Tmnt X You - Blog Posts

All to Break it again

PT 2 of Her Healed heart MasterList

Okay, this was a request I'm sorry this took so long, between everything and the small writer slump I've been going through... I am happy to finally get something out to you all. HAPPY NEW YEAR BTW... okay and I did a pole on my Tumbler for who gets the girl... ya'll are ruthless... like actually. Mavuikaaa shouts out to them for the request!!!! Cheating, cursing, Abusive relationship, sex... yeah they said sad so...) OOC RAPH! (I think nearly all the boys would be at least decent boyfriends... but for the sake of it all...)

(It takes a few months after they've been dating... and after the Out of the Shadow movie [that wasn't relevant last chap but it is in this one]

Y/n sat quietly on the couch, crocheting a small turtle to match the plush Raph had made for her. She was waiting for him to return, and after an argument with Leo, he left to blow off some steam... she'd be waiting a while.  "Where do you think he's at?" A soft but stern voice called out, increasing in volume as the figure walked out of the Dojo. Y/n glanced up and softly smiled at her best friend. Leo stood in the doorway, sweat dripping down his form and his katakanas snuggling on his back.

"The gym or rooftop," truth was... she had no idea where he was. He had a habit of just getting up and leaving, not telling anyone where he was going or when he'd return. It had worsened in recent weeks, but she simply brushed it off as his usual attitude. Having been with Raph for a little over a couple months, she was still in the honeymoon phase. Rose-colored lens and a mindset that he could do no wrong. The perfect... man. However, Leo could see right through that. He'd seen Raph leave her waiting one too many times. He has seen him walk out of the room while they were making love... leaving Y/n sitting on the bed... Cold... Lonely... Unsatisfied. But yet, she never moved... simply waiting for him to return. He'd watch Raph leave on their date night, checking his phone before making up an excuse to head to the surface... Again leaving Y/n dolled up... in the lair... once again... waiting.

'He's...no,' Leo shook the ideas out of his head... deciding to join Y/n on the couch. Gently sitting on the cochin next to her, watching as her delicate hands gently held the thread and hook, pulling it through and repeating... He watched the way her tongue was stuck out in concentration... 'Oh, if you were my girl... I'd never keep you waiting He chuckled to himself... kicking himself for allowing his brother to take her... especially watching her now.

"Leo..." Her voice was soft... almost fragile. One he wasn't expecting, completely contradicting the smile on her face. "do... do you think... he found someone else?" Her question... unfortunately didn't surprise him, in fact... he and she were both on the same page as usual.

"I..." He silenced himself...hearing the rev of Raph's bike entering the garage of the lair. "later... we can talk later," He sighed, getting up off the couch to move seats, knowing Raph would be pissy if he caught him so close to her.

"I'M HOME!" His voice... was booming, echoing through the lair... but what startled Leo the most... was the way Y/n jumped, not at the volume... no... at the voice itself. His voice.

"HI BABE!" Y/n called, getting up to greet her green boyfriend at the living room entrance. She smiled softly at him, the yarn clenched tightly in her hands, the small turtle suffocating from her grasp.

"Oh, hey Y/n," His voice held no excitement... no acknowledgment... no love. It was just... as if he was talking to a wall or toy. "Could you go make me something, I'm starving!" The way she flinched... the way she moved without question... she had lost the subtle relaxed energy she had moments ago... the moment he walked in.

"R-right... Absolutely!" Setting down the craft, she made quick way to the Kitchen. Leo... hated what he was seeing, she wasn't a housewife... to return after hours of being gone... and to demand food... No hug? No kiss? No Hi, love?

"Leo..." Raph gave a subtle nod to his older brother before following close behind her.

"Raph..." Leo could only stare... watching... waiting... Analyzing his brother... 'why? Why so cold? Why so distant? Why so... human-like?' He sat there for a moment, just listening to them softly talking in the kitchen. Not loud enough for him to hear... but enough for him to know... they were arguing. The muffed sounds of Raph huffing and grunting... responding with sorry or don't question me. He couldn't stop himself from slowly approaching, peaking around the corner, watching as Y/n shuffled around the Kitchen, glass plate in hand, heating up the leftovers from last night's pot roast. Upon closer inspection... it wasn't just any glass plate. Of course not, Raph only ate off his limited-edition Batman cutlery.

Oh, and Leo watched it in slow motion... the way her foot caught the edge of the carpet, something Donnie was supposed to fix ages ago, how she gasped, how her eyes zeroed in on the plate... that was following in front of her. Watched how she reached out to catch it, neglecting her own safety, allowing her jaw to harshly hit the ground while she barely missed the plate... he watched as it shattered... glass flying, digging into her hands and scattering across the tile. He watched as tears gathered in her eyes... staring at the plate... then glancing back at the hulking figure that sat still on the bar stool.

"AH!" Y/n's voice shattered whatever concentration he had, making a quick move to attend to her... but he halted... the look on her face... the way her pupils dilated in fear. How her breath slowed as reality slowly soaked in.

"DAMN IT Y/N!" Raph's voice was... full of rage. Not the way one should speak when their lover had just been hurt. Leo didn't move, he wanted... no he needed to see how this played out. He watched as Raph got up, practically stepping over Y/n reaching down to pick up the pieces of his shattered collectible. "YOU FUCKIN BROKE IT!" He roared, reaching for another piece, holding them, trying to piece them back together.

"Ah! I'm so sorry! I-I'll find you another one!" Using her glass and soaked hands to push herself up off the ground... she again, neglected herself to tend to him, Leo watched as she only slightly winced while doing so... simply shaking her head and standing to peer over Raphs shoulder.

Raph snorted in disbelief, "Oh really? How do you expect to do that huh?" His voice was... deep... rough... angry... "HUH?" Jetting up to full height, his shell made contact with her jaw as he stood. Now towering over the mess and her. "Only a few were ever made... SO HOW!" Y/n groaned softly from the pain... wiping the bit of blood that dripped from her lip due to her biting it.

"M-maybe I can fix it!" Now bouncing up herself, she stared up at him. His looming figure took steps closer to her... causing her to take steps back, one, two, three, four...until she met the counter... pinning her under him. She knew she couldn't fight back... not against him... not enough to protect herself if he had a lash out... again. "R-Raph, You're scaring me... please," Her soft whimper as Raph tightly gripped her upper arm caused Leo to act. Moving quickly and swiftly, he tightly gripped Raphs forearm...a warning glare in his eyes.

"Let... Her... Go!" His voice was stern, venomous... When he felt Raphs grip only tighten... he did something he never thought he'd do... Drawing a kitchen knife from the block... he held it to Raphs bicep. "Now"

"L-Leo," Y/n gasped softly, from both his appearance and his action. She sighed in relief when Raph let go... a bruise already forming. Ducking quickly, using what Leo had taught her ages ago to escape the confines of Raphs hulking figure. Swiftly and smoothly, she found herself safe behind Leo... who still stood... glaring at his brother.

"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?"

"SHE BROKE MY PLATE!"

"SO YOU CAN JUST HURT HER?? ARE YOU A FUCKIN ANIMAL?" Raphs response pissed him off... how dare he think that such a motive was good enough to lay a hand on a woman... not just any woman... his own woman... 'No fuck his woman... my woman' Leo gritted his teeth, after seeing that. Raph deserved nothing... nobody like Y/n.

"She... I-" Raph was cut off by Leo... who had lowered the knife and had his arm wrapped around Y/n...who was still hiding behind him.

"Save it... You're her lover... you should be protecting her... not hurting her!"

"I DO PROTECT HER!"

"JUST NOT FROM YOURSELF APPARENTLY!"

"WELL AREN'T YOU JUST MR.PERFECT!" Raph stood chest to chest with Leo... his glare never wavering

"I... I never claimed to be perfect... but at least I don't let my emotions control me and hurt the ones I care for," Oh his calm voice pissed Raph off even more... left his blood boiling.

'Who the fuck are you to get involved?' He grumbled in his head... "I didn't hurt her..."

"The bruise says otherwise!"

"I-" Raph halted... watching as her form shook softly behind Leo... wanting to run... but too scared to leave the wall that was her best friend. Raph only scoffed, rolling his eyes while hitting Leo's shoulder on his way out of the room... Causing both Leo and Y/n to gasp.

(mini time skip)

Y/n had left... telling Leo she was going to search for the plate... and fix what she'd done... no matter how much it cost. Ever insistent, even after Leo told her she shouldn't reward Raph for his lash out... and that accidents happen. She left the lair in high tension... the two brothers refusing to even look the other in the eyes.

"So... You're just that Fucken stupid?" Leo sat, gently holding the crocheted turtle between his fingers, not looking up to meet his brother's glare.

"No one asked you to get involved..." Leo didn't care... This was Y/n they were talking about, the girl he GAVE... He gave to his brother... to hold, cherish, love... not whatever was going on now...

"I don't give a damn... You hurt her... and not only emotionally with you leaving all the damn time but physically... PHYSICALLY!!" He roared, moving to stand... Raphs brush-off attitude pissing him off.

"I KNOW! Alright, I messed up... but what do you want me to do? Can't fucken turn back the clock and undo it!"

"I gave YOU!" Leo was furious... breathing heavily, his eyes pinned to Raph... and his fists clenched tightly at his sides... a poor excuse of a way to try and hold himself back. With a deep breath, he thought his words over carefully before continuing. "I gave you... the greatest girl of all Times," Now standing over Raph, turtle set aside safely... "I helped you get her... I played wingman... and yet," He couldn't stop them... not the tears of rage that threatened to fall... From the sheer... Embarrassment, rage, longing? He didn't know, but he knew they were for her. "I thought she'd be happier with you... but she's terrified of you... How can you sit there and just... be okay with that?" He was breathless, truly trying to fathom how Raph could do such a thing.

"There's someone else..." It was hesitant... nothing but a mere whisper, but to the leader... it was like Raph had just screamed in his face...

"What..." He watched as Raph panicked, having heard the words spoken for the first time. The soft gasp that left his lips after admitting such a thing... "Hehe... hahah! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!" Now grabbing him by the front of his plastron, Leo forced him to stand... "YOU'RE GIVEN THE CHANCE OF A LIFETIME TO BE WITH A GIRL THAT TRULY WANTS YOU..." He took a deep breath... but his screaming continued... "AND YOU GO SLEEP WITH SOMEONE ELSE!?"

"I DON'T KNOW OKAY... She was... just there and... I couldn't contain myself," He didn't try to argue back... he had no right to. Now after... Knowing,  knowing that he was literally cheating on his older brother's dream girl.

"I really... Really feel like killing you..." Leo's voice was dark... and venomous... "but... At least she knows," The smirk that took over Leo's face was... devilish, like he had caught an angle in his sinful trap. With a slight shift of weight from one foot to the other... Leo revealed what was behind his large shell.

"what do you... Y/n..." Raphs eyes widened... There she was... in all her beautiful glory... but it was tainted. Her tear-stained face, the way her eyebrows furred in rage, and how her eyes were dark... oh so dark.

"Thank you, Leo... I should've known..." She sighed, bringing her sleeve up to wipe her face. "I... I'd like to go home now," Her voice was even... as if she wasn't heartbroken... like who she thought was the love of her life, didn't just admit to cheating on her.

"I... Wait!" He went to shove Leo out of his way, but the hero in blue refused to move...

"You've done enough..."

"YOU SET ME UP!! WHY? Y/N!" Raph screamed, "PLEASE... let me explain!" Still struggling against Leo, Raph reached out for her, watching as she only stared at him...

"Why? You... admitted yourself," All this time, "The number of times... you left me...were they all for her?" He could see the pieces all falling into place... "Left me in bed... Date nights..." She chuckled, it was humorless but still...  "All for her?"

"I... Okay, fine but scream at me, hit me... Something!" He wanted a reaction from her... fear, rage, sadness... anything to show she cared, anything... that would give him some type of amo to make her stay.

"No... I," She sighed softly, refusing to look away from him... staring at his distressed eyes over Leo's shoulder... She knew she had to face him now... or else she'd fall for his trap all over again. "I am done... wasting tears on you..." With a shove, he fell back onto the couch, his weight causing it to strain under him. He moved to get up but stopped...watching as Leo moved, leading Y/n to his bedroom, arm around her shoulder... holding her close to his chest.

"Don't... bother us Raph," Oh he didn't miss the way Leo smirked. The way his arm tightened ever so slightly or how it moved from her shoulder to her waist.

 Raph sat down... he deserved this. He got too greedy and now... he was left with a girl who didn't take the time to remember how he liked his sandwiches... how he hated sweaty bandanas, or that he loved the simple act of just... existing together. Raph knew Leo was the one that healed her heart... "All for me to break it again.." He scoffed... knowing no matter what, he lost, he lost the girl, the gracious chance of a love life... to his brother... the guy that should've had her first... Accepting his sadness... he sat on the couch... allowing the tears to flow and the soft sobs to leave his throat... He wanted no sympathy... only to wallow in his own anguish at the opportunity he fucked up.

(OKAY OKAY... I hope that was up to expectations... this was hard to write like.. really hard wokring on the next chapter for my Villian Deku x Y/N HAVE A GREAT DAY AND REMEMBER TO EAT, DRINK, AND LOVE YOURSELF BYEEEEEE LOVE YOU ALL)

The Music Box

2012Donnie x FemReader (fluffy/a little angst) MasterList

[FINALS ARE OVER AND IM FREEEE!!!!! Anyways! I'm so happy, i know ive been like MIA but i promise, I'll get y'all as many chapters as possible!!! Okay.... WHO HERE LOVES  2012 TURTLES!! Me i do... and Donnie is one of my favorites... Anyways this is becoming way too long... My point is... everyone remembers the Music box/ Big Foot episode right? Anyways this is based on that a Donnie x FemReader!.. please enjoy]

   "Ugh" Donnie sat, arms resting against the railway of the farmhouse porch. He was gazing into the night sky, unsure how to react to the day's rejection. The music box he had worked so hard on... from the construction of it, the careful song selection... the specific images chosen to decorate the delicate gift. He couldn't help but wonder if this whole crush thing was really worth it... Even after the kiss she gave him after the Big Foot incident... Going as far as calling him 'My Mutant.' her voice rang through his head... but was he really? "No... no, I'm just... A mutant... nothing more." He knew this... he'd known this for so long but, yet "God, I'm such an idiot," The soft thud of the music box falling from his hands didn't even faze him.

"D? You okay?" Y/n's soft voice rang out through the empty woods. Donnie glanced back at the front door, eyes slightly narrowing at her appearance.

"Oh, Hey..."  From the look in his eyes, she knew he had been crying, not to mention the slight rough end to his voice. He barely recognized her existence, simply drifting into his own little world.

"Okay, Y/n... let's help him out." She muttered to herself, kneeling down to gently retrieve the discarded music box. "It's beautiful!" As she stood to full height... she couldn't help but admire the careful craftsmanship that Donnie had put into it. Running her fingers softly over the engravings that littered the side. Each flower, letter, star... was all hand carved. She couldn't take her eyes away from the masterpiece... only looking away when she heard Donnie's frustrated groan.

"Not good enough apparently..." Shaking his head with a scowl... his voice hoarse. He looked over as the soft music began to play from the box... a soft gasp escaped Y/n's throat.

"It... you even had it play her favorite song..."

"I know..." Donnie sighed, leaning down to rest his head on his arms... a solemn look still present on his face. She could see him trying hard to suppress the sour feelings of rejection and sadness.

"Wanna... take a walk? Maybe talk a little?" She gently sat the music box on the swing chair that softly swayed with the night's air.

"Sure... sounds better than... whatever I'm doing right now" Pushing himself up off the railing, and slowly followed Y/n down the steps. For the first while, they walked in silence, the wildlife alone filling the void. The sounds of Owls softly cooing and rodents running across the ground. After getting a decent distance from the house, Y/n determined it was time to talk.

"Alright Turtle man... time to spill that heart." She watched as his shoulders slumped slightly, making his way over to a large rock and sitting his shell on it. Y/n could tell he wasn't exactly in a talking mood but followed his lead, sitting next to him on the rock, gently encouraging him.

"I just... really wanted to impress her..." he gently kicked the dirt, trying his best to avoid eye contact with her.

"Well... I don't think my opinion matters to you as much as hers but... I think it's impressive." She shrugged softly.

"Yeah... you're right...it doesn't... and she didn't." He murmured, the bitter tone did little to hurt Y/n's feelings, knowing he was in his feels. Never raising his gaze higher than the base of the tress.

"I'm sorry D... She just doesn't realize what she's missing."  A loud sigh left the tech genius. Gently shaking his head...

"I'm sorry for my harsh tone... it's not your fault..." he finally lifted his gaze to meet her y/c/e's. "It's not hers either... I just... I need to get over this little crush." he stared at her face for a moment... subconsciously admiring her features... "I... I don't exactly know how to do that tho..."

"Well..." Y/n blushed softly at his gaze... knowing he wasn't exactly looking at her... simply trying to focus his attention on anything other than his broken heart. "How about we do... Pros and cons! That way you can clearly see her... not just through rose-colored lenses." She hummed, pulling her T-phone from her pocket to take notes... "okay! Ready when you are! Let's start with the pros!"

She patiently waited as Donnie thought over all the pros about the redhead. "W-well her personality and sense of humor are some of the firsts that come to mind," he hummed, setting his hand against his chin in thought. "and she's a very intelligent girl," Y/n could only huff at his longing look. "She's... empathetic and protective... and..." He hummed... signifying that he had concluded his list.

"Okay... seems pretty good! Now... some bad things." She hummed, gently tapping away at her phone before looking up at him.

"She... can be judgmental at times... and she holds grudges for the longest time..." she glanced up at the sound of his shell scratching against the rock... watching as he sank to the floor, back preset near her legs.

"And... she's demanding... jumps to conclusions over anything," Y/n smirked softly... feeling his rage and annoyance slowly seeping through. "She... plays with my emotions! a-and doesn't appreciate anything I do!" With fast movements, he was constantly changing his position. Finally settling on a standing one, pacing back and forth in front of Y/n. With a soft hum, Y/n nodded along, making sure to put little star emojis by the traits he seemed most annoyed with.

 "Okay... another decent list!" gently setting the phone down on the spot Donnie was once sitting. "Okay... how about we talk about another person's positive traits!!" With a raised eyebrow, Donnie softly nodded. Curious as to the reason but trusting her nonetheless.

"Well... Raph is very protective, stubborn but... strong... and loving." He chuckled softly at the thoughts of his brother.

"Awesome! Let's keep going! continue, onto another!" She was glad Donnie's mode was shifting... slowly but steadily.

"Mikey is a good cook, and always knows how to bring the mood! Not to mention his enthusiastic attitude is something to envy!" He stopped his pacing for a moment... turning to face away from Y/n and just staring into the woods. "Then there's Leo... his sense of justice is impeccable, he's determined and funny... and just overall all," He turned to Y/n with a bright smile on his face. "Just all of my Brothers are... amazing," She giggled softly at his upbeat mood. "and... you!" he hushed as he was staring at her.

"Me?..." She tilted her head, and a soft nod signaled him to continue...

"You... you're very caring, kind, empathetic... and so patient with me... my brothers," He was back to playing with the dirt... but his words continued to flow "You're smart, strong... and pretty... PRETTY FUNNY!" He was quick to follow his words... trying to cover up his slip. "a-and you're sarcastic! But that adds to you being pretty funny." He moved to look at her again... his smile still bright.

"Feeling better?"

"yeah... a lot actually..." He moved again, taking his original spot on the rock... taking Y/n's T-phone into his hands. "This... helped... in an odd way." He sighed, handing her back her T-phone, before leaning back onto his arms.

"Wanna hear some pros and cons about you?" She scooted closer to him, gently patting his arm. He wasn't expecting her to offer such things. But after a few short moments, he nodded softly, somewhat nervous about what she could potentially say. "Hmm well for starters you're a literal genius, not to mention just how quick of a thinker you are!" She hummed softly, before continuing. "Anything scientist related you give 100 percent! And you're so caring, especially towards the person you love," She giggled softly glancing up to see his reaction.

"I... what else?" His face was flushed, a red color pigmented even through his green skin.

"oh! Your gap tooth is so cute! and the little whistle it does when you're sleeping... BUT C-Cons!! Right, you!" She gently cleared her throat, stopping herself before she went too far. "c-cons... you can be a little workaholic... and you're slightly obsessive." she finished, looking in the complete opposite direction of him, trying to hide the blush that littered her cheeks.  However, a three-fingered hand gently tugged her face so she would face him again.

"Y/n...thank you... really," He held a soft smile, looking into her eyes.  His own brownish-red ones held a soft gleam. He was flushed beyond belief but... he knew he had to thank her... for not only lighting his mood... but also showing him... just how amazing he was. "I know... now... that love will be a far-off thing for me but, it's nice to know you appreciate me.," He let out a soft gasp when she suddenly took hold of the hand on her face.

"Donnie... please don't think you're unlovable... just because April doesn't see you... doesn't mean there's not another girl who looks at you with the same eyes you give her,"  She smiled softly, pressing his hand closer into her cheek... "I promise... there's another girl... far closer than you think." She watched as his eyes gathered with tears, but he had a lax look.

"Thank you... I... I promise that when I'm ready...I'll love that girl... to the moon and back..." His heart was pounding. For his own good, he knew he should wait to truly ask her... but he needed her to know... to know that he understood her words... wholeheartedly.

"Don't worry Donnie... I'll be here," she hummed, leaning her head towards his face... watching as he closed his eyes... just soaking in her words..."I'll be here..." She whispered, before finally resting her forehead against his.

(OKAY HEAR ME OUT... this 2012 Donnie sometimes reminds me of Sanji... anyways!! hope you all enjoyed!! and I love yall!!!

HAVE A GREAT DAY AND REMEMBER TO EAT, DRINK, AND LOVE YOURSELF BYEEEEEE LOVE YOU ALL)

New Chick In Town

Masterlist

A 2012Leo X Fem reader.... violence, Gun, Weapons, fighting, stalking (kinda) I did a pole for this on my tumbler to the PEOPLE HAVE ANSWERED

Y/N sat peacefully on the rooftop, her sketchbook spread open on her lap and her pencil running gentle strokes across the page creating the sky of New York. "Hmm... He looks perfect!" She hummed staring down at her drawing. She was new to New York... sent by her Master to find a man named Shredder. And indeed she did... however, that experience didn't go too well, his rash and violent nature left her disturbed so she left. Now that she was left alone within the city, she's been using her skills for good, stopping crime, helping old ladies cross the street, killing robots, and spying on these mutant turtles... Okay, maybe spying wasn't exactly for good but rather for her entertainment. " Now tomorrow, I can transfer this onto my Canvas!" She giggled, making a move to stand, closing her book, and placing her pencil behind her ear... However, the sudden thump of someone landing caught her attention. With haste, she moved, allowing distance between her and the unknown sound.  She stood, ready for a fight, but gasped at the sight before her. "HUH It's You" She whispered, staring at the Green Turtle that stood proudly in front of her.

"I uh... You.... You weren't supposed to see me... nor be up here" His eyes widened as she stood there, clade in a large T-shirt with what appeared to be a straw hat, PJ pants, and fluffy socks with little turtles on them, 'Cute' He thought to himself, suddenly thanking the lord for whatever instinct told him to go on patrol alone tonight. With a quick shake of his head, he cleared such thoughts, reanalyzing his situation. "I uh... What are you doing up here" He asked, not exactly knowing how to react to her calm state.

Y/N blushed softly, at the fact she had been caught and now interrogated. "W-well you see I saw these, uh Vigilantly Heros....and draw them" She was now looking down at the roof, suddenly finding a rock very interesting.  "Names Y/N"

Leo hummed, "Y-you're not scared of me?" He asked, cautious of her movements having recognized her fighting stance. 'A Kunoichi?' He questioned himself, debating whether or not he wanted to find out due to his poor interactions with past ninjas. He watched as she gently shook her head, smiling at his surprised face. "I uh... May I?" He asked gesturing to the book she had clenched in her left hand.

"Uh? O-Oh sure I guess" She shyly stood straight. Taking slow steps towards the turtle. Once she deemed it close enough she gently opened her book, revealing multiple sketches of Cherry blossom trees, Yokai, and The New York Sky.  "Wow amazing" He suddenly snatched the book from her hands, flipping through the pages.

"H_HEY NO STOP" She squealed, about to leap at him to stop his constant page turning but it was already too late... He had reached some of her most recent ones... Ones of him and his brothers. Leo stared at the portrait of himself, sitting on the edge of a building... immaculate details from marks on his shell to the engraving on his swords...

"Whoa," He whispered, only continuing to flip through... He finally stopped on one... he remembers this day... it was when he got lost in thought on a water tower.... after his event with Karai. To think, he never even noticed her presence.... seen her, heard her... How terrifying. To think if she wanted to.... she could have killed him.

"I... I saw you guys a few months ago... and Yeah... been uhh coming up here in hopes of meeting you" She sighed, giving him somewhat of her reasoning but not the entirety of it. It's true... she's been following him. She's been following them.. just trying to gauge whether or not they had anything to do with Shredder's actions.

'Meet Us' He couldn't help the boost to the ego that provided... to think such a pretty girl wanted to meet him... and his brothers. "So... you're a.. you're like a fan? or something" He questioned, watching as her face darkened in color as she shifted her look to the busy streets down below.

"I guess... I saw you and thought you guys were like super cool!" She glanced back at him quickly, surprised by his bright blue eyes that kept their stare dead on her face... "I... I was considered a weird kid... transferred to Japan my first year of middle school in hopes of finding a place I belong" She crossed her legs and quickly dropped, elegantly but not without a crack from her hip, into a crisscross seat. "While there.... I ran into my Master and began training to be a ninja... then he sent me back here" She smiled, enjoying the memory of her time spent with her master. His training methods were harsh and borderline torturous but they created the monster of a Ninja she was today. "I'm still considered weird... High school isn't friendly... but I guess I got used to never having friends so yeah" she sighed, keeping her eyes focused on the busy streets below. "Yeah..."

Leo's eyes were focused on her, the way she gazed down at the streets.... he couldn't help the soft blush that grazed his green cheeks. She was a ninja... trained in Japan, and was artistic.... and Pretty talked about a whole package. "If it makes you feel any better... I don't think you're weird" His voice was soft and calm... conveying his sincerity of the moment.

She only scoffed at his sad attempt at comforting... or what she saw as sad... "You caught me drawing you... that's weird"

He couldn't help but chuckle, a light smile grazing his lips. "I'm a mutant turtle... weird kinda comes with the territory"

"Wanna sit with me? I got snacks?" She crossed her legs and dropped into a seating position.  With a soft shrug, he took his seat next to her, folding his legs under him before glancing at her display of snacks "Hmm What kind?" He looked over the multi-colored fruits, chips, and cheese... some he did not recognize due to most of his time eating pizza or fighting crime.

"I have... Chips, Cherries, Watermelon... some gapes and ah Cheddar cheese slices!" She held back the giggle as she glanced at him.... watching as his mouth practically watered at the sight.

"Some of the Watermelon please!" He sounded like a little boy begging for his other to buy him something from the store.

"Of course!" She smiled, gently grabbing a piece, and watched as he practically buzzed in his seat 'Must have a sweet tooth' she giggled softly to herself. She smiled as he savored the sweet, juicy fruit, gulping as he swallowed it.  "So? Where is your team at?" She asked softly, not wanting to pry, she glanced at him, slowly slipping a cherry into her mouth. She watched as he placed another piece into his mouth, slightly muffling his words.

"they're elsewhere, Raph is probably punching a bag right now, Mikey is playing video games, and Donnie's probably cooped up in his lab" He glanced at her, seeing her rather confused expression from the sudden new names. "Ah, those are my brothers! Or uh teammates as you said" She only hummed, nodding her head slightly.

"So just you?" She watched as he nodded, confirming.

"Yeah, gave them the night off, but a leader never sleeps" From his knelled position he placed his hands on his hips sticking a heroic pose. She couldn't help but giggle at his goofiness.

'How cute' She smiled, but her eyes lit up as an idea sparked. "If.. If you want, you could always come get me! That way you're not too lonely" She watched with baited breaths as a soft pink hue shaded his face. He couldn't comprehend what she'd just said... that was until a boyish grin spread across his face.

"Y-yeah! That sounds amazing please!" His response was hasty, not helping his ego at all. 'Damn it, Leo... Stay cool' With a gentle run of his hand over the top of his head, he composed himself. However, that didn't last long as he watched her reach down the front of her blouse. "I uh.. H-hey" He shut up rather quickly after watcher he removed what appeared to be a... 'lego block?'

"This was my master's! As a gift he gave it to me after I became a Kunoich," She smiled, gently taking and holding the block between her lips and blowing into it. With amazement, Leo watched as this small thing began to run and form around the bottom half of her face. "He used to call me the little Oni, so the mask was fitting"  Leo suddenly felt a wave of admiration wash over him, he remembered how Master Splinter would talk about the Japanese culture. How those who would ward off evil would wear such masks. With a gentle finger, he ran his thumb down the curve of the tooth.

"Oni... Meaning a Demon no? You wore this a... as a Kunoichi?"

"Still Do! Not as often because I don't fight much but hey! If I join ya it could be fun" She smiled, suddenly sucking her air, and the mask began to slowly break down again. "I mainly use throwing stars and kuni... I'm a heavy hand-to-hand combat fighter" She shifted, moving to stand. "I fight using the Dim Mak, also known as the touch of death" She smiled, watching as Leo shifted his head in confusion. "It's traditionally a Chinese fighting style" She swiftly explained, watching as he slowly nodded his head in understanding.

"Sounds increasingly cooler the more you explain" He gently leaned against the ledge of the building. With a content smile, he watched the sky, and for the first time in a while he could see the stars through the polluted air of New York... 'Man she's beautiful' the thought took him by surprise, causing him so clear his throat in an attempt to push the thoughts away. "So... What's your name?" She asked, reaching down to pluck a cherry from the container.  "I told you mine but... never got yous"

"O-oh right" He mentally slapped his forehead, how could he have forgotten such an important thing? "Leonardo, but my friends call me Leo"

"Leo..Le...O! Hehe cute I like it" He blushed watching as she continued to pronounce his names in various voices, splitting up the syllables here and there. He couldn't help the chuckle that left his throat, his hearty laugh seemed to be contagious because she followed with a cackle.

"HAHAH" She heaved, moving to lean against the edge with him, shaking her head at the spontaneous laughter. 'This feels right...' she slowly calmed herself, catching her stare lingering on the turtle far more meaningful than it should be. She could feel the head coating her face, a dark hue as silence fell for a moment, allowing the two to just stare at one other.

'Yeah this is right' Each shows their smile at their thoughts. However, this lovely little moment was cut fast by the sound of glass shattering from a few allies over. "Trouble" Both quick to action spurred towards the sound.  With a huff from her, her Oni mask was right back over the bottom portion of her face, and her hair was tucked into her hood. 'So fast' Leo couldn't help but awe at how quick she was to react to the sound, already prepared for a fight. With quick and agile movement they stood on the rooftop overlooking the Allie from which the noise had come.

"Hm," Leo focused seeing 4 men busting their way into a shop window... He squinted seeing the large logo on the back of their leather jackets he could recognize it anywhere.

"Purple Dragons?" Y/N read off the back, a confused tone riddling her voice.

"Yeah.. not much of a fight, just a local gang" Leo explained, pulling his swords.

"Fun nonetheless... Should I kill the Street Lights?" She smirked, raising her hand, a Shuriken placed between each of her fingers. "Got the street memorized?" She whispered.

"Uh.. Why exactly are you killing the lig" He was cut off, watching as she threw them all, striking each light perfectly sending the men into complete darkness. With a jaw dropped, Leo decided to simply watch her from the rooftop... more accurately he was too love-struck to move. She was so fast in the dark, hiding as if she lived within its shadows. It took a moment to find her after she had disappeared so fast. He finally spotted her sitting on the fire escape that sat right above the window.  He watched as Y/N waited... watched as she looked around before hearing a predator-like growl.

"You think it's fun messing with other people life's?" Her voice sounded deeper, as if it was being altered by the mask. Like an Oni had truly taken control. He watched as the men frantically looked around for the owner of such a voice. Each ready for a fight, the leader finally decides to speak up.

"Who.. Who's there?? We're the Purple Dragons! Show your face coward!" He screamed, thrusting his knife randomly through the air. With a quick chuck, a Kuni crashed into a trashcan before it was deflected and grazed the man's hand, causing him to drop the knife.

'Pinpoint persuasion' Leo gucked at her ability... He watched as she dropped down directly in front of the group. The men screamed, and the teeth of the mask emitted a dark red glow, it was barely enough to illuminate the mask but it made it all the more menacing.  With even louder shrills the men recognized that symbol anywhere. The five stages of grief could be seen running across their faces. Fearful for their own lives... The younger man of the group was looking around, searching for an escape... However, his thoughts were cut short when a Kuni pinned his sleeve to the brick wall behind him."I suggest you stop thinking before it gets you killed" She huffed, watching as 3/4 men dropped to their knees, cowardly like always.

"N-No We won't go down that easily" The largest stood, pulling a pistol from his hip, aiming it at her. Before he could even think of pulling the trigger, he was already dropped, unconscious on the floor. Leo had seen it all, as if in slow motion. The second he had reached for the gun, she had already moved, hitting pressure points behind his ear and the middle of his forehead.

"You fear those Turtles... the friendly Yokai... Now you shall fear the Oni that they fear" With pleaded eyes the men begged... the turtles... they knew exactly who she was referring to.

"PLEASE, WE BEG!! WE WON'T MESS WITH ANY MORE YOKAI"  The leader reached, tugging at his knocked friend... "Just please... Leave us Oni"

"If I ever see you again... your head will be my next meal" Y/N smirked as the men fumbled and scurried, picking up the big man and making a run for it. She suddenly felt a heated body standing a couple of feet from her. "Damn... for a big ass Turtle you're pretty quiet" She giggled, turning to meet Leo's electric blue eyes.

"S-sorry got caught up watching the show" He blushed, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. He was still awed at how easily she had handled them... not even breaking a sweat.

"Not bad right? Partner?" She asked, lifting her fist to pound it with his. He couldn't help the wide smile from forming, meeting her fist halfway... "Partners" He whispered.

The night blew by fast, with a quick exchange of numbers and a promise to meet the next, Leo left Y/N apartment giddy and lively.

(TIME SKIPP ... Yes it's long... felt bad for leaving y'all hanging for two weeks!!!)

It was the first time in years that Leo found sleep troubling... He tried meditating, counting sheep... but nothing was helping his running mind. As a last-ditch effort, he found his way into the Dojo. 'Damn Pretty Face... And that Gorgeous laugh' He huffed, sending shadow punch after shadow punch trying to rid his mind of her... "You like her Hamato admit it" He whispered to himself. He didn't want to... to think someone as perfect as her, strong, funny, kind-hearted, and funny... never would she ever think about him in such a way. "DAMIT LEONARDO SHES TO GOOD FOR YOU" He screamed, unconsciously waking his master. "You're the leader... supposed to be level headed not love-struck.... even if she is the most perfect girl"

"Leonardo?" Master Splinter exited his room, a concerned look on his face, "My son.. what is the matter?... Who is too good for you? and this perfect girl?"

'no no no no no' He was mentally panicking.... His face burned with embarrassment... "N-No one!"

"Leonardo" his voice was stern... "The last time you were in such a state was when you were battling your feelings for Karai" Splinter watched as Leo's eyes cast downward... His face flushed, knowing he could not get out of this.

"I... I found someone" He spoke in a whispered tone...

"A Woman?" Splinter confirmed stroking his beard.

"H-hai..." He slowly trailed his eyes up to meet his. "she's a human... but she's not like Karai... no she is so much better... Prettier, better fighter... more heroic" He found himself drowning in her memories once again. "B-But she's way out of my league" Now that it was already out there he decided to tell him everything... their meeting, their picnic, the show of strength she had... "Dad..." That was Splinter's indicator that he needed his father, not his teacher at this moment... "I really like her... but I'm a mutant Ninja turtle... she's a human... a Kunoich at that!"

"My son... Never doubt yourself... when it comes to love, it knows no bounds" He sighed softly. "It sees no difference in appearance and sees no distance... go after her... nothing to lose if you try" His words were soft, sincere, and wise.

"b-but I just met her... what if" He mumbled off.

"Love is powerful... While it might be too early to declare your love... seeing if she is interested wouldn't hurt" He set a gentle hand on Leo's shoulder. "Don't let time waste your potential experiences.... go out and take them"

"OKAY! I'M GOING NOW YEHA" He hugged his dad, thanking him before beelineing out the dojo.

"MAKE SURE YOU ARE HOME BY DAWN!!!" Splinter called a soft smile gracing his lips.

(AHHH EXAMS, ESSAYS, DUEL CREDIT, SCHOOL... BIRTHDAYS!!!! Ah don't we all just love High school??? Nobody? good to know yall read my sarcasm.

ANYWAYS!! Sorry this took so long... To be a Hero or maybe... gosh I'm hopping gets posted soon!! I have one more exam before my spring break and an Essay I gotta write BUT I'll try to fit it in somewhere.... FINAL STREATCH OF TEH YEAR... Gosh makes me wanna cry... ANYWAYS!!!!

Thank you all for the support and love!!! HAVE A GREAT DAY AND REMEMBER TO EAT, DRINK, AND LOVE YOURSELF BYEEEEEE LOVE YOU ALL)

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.

random sketches of Leo and reader in my story on ao3 + readers mutant form i swear I’ll actually try and post something decent one day

random sketch/comic I made in 10 minutes while practicing drawing the 2012 turtles

Puella in Somnio-

Walking down in a alleyway in New York was aparently the next big way to turn into a semihuman flesh eating creature with a boxcutter knife sticking out of your forehead and your arms. It was also apparently a way to get tangled with 4 teenage turtle boys who are aparently ninjas and some ginger chick with a missing daddy.

In all honesty, the first mistake was even being in New York the first place.

Random pet peeve of mine, but I would like to see more shorter fanfics that mention other characters in the canon

I guess it might go without saying that some of my fanfics focus on not only fleshing out the turtles but also the other characters in the story that I feel were heavily sidelined and had so much potential, I know a lot of people write to fix characters like Casey, April, Karai and whatnot, but what about the side characters?? What about the villains??

For example, I never see Timothy mentioned outside of very specific situations, and that guy deserved so much better :(

I actually have a half unfinished draft of a Leo x Male!Reader fanfic, where the reader is Timothy's brother and has been trying to find him after his sudden disappearance, sibling is tricked into believing the turtles were the ones who mutated him and joins the foot clan, there's a lot of angst and developing Timothy's character beyond this cringe teenage kid who got involved into something he shouldn't and also exploring how a kid even gets to that point

Would anybody read something like that, btw? I love the idea, but I'm currently obsessed with Statistical Improbability and The Secrets we Inherit + a third fanfic I haven't posted yet but have like 20k words written, so if I am to write it anytime soon, it would only be if there's some interest in it

Also please recommend me fanfics that focus around the more minor characters of 2012 if you know any, thx!!

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 2 》

Oh mi gosh it's been so many months... hahah

I promise I'm still alive! And I'm still working on these parts, slowly but surely

Anyway here's part 2

Summary: Reader has a nightmare, Donnie and Reader have some cute moments, there's a fight, a kid gets kicked somewhere during it, Bertha is sassy.

Warnings: There is a ghost of proofreading somewhere in between drafts, read at your own risk. Mixed POVs. Slowburn? Mentions of blood, swearing, strangers to reluctant friends trope, mentions of reader's mysterious backstory, some semblance of an action scene, this chapter is filled with some general trauma, self deprecation and angst on reader's part, she also gets shot. Reader is really going through it today™. The whole shebang.

Word Count: Around 7.5k words. Trying to keep these parts roughly the same size

Dumb.

Stupid.

Fucking idiot.

The words ricochet inside your skull, each new one made your heart throb. Breathing felt like a chore, almost as if a heavy anvil was pressing down onto your chest, suffocating you, killing you slowly.

The air felt like lead, thick and unyielding. Your head spun as the words echoed with each unsteady step you took down the cold, empty hall. Just a little further, you told yourself, but the hallway stretched on endlessly, twisting in impossible directions, a nightmarish labyrinth. The generator, the exit—it’s just there around the corner, I know it is.

But no matter how many doors you passed, no matter how many corners you rounded, you were trapped. The silence was deafening, only broken by the agony of his voice—raging, desperate, each yell like a blade scraping against your nerves. He was getting closer. He was almost right behind you.

"Come back here!" His screams of agony hurt your ears, but each new insult, each new threat, it was loud and clear.

The sound of metal crashing, doors ripped from their hinges— Nathan's fury echoed through the labyrinth of this forsaken place. You couldn't run fast enough. You shouldn't have been so foolish, to think you could find a solution, to think you could find a cure? What a sick joke, and now you've only made everything worse.

Holding back sobs and sniffs you try to make it through the twisting nightmarish halls of the abandoned laboratory, you had to make it to the generator. Your hands shake as you press them against the walls to stop yourself from tumbling over.

Stumbling close to the generator you grab your laptop. Focus, you tell yourself as your sweaty hands struggle to work. All you need is to divert the power, lift the lockdown. Just one more click, and you'll be out in no time.

But the generator sputters and dies, and the lights flicker, plunging you in an inky darkness that almost sticks to your skin, thick and heavy like oil. Your fingers tremble, sliding over the cold keyboard, too slippery with sweat to type correctly. You can feel your grip slipping, losing control as the reality of your situation closes in.

The laptop crashes to the floor, a dull thud followed by the sound of cracking glass as the screen shatters and the glitches. No, no, no... Panic quickly sets in as you take it back and try to get it to work, you groan in frustration and punch the screen, the glass digs into your knuckles and the laptop dies completely. The weight of the world presses down, suffocating, it's over.

You hold your breath, placing your hands over your mouth to keep yourself as silent as possible as you can hear his heavy footsteps running through the halls. *Maybe he won't find me.* Your heart races, and then you hear it—the claws, the scraping sound growing closer, more predatory. *He found me.*

A heavy weight slams into you from behind, throwing you to the floor with bone-cracking force, you can feel a sharp pain shoot through the entirety of your side as you hit the ground. You cry out and gasp for air, but the world spins wildly around you as dagger sharp claws sink into your skin, tearing, ripping through your flesh. Your scream echo through the lab, but there's nobody to hear them.

A flicker of light reflects in his claws, glinting sickly red in the darkness. You can see your own terrified reflection in his crooked glasses. You try to apologize, to beg, but your voice is lost in the storm of pain shooting up from your arm. His claws rise above you, poised to strike.

You shut your eyes, bracing for the end, raising your hands in front of your face as if you could prevent the final, fatal blow.

---

You shoot up in bed, gasping for air, your heart hammering in your chest. You could almost feel the taste of blood still in your mouth, the ghost of a metallic, sickly tang that doesn't leave.

Your hand fumbles for the gun beside you, gripping it so hard that the cold metal leaves imprints in your palm. Bloodshot eyes dart wildly around the room, the pitch black suffocating you in its oppressive silence. The sound of your own ragged breathing fills the room.

"Anybody there?" You say it no louder than a shaky whisper, barely audible in your dark room.

Nothing.

Your gun slips from your grasp, clattering against the floor. You raise your trembling hands in front of your face and grasp your prosthetic pulse, cold, shivering. You close your eyes, your heart beats against your chest so hard you can feel it against your ears. You slow down your beating, attempting to calm yourself down.

It's gone, he's gone, it was just a nightmare. I'm in Bertha, I'm safe.

But even as you repeat the words like a mantra, like a prayer in your mind, a chill runs through you that makes your stomach sink.

I'm not safe. I'm never leaving this hell.

You feel your breath hitch, and for a moment, you almost laugh at the absurdity of it all. What am I doing? You push the hair sticking to your face back, your hand slick with sweat. The day’s events replay like a cruel joke, from barely escaping savages to stumbling across a mutant turtle in a robot’s body—what was this, some kind of twisted science fiction book?

Every breath feels like it’s pulling you deeper, suffocating you with the weight of everything. The guilt spirals through you like a whirlpool, drowning you. Mistakes, regrets, all of it leaves you empty, and the cascading of silent tears starts to stream down your face.

The sheets, once comforting, now feel like needles, the fabric scratching at your skin, irritating. The symbol of comfort that used to be your refuge is now just another reminder of everything you’ve lost, everything you can’t escape.

You sit there, breathing raggedly, unsure if you’re trembling from fear, guilt, or something far worse. Maybe it’s all of it.

You're not sure how long you stayed like that for, the same thoughts spiralling through your head like a tornado of guilt, eating you up inside as each new mistake leads to a new wave of shame, and each regret you remember just fills you with despair.

You push the sheets aside, letting them fall to the floor.

It doesn’t matter. Nothing does anymore.

You get up from the bed before you could go over those dark thoughts any longer. You roll your shoulders and pop stiff joints as you shuffle toward the window. The blinds creak as you pull them open, and sunlight spills into the trailer in a soft golden flood. It’s warm on your face—gentle, like the world hasn’t gone to shit —and for a moment, it almost feels normal. Outside, the sand has settled. The storm’s over. You survived another night.

You linger there longer than you should, blinking into the light like it might make you forget of the darkness inside of your heart. But then your mind drifts— Donatello, he’s still here, somewhere in your trailer. That strange, unexpected guest. The memory of the nightmare loosens its grip just enough to let curiosity take its place. You drag your fingers through your hair and wipe at your face, muttering a quiet curse.

You make a half-hearted attempt to look presentable—just enough to avoid pity or prodding questions—then open your bedroom door and step into the main cabin.

Empty.

The trailer’s still. Quiet.

Your brow lifts slightly, suspicious. No heavy footfalls, no mechanical humming. Just silence.

Did he leave?

Your stomach tightens. You stride over to the cabinets and start checking—drawers, toolboxes, storage crates. The essentials are still there, mostly. A few tools missing. Not much else. No signs of a scuffle, no busted locks.

If he looted me, he did it politely.

Still, you frown. He wouldn’t have just wandered off with a toolbox in his hand—not into this wasteland. Not without wheels. Even someone like him wouldn’t last long alone in the open desert. And he didn't strike you as stupid.

You glance toward the door, heart beating a little faster now— Where the hell did you go, Donnie?

The low sharp hiss of something sizzling snaps you out of your thoughts.

You pause with your hand resting on the trailer door, thumb brushing the worn edge of your gun. Carefully, you step outside, blinking against the dry glare of morning sun. The storm had scrubbed the sky clean, and now it hung cloudless, a sickly pale blue. You follow the faint sound of whistling, trailing it to the front of the trailer.

He’s under it. Of course he is.

Metal legs jut out from beneath the frame, kicking slightly as he hums a tuneless melody. Your eyes drift to the open toolbox by his side—your toolbox—and your brows knit together. Unbelievable.

You cross your arms, tilt your head, watching in silence. He mutters to himself, something about rust patterns and heat damage and "whoever welded this should be arrested."

"Hey," you say, flat but firm.

THUNK.

A hollow metallic crack rings out, followed by a yelp. You cringe at the sound.

"Gah—desert apples!" Donatello slides out from under the trailer with one hand pressed to his forehead, a faint scuff marking the metal. The light of his visor slightly brightens, adjusting to the sun as he looks up at you, then he does a small head tilt. "Good morning. Didn’t think you’d be up so early."

You arch an eyebrow. "Didn’t think I’d wake up to someone crawling under my home."

He shrugs, unapologetic. "Thought I’d pitch in. You saved my shell, after all."

Donnie gestures toward the frame and taps it with a knuckle. "Figured your girl here could use some TLC. Judging by the way this thing's rattling, I’m guessing you mistook a cliff for a speed bump?"

You stare at him, arms still crossed, lips twitching.

"Something like that. What are you doing, exactly?"

He sits up and casually gestures toward the undercarriage. "Your girl’s suspension was practically crying. I figured I’d take a look."

You frown. "You could’ve asked me before tinkering with it."

He shrugs. "Didn’t want to wake you."

Your gaze lingers on the toolbox—how neatly he’s laid everything out. You walk closer to him and crouch near your tools: "What did you touch?"

"Only what was already broken." He raises his hands slightly. "Scout’s honor."

You glance at him sideways. "You don’t look like the scout type."

"And yet here I am. Fixing your suspension."

You press your lips together, trying not to let the hint of amusement show. You grab a wrench and nod toward the trailer.

"Fine. Let me make sure you didn't rig anything up to explode, and if anything else breaks after this, I’m blaming you."

Donatello chuckles. "Deal."

You both spent the next half hour working in near silence, the occasional scrape of tools and muttered commentary filling the air. You kept your distance, arms crossed, throwing sideways glances when he wasn't looking—or at least, when you thought he wasn't. He didn't say much, focused on his repairs, but there was something oddly calming about watching him work. Mechanical precision mixed with something more... thoughtful.

"You sure that’s the right bolt?" you asked, crouching nearby, arms crossed.

He slid out slightly and stared at you. "You're gonna have to be more specific. There's like… fifty bolts under here."

You arched an eyebrow. "The one you just dropped, again, for the third time. You sure you know what you’re doing under there?”

His voice floated back, smug. “Of course I do! I’m not just a pretty shell, you know.”

Before you could answer him, Bertha’s dashboard lights flickered to life, and her voice croaked online, dry and annoyed.

"System diagnostics: 74% operational. Suspension barely hanging on. Probably because someone thinks duct tape is an acceptable structural solution."

"Bertha,” you sighed, "It's good to hear from you again."

"Yes, well. Hard not to wake up when I’m being ‘repaired’ with the finesse of two raccoons in a toolbox."

"Oh, excuse you." You answer her back. "Sorry if we have to make do in the middle of an apocalypse, not professional enough for ya."

Bertha ignored you, voice feigning weariness. "Honestly. I’ve survived mutant raiders, electrical storms, and a sand vulture infestation. But this? This is the real test."

Donatello stifles a laugh as he wipes oil from his hands. "She’s... charming."

"She’s mouthy," you mutter, though there’s an edge of affection in your tone.

"Oh please, I'm starting to think you enjoy it."

Donatello looked at you, his voice clearly amused. "Is she always like this?”

"Built-in personality chip," Bertha said. "Came with ‘advanced diagnostics’ and ‘unfiltered sarcasm. At this rate, I’ll be road-ready in... oh, a week. Maybe two."

"Oh please, spare me the drama. We're almost done, you'll be fine." You answered her sass with some of your own.

Bertha sighed dramatically. "I’ll start drafting my will just in case."

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head with a grin and patting the trailer on it's hull. "Glad to have you back, Bertha."

"Of course you are," she said. "Who else is going to keep you two from turning me into a glorified tin can?"

After the light banter with Bertha it didn't take you and Donatello too long to get the trailer fixed up. Once everything was ready, Donatello helped you take the tools back to your trailer and you told him you could take him wherever he needed, he seemed satisfied to be left at the nearest village, so that's where you two were headed to.

He climbed in beside you on the trailer, you grinned as Bertha’s systems powered up completely and the engine hummed back to life.

----

You toss a scratched-up CD into the player. An old rock tune crackles to life as the trailer rolls out into the wide-open wasteland, tires kicking up dust as your home-on-wheels trudges forward.

The silence between you is thick. Not hostile—just awkward. Like two strangers stuck in an elevator, except the elevator is a solar-powered survival trailer in the middle of a sun-scorched desert filled with feral mutants, and one of you is a six-foot tall turtle in a robot body.

You keep your eyes on the road. What do you even say to someone like him? Nice weather for the apocalypse? It’s easier to just focus on the path ahead. Still, you steal the occasional glance. He hasn’t said much since you left.

Meanwhile, Donatello was stuck in a similar predicament, he sat stiffly in the passenger seat, fingers twitching in thought. He wanted to ask her a hundred questions—about her, what was her life like before, what she liked, how she built Bertha —but every time his voice threatened to start, the words got caught in his voice modulator. She didn’t seem like the type who liked being pried into, and he didn’t want to ruin whatever fragile peace was forming between them.

He let out a soft, synthetic sigh. You caught it, glancing over with a raised brow, but said nothing.

His mind drifted back to Raph. He tried not to let the concern take root, but he just couldn't shake the feeling. Where are you, big guy?

"So." A sweet voice derailed his train of thought and he looked at the human. He tilted his head in curiosity, "you said you're good with car repairs, right? Why's that, were you a mechanic before all of this?"

Donatello blinked and looked at you. The question surprised him.

"Not exactly," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I used to build some things before this... There was the Party Wagon, the Shellraiser…" He started counting on his three-fingered hand, and you had to stiffle a laugh at the names.

You quirked a brow. "The Shellraiser?"

He could hear the amusement in your voice, even if you were trying to hide it. “Hey! What's wrong with the name?"

You fought back a smirk. "Nothing! It's actually perfect, it's just, is everything you make turtle themed?"

"Hey, it's a great theme."

You gave a small chuckle, but quickly looked away, fingers tightening on the wheel. "Right. Speaking of which, you said you were a mutant before this. Was that before or after the mutagen bomb?"

"Always been a mutant." He replies flatly, but that peaks your curiosity.

"Really? Were you never human?"

"Nope." He shakes his head, "I started out as a baby turtle, me and my brothers got hit with the ooze and here I am."

"Huh, that's, interesting." So he was always a mutant, you wagered it wasn't much different from some of the younger desert folk, but it was still something curious. "So if you were a mutant before all of this— what was your life like?"

“Oh, it was the best. My father— Master Splinter, he taught me and my brothers everything we knew. Ninjutsu, discipline, philosophy... how to fight, how to think.” He gave a soft chuckle.

He leaned back on his elbows, exhaling. “Back before all this... before everybody went crazy and the sand swallowed everything... we fought to save the world from these things called the Kraang. Nasty alien brain-things. They tried to take over the Earth. We stopped them. Barely.”

You watched his body language shift—shoulders slumped, nostalgia softening into sorrow.

“I had a lab. Gadgets. Friends. Pizza. And my brothers—Raph, Mikey, Leo. We fought, we joked, we looked out for each other.”

"Seems like you all were quite close." You comment and he nods.

"We didn't always get along, but, we cared about each other." He shifted in his chair and left out a soft, glitchy sigh. "Raph and I had a big fight before the fall. Stupid stuff. Then we were ambushed. I lost him.”

Donatello looked over at you, a quiet fire in his visor. “I have to find him."

You nodded slowly. “If he's out there, we’ll find him, Donnie.”

His antenna shifted and with the way he tilted his head, it almost seemed like he was smiling, for a moment you both fell quiet again.

"And what about you?" Ah, of course he'd ask you.

"What about me?" You stole a glance at him, before looking back at the desert.

"What was your life like before all of this?"

You sigh.

"Well, I asked you about your life, only fair you ask about mine, I guess." You shift in your seat. "My dad worked at TCRI," you said, almost surprised by your own voice.

"He was a chemical engineer. Smart, kinda goofy, loved soccer and puzzles. He used to bring home all kinds of weird samples—crystals, spores, little things in jars that glowed when you shook them." You smiled faintly at the memory. "Said his research was going to 'change the world.'"

Donatello looked up, attentive but silent.

"I was just finishing my engineering degree when he sat me down one night. Looked pale like death. Said there was something wrong. Said the guys he was working for weren't who they said they were, that they were actually something called the Kraang, sound familiar?" She looks at Donnie for a brief second. "That he thought they were aliens from another dimension. I thought he had lost it. But then… he made me promise I’d run if anything happened to him."

Donatello's voice softened. “They took him?”

You swallowed and nodded.

"He was taken the next morning. By men in suits, in black vans. I didn’t even get to say goodbye. That was the last time I ever saw him."

Donatello didn’t speak, just listened.

"So I ran. Hid out. But I couldn’t let it go. I needed to know what happened to my dad," You gave a bitter laugh. "I thought maybe if I, I don't know, solved the mystery of my dad's disappearance I could stop whatever was coming. Maybe even find him."

She glanced over at him.

"Then the bomb hit. Just like that, all of it, gone. And, well, I was the only survivor, in a way."

"I lost my home that day too," he said. "My friends, my brothers. All of it."

Your brows knit together and you shake your head, voice low. "It sucks, right? Funny thing is, even after everything that's happened, I never stopped thinking about him. Even now, I wonder what happened."

"I'm so sorry that happened to you." He whispered your name at the end.

You looked at Donatello then—really looked. Even though he didn't even have any facial muscles to speak of, you could swear you saw a hint of something behind his visor. Different stories. Same pain.

"Yeah, well." You shrug, "Me too."

Donatello didn’t reply right away. But he reached out and gently placed a hand over yours. The metal was cold, but the gesture itself felt warm. He gave you a good squeeze and then took away his hand, he didn't say anything afterwards, but the silence didn’t feel as awkward anymore.

------

You’re cruising the desert highway, dust curling in your wake when something catches your eye—a cluster of suspicious movement in the distance. You squint. A little girl, strung up in the air, restrained and apparently asking for help by the way she was flaining wildly.

Donatello almost jumps in his seat and grabs the panel of the trailer, clearly having noticed the scene and wanting to do something about it.

Your stomach knots, you're almost driving over. Fingers tighten around the steering wheel. But then you see it—light glinting off something at her hip. Too shiny. Too deliberate.

You slam your foot on the pedal and jerk the wheel hard, veering away.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Donatello shouts, twisting in his seat. "It's a kid!"

"Might be bait," you mutter, eyes fixed ahead. "Savages pull this trick all the time. You stop to save the helpless kid, and suddenly your tires are gone, your supplies too—and if you're lucky, you walk away."

"You don’t know it’s a trap!" He protests.

"I know enough," you snap, offended. "And I’m not dying over a decoy."

Donatello stares at you like he’s seeing you for the first time. "Seriously? That’s it? Just keep driving?"

You glance at him, jaw tight. "It's not our problem."

His voice is sharp, angry now. "Not our—? Wow. I thought you were better than this."

You laugh, dry and bitter. "Better than what, exactly? You don’t know me."

"You're right," he says, quieter now. "Just... I thought you were better than someone who turns their back on a kid."

You look over, ready to fire something back—but the passenger door’s wide open, and Donatello is nowhere to be seen.

“Donnie?" you call, blinking in disbelief.

"He jumped. If that wasn't obvious enough." Bertha chimes in.

“Oh for—goddamn it. You want to die? Fine by me. Stupid, fucking, robot, ugh." You slam your fist on the steering wheel, cursing under your breath. His words echo in your skull.

"I spent whoever knows how long oiling that jerk's joints and now he wants to go out into this scorching heat and die over some, scavenger ambush, that's fine." You shrug and monologue loudly, biting the inside of your cheek in frustration and pushing your foot deeper into the pedal. "Totally cool. Cool, cool, chill. Awesome sauce."

Your grip tightens and on the side of your eye you catch a glimpse of the photo you keep close to the panel. It's a photo of you and your Dad, the only one you had left. You pick it up and look at him, a bittersweet feeling washes over you and you look outside of your window, Donatello's figure becoming smaller and smaller in the distance.

You think back to the last day you saw your Dad, the last time you saw Nathan, how both of those times you ran off, and never saw them again. You sigh in frustration, then whip the wheel around.

"Hey—uh, what’s happening?" Bertha chimes in, voice dry. "Because if this is another one of your spontaneous heroic breakdowns, I would like to register a formal complaint."

"It's not a heroic moment, it's a me doing something stupid moment," you mutter, flooring it toward the kid.

"Stupid, confirmed," Bertha replies. "Shall I ready the medbay? Or the flamethrowers?"

"Both, and ready the guns."

The trailer roars forward, kicking up dust and fury. When you're getting closer your see, the spikes they throw on the ground and the savages that ride in on their motorcycles when they notice you approaching rapidly, shouts rising and weapons fumbling in surprise as Bertha readies her own.

Your front tire burst with a deafening pop, the whole rig lurching sideways. You lose control as the trailer fishtails wildly across the cracked asphalt.

"Shit—!" you yank the wheel, but it’s too late.

Metal screeches. The trailer slams into the wall, the crunch of impact ringing through your bones.

Smoke hisses from the hood. You cough, blinking through the haze. Your fingers scrabble at the jammed seatbelt, adrenaline still spiking.

So much for this morning’s repairs.

You can hear the sound of gunshots and fighting outside, but you couldn't see Donatello through the clouds of dust.

You kick the door open and rip your seatbelt. Bertha’s guns whir to life, spitting fire at the circling savages as you bolt into the chaos. Sand and smoke sting your eyes. You pull a knife from your boot, heart hammering and cut the rope that was keeping the girl strung up in the air.

"Hey—easy," you call, crouching low as you reach the little girl on the ground. "I’m just here to get you out, okay?"

The little rat mutant hisses at you, feral but as you tell her your intent, she slowly stops flailing. She hesitates and seems to consider your words. Then she nods.

You slash through the ropes around her wrists, the tension in her limbs easing—but the second you cut the binds on her legs, she bites.

"OW—what the hell?!"

Her sharp teeth sink into your hand. You hope she doesn't have rabies. Before you can shake her off, she grabs your knife—and your gun. Fast hands for someone so small.

You spot a glint on her hip—another weapon—and realize too late: she’s pulling something. You kick her off instinctively, and she tumbles back with a growl.

"What the hell, kid?! Give me that back!"

"No way, you filthy human!" she snarls, scrambling up.

Called it. Your gut churns.

She kicks sand straight into your eyes. You scream, blinded—then a shot grazes your ribs. Pain flares sharp and hot. You hit the ground, groaning, crawling backward as a dust cloud swallows the fight. You can’t see a damn thing.

As you try to find your footing, sharp claws grab at your hair. You shriek, kicking, thrashing, but it’s no use. You’re yanked through the sand like a rag doll, away from Bertha—whose wheels now spin, shot to hell, her guns silent.

The savage drags you up by the roots of your hair, forcing you to your knees. Blood trickles down your scalp. He presses a rusted machete to your throat—close enough that when you swallow, your skin kisses the edge.

"It’s over now, girl," he growls, breath hot and rancid. "You and your friend thought you could steal from us and live?"

You glare at him. But the fear? Yeah, you're not hiding it as well as you'd like. He laughs when he sees it.

"Any last words?"

You eyes dart around the place, where did Donatello go? He was there for a second, and now he was gone.

He ditched me. Your heart tightened. *Of course he did, maybe he was with them, and this was all an elaborate ruse for me to let my guard down. Well, shit, joke's on me for having a bleeding heart.

You turn your gaze to the ground, and then look up with teary eyes, looking at the savage with what seems to be a regretful look behind your long lashes.

"Yeah, but I'm shy, come closer..."

The savagemoves closer, ever filled with malice, you almost vomit in your mouth from their stench, but you wait for him to get close enough until you land a heavy ball of spit right between his eyes.

Asshole.

"Go to hell."

Laughter rings around you. The savage wipes the spit off his face with the back of his mutated hand.

And then, everything goes back for a second—punctuated by the dull crack of the butt of the weapon slamming into your skull. You could feel the metallic taste of blood in your mouth.

This was it. You’d finally run out of luck.

You clenched your teeth, eyes screwed shut, bracing for the killing blow—bullet, blade, didn’t matter.

But nothing came.

No sharp pain. No final breath. Just... silence.

Tentatively, you cracked one eye open, expecting to see the afterlife—or nothing at all.

Instead, you saw Donatello.

He struck like lightning, his bo staff slicing through the dust with terrifying precision. One savage dropped. Then another. A third went flying into the wreckage. Every hit was calculated, every movement deliberate—fluid, graceful, lethal.

You stared, jaw slack. “What the hell…”

Bertha’s voice crackled through the static, distant but urgent. “Are you just gonna sit there drooling or maybe fight back sometime today?”

Snapped out of your daze, you scrambled for a weapon— anything, the savages flew around you as you crawled through the sand in search of something, there! An old pipe club half-buried in the sand. You kicked one of the scavengers in the gut, then swung hard, knocking another across the face.

The mutant kid—the one you tried to save—still had your gun, and she was trying to make a run for it. “Give it back!” you barked.

"No way! Die, human scum!" she shrieked, firing. The bullet grazed your prosthetic arm. You growled and smacked the weapon out of her hands with the club.

She dove for it, but you were quicker this time. You caught it and turned it on her. She froze, wide-eyed.

You hesitated.

She was just a kid. A snarling, weapon-stealing mutant brat—but still a kid. Maybe in another dimension, if she hadn't been cursed by being born in this apocaliptic hellspace, maybe she could have been a regular kid, laughing with her friends, talking about makeup and boys or whatever kids would have been into, rather than trying to kill you.

You pointed vaguely to the horizon. "Go."

She hissed at you, then bolted, sand kicking up in her wake, you could see her one of the motorcycles from the savages and drive off into the distance.

Breathing heavily, you turned toward the wreckage. The savages were either unconscious or fleeing. Donatello stood in the center, bo staff resting on his shoulder, breathing steady.

"I didn't think you were coming back. What, did you have a sudden change of heart?" He asked sarcastically, but underneath it you could feel a hint of something else. You weren't sure, and you didn't feel like asking.

"Yeah. Yeah, whatever you pulled at my heartstrings and I couldn't watch you die to an obvious trap. You sure took your sweet time saving my ass though," you muttered, brushing sand off your shirt as Donatello came closer.

He smirked. "I think you meant to say ‘thank you." And then he looked at the way you stumbled over your feet and the way your held your side. "Are you okay? Did you get hurt?"

"That damn kid tried to kill me." You touched your side and groaned. "But that happens twice a week, I'll be fine."

"Can I take a look?" He seemed regretful, even if he hadn't apologized for the ordeal. You sighed and rolled your eyes. "I'm fine. Really."

Donatello took a step backwards, he almost seemed ashamed as he lowered his bo-staff.

You squinted at the mess around you.

"What the hell did you do to them anyway?"

“Let’s just say... being a robot ninja turtle in a desert full of psychos comes with certain advantages.”

You stared. “Show-off.”

He shrugged and you both started gathering gear, with Donnie tugging one of the savages' motorcycles upright. Donatello checked the engine, nodding. “This one’s salvageable. I guess I'll take it and uhm, get out of your hair.”

You raised an eyebrow “Wait,” you said.

He paused.

You kicked a rock and looked up at him. "Look. You may have gotten me to drive into this... whole situation, but you saved my ass. And I don’t exactly have a five-year plan... so if you wanna find your brother, I'll help you, if you want.”

His body language shifted—just a subtle lean forward. “Really? That’d be amazing!”

"Yeah, and it's gonna give you time to male up for almost getting me killed." You gave him a crooked smile.

Together, you patched up Bertha quickly before any back-ups could arive, you replaced the tires, and Donnie hooked his brother’s tracker to your radar. The signal was weak—but it was there.

Soon enough, you were both riding out across the open desert.

----

"Just let me take a look at it!" He protested, following you around the trailer with a clean rag and a half empty antiseptic in the other.

"I've got stabbed more times than I can count, I'll be fine!"

He crossed the short distance between you. His metal joints whirred softly as he followed, as you tried to leave he walked into your path, everytime you stepped away, he was there. You groaned in frustration. "Come on, it's my fault. Let me help you. You got bit and you got shot, I swear I'm a decent medic."

"Oh my god." You threw your hands in defeat at the air. "Fine, I give up."

You groaned and relented, pulling your jacket off and unwrapping the crusty bandage you had put together earlier. He leaned in, his visor narrowing in concentration as he inspected the wound. His fingers were careful—gentle, despite the cold metal.

“Bullet just grazed you,” he said quietly. “Could’ve been worse.”

You winced as he sprayed the last of your antiseptic. "Could’ve not been at all."

"You did save a kid—even if she tried to kill you afterward."

"She tried to kill me before I saved her," you muttered through gritted teeth.

He chuckled softly, then carefully wrapped your side with clean gauze. "You didn’t have to come back. But you did."

"I wasn't gonna let you get killed after I put so much effort into saving you." You retorted, and he let out a soft laugh.

His hand moved to your bitten palm, and you flinched as he wiped the wound clean.

“She got you good,” he said. “I’m starting to think she was half piranha.”

You smirked. “I think she was mostly brat.”

He got some needle and thread that you kept in your medkit and started to stitch the wound together, you both remained silent while he patched you up, once he was done he sat back with a satisfied hum. "There. Not perfect, but it’ll hold. And you won’t die of infection, so… win-win."

"What about mutant rabies, hm?" You look at your bandaged hand, you had to admit he really was good at this. It made you wonder how much 'practice' he had. "Did you think about that?"

"She didn't look like she had mutant rabies to me, I think you're gonna be fine."

"I wouldn't bet on those odds."

You flexed your fingers, looking at the clean bandages. "Thanks," you said, a little softer than usual.

He tilted his head slightly. "Anytime."

You pulled your jacket back on, trying not to look flustered. "That doesn’t mean you get to play nurse every time I scrape my knee."

"No promises," he said, leaning back with a smirk. "You’re kinda accident-prone."

You snorted, tossing a pebble at him. He caught it mid-air, just to show off.

You rolled your eyes and returned to the driver's seat, Bertha had been driving while you were away and apparently nothing interesting had happened so far, so you settled into place and Donatello followed suit, sitting in the passenger's seat.

-----

"I got it! His phone's signal is close by." Donatello almost chirped when the little dot on the radar became stronger. You two had been driving the entire day, the sun was almost setting when you finally reached Raphael's signal.

"It leads right into those ruins." He pointed at what was left of an old road town, now beaten and battered by constant storms, desert raiders and sandworms.

"Let's be careful. It could be another trap."

You park close enough to the town that you and Donatello could bolt to Bertha if things turned south, but not to close she would be vulnerable to any sneak attacks.

You keep your gun drawn as you and Donatello make your way through the ruins, your finger just barely grazing the trigger as you round the corners, the sand crunching beneath your heels. Everytime you heard somethint louder than a whisper you would instinctively hold your gun tighter and feel the back of your hand burn.

You and Donatello were quiet as you cleared the town, the only residents left were bone and dust, if anybody ever lived here, they were long gone by now.

You made your way around a particularly tall wall, ready to shoot at anything that seemed like a threat, but instead you saw a big graffiti on the wall, it looked recent.

Coming closer your eye caught a glimpse of a reflection from the ground, it seemed like a small phone half buried in the sand, it's screen black. You made your way over the phone and picked it up with your metal hand, swiping away the dust and the sand— the tiny phone had a rounded backside, resembling a turtle's shell. Yep, definitely Raphael's phone.

"Hey I think I found something." You call out to Donatello.

He rounds the corner, you place the phone in his oversized three fingered hand and he looks it over carefully.

"This is Raph's phone." He confirms your suspicions and turns it on, the screen flickers for a second before a glitchy voice comes from the tiny phone.

He stares at the screen for a moment longer, then tilts it slightly so you can see. The video file flickers to life—grainy, damaged, but it plays.

You can barely see anything through the damaged screen, but through the parts that are still semi-functional, you can see the loose shape of a large green man. His face is covered with dirt, blood crusting his temple, eyes red-rimmed. He looks angry. But underneath that... he looked tired.

"Don… if you’re seeing this, I guess you're going through my stuff again." He let out a chuckle that turned into a strained cough. "Look, I know we don't always agree on how to go about things, I guess you'd say that's always been on brand for me."

"But listen… things got messy after our fight. I don't even know if you're out there still, but if you ever come across this, I shouldn’t have walked out, but I needed space. You were right, we should’ve—"

The phone glitches out, the sounds unintelligible before it sputters back to working, but the video gets more and more glitchy as it keeps going.

"If you come looking—" The video cuts and you can barely understand the next words coming out, "The old radio tower—" it cuts again "I'm waiting, little brother—" and it dies.

Donatello tries to turn it on, but finds no success. He let out a frustrated sigh.

"Is it broken?"

He shakes his head, "I don’t know."

"I have some tools back in Bertha, maybe you can fix it in there." You try to be a bit optimistic, noticing the shift in Donatello's mood. "You might find more clues."

He doesn't answer you at first, staring at the black screen in his hand before turning his attention to the wall, which had been forgotten by both of you until now.

"That's the symbol of the muskrats." Donatello points out.

"What?"

"They're a bunch of thugs me and Raph ran into a couple of months ago. They almost trashed my truck." He touches the wall and then rubs his neck. "If they took him, oh boy..."

You hesitate, but put your hand on his shoulder and pat him awkwardly at first, but then give him a good squeeze.

"He looks tough, I'm sure he's fine. Look, he said something about an old radio tower. I have some old maps, and maybe we'll find something on that phone. Do you think you can fix it?"

"Maybe. If I can turn it on, I might be able to find something else."

You watch the emotions shift through him — relief, guilt, hope — all tangled in silence.

"Let's hunker down for tonight, Donnie."

---

The fire had died down to low embers, casting long, flickering shadows across the sand. The desert wind had quieted for the night, save for the occasional rustle of grit brushing against Bertha’s worn hull.

You tried to pass the time fiddling with Bertha's panels, but Donatello insisted — insisted! — that you get some rest so as to not ruin your new stitches.

It was funny, in a way, you barely knew each other but he seemed so protective of you, in his own way. Fixing your trailer, patching you up, so even though having someone telling you not to tinker with your own trailer was annoying, you begrudingly complied— for now.

You leaned back on your elbows, legs stretched toward the dim glow, a mutant cockroach and a fat beetle on a stick barely caught your attention.

Donatello sat a few feet away, one knee drawn up. He was quiet. You watched him for a moment before speaking.

“Is something on your mind?"

He looked over. "Just thinking about Raph."

"I get it." You nod. "But we'll find him."

He nodded.

Silence followed. You grabbed a stick and started poking the fire, stirring up sparks.

“This… whatever it is between us. It’s weird,” you muttered, not looking at him.

Donnie looked up at you. "Because I’m a mutant turtle in a robot body, and you’re a grumpy desert scavenger with a death wish?"

You smirked. "I'm not that grumpy."

You could hear Bertha's mock laugh coming from behind you, and you threw a pebble at her, which earned you a fake 'augh, the pain—it's unbearable!' from her. You rolled your eyes and ignored her theatrics.

"I haven’t talked to anyone like this in a good while, unless you count Bertha. It's....odd."

Donnie chuckled softly. “I dunno. I think it works. You’re tough, resourceful. A little intense.” He tilted his head. “In a good way.”

You let out a 'psst' sound. Not letting yourself believe the compliments entirely. Your gaze dropped to your hands, fingers tightening unconsciously. There was a long pause. You could feel his eyes on you but didn’t look up.

"I’m glad we ran into each other," he said softly.

You didn’t answer right away. Finally, you muttered, "I’ve had worse company."

"You’re terrible at this, y’know that?"

The corner of your mouth twitched, almost a smile. You both turned back to the fire, saying nothing. The beetle popped, spitting juice into the coals.

Eventually, you said, "Get some rest, Donatello. Big day tomorrow."

He nodded but didn’t move. "Yeah. You too."

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.

Hi I seen you request we’re open and I was wondering if I could request some cuddling headcanons with the bayverse turtles with their female s/o if it’s not to much trouble 😅 if not that’s totally fine thank you!! :]

Yess!! My first tmnt request! >:) Ask and you shall receive

Bayverse Turtles with a female

s/o! (Cuddling hcs)

Masterlist II Taglist

»»-----------►

Raphael

You’d probably be the one to ask first and when you do ask, Raph will be so taken back by it, not in a bad way though

He’d just be surprised that you’d want to cuddle him I feel like he’s really insecure about himself and wouldn’t expect you to ask him for cuddles

Once he’s over his surprise though he will nervously agree and will need your guidance of what to do, where to put his arms, etc

He’ll try to make it seem like he doesn’t like it but it’s very obvious he’s enjoying it

He’d prefer to cuddle in private like in his room since he wouldn’t want his brothers to know about it

He’d probably rather cuddle you with your back turned to him just because he doesn’t want you seeing how flustered he is

He’s a big softy though, he enjoys falling asleep while cuddling, especially after a rough day because it helps him relax

Leonardo

He’d probably be the one to ask first but he’d also be kinda unsure whether to ask or not because he doesn’t want to make your uncomfortable

So he’d probably tell you that it’s okay to say no but when you agree he’s relieved and happy

Really enjoys cuddling you and doesn’t really mind if his brothers find out or not

Tries to be gentle when cuddling cause he doesn’t want to accidentally crush you or hold you to tight

Enjoys hearing you talk while you cuddle, it’s just relaxing to him and he can easily fall asleep to your voice

Likes to run his fingers through your hair while cuddling too

Like with Raph he enjoys cuddling as a stress reliever from a rough day and it helps him calm down

Donatello

You’d have to be the first one to ask because he’d be way to anxious to ask you first

Like he’s thought about cuddling before and has been wanting to ask you but he’s just to scared too

Like with Raph, when you ask Donnie if he wants to cuddle he freezes up and gets really flustered

He’ll agree though after he calms down, he’ll definitely start searching up ‘How to cuddle’ ‘Best cuddling positions’, etc because he has no idea what to do

Falling asleep together in his lab chair!! <3

he obviously has an ungodly sleeping schedule and you don't want to lay in his bed alone waiting for him so you just sit on his lap using his shoulder as a pillow

your warmth makes Donnie go to bed immediately

He wouldn’t want his brothers finding him cuddling you so he’d prefer cuddling in either his room or his lab

He secretly loves it when you trace your finger around his scales it makes his heart go <333

I just love Donnie so much :(( 💕💕

Michelangelo

He’d definitely ask first 100%

It probably won’t even be to far into your relationship and he’d ask pretty quickly

But he’d actually be surprised if you agreed and he might tear up a bit but he tries to hide it

He might think about when the police officers called them monsters and he would need reassurance that you don’t think that about him

He’s just so happy he has you and you don’t see him any differently

Prefers having you face him when cuddling because he can look and you (and kiss you easier)

Since he’s so hyper he probably talks a lot when cuddling, ranting about stuff, talking about how his day went, talking about something he’s interested in, etc

He’s just such a loveable goofball <3 He’s my favourite (Besides Donnie, I love him sm)

Thank you so much for requesting!! It’s my first tmnt request, so thank you so much!! I may not post that often due to being busy and I’m currently sick :( I’m hoping I get better soon :D

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)