at something offscreen, rewind three seconds, but it was only a small glitch in the footage. You huff and hit play again.

You lay on your bed, pizza box open, slice hanging limply in one hand as grease drips down your wrist. Your other hand hovers over the keyboard. You're not even chewing—just watching.

The hours tick by. You curl up in your hoodie, hair messy, computer still running. Occasionally, you mutter to yourself, jot something down on a sticky note stuck to the desk: 'Murakami - hang out spot for the turtles or dead end lead?'

You finally slam the pause button mid-bite—something flickered on screen. You squint, eyes scanning the screen. You rewind slowly. Frame by frame.

The restaurant doors burst open with a clatter and a chorus of laughter, echoing off the walls before the turtles even fully enter. Mr. Murakami barely flinches—he just turns from the kitchen with his usual gentle smile.

"Welcome, my friends," he says warmly, folding his hands in front of his apron. "What can I get for you today?"

"Only pizza gyoza, the two best food groups in one beautiful bite-sized dumpling!" The orange-masked turtle — Mikey, you recall from earlier — executes an unnecessary but impressive backflip, landing with a flamboyant dab. You lift one eyebrow and write 'EXTRA' close to a small doodle on your notebook.

The red-masked turtle shoves past him with a grunt, clearly unfazed.

"Just feed him before he starts breakdancing."

"Thank you so much for your kindness, Mr. Murakami San." The turtle with the katanas and the blue mask steps forward, sitting on a stool close to the balcony.

"I should be thanking you," Mr. Murakami chuckles as he heads back into the kitchen. "My restaurant has never been so popular."

"What? But you’re the best, Mr. Murakami-san!" Mikey says with genuine affection, flopping into a chair like he owns the place.

You lean in closer to the computer screen, the blue glow reflecting in your eyes as you scribble notes in the growing margins of your notebook.

Over the next few weeks, this becomes your ritual for the weekend. Like clockwork, the turtles show up— generally on the saturdays, always full of energy and always hungry.

Mr. Murakami greets them like family. He serves up steaming plates of his strange but irresistible pizza gyoza, the sight of it makes your mouth water every espionage session. The turtles tease. They act like teenagers. They act like brothers— because they are, as you come to find out.

The blue-masked one is Leonardo. Calm, composed, looks like the leader of the group— though he’s not above wrestling over the last dumpling from time to time.

The red-masked one is Raphael. Hotheaded, sharp-tongued, but protective. He’s the type to tease his brothers mercilessly… and deck anyone who tries to do the same.

Donatello, the tallest, wore a purple mark and carried himself with a quiet intensity. He’s clearly the brain of the group, deadpan and sarcastic, his humor bone-dry and dipped in irony. You find yourself rewinding his lines more than once, smirking quietly in your dark room at each particularly funny quip.

And then there’s Michelangelo — Mikey. Loud, lovable, chaotic sunshine in a shell. The heart of the team and the most likely to get distracted mid-sentence by food. You find yourself laughing out loud at his antics more than once— and as weird as it is— and you slowly warm up to these strange mutant teens and become more curious over their lives, where they live, how they came to be. They would discuss bits and pieces here and there, but putting them together was like trying to solve a rubik's cube while colorblind.

Sometimes they talk about someone named April — a mutual friend, from the sound of it. They talk about her school, homework, the brother's tease Donatello for apparently having a crush on her— so you assume she must be a human girl. Probably.

And then—bingo. One of them mentions coming back next weekend, some type of celebration with the April girl.

You pause the footage, rewind it just to hear it again. Confirmed.

You swivel to the second monitor and grab the calendar off your wall, your chair groaning dramatically under your weight. Popping the cap off your marker with your teeth, you circle next Saturday with a bold, aggressive red loop.

----

"Hey, turtle people, you may not know me, but I sorta know you." You gesture with your hands, speaking to no one in particular as you pace nervously in the empty alleyway behind Murakami's noodle shop. You wince. "No, I sound like a stalker." Being a stalker is one thing, but sounding like it? Bad.

You stare at a faded graffiti mural on the wall—some pin-up anime girl on a motorcycle, winking like she knows how ridiculous you sound. "Turtles, we need to talk. It's about Baxter Stockman." You say, firmer this time. You sigh, too intense, it'd be a bad start.

"Hey, turtle-men, I heard you're good guys. Can you help me?" This one was even worse. You groan. "Maybe I should have practiced this earlier."

Your monologue is cut short at the sound of boots scraping pavement.

"Well, well… what do we got here?"

Your stomach drops.

Three figures emerge from the shadows behind you—leather jackets gleaming under flickering streetlights, tattoos curling up their necks like living things. One of them taps a pipe against his palm.

You smile nervously. Right, you were just standing in a random alleyway in Chinatown.

"Hey, I don't want any trouble." You stammer out.

"Who's said anything about any trouble?" One of them smiles. "Just give us your wallet and nobody gets hurt.

Your nervous smile fades as fear coils in your chest. You swallow hard, heart pounding, and slowly reach into your pocket with trembling fingers.

You pull out your wallet and hold it out, your voice barely a whisper. "Here. Just—take it."

One of the men snatches it with a scoff, flipping it open and rifling through the contents. A transit pass. Your library card. The pitiful remnants of your weekly allowance scraped together from your dad's coffee jar.

Then it slips out—your lucky Captain Ryan card.

It flutters to the dirty pavement like a fallen leaf, landing face-up in a puddle of city grime.

You stare at it in quiet horror. That card had survived middle school lunches, bus rides, and an accidental trip through the washing machine. Now it just laid there—soaked and stepped on—like your last shred of control.

"There’s almost nothing in here," the taller thug grumbles, clearly annoyed.

"H-Hey," you say, trying to stand your ground even as your voice cracks, "That’s all I have…"

"Fine. Hand over your phone."

That was your last lifeline. Your only way to call for help. Your only connection to your dad. To anything. You had photos and recordings and backups of all of your research in there.

But the look in their eyes says this isn't a negotiation.

Your fingers twitch toward your jacket pocket. Your mind races for a way out.

Just as your fingertips brush the edge of your phonecase, a heavy thud shakes the alleyway behind the thugs.

A shadow lands hard, crouched low—muscles taut, orange bandana fluttering like a warning flag in the dim glow of a flickering neon sign.

"What the—?" one of the Dragons starts to turn.

A nunchaku whip out in a blur of motion, slamming across the thug’s wrist. The metal pipe he’d been clutching clatters to the concrete. Another thug lunges, but Mikey's already moving— fluid and fast.

One thug groans on the ground, holding his stomach. Another stumbles backward, dazed, before Mikey sweeps his leg out and sends him tumbling into a stack of trash cans.

You stare—stunned—mouth slightly open. It’s him. The one from before.

After thoroughly kicking the thugs' butts with a whirlwind of honed ninja skill and just as much chaotic, childlike silliness, the alley is left scattered with groaning bodies, dented trash cans, and bruised egos.

One Dragon curses under his breath as he scrambles to his feet, clutching a bruised rib. "Freak!" he spits before taking off into the night, the others limping after him in retreat.

As they vanish into the shadows, something clatters against the ground—your phone, knocked loose in the scuffle, spinning to a stop in a small puddle by your feet.

You stare down at it, chest still heaving, pulse in your throat.

Did he just save you?

Michelangelo turns to you, panting lightly, he seemed jumpy, as if he was ready to leave, but upon looking at your face and weighing the fact that you haven't screamed or thrown anything at him so far, he seemed to change his mind. "You okay?" he asks, flashing a crooked, lopsided grin.

Your heart is hammering so fast it feels like it might rip through your ribs. "Y-Yeah," you say, and then glance at your ruined Captain Ryan card. "Well, mostly."

He kneels beside you, picking up your card carefully and giving it a shake like he might dry it out. "Sorry about your... space guy."

"Captain Ryan," you correct instinctively. "First edition. He's my favorite."

"No way! I thought only my bro was into that nerdy show." He gives you a soft smile, despite everything, you laugh. He helps you gather your things. His movements are careful, respectful, but slightly jumpy, ready to run off at any moment.

You sit up, slowly. Still catching up to what just happened. "Thank you for helping me. W-what's your name?"

"Name's Michelangelo, but my friend's call me Mikey."

"It's nice to meet you Mikey." You offer him a smile and tell him your name, he smiles brightly at the situation. "Uhm, listen, I need your help,” you say quickly, standing. "I'm trying to find someone. He disappeared. No one believes me. Not the cops, not my dad—no one. But I think something’s wrong. Something bad.”

"Who's missing?" His brow furrows under the orange bandana, confused at the sudden shift in your mood.

"My uncle." Here it goes. "Baxter Stockman."

Mikey blinks. "Wait, your uncle is Derek Stockboy?"

"Baxter Stockman." You replied firmly, a bit more annoyed than you intended. "But yes, he went missing weeks ago, I'm trying to find out what happened to him. Do you know him? Do you know what happened to him?"

Mikey studies you. Really studies you. His smile’s slowly fading, but not completely gone. There’s caution in his eyes now—but also curiosity.

His attitude was very carefree, he seemed static that a human was talking to him, but you could see the hesitancy, the slight anxiety of getting too close to you, maybe he was suspicious of you in specific? You couldn't fully tell.

"Yeah, sorry. But he's sort of the evil scientist guy type, I don't think he really wants us helping him."

"What do you mean by that?"

"He sort of hates me and my bros 'cause we kicked his butt and threw him in a dumpter once." He was laughing as he retoldthe story, but it slowly died ouy when he noticed your face. "Sorry."

Your brain raced. Evil scientist? Dumpster?! None of that tracked with the man who built you soda-spraying robots and named them after Star Trek ships. Well, maybe some of it tracked considering recent events.

You push past the disbelief. "Do you have any idea where he might be now?"

Mikey’s face softens. "I'm sorry girl, but I—" Before he can finish his sentence his phone buzzes in his belt. He turns around and picks up the phone.

"MIKEY, THE PIZZA!" A voice shouts through the speaker.

"MIKEY, YOU’VE BEEN GONE TWO HOURS!" Another voice yells—this one angrier, gruffer. You wince as it practically shakes the phone. "GET HOME RIGHT NOW OR I SWEAR I’LL KICK YOUR BUTT SO HARD YOU'LL BE STUCK IN YOUR SHELL FOR A WEEK!"

He winces. "Oops. Uh, sorry, gotta go! Nice chatting with ya!"

"Wait—Mikey—!"

Within a few moments Mikey was already jumping and going up the building's wall with incredible ease, even if you wanted to follow him you'd never make it with your chicken legs.

He gives you a smile and wave before he dissapears.

You let your arms fall to your sides in frustration.

"Ugh, c'mon!"

The Secrets We Inherit ♡ Donatello x Stockman's Niece!Reader

A/N: Soo apparently I'm incapable of writing short chapters hahah, this was originally much longer but I decided to keep the first part as a prologue or you guys would have to read through 8k words of my ramblings

This was originally supposed to be only around 5k words at most but it uh, sort of got out of hand, good news is next chapter is mostly done and it will be around 7k words

Summary: After your eccentric uncle, Baxter Stockman, vanishes without a trace, you're the only one who can investigate his sudden disappearance.

But your life takes a dramatic turn when your search leads yoi into the underbelly of the city and you stumble into a world of mutants, ninjas and crime syndicates that controls the city.

Armed with nothing but stubbornness, determination, and a few gadgets you built yourself, you find yourself tangled in a world far stranger— and much more dangerous— than anything you could have ever imagined.

Context: This story starts in Season 1, Episode 11: Mousers Attack! And goes from there.

The reader is Baxter Stockman's niece. Whenever I watched this show, I thought Baxter Stockman had so much Girl Dad™ or Girl Uncle™ energy. I mean, LOOK at him he has such dorky uncle energy, and you can't convince me he wouldn't teach his niece how to weld and create little robots—OF DOOM— while he tells her his world-domination plans.

Content Warnings: There is only a vague phantom of proofreading in between drafts, read at your own caution, mentions of blood, some minor injuries, reader is a certified nerd and a bit dorky, swearing

Word Count: Around 2k words

----

You stared down at your phone, the little red dot pulsing on the screen. That was it—your uncle’s current location.

After weeks of unanswered voicemails, fruitless visits to his apartment, and even showing up at his old job only to be told he was fired after breaking the copy machine and then terrorizing his coworkers not once, byt twice— you’d had enough. If he wasn’t going to call, fine. You’d find him yourself. It wasn’t even that hard. All it took was a little signal triangulation—a trick he’d taught you himself. He’d probably be weirdly proud.

But what didn’t make sense was where the signal led: not to some dingy apartment or cheap motel, but to a run-down warehouse on the edge of the city.

You'd tried the main doors to no avail. You circled the building, looking for a different way in. No windows. No cracks. Nothing. Your gaze drifted up. Maybe the roof? If only you could reach it…

You deflated until you saw a different building with a fire escape and a garbage dumpster close by. You could reach the fire escape with it. But you'd have to jump from one building to the next.

You shifted nervously on your feet. Maybe you could make the jump, maybe.

"This is so stupid," you muttered, walking over and clambering onto the dumpster. Your hand scraped by something sticky and wet, and you gagged, wiping it off on the wall before you pulled yourself up toward the fire escape. "This better be worth it."

With a grunt, you hoisted yourself up and jumped for the fire escape. It creaked violently under your weight and dipped down with a sharp *clank.* You shrieked, clutching it tight.

"Okay… okay…" you breathed, heart thudding. Slowly, you climbed the stairs, hearing your dad’s voice in your head with every step: *This is not something you got from my side of the family.*

At the rooftop edge, you glanced between buildings. It wasn’t a massive gap—but it was enough to make your stomach drop.

"Oh boy…" You hold on and take in a deep breath. Thankfully, you wore regular sneakers today.

You paced nervously in circles, bouncing on your feet and shaking your hands.

"Okay, okay, I'm doing this. I'm really doing this."

You hyped yourself up with little jumps and then sprinted, legs pumping, and leapt—only to hit the edge hard. Pain shot through your ribs as your hands scrambled to catch the ledge. You shrieked as you dangled for a second, kicking, and with one final heave, hauled yourself up.

You flopped onto the roof with a wheeze, the cold concrete soothing your scraped palms.

"Oh, sweet mother of God," you laughed breathlessly, staring at the stars. "Uncle Baxter is so gonna hear about this when I find him."

You rolled to your knees and crawled toward the warehouse skylight. You expected to have to pry it open but instead found a neat, circular hole in the glass—like someone had already cut their way in. A wad of gum was stuck to the discarded glass near the edge.

"…Weird."

You slipped through the opening and dropped onto the catwalk inside. Voices echoed just call out for your uncle. What if they were dangerous?

You crept forward, heart pounding, and tucked yourself behind a stack of rusted crates. Carefully, you peered over the edge—and your jaw dropped.

There was your uncle, hunched over a computer, typing furiously. Looming beside him was a hulking, monstrous dog-man, all claws and snarls. An asian looking man stood at his side. The dog growled something low and threatening, gesturing sharply at your uncle to hurry up—apparently to crack some encrypted phone. Your uncle winced and nodded, typing faster.

To the right, chained against the wall, were two turtle-shaped figures. Humanoid. Green-skinned. Wearing differently colored bandanas around their eyes. Bound by heavy steel restraints. You stared in disbelief. What the hell was going on here?

I must have fallen off the building, I hit my head and now I'm in some kind of hallucinatory coma. That's got to be it. You think, it was the most logical explanation.

You pinch yourself to test the theory. The sharp pain travels up your arm and you flinch, rubbing it to ease the pain.

This is a very realistic hallucination.

"Almost done," You peer up as you hear your uncle's voice. The faint light of the computer reflecting in his glasses. "Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, yes! One hundred percent! And processing, processing... C'mon... And finished!"

You crouch lower behind the rusted crate just as glass rains from above—a shattering explosion of light and sound. You raise your head slightly in order to get a better look at whatever just crashed through the ceiling.

The two figures that drop through the ceiling land hard and fast. And they're not just anyone.

They're— More turtles?

"The turtles!" The hulking dog mutant growls, lip curling in fury.

The newcomers straighten—one clad in blue, the other in red. Twin katanas in hand as the one in blue points directly at the chaos unfolding.

"Not so fast, Dogpound! And... Dexter Spackman?" he accuses, voice sharp.

"Baxter Stockman!" the scientist shrieks in frustration.

The mutant dog— or Dogpound as the turtle had called him, doesn’t wait—he charges, massive claws swinging. But Blue is faster. He sidesteps with practiced ease and dashes for the desk. Dogpound snarls— but before he can run after blue, the turtle with the red bandana charges and lands a kick to his muzzle.

You can see Baxter run towards his desk, but before he can swipe the phone off the table, the turtle in blue slams his katana and grabs the phone.

"How did you escape my mousers?" Stockman snarls.

"We didn't." Blue replies, and as soon as he does, dozens of mechanical robots crash through the ceiling, a screech of whirring metal following suit.

The red turtle dashes forward, slashing the chains that held the other turtles. "We’re here to save the day, as usual," he smirks.

"Oh yeah, looks like you guys were doing great." Replied the one in purple with a healthy dose of sarcasm.

"You try fighting two thousand robots!" Red snaps back, pointing at the chaos unfolding behind them.

Your jaw is slightly ajar. You can't believe your own eyes and ears, and you're barely breathing. Your fingers scramble for the phone in your pocket. You clutch it tightly and hit record, trying to capture what you can from the safety of your hiding spot.

"Mikey!" Blue shouts. The orange-masked turtle looks up, and Blue tosses the phone to him in a perfect arc. "Keep away!"

Mikey bolts as the dog mutant lunges after him, tearing through crates and cables in a frenzy.

You sink deeper into the tiny corner of your hiding spot as both of them run past you at full speed. You take a deep gulp and pray to whatever gods there are that you don't get found right now.

"Wow! A gamma camera!" You hear a different voice and peak through the space between the crates to see the tallest turtle, the one with the purple bandana analyzing a small piece of tech from one of the mousers. "It detects radio isotopes. That must be what he's tagged you with."

"How do we get it off?!" The red one screams, slicing a mouser in half.

"You can't. It wears off gradually. But if someone else got sprayed, they'd give off a stronger signal."

Suddenly, a startled yelp echoes through the warehouse as the orange-masked turtle crashes down from the second floor in a tangle of limbs and momentum, hitting the ground with a painful thud. Above him, Dogpound lunges—his massive, misshapen hands raised high, jagged claws glinting under the flickering light as he prepares to bring them down like sledgehammers.

But before the blow can land, a blur of motion cuts through the chaos.

A sharp crack splits the air as the purple-masked turtle vaults in from the side, his bo staff whipping through the space between them with precise, practiced force. The impact slams into Dogpound’s side, knocking him off balance and forcing him to stagger back with a furious snarl. The orange turtle blinks up in wide-eyed relief just as his friend plants himself protectively in front of him, staff raised and ready.

"We've got to get Stockman's spray. It controls the mousers!"

"You mean that thing?" Orange asks, pointing at your uncle holding some kind of spray.

"I'll handle this, dog-man! One spritz and they'll be mouser chow!" Your uncle is ready to spritz the turtles with the sttange looking spray, and your stomach drops. What is he going to do? But before you can even process it, the red turtle comes from nowhere, throwing two precise ninja stars at the spray, which explodes on top of your uncle and the mutant.

Without warning, the mousers halt mid-lunge—just as they’re about to shred the shell-backed brothers to pieces. Their glowing eyes flicker, their heads twitching in eerie unison. Then, like a switch flipped, they swivel toward Dogpound and Stockman.

The warehouse erupts into fresh chaos.

With metallic snarls and snapping jaws, the robotic swarm descends on Dogpound, clamping down on his tail and clawed legs. He howls in rage and pain, swatting them away as sparks fly. In the confusion, your uncle bolts—arms flailing, coat streaming behind him—only to promptly trip over one of his own creations and faceplant hard into the concrete.

You facepalm slowly and drag your fingers across your face at the scene.

Dogpound snarls and yanks him upright, holding him with a clawed hand. Just as the brute starts to drag him off, a sharp ring cuts through the chaos.

Ring. Ring.

Dogpound sees the phone on the ground, lost in the chaos. He smiles as he picks it up in between his claws, but his win is short lived.

Thunk! A precisely aimed blade whistles through the air, embedding itself dead-center in the phone. Sparks sputter as the device falls in pieces.

"Hang it up, Dogpound," the turtle in purple calls. "Your call just got dropped!"

Dogpound growls, baring teeth like cracked concrete. Without another word, he barrels forward—and straight through the literal wall—leaving a man-shaped hole in the warehouse as he drags your uncle out into the night, mousers nipping at their heels.

"Nice job, guys!" The blue-masked turtle cheers as the mutant and your uncle run away.

"Yeah!" Red whoops, throwing his arms around his two friends with an exaggerated grin."From here on out, you're the A- team!"

"That’s probably the best we're gonna get out of 'em."

Silence finally settles over the warehouse, the last echoes of battle fading. You hold your breath. Count to ten. Then, slowly, cautiously, you peek out from your hiding spot.

Silence finally settles over the warehouse, the last echoes of battle fading. You hold your breath. Count to ten. Then, slowly, cautiously, you peek out from your hiding spot.

Nothing. Just a wrecked warehouse and your thudding heartbeat.

You try to take the stairs down—but your legs betray you halfway. You tumble with a grunt, landing hard. The impact sends a jolt of pain through your body, and when your hand touches your forehead, it comes away wet. You lay your head on the dirty floor and breathe in deeply, remembering the way your uncle tripped over his own feet just moments before.

"Runs in the family, I guess..." You mutter, dragging yourself upright with a wince. Every step toward your uncle’s desk is a limp, your sprained ankle screaming with each movement.

You reach the desk and stop. Really look around.

The scorched floor. Shattered windows. Broken robots twitching in piles. Gouges in the walls. Your uncle’s half-melted laptop still glowing faintly. Somewhere, a mouser drags itself in a slow circle, one leg sparking.

You limp closer to one of the walls and see a ninja star buried in a metal beam. Cautiously, you grab it and pull it from the beam, looking at the small indent it leaves behind. Your mouth hangs open slightly.

"What the fuck?"

I just found an old oneshot that's sitting half finished in my notes! Would you guys read a oneshot about a reader who is Baxter Stockman's niece and who gets into crime fighting to try to save him from himself, shenanigans ensue and it becomes a cute story of reader and Donnie getting into a relationship like two nerds?

Statistical Improbability ♡ DonBot x Reader 《 Part 1 》

Summary: You are a lone human survivor in this apocaliptic wasteland. You've made it this far by avoiding any unnecessary conflict with the mutant savages of the desert. Slowly, your drive to survive, the idea that things might get better - more bearable - gets more distant every day as you continue to search for your lost family members.

Just as it seems barely getting through each day is the only thing left for you in this world, your radar picks up a strange reading in the middle of the desert.

Context: This takes place in the wasteland warrior alternative reality/arc. Reader is the last human in the wasteland, and she survived all these years in her futuristic trailer, which she calls Big Bertha.

For some reason, the reader was aware of the Kraang before the mutagen bomb went off. She's repurposed some of their tech for her prothestic arm as well as her trailer.

I have also taken some creative liberties with how DonBot came to be, in the show he is essentially a copy of Donnie's consciousness after his body was destroyed, which is a super dark SOMA-looking plot-point. But I wanted a different flavor of existential angst, so instead DonBot has Donnie's actual brain inside of him! How does that work? Science *jazz hands*

Warnings: Be warned, this is my first TMNT fanfic ever, read at our your discretion. Mixed POVs. Slowburn? Mentions of blood, mentions of a brain in a glass tank, alcohol, a whole bunch of swearing, strangers to reluctant friends trope ( to eventual lovers ), mentions of reader's mysterious backstory, filled with some general trauma and angst.

Word Count: Some 8k+ words

Reader's POV:

"Come back here, I'll turn you into my next leather jacket!" The shrill voice taunted you through a speaker, and you gritted your teeth, grabbing the wheel until your knuckles turned white.

From your rearview mirror you could see the savages closing in from all sides, until your mirror was blown away by a shotgun blast. You grit your teeth and turn the wheel sharply, Big Bertha buckled and groaned as you went off road.

"You want a piece of me?" You pull a speaker from your panel, answering the taunt with one of your own. "Gonna have to catch me first, jerks!"

A savage lunges onto the side of your trailer. He elbows your window, and pieces of glass rain down as the maniac cuts and slashes at your neck.

You dodge just in time for the machete to imbed itself in the leather of your chair. With a primal growl, you kick the door open full force, slamming it into the mutant's face. He staggers and claws at the door, but with a swift boot to the face, he crashes onto the harsh desert sand.

"Maybe taunting the people you stole from was not such a good idea." Bertha's sweet voice hums through the speakers.

"NOT NOW!" You slam your working fist on the middle of the steering wheel. A hidden emergeswith a mechanical *click*. You punch it with all your might, your trailer creaks and shakes as just outside a hidden compartment opens up, a minigun sliding into place, it's barrel spin with a deafening whine.

With near perfect precision it blasts round after round of high powers lasers at the brutes chasing you down. Motorcycles explode and are torn apart in a violent scene. Riders are blasted off from their bikes in a shower of metal parts and flying blood, until the minigun starts to fail, sputtering in a pathetical whirring.

"Bertha, the spike strips!" You scream.

"On it." Beneath your license plate the spike traps are deployed. The spikes cover the ground of the desert, puncturing the tires of the mutants closest to the trailer. You can hear the sickening sounds of screams and screeching as the bikes are torn apart, but the tribe of savages is still hot on your tail, even after most of your tricks.

The rythmic thuds of bullets hit your trailer like rainfall. Were it not for your bulletproof plating you would be swiss cheese laying on the side of the road by now.

A honey badger mutant in an impossibly large motorbike closes in to you, giggling maniacally as it fires a bunch of crossbolts through your door.

A sharp thwack pierces your window, missing the target, but the second dart flies through the window and pierces you through your prosthetic arm and onto your side. The crossbow bolt embeds itself deep as you let out a painful cry.

Your robotic arm glitches and spasms against your will, and the steering wheel jerks out of control. Gritting your teeth, you hold the steering wheel with all of your willpower and force yourself to keep the vehicle on the road.

Out of frustration, you let out a strangled wail and slam the trailer on the motorcycle, sending the mutant flying through the air and tumbling through the rocks and dirt.

"There's too many of them." Bertha warns as her scanners show at least a dozen more savages and you're out of surprises. Despite their persistence, backing down wasn't an option.

"And you've got bigger problems." A warning flashes on your screen and Bertha shows a simulation of a rapidly approaching abyss. "We're approaching a deep chasm in 500 meters, at least a mile deep. You should turn around and find an alternate route."

"And get captured by those losers instead?" You lick your dry lips. "Ain't no way, Bertha."

You suck in a sharp breath, spitting blood and dust out of your broken window. Staring down at the rapidly approaching abyss.

"Give up, girl, and we'll make your end shift!"

Furrowing your brows in concentration, you awkwardly grab the crossbow bolt with your metal hand, snapping the end of the dart to free your arm. You pull down your helmet over your head and buckle your seatbelt.

"I'm gonna jump." You state flatly.

"Wait, that's too dangerous!" Bertha protested through the speakers. "Based on the previous damaged I've sustained, there is less than a 62% chance that-"

"Good enough for me! You got any other bright ideas?" You scream out, but before you get any answers you're cranking the gear shift. "Didn't think so!"

You grab the steering wheel like your life depends on it and hit the pedal. You open another compartment in the panel and smash the turbo button with your malfunctioning hand. The trailer rushes at an impossible velocity, pushing you back into your seat as you approach the edge of the abyss.

The trailer groans as you jump over a well angled rock, going airbone. You let out a strangled scream as you almost hit your head on the ceiling and can hear everything that wasn't chained down falling and hitting the walls of the trailer behind you.

Everything slows down to a stop. People weren't lying when they said you could see things in slow motion when you were about to die.

This is it. This is the end.

You close your eyes as tight as you can, your heart skips a beat or two as your life flashes before your eyes. Every single failure, every single mistake. Oh god, you'll never get to see them again, say sorry for everything that happened, how you wish you could go back. You forget to breathe as you embrace for impact.

The trailer lands harshly on the ground, and everything that wasn’t neatly tied to a wall falls and clatters to the ground. Bertha herself blows a tire from the impact and the fall almost crushes the hull completely on the front, she slides through the ground, creating a cloud of dust as the trailer hits a big rock that turns it on it's side.

The world spins around you as you push your door open, struggling to breathe not just from the dust in the air but your own near death experience.

You try to leave, but your seatbelt pulls you back. You groan in frustration and almost rip the fabric off of you, crawling through your window, away from the near totaled trailer. Gasping for air and struggling to swallow with your dry mouth, you fall to the ground, breathing heavily. You spit some blood and saliva on the rocks, and then out comes whatever’s left of your lunch.

Slowly, you stick your head up. Your double vision still allows you to see one of the savages tried to follow you, only to plunge into the depths of the earth bellow. The rest of the gang stops just at the edge of the abyss, staring daggers at you.

"We'll get you yet, you filthy human!" The tribe of savages shouted obscenities at you from the other side, blaring their horns at you, shaking their weapons and shooting at the sky. Tires screech horrible against the rocky ground before they ride away.

You let yourself fall into the ground, exhausted. On the bright side, the heist paid off. Fuck, who knew getting water could be so life threatening?

-----

Thankfully, the bolt didn't hit you too badly, as your metallic arm took most of the damage, but it still hurt like hell. You winced every time you had to move, and with the amount of repairs you had to make to Bertha, it meant you were wincing a lot.

"Okay, Bertha, prepare yourself." You say as you finished putting the last hydraulic jack into place, you scootch back and stand up slowly, holding your side to ease the pain. Once you're at a safe enough distance, you take a device from your pants and push a button.

The jacks groan loudly as the trailer is slowly pushed back onto it's wheels, for a second it seems like it might slip and crash back into the sand, but at the end the futuristic looking jacks push it with enough force to push the van back upright.

The door to the trailer creaks loudly as you open it up, almost falling off its hinges as you walk inside. It takes a lot of effort from you to get the spare tires from the back and change them.

You sigh, looking back at the abyss you jumped over to escape your mutant pursuers just hours ago. Getting Bertha functional took the better part of the evening, and you were still completely exposed underneath the desert heat.

From far away, you could already see a monstrosity forming on the horizon. Growing at an alarming rate, threatening to engulf everything in its path, a gluttonous entity that would destroy anything that didn't find proper shelter when it finally arrived. A sandstorm, and one of the bigger ones you'd seen.

You hit your clothes to clean them off, but it doesn't do much.

"Bertha?" You asked, using the side of your truck as leverage to get yourself back on your feet.

"Yes?" Her voice sputtered and glitched, the outer speaker damaged from the fall.

"How long until the sandstorm hits us?" You point towards the horizon, as if Bertha could really see you.

"By my calculations," She stays quiet for a couple of seconds. "We've got roughly 12 hours and 23 minutes before it reaches our current location."

With the sandstorm approaching quicker than you anticipated, it wouldn't be enough time to fully repair Bertha. Thankfully, the upgrades you’ve made over the years held up well, but this brilliant escape maneuver certainly put Bertha on her last legs. It didn’t help that the sandstorm brewing might tear her apart before you can make any further repairs.

Defeated, you threw a small wrench into it's toolbox. Getting back to your hideout was of the upmost importance in order to fix Bertha completely, but with the savages and the sandstorm looming on the horizon, you were one crash away from your end. The risk was too great, you needed to wait out this storm somewhere safe.

"Bertha, remember those big rock things we passed by years ago?" You ask as you start to recollect your tools.

"Oh yes, I remember. It was quite a lovely scenario." She chirped.

"Make a route for them," You clap your hands to get rid of the dirty in them and take your tools back to the trailer after getting Bertha functional. "They should only be a couple of hours away. It should shelter us from the worst part of the storm."

----

You struggle to keep your eyes open as you lay in bed. Tossing and turning you grunt every time you put too much pressure on your side and decide to lay on your back, one hand behind your head and another holding your gun close to your chest.

Just as you're about to doze off, you're suddenly thrown a couple inches in the air and fall from the bed, faceplanting onto the ground.

You groan, annoyed. Kicking your legs, you throw off the sheets away from the bed and fall completely to the ground, holding onto the bed to catch yourself as Bertha drives over a bumpy rock and you hit your knees onto the steel floor.

"What's going on, Bertha?" You scream out, "I'm trying to sleep over here."

"The radar's picking up some interesting energy readings."

"Interesting how?" You throw the covers back onto the bed and walk to the front of the trailer, putting a hand on your chin and analyzing some of the bullet holes in Bertha.

"I think you should check it out." You stop in your tracks and frown.

Walking up to the front of the trailer in nothing your pants and a dirty t-shirt, you sneak your head into the passenger's seat. "What?"

"It's some kind of unidentified energy reading about a mile north," The radar shows a small dot in your map, close to the caverns and mountain ranges you were headed off to. "Could be dangerous, should we avoid it?"

You look behind you to the mess of wiring on the ground. You hop onto the passenger's seat, and through the rearview mirror, you can see the sandstorm is coming closer. "How far away is this reading?"

"About a 30 minutes drive."

"No, let's go check it out," You walk to the back of the trailer, slipping into your boots and grabbing your gear. "Could be useful."

After a short drive you finally reach your destination, which seems to be an old town's ruins, bleached under the unforgiving desert sun, battered by the repeated harsh winds of the sandstorms, its once-sturdy walls crumbling into dust and mixing with the desert.

There was nearly nothing left of the decaying buildings. The main street couldn't even be seen, several years without care had cracked it beyond repair, and it was covered in dirt and sand. In the distance, a surviving windmill creaks, what's left of it's blades spin aimlessly in the hot breeze.

The whole trailer shakes and groans as it slowly comes to a stop, just close enough to the ruins that you could see a strange object reflecting the sun from far away, your curiosity peaks, and you tell Bertha to keep what's left of the guns ready.

You swing the doors open, and your heavy boots land on the rocky ground. You huff irritated as the sunlight hits your eyes. The annoying light seems to be coming just further up through the ruins.

Even though the evening draws near, the desert heat immediately hits you full force, it feels like the very sun is trying to cook you alive then and there. You open your waterskin and chug down a generous gulp of the water you stole from the savages. It was all the more refreshing in this scorching heat.

You walk through the ruins of the town, the silence is eery. Reaching what's left of a small house a small object in the sand picks your interest, kneeling down you swipe away the sand and debris, pulling what seems to be a girl's doll from the wreck. You grip it tight in your hand, what was once a bubbling town full of laughter and noise is now a ghost town, the only noise being the whisper of the wind and the occasional scurry of a mutant cockroach or bug beneath the wreckage.

You put the doll inside of your bag and carefully make your way to the strange object laying against a far away crumbling wall. It's metal reflecting the light of the evening sun. You keep your blaster ready to shoot.

As you get closer to the target, you see something that makes you stop in your tracks. A low, sickly hue of purple and pink that glows from the strange object. It was unmistakable.

The telltale sign of Kraang tech.

You dash behind a low wall and grab your blaster. Despite your calculated movements, you could feel your heart pounding in your chest as you sneak a peak, but the thing doesn't move an inch. A million thoughts race through your mind.

Were they really back? Why would they be back? Would it even matter if they came back to finish the job?

You stole a glance up from your cover, analyzing it more intently. It seemed like the strange object was a humanoid figure, laying on the ground close to the wall. Perhaps a broken droid? No. There's no way such a thing could have been made by the Kraang.

You could never forget it, the last time they came through their giant portal and brought their spaceships and guns and weapons of war. All of their machinery was sleek and polished, industrial, shiny to a sickly degree. From what you could see through your cover, this thing looked like it was made out of scrap and garbage, battered and worn down with time.

Crouching down from a safe distance, you start to pull the wrappings from your left arm until it is bare. Your prosthetic. It’s a crude thing, cobbled together from scraps and scavenged parts, far from sleek or efficient. You run your hand over the alien metal that you slapped together with iron and titanium, a makeshift arm that got the job done but constantly reminded you of your failures.

Trailing the slight glow of pink and purple markings in your hand, you almost lose yourself in thought. You breathe in deeply and struggle to close a malfunctioning hand before glancing back at the same faint glow in the machine that stood just a few feet from you.

If you could have found a way to utilize this technology years ago, perhaps others probably found a way as well.

Slowly, you grab a small rock close to your feet, throwing it over the wall. The rock hit the robot's back with an undignified "clunk" and fell to the ground in between its legs, unceremoniously.

"Huh," you think, standing up from behind the wall and making your way to the strange object. Now you could finally see it more clearly. It looked like some sort of robot... No, it was a robot of a humanoid looking turtle... man?

The metal was dark green and weathered by the harsh desert, battered and rough, but weirdly well taken care of considering the circumstances. There were several scratches and imperfections. It looked like it had seen quite the story, but the most curious aspect of the robot's anatomy was its shell, where the letters NYC still read clearly.

NYC. Ground zero.

That was a place you hadn't heard of in years, and now it stared back at you from the top of the manhole cover turned robo-turtle shell.

"Who would build something like this?" Your brows slowly furrowed in confusion.

Gently, you poke the robot on its side with your boot, not really expecting anything, but you keep your good hand on your gun.

Nothing.

You place your boot on its shell and press harder. "Yo, you good?" You tilted your head to get a better look. You prod it beneath its arm - then its face, but the hunk of metal remained motionless.

You wipe the sweat off your brow with a leathery hand.

"Yep, it's dead." Figures.

"If someone abandoned this thing by the road it was probably for a good reason," You say out loud to yourself. "Perhaps it is best to just use it for scrap."

There was just the slighest chance you could get it back online, reprogram it, and you could use a hand or two with big Bertha. An AI assistant was great but a full-on robot?

You hum as you run over the pros and cons through your head. If you leave it here, it'll definitely be torn apart by the sandstorm. The thought of getting mauled by a rogue robot you fixed was something out of a blockbuster horror movie, but the thought of such a fascinating piece of tech being abandoned ate you up inside. What was the saying again? Curiosity killed the cat?

You bit your lower lip, mulling it over.

Kneeling next to the robot, you touch its arm. The intense heat has made the metal so hot you could fry an egg on it. It must have been there for at least a couple of hours. Were it not for your glove, you could have burned yourself. You turn it over carefully, inspecting the indents of the metal and texture. It doesn't seem too badly damaged—nothing you couldn't fix inside big Bertha.

"Looks like we've got ourselves some company, Bertha." Standing up, you hit your pants to get rid of the sand and grab the robot by its legs, taking in a deep breath.

"This is going to hurt." You say to yourself as you start to pull the thing back to your trailer, your side flaring up in excruciating pain with each additional pull.

-----

You haul the robot into your trailer, feeling light headed from the effort. It's heavy body falls to the ground with a thud as you shove it inside.

Slumping against the wall, you press a hand to your side, wincing as it burns and warmth seeps through your fingers. You exhaled, ragged, trying to control your breathing.

"What did you find out there?" Bertha asks as the robot hits the ground, lifeless.

"Just... just a..." You struggle to breathe. "Robot... fuck." Grunting you push yourself back from the wall and close the door.

"Are you okay?" Bertha asks concerned, noticing your labored breathing.

"Damn stitches came undone. I'll be right back." You leave the robot to cool down inside your trailer while you head to your room to fix the stitches.

Bertha rumbles beneath you accelarating, so you can actually reach your shelter before sundown.

You throw your leather gloves and googles on the table. Turning on the trailer's dim lights, they flicker, struggling to keep on as you dig out your supplies -needle, thread, an old bottle of whiskey. You take a swig first, wincing at the bitter taste that burns your throat before dousing a rag and cleaning your wound.

The pain hits sharp, and your side burns as you grit your teeth and start stitching. By the time you're finished, you throw on a cleaner t-shirt before coming back to check on your guest.

Kneeling next to the robot, you brush the back of your hand against its metal plating, noticing it has already cooled down enough for you to fix it up.

With a grunt, you push it into a sitting position on the floor, then crawl behind it, inspecting the faint glow pulsating from its markings. Thing's still got some juice, apparently, but clearly not enough to be functional.

Taking out your notepad, you take your time with the machine. Rough coal sketches take shape in your pages, its segmented shell, the way the kraang technology seems to have been integrated in its sides, and the delicate mechanics of the three-fingered hands. Your calloused fingers trail the edges of its shell and each scratch and bump from the years of use.

"Man, I really would like to meet whoever built this thing." You mutter, jotting down quick notes.

Bertha hums through the speakers, guiding you into the mouth of a cave that's just big enough to shelter you two. Well, all three of you. "Do you think it still works?"

"I guess we'll have to figure it out."

You take a look at its left hand. Some of the screws had become loose. You tighten them up with a few quick turns of your screwdriver. The joints creak as you oil them, and you clean the excess that trails down with an old rag.

With your curiosity peaking, you sit down behind the robot again and carefully take it's head in your hands.

"Time to see what hardware this thing's packing." You tap the back of the robot's head with your screwdriver lightly, but Bertha groans loudly. "Oh, get your mind out of the gutter, Bertha."

Slowly, you remove all of the screws from the head, carefully you peel the plating back-

It slips from your hands, hitting the floor with a hollow *clang.*

Your breath catches in your throath.

"What? Is everything okay?" Bertha asks, voice sharp with concern.

Your feet scramble and scootch backswards quickly until your back hits the wall. A trembling hand covers your mouth.

"Hey, are you okay?" When you struggle to respond, Bertha calls your name loudly, snapping you out of your shock.

You swallow hard, pointing at the robot. "It's got a brain."

Silence.

"What?"

"It has a brain, Bertha!" You push your damp hair back, trying to make sense of the scene in front of you.

The brain sat in a glass-like tank, suspended on a thick, yellowed fluid. Wires snaked inside and hooked it up to a strange spine-line mechanism at the back of what would be its skull. It seemed damaged, some faulty wiring, almost as if he had been hit over the head.

The whole scene looked like something straight out of a science fiction book, and it makes your already empty stomach churn.

Slowly, you push yourself up against the wall, staring at the robot - no, at *him* - slumped lifelessly in front of you.

Is it a person? Some kind of cyborg? Could it have been human?

This thing looked like it was at least two decades old, could it be from the time when the bomb hit?

You gulp, considering your next options. *If it has a brain, it's a person.* Right? And you don't deal with people - if you could even call the savage mutants of the desert people - not since you got tired of pulling knives out of your back.

"Is it a person?" Bertha asks, a tinge of curiosity in her robotic voice.

"I don't know, I mean..." You close your eyes. "Probably?"

"Is he alive?" She questions.

"Maybe?" You laugh nervously, throath dry. "I don’t know what to do." And then you admit.

"Remember your number one rule?" She murmurs.

You nod slowly. "People are trouble."

Bertha hums in agreement. "We can still throw him back into the desert."

Bertha was right, throwing him back into the desert was still an option, but that would probably count as murder, not that you were a saint, but the idea of throwing a helpless person into the wasteland didn't sit right with you. You huff and push yourself off the wall, walking back to the robot and avoiding your mess of tools.

You walk closer to the robot, your legs feeling unsteady with each step you take closer to him. Kneeling, you study his exposed brain, reaching out to touch the glass tank with your metal hand and inspect the damage he'd sustained.

The sandstorm was already coming in strong, the force of the winds outside could be heard from inside the trailer and a cloud of dust started to form through the window.

Your eyebrows furrow as you look at the brain in the glass tank, wondering what kind of person would end up inside a humanoid turtle robot.

You suck in a shaky breath.

Maybe...

Running to your mountain of tools, metal, and other thingamabobs laying on your floor, you rummage through the pile of scrap, throwing useless pieces to your side as your frustration mounts. "Where is it?"

"What are you doing?" Bertha asks, confused at your sudden movements.

"I'm thinking!" You hit your hands in frustration on the floor.

"C'mon, c'mon, tell me I didn't throw it away..." You throw some old pieces of metal and tools around as you frantically search for it, letting out a loud "aha!" Once you finally find it.

From the disorganized pile of tools, you yank out an old dusty kraang charger. It was the same kind they used for their kraang droids, you never even knew what you'd use it for when you found it in the ruins of a building in New York, but you were glad you didn't throw it away now.

"Are you going to turn it on?" Bertha questions. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Maybe, I just..." Scootching closer to the robot. Cyborg. Thing sitting in the middle of your trailer, your fingers fumble, you pick up your tools and put the wires back in its place, being careful not to mess with anything important. "I want to see what kind of person he is."

"And if he's a crazy robot on the loose?"

"Then it's a good thing I've got you here." Once you're sure everything seems to be fixed, you put the metal plating back on its head, and then hook up the spare charger, securing the connection with a quiet click.

Nothing happens.

Your hands tremble in anticipation in your lap, but when nothing changes after a couple of seconds, your shoulders slump. You assume it would take the thing at least a couple of hours to charge up, or maybe you were too late to find it. It might be braindead by this point.

"Great." You close your eyes and push yourself up, rubbing a metal hand down your face. The stupid thing is probably already too far gone to

A sudden jolt. You barely register the whirring hum before it stands up suddenly.

"As- As I was saying, we need to find-" The robot stood up suddenly with enough force to hit you with it's flailing arms. You stagger back, tripping over your toolbox. You let out a sharp yell as you hit your side.

The robot looks around startled at your sudden noise, head snapping to look at you on the floor. A low, electronic hum cuts through the air as his systems kick back online. Glowing markings flickering to life with full power, illuminating the dim trailer in its eerie pulses of purple.

You stare up at it, unmoving.

"What the fuck." You breath out.

The machine shudders, its body humming as systems power up, the robot's limbs twich and readjust after being powered down for so long.

A pause.

Then, in a voice more human than you anticipated:

"Oh."

-----

DonBot's POV:

"As- As I was saying, we need-" A loud electric voice stutters as the robot comes back to life.

Suddenly, his systems kick back on, and his body jerks. He was just in the middle of finishing his sentence when everything went dark. It took a split-second before he readjusted and started to take in his surroundings. He wasn't in the desert, and Raph was nowhere to be seen.

Donatello has been left with his own thoughts for hours as his body powered down, unsure of what had happened, if Raph was even safe.

Alarms flare in his head. His sensors scan his surroundings, locking onto something fascinating and impossible.

A statiscal improbability staring right at him.

A human.

She stares at him with intense eyes, pale as a sheet, as if she'd just seen a ghost. Slowly, she rises to her feet stood slowly, one hand clutching her side, eyes narrowed.

"Uhm." She hesitates. "Hey. Robot, uhm thing, what are you talking about?"

He moves switfly. Before she can even notice it, the woman is being held against the wall with his tech-staff pressed against her throat. She gasps, eyes flashing with fear and anger.

"Who are you? Where am I?" Donatello's voice cuts through the air, synthetic but sharp. Human or not, this girl has just taken him into her trailer, and she might be a threat.

She scoffs.

"Who am I? The girl that pulled your ass from the sun before your circuits melted out there." She nods to the door. "And the girl with the automatic laser guns."

Bertha takes the hint. The walls whiropen, revealing a row of small but deadly laser turrets, all of them simultaneously locking onto the robot's forehead and shell.

"Please disengage from any further attacks." Bertha asks in a sweet voice.

He glances at the guns, then back at the girl's face. The odds were not in his favor.

"So," She starts. "I suggest you back off. And then, we can talk about this." Hands raised in front of her, she raises an eyebrow in question.

He hesitates for a second, but wagers she wasn't one of his attackers from earlier, or he wouldn't be talking right now.

He lets her go. She stumbles forward, coughing and rubbing her throat. That was going to leave a bruise.

She glares up at him. "Damn, some way to say thanks."

"What am I doing here?" His robotic voice demanded.

"Chill out, I found you in an old town's ruins and took you in." She rubbed her collarbone from where he hit her with the bo-staff. Ouch, damn thing came out of nowhere.

"I thought you were scrap or something, then I opened up your plating." She taps the side of her own head. "What the heck even are you?"

Donatello stiffens.

"I'm a person!" He stammers. "Well, turtle. Well, okay, turtle mind in a robot body. But, I-"

She furrowed her brows the longer he kept rambling, but it didn't make it any easier for Donatello to find the words to explain his current predicament.

"My body was destroyed, but I was cybenetically wired to Metalhead Mark II, a robot I designed. So, I transferred my consciousness into this machine." He gestures at himself.

She looked at him up and down, never did he feel so comscious about his new robotic body. The girl blinks slowly. It takes her a moment to process.

"Okay..." She rubs her temple. "So, you're not like an AI or something."

"No." He shakes his head.

"You're a person." She stated.

"Mutant turtle," He correct, "But well. Yes."

"Mutant turtle." She repeats and lets out a snicker. "Fine. What were you doing cooking out there in the sun, turtle man?"

Oh, that's right.

"Raph!" He lets out a scream, suddenly remembered what got him into this mess.

"What?"

"He's my brother, I need to find him!" He ran off to the door, but the girl grabbed him by the arm and yanked him back.

"Did your circuits get fried out there!?" She pushed him against the wall and pointed a finger to the window. "We're in the middle of a sandstorm!"

Outside, the sandstorm rages - thick, churning clouds of dust outside the mouth of the cave.

He pushes her hand off of him. "But I—"

“Fine,” She snarls, shaking her head and gesturing to the door. “You wanna kill yourself out there? Be my guest, but I'm not driving out there in this storm."

He clenches his fists, scanning the storm while she walks away, throwing her hands into the air before sitting down at her table and grabbing some tools nearby.

Defeated, he lets out a robotic sigh, unfortunately this stranger was right, the winds howled outside, even though it seemed that they had taken shelter inside some sort of cave, the wind that made it into the cave was still strong enough to thrash against the walls of the trailer.

The sandstorm is picking up intensity—howling gusts of dirt and debris hammer against the thin metal and glass. Inside, it's dim, save for the flickering lights and a lantern, as well as the faint glow of the old Kraang charger that was still connected to his body. His systems were still blinking to life slowly, his power had run way too low, he wouldn't make it far.

Donnie just hoped his brother could take care of himself a little bit longer until he got back.

Curiosity peaks again, and he looks at the human woman in front of him, she sat at the table with all sorts of tools, fiddling with her mechanical arm.

----

Reader's POV:

You try to ignore him, but your nerves are wrecking you. Having someone in your personal space was a bit unnerving after so long. Sure, you had Bertha, but she wasn't really a person.

You can feel his sensors scanning you, even though you’re not looking at him. You half contemplated shutting him down again, if that would even be possible. After all, he did attack you.

The storm outside thickens, the sand’s beginning to coat the glass, blurring everything outside into a hazy mess. The atmosphere feels thick—suffocating.

You glance back when you can feel his gaze hasn't shifted in a couple of long seconds. When your eyes meet his sensors, he averts his gaze. You let out a huff and go back to meddling with your still damaged prothesis.

He finally breaks the silence.

"So, how did a human end up in the wasteland? When the mutagen bomb hit, there was nobody left."

You sigh, turning back into your chair to look at him.

"A brilliant observation, I hadn't noticed." You reply sarcastically and snap your real fingers. "I just did, that's it." There's a bitter tone that you don't even attempt to hide.

In a way, you envy the mutants of the desert, your lonely life fit you, of course, but it also meant always looking over your shoulder, patching your own wounds, rescuing yourself all the time.

"That's not a real answer." He presses, snapping you away from your train of thought.

"That wasn’t a real question." You snap back. "What's with the interrogation?"

He shakes his head.

"Just trying to make conversation since you saved my life and all, and we're going to be stuck together until this sandstorm passes."

She glances up at him, narrowing your eyes. "Since when do robots make small talk?"

"I told you - I'm not a robot."

"Fine." You grumble, focusing on the upper end of your arm, where it connected to your shoulder. "Ever since the world turned into, well, shit. End of story."

He watches you, silent for a long moment, sat in a makeshift seat across the room. "Are there any others?"

"I've got no idea," you growl, but your voice lacks conviction. "If I knew you were this chatty, I'd have thought twice about hauling you into my trailer."

He flinches just slightly, and you feel a pnag of regret into your chest.

The silence stretched again.

The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. You tried to pay it no mind as you attempted to get your arm fully operational again. You swore underneath your breath as the screwdriver slipped from your grasp, clattering to the floor. Scooting over to the edge of your seat so you could pick it up.

Before you reach it, the robot beat you to it.

"Looks like you could use a hand or two." He offers you the screwdriver. "You know, I'd say I've got quite the experience."

You ponder it for a second, before rolling your eyes and nodding to the seat in front of you.

He almost seems excited when he sits down. Slowly, he starts to inspect your prosthetic with careful precision.

"Who built this?" He asks, turning your arm in his oversized three-fingered hand.

"I did." You answer flatly.

His eyes, or sensors brighten - literally. "Oh woah." He turns your hand around in his own. It was almost comical how small your fingers looked in comparison to his. "This is amazing! I've never seen technology integrated in a prosthetic like this before."

You blink.

"Thanks."

He inspects the faint purple glow in your prosthetic.

"Where did you get this tech from?" He questions as he starts to loosen some screws.

"This? I could ask you the same thing." She raises an eyebrow with a smirk, looking at the same purple glow in his mechanisms.

"Well, does saying it comes from aliens from another dimension make sense to you?"

You chuckle. "Uhm, yeah."

He starts to adjust some of the internal wiring, his movements swift and precise. You watch with interest at how much control he seems to have over his hands, even though he only has 6 fingers in total.

"I'm sorry, by the way. For earlier, for attacking you. And for the questions, I didn't mean to offend," it says softly. "It's just fascinating! I- I mean," he stutters as he tries to find the best way to put his thoughts into words, rolling the screwdriver in his hand as he explains.

You tense, caught in between shutting his next question down or brushing it off.

"You might be the only human left in the wasteland."

Your jaw clenches.

"Hooray for me." You say bitterly and ball up your real fist.

The robot’s silence is palpable, a weight in the air. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, but you feel the intensity of its observation.

"Sorry." He apologizes softly.

You bite back your sharp tongue.

"Look. " You hesitate, "It was pure luck. When the bomb hit, I happened to be in a makeshift lab of mine. It was enough to get me to survive the bomb and then the, well, fallout."

"But enough about me, you're a person, right? What's your name, turtle-man?" You change the topic of the conversation before he could prod any further into your personal life.

"Donatello" He answers. "But you can just call me Donnie."

'"Donatello." You tilt your head. "You're italian?"

That gets a chuckle out of him. "No, my father just really admired the great artists of the Renaissance." He takes away a damaged piece and replaces it with a new one.

"What's your name?"

You hesitate, but it's not like this nugget of information would tell him much else about yourself, so you tell him.

You watch as he repeats it slowly in a low voice, testing how it feels in his voicebox.

"That's a nice name."

"Psst. Maybe," You say, "But nobody really calls me that anymore. These days, when I meet someone they usually just call me something like 'Ghost'."

"The Ghost?" He asks, confused.

"Yep, you know." You sigh. "Last human on the wasteland and all." He thinks for a moment, then nods in understanding.

"So you're the one who built this robot body you're in right now?" You question him, looking back in his eyes, sensors? It felt weirdly personal, so you averted your gaze.

"I built this battle robot once, his name was Metalhead" He nods and hums as he explains, "But he got destroyed, so I made another one. I would never have thought it'd end up saving my life but, here we are."

"Cool." You say. "Not the your body getting destroyed part but, erhm, you know..." You rub the back of your neck with your good hand, cringing at the way your own voice sounded. Who knew spending years only talking to an AI assistant would put such a damper on your social skills.

"What about the voice that came through the speakers early?" He points at the speakers. Seaking of the devil...

"It's rude to talk about someone that's listening." Bertha chirps in, Donnie looks flustered for a second and starts to stutter out an apology.

"That's Bertha,sdon't mind her. She's my AI assistant." You answer. "I programmed her so she could be my lookout and auto-pilot."

"Just your lookout and auto-pilot?" She feigns hurt. "And here I thought we were actual friends." You roll your eyes and smile at Bertha's dramatics. Donatello watches the exchange in amusement.

"That's resourceful. No wonder you survived so long in the desert." He points out.

You give him a small smile.

"You know," Donatello says after a moment, "It's been a long time since I've had a conversation with anyone other than my brother."

"What happened to him?"

His hands still.

"Oh brother, we were ambushed by a gang of savages, then I lost consciousness." He admits. "When I came back online I was, well, here. I hope he's okay out there."

You grunt, shifting in your chair. "Seems like you two have made it pretty far. Can he take care of himself?"

"It's not that," Donnie says, his voice is quieter this time "He's lost most of his memories before the bomb. I'm worried about what could happen to him... but mostly, what could happen to anybody in his way."

Stealing a look at your own wall, your eyes find the lonely picture frame of you back in high school, surrounded by your father and friends, the only spec of your old life you had left at this point. You sigh, letting your gaze fall on the ground as you reflect.

"Do you have any idea where to start searching?" You finally look at him as he inspects your fingers in his own.

"Once the winds die down I could try to triangulate his location." He puts your hand down, inspecting his work.

"Sounds like a good start." You answer, wanting to add that you would help, you before you could speak again, he had already finished.

"And there you have it!" He spins the screwdriver in his hands before placing it in your toolbox. "A not so brand new robotic arm, but completely functional nonetheless."

You flex your fingers. The movement feels smoother than before, as if you had never even been shot.

You glance at him. "Thank you, Donatello."

His head tilts slightly, almost as if he's smiling. "You're welcome."

He looks at you, waiting for you to add anything else. The moment lingers longer than it should as you don'treally know what else to say.

He clears his throat, rubbing the back of his head. "So, how did this even happen?" He looks at your prosthetic arm, but you can also see him glance at the bullet marks in Bertha's plating.

"Savages." You say, keeping your voice even. "Had a run-in with them, too."

He waits expectantly. You rub your neck.

"Are you going to elaborate?" Donatello asks, more confused than annoyed.

"Hmm. Nope." You shake your head.

"Oh, okay." You chuckle at his response, half expecting him to press, but glad he took the hint.

You get up, popping your joints and gathering your tools.

"Well, it's getting late, and I've had a full day, so..." You let out a yawn and point towards your room.

"Oh, right! Seems like this storm isn't going to die down anytime soon."

"Do you need anything?" You cross your arms, and shift your weight from one foot to the other.

"I'll be fine, you've already done enough for me. Thanks." Donatello replies.

"Right." A long silence stretches between you, filled only by the howling wind outside and the occasional scrape of debris against the trailer. The storm rages on, the moment feels awkward, but for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel so alone. "Aight, imma head off now."

"Good night."

"Good night, Donatello." You close the door to your room behind you.

TMNT Movie (Bayverse) Masterlist!

Main Masterlist!

»»-----------►

Raphael

Bayverse Turtles with a female s/o! (Cuddling hcs)

Leonardo

Bayverse Turtles with a female s/o! (Cuddling hcs)

Donatello

Bayverse Turtles with a female s/o! (Cuddling hcs)

Michelangelo

Bayverse Turtles with a female s/o! (Cuddling hcs)

Rottmnt Masterlist!

Main Masterlist!

»»-----------►

(Art by @/Chokico_ on Twitter!)

Raphael

Nothing yet

Leonardo

Nothing Yet

Donatello

Nothing yet

Michelangelo

Nothing yet