symbio(sae) ♡

╰♥︎ ╮

There were two groups that ran this city. 

You were the heir to one.

Subtract a single primary color, and the Houses of Red and Blue stood infamous– their reputation consisted simply that of pure malice. Bloodthirst. Hunger. Most importantly, revenge. 

Each House was built around a single family. Yours, the “House of Red,” was what you believed to be your entire bloodline. Though your heritage still labeled themselves with a last name, there was no sense in using it. All you were to the weary citizens of New York was “Red.” Red, lurid and sacrificial. 

Betrayal did not exist here, in this family. No. Trust and loyalty structured every inch of a simple decision, just as it did in the House of Blue. 

The House of Blue, too, possessed a surname. Hamato. Somehow, more were aware of their last name– often calling these few creatures by the name of the “Hamato Clan.” Your family had simply deduced them to their vibrant colors, the same way the world had deduced you. Perhaps your bloodline had done this out of spite. Many things were done out of spite, by them– for their only purpose was to kill. 

As was the House of Blue’s.

You were called assassins, often. That’s mislabeling. An underestimation. Neither family would claim that title. Hunters was the word you preferred.

Red hunted out creatures that did not belong in this world. The ones that were hiding, waiting to make the world worse for others. 

Blue was formed by defense. They were made out to be the monsters, but, with power, formed into one of the most powerful training and defense rings to ever exist. They trained soldiers and kept their family core strong. Outsiders saw monsters because Red had painted them so. To them, that’s all they were. 

You knew it was quite the opposite. 

There was a pull you could not name. A longing to step past boundary lines… one that you have most certainly, but would not admit, crossed. 

╰♥︎ ╮

“Blue was found navigating the tunnels after our encounter. 0213, not much footage. Only entry.” one of your family members had analyzed. Your father, most likely.

“Goddamn it. He’s too clean. Too fast. How’s he managing to wipe the cameras that quickly?”

“It’s Purple and his tech interference. He intercepted our signals before they’d even reached the manhole,” your uncle muttered. His hands wiped his face. “I keep telling you! We need to be spending more on our systems, not weapons! Rifles, tactics, manpower—it’s all useless against them!” His fists slammed the table. Not much moved, in this locked-down environment. Not that you could see, anyway. It was dark. You had been placed at the far end of the table. 

“The Red one was on the east flank. Taking out our people. Orange was with him, likely recruiting,” another operative muttered, tapping a tablet. “It’s a distraction. They draw attention away from him every time.”

“He’s adapting to our attacks," you said quietly, before anyone could stop you. “He always adapts. If you have our eyes focused on tunnels, he’ll use rooftops. If you bait him with Red, then Orange will be somewhere else.”

"And what exactly would you know about their leader’s tactics, (y/n)?" Your father’s voice was a low growl that demanded a refutation.

Every bloodshot eye in the room was locked onto you; eyebrows furrowed and heads tilted inwards as if they had no other choice. 

"I know what’s logical. He is highly intelligent, as are the others. Assuming he operates on a simple, predictable pattern is what has allowed him to evade capture for months," you responded, keeping your tone level, despite the tremor of fear beneath your breath. “We’re predictable, Dad. Face it.”

"God, you sound like you admire him. Yuck," your cousin accused, the sharpness in his voice cutting through the tension.

Your eyes squinted at the relative– you weren’t particularly fond of that one. "I admire efficiency. Something we clearly seem to lack. If we continue to underestimate him, this war you people demand to have will never end."

Your father leaned forward, his elbows resting on the dark, heavy wood of the table. "This isn’t a war of logistics. Your ignorance is flawed.This is a blood feud. It is about what they took from us." He slammed a hand onto the table, making the few papers resting there jump. "Do you forget the history?! Must I remind you?"

"No, Father," you murmured, the word "history" lurking in the back of that brain of yours. You wanted to store it in a file in the deepest depths of your mind and trash it. 

“Then remind me. Explain it,” your father requested, leaning back in his chair. 

God, how you hated doing this. 

“The House of Red is supposed to represent humanity. And tradition. That’s how it has been since… since, before I was born. For ages.” A sigh from your lips. “Us, the House of Red… Red has always believed that mutants, anyone who isn’t… like us… are threats. That they need to be controlled. And Confined. And… Eliminated. Anything else is weakness…” You repeated. Like clockwork. You knew the story– hated abiding by it. You didn’t want to live your life like this. Oh, it was so unfair! Cruel! Inhumane!

Your uncle snorted. In a sing-song voice, he started to mumble. “You are stallinggg~”

You pressed your palms into your knees, wishing you could disappear. Wising he would just shut up!

“We… we round up mutants. And the soldiers who are trained by the House of Blue. Force them to train, to bend to our rules. And if they resist… we kill them. That’s how it’s always been. That’s what Red is. That’s… our history.”

“It’s only necessary.” someone spat from the corner. Your cousin, again.

“Necessary?!” you echoed, disbelief threading through your words. “It’s cruelty! And you know it!”

Your father’s fingers drummed against the table. “Stop. You are speaking as if you sympathize with them. Explain the history, (y/n). Objectively, this time.”

“I am,” you said, voice low, defiant. Angry.  “Blue gathered the ones who resisted. The ones who don’t agree with our methods—methods they have every right to question—and he trains them. They protect the innocents. The ones who can’t control their genetic makeup, Dad. He’s teaching them how to survive. He’s–” 

“Quiet!” Your father’s hands slammed against the table. 

The silence that followed was deafening. The only sound was the low hum of the ventilation system, pushing stale, recycled air through the concrete bunker. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, a flush of defiance you couldn't quite suppress.

“You will not speak their leader’s name in this house. Ever.” Your father’s gaze was like ice. “He’s the reason that those mutant freaks continue to walk this Earth.” 

“They are not freaks!” you exploded, the volume of your own voice shocking even yourself. The careful control you’d maintained shattered, replaced by a searing, blinding rage. “They are fighting for their lives because of our cruelty and brutality! You think they don’t deserve to exist? You think we have the right to hunt them down? This ‘history’ you cherish is nothing but a trail of blood and fear! And I want no part of it!”

“Silence!” Your father's roar was a physical blow, cutting your outburst short. He rose from his chair, a towering, furious figure whose shadow seemed to swallow the dim light in the bunker. “You dare speak to me—to us—with such disrespect? You have forfeited your right to sit at this table.” He pointed toward the door, his hand shaking with suppressed violence. “Go. To your room. You are done here. I do not want to see your face again until you have learned the definition of loyalty to the House of Red.” 

You took a breath. Shit. 

“Out.” Your father spat. 

You pushed away from the heavy wooden table, the scrape of your chair against the concrete floor sounding deafening in the charged silence. Every eye followed you, but you didn't look at them. You didn't dare. To look back would be to give them the satisfaction of seeing your defeat, your fear.

You walked stiffly, your back straight, toward the exit—a thick, steel door that required a code to open. 

As the heavy door hissed shut behind you, sealing you out of the war room and into the dim, cold hallway, a shiver ran down your spine. Despite the chill, it was somehow hot in this manor– not cold.

You had gone too far this time. You knew it the second the word "cruelty" had left your mouth. Your father wasn't known for leniency, especially when the subject was the Hamato Clan. Not one bit.

The way he was able to command you around like a child– you hated it. Every single, little, meticulous piece of it. You were a grown adult, for fuck’s sake! Have some independence! Accountability! It was embarrassing, honestly. 

The black combat outfit that you wore scratched against its own material; the black boots you had trampling across the new tiled floor. Red and black, everywhere in this house; maybe some white. Not the worst color scheme, but also one you’ve grown to hate. 

The black had become stained with red overtime. A dark, liquid, crimson one. Especially after this morning’s fight. 

You didn’t want to fight. Not with them. But you were given no other choice. 

The bunker was underground. That’s what they had called it. In reality, the place was so huge, it grew out of the ground– your bloodline has been building and picking at it for decades upon decades. The walls were constructed of stone, your occasional ivy and other invasive greenery trailing up and down the walls. Nobody had bothered to trim it. The black and white tile was eventually covered by a large, velvet rug– one far too expensive to purchase. It was likely stolen. Hmm. How shocking. 

Your family was full of thieves. And liars. And murderers! And yet, you continued to follow them. You were a thief and a liar and a murderer too. You were a Red. By blood. By fate.

Your feet carried you down the long, twisting corridor. The air was heavy with the scent of old stone and layers of age-old dust, enough to give a Victorian child some mysterious disease. This whole place smelled like metal and blood, but you had grown used to it. That was the scariest part. You had grown used to it. It had taken you years to even realize that you hated this place. You didn’t even think it was possible for a kid to hate their home.

Your bedroom door was at the end of the hall; it was different from the other rooms in this damned bunker. You had a wooden door– not steel. It had a marble handle. A white lock. You were allowed to keep your door locked. It was the one thing they allowed you to have.

Air. I need air, you'd think.

There were some perks to living inside of a mansion. Your room was huge, which you were truly quite thankful for-- but that wasn't the star of the show. No, not your huge bed, or your large closet, or your absolutely humongous ceiling that trailed up so many feet. 

But your balcony. 

The cold breeze of February air was a nice contrast to the heat of your cheeks from the previous encounter; you had thrown the glass door open, but not before grabbing  a jacket. The leather of your black gloves you had slipped on felt nice against your skin; you could feel them rub against the fabric of your pockets, a small comfort in this suffocating place. Everything you owned was black. Tactical. Hints of scarlet. You weren't really given other options. 

You needed to get out. Just for a little while.

The stone railing of your balcony was cold against your gloved hands. You leaned over, peering down at the sprawling, illuminated city below. New York never slept. A million tiny lights blinked and pulsed, a living organism breathing in the night. From here, you could almost forget the suffocating red; the weight of a history that wasn't yours to bear, but even still, permanently bound to your mentality regardless.

Almost.

The red that scattered in your mind was only replaced by the red that illuminated Times Square. Red, pink and white had taken over the billboards, the advertisement screens. Hearts. Flowers. Cutesy little envelopes that opened with each passing commercial. Valentine's Day. Ah. Of course. The city was celebrating love, and you were absolutely entombed in a monument to hate.

It was pathetic. You were pathetic. A pathetic, lonely Red, staring out at a world you weren't allowed to be a part of.

The urge to run was a physical itch under your skin. To climb over the railing, to scale the ivy-covered wall, to disappear into the labyrinth-aligned streets below. To be anyone, anywhere, else. Just for an hour. An hour, that's all you need! 

You knew the patrols. You knew the blind spots. You knew how to disappear. Hell, you planned most of them. 

A plan, though naïve, began to form in the back of your mind. The thought was a spark in the dry kindling of your frustration. You could do it. You could slip away. No one would know. Not until morning. Sunrise? Could you make it until then? God, you needed it. 

Your fingers tightened on the railing, the decision solidifying into resolve. You wouldn't go far. Just a walk. To your spot. Hidden away from everyone else.

Everyone else, save one certain person. 

*Turtle.

╰♥︎ ╮

-Nine Months Ago-

You’d met him. Many times. You still remember your first. 

He had a name, of course. Leonardo. He wasn’t just Blue, as your family had denounced him to. Leonardo was the leader of the House of Blue, the primary subject of hatred from your own House– but the one person you knew to trust.

You knew him in a way no Red should know a Blue.

You knew he wouldn’t hurt you, if it came down to it. Never. He wasn’t that kind of a person! Sure, he may be a little snarky here and there, but… with you, it’s never serious. It’s playful. An interaction you so terribly desire after years of being trapped in this house. 

The first time you met him was right where you planned to go—the tallest building nearby. From that height, the view was clear and wide. Even with all the advances in technology, it was still comforting to see the bright colors of Times Square and the neighborhoods of New York City spread out below. Sitting on the edge, your feet hanging over, you felt a strong thrill. There was nobody else around to bother. You could think freely. Ignore every other being on this planet. It was your spot. 

It was an accident, that first time. You were relaxing. Him, observing. He was looking for a high vantage point; you were simply enjoying the view of the bay. You were wearing Red's colors; he was wearing Blue's. The confrontation should have ended in a fight. A capture. A kill, according to your family. That’s what they would’ve said. If they knew. 

Instead, it ended in silence. A little weariness from the both of you. 

"You're Red's heir," he had stated, his voice low, smooth and calm. No malice. Just an observation. Not a question.

"You're Blue's leader," you'd replied, your hand already hovering near the hilt of your weapon. The statement was a little confusing to bring to life. Leader of the House of Blue… and here he was, the blue one– such a strange way to label things. 

"Are you going to try and take me in?" he asked, tilting his head slightly, a small, knowing smirk playing on his lips.

"That depends, are you going to try to kill me?"

A pause. The wind whistled through the broken fencing.

"No," he'd finally said, sinking onto a dilapidated stone bench, resting his twin katana blades against the wall beside him. "It's too nice out to fight right now. I suspect you feel the same."

"I do," you admitted, the tension in your shoulders easing just a fraction. You lowered your hand from your weapon, though you didn't fully relax. This was insane. You were sitting on a rooftop with the enemy's leader, and you weren't fighting.

But you also… weren’t going to complain. He certainly wasn’t the worst thing to look at.

He studied you for a moment, his gaze sharp and assessing, noticing you looking– yet completely allowing it, because he, too, was mesmerized. He hadn’t met one like you, yet. Willing to speak. God. The rest of your family was just– how to put it.. Unbearable. He’s fought with your cousin. Uncle. Father, especially. He wouldn’t fight women often– he found it disrespectful. And, oh, honor boy was adamant about his respect. He carefully trailed his eyes across you as well, getting a good look at who he was conversing with that was so so different from the rest of the House. 

On your end, you noticed some things. Delicate things. The wind caught the long, black and blue tails of his mask, making them flutter momentarily against the dark stone behind him. He was striking, even in the gloom. His shell was a deep olive green, and the musculature of his arms was clearly defined even beneath the blue accents of his gear.

Your eyes were drawn, as they always were, to the intricate Japanese tattoos that coiled around his arms. They were patterns of flowing water and some japanese text, clean lines of traditional irezumi that indicated loyalty–a clear contrast to the harsh, violent symbols etched across your own skin: red marks for each member of the House of Blue you were trained to eliminate. You had few of them, though, finding the ritual cruel, immoral. In your family’s hands, these tattoos came at a cost. Mutants offering their flesh in exchange for the faintest hope of freedom, the slightest chance at acceptance.

His tattoos didn’t look like decoration, unlike yours. You thought his told a story. It was almost jealousy that you felt melting in your head. Envy? No. Regret. For being taught this about them. 

Is this who we’ve been fighting against? You’d think. He’s so… respectful. Not what they make him out to be. 

Sure, he and his brothers were killers, too, not to be denied. Was there something wrong with you for thinking this way?

"Why are you here, Red?" he asked, not a challenge, but a genuinely curious query. He tilted his head the other way this time, the movement slow and deliberate. He didn't interrupt or rush you, simply waiting for your answer. 

"The same reason you are, Blue," you replied, meeting his gaze. "To get away from it."

He didn't need to ask what 'it' was. You both knew. 

A small, genuine smile touched his lips, a rare expression that softened the sharp lines of his face. "A truce, then? For a bit," he suggested, gesturing between you with an open palm. "For the view."

You hesitated for only a second. This was treason. This was the start of everything your father feared.

Fuck it.

"A truce," you agreed, letting out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. You sat down opposite him, finally allowing yourself to look up at the vast, indifferent New York sky. “Just for the view."

After that, it was consistent. Over. And over. And over again, you’d meet him here- your spot became both of your spots. Sometimes you’d find the other, converse for hours– lie to their family about where they were. It was a repetitive process, but a process worth risking. 

He grew more attached to you. You grew more attached to him, despite how pissed your family might have been at you for your actions. 

Your red and black against his blue and green were often found together. Leo and you would often walk alongside alleyways of the state, getting dangerously close to the manhole cover that served as the entrance to his home. He never let you get too close, though. He knew of Donnie’s cameras. He was a menace with tracking people down. 

The two of you always played it safe. Never, ever was there a mistake. There was too much of a risk to be seen in public; one eye on the duo you had fabricated, and the little story between Leonardo and you would be out.

…. Was it worth it? The effort?

You’d evolve soon enough and figure out the answer to that burning question.

╰♥︎ ╮

-Now-

Your fingers curled around the ladder, knuckles white. You hated climbing this thing. The loose screws did nothing for the anxiety coming up. It wasn’t much better coming down, but, you had worse things you could have been doing right now. 

It’s snowing again. The flakes fall on your pink cheeks. You’re not sure if they're this pink because of the snow– because, in all honesty, you were quite warm– or because of the reflection of the advertisement screens. Pink, again. Red. Hearts. Cupid. Roses. Love. Love. Love.

Christ, that was a wake-up call. This, the snow– good. This is what you needed. The holiday commercials thrown in your face, you could have done without, but… it was a nice atmosphere. 

The black combat boots slowly stampeded through the snow, leaving crisp and thick footprints in their waste. With haste, snow was kicked off of the roof; at least, what was left from the last flurry. It was bearable. Cold, but bearable. You shrugged off your jacket, folding it carefully on the ground to use as a cushion, and sank down onto it, letting the cold fade just a little beneath you.

You just wanted to think.

About everything. Anything. Just not what you had to do tomorrow.

Who knows if you’d be allowed out tomorrow? As long as you didn’t have to recite history again, you were fine. Still pissed, but fine. 

Not more meetings. No more patrols. You wanted to be done.

The silence was different here. It wasn’t stark silence. You heard a police siren wail, the chatter of civilians talking, music from speakers. Even now, it was more quiet than it was in the House of Red. 

Your head leaned back, your eyes closing as you took a deep, shuddering breath. The cold air bit at your lungs, sharp and clean. It was like a high.

You were drawn out of it fairly quickly.

"A lonely spot to be tonight," a voice murmured from behind you, smooth as silk. You didn't jump. Your hand instinctively moved toward your weapon before you even registered who it was-- but you knew. The blue mask. The twin katanas resting on his back..

“(Y/n),” he replied, pushing off the door and stepping closer. His gaze drifted briefly to the skyline—pink lights, blinking hearts, obnoxious declarations of love—before returning to you.

A faint, almost thoughtful hum left him.

“Most people,” he said mildly, “don’t usually choose to be alone on Valentine’s. Especially in the freezing cold.” The turtle drew his katanas out; tossing them onto the floor beside him, though it looked as if he was going to pose into a fighting stance. Another tease.

"Some people don't get a choice," you deadpanned, though there was no real heat in it. "What are you doing here? I thought your family would be... busy." After the encounter this afternoon, you'd expected everyone to be laying low, licking their wounds.

“Could say the same about you,” he said, and the faint, almost teasing smile vanished from his lips. He’d dropped to sit beside you, close enough that the chill from the shell on his back seeped through your clothes. “Donnie’s monitoring all the public feeds for any sign of your family. Raph and Mikey are on high alert. I’d say we’re plenty busy.”

“Then by that logic, you shouldn’t be here,” you said, but your words lacked confidence. 

“I saw you leave your room,” he admitted quietly. “I was nearby. Thought it was you. Donnie sent me footage to confirm a red left the residence." You scoffed. But were you really mad about it? "I could tell you were angry. Or frustrated, of sorts. But I’d rather you were up here and angry than down there and… you know.” He gestured vaguely toward the city, toward your home. “With them.”

You let out a short, sharp laugh that wasn't really a laugh at all. "God, you have no idea. He made me recite history again. Like a fucking child." You stared out at the blinking lights, your vision blurring slightly. "I think I finally pushed my Dad too far." 

Leo was quiet for a long moment. His head had tilted, eyes baring into yours as you spoke. He flicked a flake of snow from your hair, but more would continue to fall. 

The fight had been brutal. Losses on both ends– you know your family didn’t recognize them, but as for the opposing team, they may have actually done some sort of action that showed their respect for the fallen. 

People were hurt. You were hurt. You noticed blood oozing from Leo’s skin, the brawl injuries wrapped by measly little wrist wraps on the cuts. They ranged from his lower legs to his shoulders, but some were worse than the rest; some cuts were dried, some looked fresh, as if he’d tried and failed to patch them up again, just messing with the wound.

"Your father," Leo had said, his voice low and dangerous. You saw a white piece of material drawn out from his belt mechanism near his waist; he pressed a sterile cloth to a cut above your eyebrow you'd gotten from him earlier. "He nearly took Raph's head off with that staff of his.”

“Shit.” You mumbled, shaking your head. Leo grabbed the low end of your face, softly, tilting it back towards him so he could keep working. “How’s he doing?”

“Pissed about it. He thinks because he got hurt, it makes him less of a fighter.”

“He’s not. He’s one of the best on your team, if not the best.” 

“I know,” he says quietly. “He’ll get over it. He always does.” There’s a small pause before his voice lowers, softer but firmer somehow. “But you… you have got to be more careful. Please. All of you.”

You flinched, not from the sting of the antiseptic, but from his words. "You know I don't want any part of this," you whispered, your voice hoarse from screaming earlier. "I hate fighting with you. I don't like hurting anybody."

"No," he agreed, his focus intense, his fingers gentle despite their size. "But you're part of it. Your house—Raph was lucky. A few inches to the left..." He didn't need to finish. The image of his hot-headed brother, bloodied and still, flashed through both your minds. "I'm telling you this as a warning. To be more careful. For your sake, not just ours." He tossed the dirty cloth aside, letting it rest in the snow. "Apologies, as well, for the gash here... I didn't mean to actually come close to you. I'm... I'm at fault, too. We all are."

You swallowed hard against the lump in your throat. "My father doesn't care about collateral damage. He never has. I can't convince him otherwise, Leo, I've tried. So hard."

"Neither does mine," he admitted quietly, his eyes meeting yours in the dim light. "If one of you hurts one of mine... and I know you, personally, wouldn't come close, but your family? If they hurt one of mine, they won't hesitate. Just like yours won't." He finished cleaning the cut and began to tape a bandage over it, his touch impossibly soft against your bruised skin. "I don't want to be the one who has to choose sides, (y/n). If something were to happen..."

You reached up, your fingers wrapping around his wrist, stilling his movements. The snow continued to fall around you, dusting your black combat gear and his blue accents in a layer of pure, untouched white. You could see blood seeping through his own wrist wraps. Damage, again, from earlier. He had extra gauze and likely planned on rewrapping it. "Let me help with that, please..." you murmured with guilt-- the sense stricken deep within you in apology for the irreparable damage your family has caused.

You gently unwound the bloody wrap from his forearm. The material revealed a deep gash that was still weeping blood. It was a clean cut, likely from a shrapnel or a blow from a blade. It didn't take a genius to know where that came from.

"This is bad, Leo," you murmured, your brow furrowed with concern. "We should clean this properly. Do you have any other supplies besides that wet cloth?"

He watched you work, his usual poker face and confidence replaced by a weary resignation. “I handled it, I thought it didn’t need stitches at the time.” His gaze meets yours. “I was wrong.” Leo’s mouth curved inward as you dabbed the wound with a fresh, sterile cloth, but his gaze never left your face. A soft chuckle came from him. "I also think you worry too much, (y/n). I’ll be perfectly fine."

"I worry about you," you retorted, a faint, almost nonexistent smile touching your lips. You pulled a small roll of gauze from your own utility belt—the House of Red’s supplies were always top-notch; one thing you were thankful your family spent their funds on. Even if their ethics weren’t humane, the medicine and care products you were provided with were quite... advanced, compared to the House of Blue’s. You began to dress the wound with intricate care and clear knowledge on how to aid a wound. "This is going to sting for a bit. Hold still."

"Yes ma'am," he replied, a low, playful note returning to his voice, though it was still strained by exhaustion. He didn't wince at your care; not once.

The snow falling would have completely frozen the average person with frostbite. Of course, you were the average person; but your body was too busy being held hostage by the warmth that was the heat radiating from Leo's body. Your feet were curled up to your chest, and you held the turtle's giant hand in yours as you worked to fix up the gash as best you could.

Leo didn't tell you, but that gash wasn't really harming him. He just found it amusing that you were willing to help him out.

No… willing wasn't the right word. Demanding was a better choice. You were simply and absolutely adamant to see him better.

When you finished securing the bandage with a small piece of tactical tape, you looked up. His eyes, the color of the vast, deep bay beneath the city lights, were already fixed on yours.

"There," you whispered, a sense of quiet satisfaction in your voice. "Good as new."

He gently took your hand, the one that had just dressed his wound, and brought it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. The unexpected intimacy sent a jolt through you, eclipsing the dull ache of your own bruises.

"You’re a terrible assassin, Red," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. "You're too much of a healer. You should quit. Stay with me. For your own good," he would tease.

"And you’re a terrible vigilante leader, Blue," you countered, your voice barely a breath. "Too fond of sitting on rooftops with people who are supposed to be your enemy."

"You're the only one I sit on rooftops with, (y/n)." Leo responded. 

“That’s sad. You should find someone else to do that with. Your brothers, or something.” A silly claim, made by you. Leo shook his head.

“If I wanted someone else, I’d go find them.” 

The snow gathers along the ridge of his shell. He doesn’t move to brush it off. “You keep telling me to find someone else. But you’re still here.” he says, voice low, even. “... do you want me to find someone else?”

You shift, the leather of your gloves creaking slightly against the frozen concrete. "What? No, no, absolutely not. I was teasing," you whisper, though the defiance in your tone feels hollow. Your gaze drops to where your hands still hover near his arm, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his skin through your gloves. "I just... think it's stupid that you risk everything for this. That we risk everything for this."

"This?" His head tilts, the snowflakes catching in the blue fabric of his mask. A single flake lands right above his left eye, melting instantly against his skin. "Or you?"

"Both," you say, the word barely visible as vapor in the frigid air. "Both of us are stupid."

Leo's shoulders relax slightly, his usual guarded posture giving way to something softer. "Maybe." He reaches out, his fingers—calloused from years of training, yet gentle—trace the edge of your jawline. The touch is so light you almost imagine it, but the warmth that spreads through your cheek is quite literally impossible to miss. 

"But you like it, don’t you?"

Your breath catches at the intimacy of the gesture. The walls of the mansion have never felt so far away as they do at this moment.

"Leo," you whisper, his name reminiscent of both sugar and salt on your tongue. "My father... if he found out—"

"He won't," Leo interrupts, promising. His thumb brushes gently across your lower lip. The gesture sends electricity through you, makes your heart hammer against your ribs. "I've been careful. You've been careful. We are both careful people when we need to be."

He was right. There were no words to respond to his statement. Just a nod… and with that, you meet his eyes. Like they’re asking for permission.

Your own drops to his lips.

He leans in slowly, so slowly it makes your stomach twist, letting your lips meet his in a careful, slower kiss at first—testing, observing. It felt right.

Instinctively, your hands pressed to his chest. He held them there, allowing you to gain some sense of warmth and comfort that wasn’t sourced from his lips. His other hand rises, brushing against the side of your neck, tilting your head with that quiet control he possesses. This kiss deepens, slow, targeted; it didn’t need words. The pressing of your hands against his protected chest was enough to replace physical notions with the meaning behind a verbal one.

A gust of wind flutters around the rooftop, but neither of you moves. It’s just you. Him. Snow melting along the curve of your eyelashes, dusting his shoulders. He lets his forehead rest against yours for a moment, breath mingling with yours.

“You…” you start, voice tight, but he silences it with another gentle press of lips.

“Shh,” he whispers against your mouth, the single syllable commanding but tender. “You’re okay.”  He pulls away. “Cold?”

You nod. 

“Here.” He shifts, moving behind you, then urges you to lean back against his plastron—his shell. His arms wrap around your waist from behind, pulling you into him, shielding you from the wind. The heat of him is immediate, soaking through your clothes. The city spreads out before you both, blinking with red, white, and pink light.

You watch a couple walk arm-in-arm in the street below, their laughter faint and distant. A holiday. You’re not even sure if your House even knows of it. They certainly don’t celebrate it. That would require joy. They had none of that.

“Better?” he asks, voice rumbling in your ear.

“Better,” you agree. It’s better than better. It’s everything you’ve wanted and haven’t had. It’s quiet. It’s warm. It’s safe. It’s all the things your family should have been for you. But they never were. And you know he’s not supposed to be either. But he is.

You both sit there in silence for a long while, watching the city move around you, oblivious. His breaths are steady against your ear. His hands stay firm around your waist. The snow continues to fall. It’s almost peaceful.

"We should get you back before your absence is noticed," he says eventually. His tone is flat, matter-of-fact. He says it like he is not the one who initiated the kiss. Like he didn't just make you question everything you thought you knew about your life.

"I know," you whisper. The thought of leaving this bubble of warmth and safety to return to the cold, sterile world of the House of Red is almost physically painful. "What about you? They'll notice you're late, too." 

Leo chuckles. "I lead them. They don't get to say anything about me."

“Must be nice, huh? They ever get on your ass for that?” 

“You have no idea. I deserve it sometimes, though.” He buries his face in your neck, breathing in for a second. “You’re warm,” he mumbles. 

“Still kinda cold, actually.” Leo pulls you in closer to him, squeezing you tighter. That forces an involuntary laugh out of you. He peppers kisses along the side of your jawline, prompting more giggles. After a moment, Leo pauses; finally pulling back, satisfied that you’re warm enough. 

“I respect your father’s bloodlust too much to make this worse than it already is. Do you need help up?”

“Don’t think you’re off the hook, either. They place a lot of trust in you, Leonardo,” you whisper, standing up. He offers you his hand; you take it. “They being your family. Don’t go behind their back for me. You’re their leader, too. Don’t forget that.” An understanding nod from the turtle.

He doesn't let go once you're on your feet, his fingers lacing through yours with an ease that feels frighteningly natural. The snow around you, though beautiful, has admittedly began falling faster. The clouds accumulated in a large field of range, the flakes soon falling at a much quicker pace than before. The wind and the chill only grew worse. 

“I’ll walk you back,” he says, already moving toward the ladder. It’s not a question. The idea of you descending alone in this weather, with the ladder already treacherous even in good conditions, clearly doesn’t sit right with him. 

“You’re not worried about the cameras? Or someone noticing?” You whisper, pulling your jacket tighter around your shoulders. 

“I know the blind spots better than anyone else here does, (y/n.) Even if, I can just have Donnie intercept their tech. He does it all the time. I trust him. Nothing will happen, I promise.” 

You smiled warmly at his reassurance; your cheeks were already pink because of the frost. 

Leo goes first, one hand gripping the rail while the other remains intertwined with yours, guiding your descent. Each rung is slick with snow and freeing ice, but his presence and guidance makes the descent a little less terrifying. Finally reaching the end, you jump down and off of the ladder; combat boots crunching the thick snow beneath your feet, the soles chilled against solid ground. 

Leo's hand didn't release even after both feet were planted firmly on the snowy pavement below. Instead, his fingers tightened around yours.

The city streets were practically empty now, the snow muffling all sounds into a muffled blanket of white.

"You sure you don’t want to come back to mine?" Leo joked, though the words came out breathless as he pulled you close, sharing his body heat. His plastron pressed against your back, a solid shield against the elements. You could feel his heartbeat thrumming against your shoulder blades.

“Both of our families would want me dead if they found out I went back with you.” You chuckled, shaking your head, dismissing the issue as if it really was an offer you would refuse. You wanted to– oh, so, badly. But you knew better. 

“So let them. They won’t succeed with it. Yours, at least. They still have yet to get to me and my brothers.” Leo snorted. The House of Red may have lost their own mutant soldiers here and there, but there have been zero losses regarding the Hamato brothers. They’re unscathed. As far as you knew, unbeatable. 

But not untouchable. You glanced at his wound dressings again, fingers drifting over them as you held onto his hand. 

God, you worried for his safety. 

"You're going to be the death of me, Leonardo," you whispered, focusing on the warmth. Seeking it out and basking in it– like you were the reptile in this situation, rather than him. Maybe that’s why he was trying to get so close to you earlier. 

Your building emerged from the white haze, dark and imposing even softened by snow. Home. The word had never felt more like a prison than it did now. As you approached, Leo slowed, his usual confident stride faltering just enough for you to notice.

"Which one is yours?" he asked, though you suspected he already knew. He'd been watching you much longer than you'd been meeting on rooftops.

“Second floor. Most of our place is in the ground, so it's not that far up.”  You point to a large, limestone-structured balcony. “Hard to miss.” You chuckle. 

Without a word, but with a nod, he cupped his hands beneath your foot, giving you the boost you needed to swing your leg over the railing and land gracefully on the other side. He followed with an easy leap, his movements fluid and practiced, landing on the narrow stone ledge opposite you with the quiet grace.

"I guess this is it," you said softly, your breath clouding in front of you as you reached the edge of the balcony. Your fingers traced the intricate metalwork of the railing, the cold metal biting through your gloves. “Hey, Leo? Can you do me a favor? Please?” 

His head peeks over the railing; he rests his chin on his hands as half of his body rests on the opposite side of the balcony, practically hanging over it. Somehow, he was able to keep himself stable. 

“What’s that?” Leo hummed softly. 

“When you get home, patch these up? Properly, please?” You plead, voice quieter than usual. 

Leo’s gaze flickered down to the makeshift bandage you had applied. His expression was unreadable for a moment, a flicker of something unreadable in those deep blue eyes. He didn't have to ask how you knew he'd likely ignore it, that he’d chalk it up as another battle scar and move on. You knew him all too well.

"Alright," he agreed, the single word holding a weight that belied its simplicity. He pushed himself upright, balancing effortlessly on the railing as he leaned over, closing the small gap between you. "But only because you asked so nicely."

He lowered his head again, pressing a final, soft kiss to your forehead, right over where the bandage was. It was slipping off at this point. Not very useful for the purpose it was meant to serve. 

"Go get some sleep, Red. You look exhausted."

You managed a small, sleepy smile. "You too, Blue. Stay warm out there."

He pulled back, his eyes lingering on yours for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. With a dutifulwave and a bow that was almost completely concealed by the drifting snow, he turned.

He didn't use the ladder this time. Instead, he took two steps back, crouched low, and with an effortless jump, launched himself up onto the roof of the building next to your manor. His silhouette dissolved almost instantly into the white cloak of a storm and the dark sky that was the New York night.

The spot where he had vanished from felt full for a moment; disappearing as you began to think about tonight’s past. His body warmth has worn off. You’re forgetting the sound of his voice. Was this becoming nothing but a memory? You didn’t like that. 

But you could get used to it. Treason.

Yes. Treason felt like him. As devoted as the man was to loyalty, you were willing to dishonor your own family if it meant vouching for his, any day of the week.

You pushed the heavy glass door of your balcony open and stepped back into your room, the quiet 'clack' of the latch sounding loud in the silence. The weight of your gear held down your body like an anchor to the sea floor. The material became disgustingly restrictive on your own body; especially after being soaked with layers upon layers of melting snow. You (admittedly, with some difficulty) stripped it off quickly, leaving it in a dark pile on the floor… screw it. Something for you to deal with in the morning. 

Standing in the center of your room, you felt smaller than you should have. You were just another being in this tiny, stupid room– it wasn’t where you belonged! It wasn’t where you wanted to belong. And, by God, it wasn’t where you deserved to belong. 

You dragged a hand through your hair, wincing when your fingers snagged in the knots. It was still damp from the snow. The strands were clinging stubbornly to your skin, soaking the collar of your dry shirt and chilling the back of your neck. It was tangled. It was messy. It was blatantly  and abhorrently disgusting.

Your touch drifted upward, brushing the bandage at your brow. The cut throbbed beneath it. The dressing had already begun to peel at the edges; the adhesive was losing its grip, hanging on by a thread.

You stared at yourself in the mirror. Pajamas have been pulled on. Your hair was wet. For once you were warm, yet quite undeniably missing something. What was it? 

You knew what it was. Who it was. Regrettably… it was far too late to retrieve him.

Hell. There were so many things you wanted to say. You knew his tendencies to step in and help others, did that involve saying all of the words you wanted to say for you? Should you have stopped him, gave him a bigger speech on how much, just how much you had wished things were different?! You wanted to be too tired to feel guilty. You wanted to be too tired to panic about the meaning of this; there was far too much to comprehend. Instead, you’d dwell on it. For a long, long time.

You move slowly toward your bed, exhaustion finally catching up now that the adrenaline has burned off. The mattress dips when you sit, familiar and wide and far too big for one person. This bed was too empty, you’d think. Sure, you were warm physically… but not enough. Not as much as you desired to be. 

Outside, the snow keeps falling.

And for once, instead of red, you fell asleep— and dreamed of blue.

╰♥︎ ╮

To think, you're married now.

The word alone makes you elated and dizzy, a laughter bubbling up inside you wanting to pop out. Married. Married.

And to probably the coolest, yet dorkiest, guy on the planet. The one herding you through the bedroom door, wedding dress bunched up in his arms as his hands try to reach and paw at you. You squeal and giggle when he successfully pinches you, jumping away and stumbling forward on your wedges.

"Donnie!" The fire you try to give it falls flat, voice breaking as you laugh and swat his hands away. He's leaning over you, even as you try to get some breathing room, big hands falling over your waist and betting the sides of your dress.

"What?? I can't pinch my wife?" Donnie accentuates the word, wife, nuzzling his snout into your ear and saying it. "I think the one thing I hate about weddings is how I couldn't jump on you mid ceremony."

You twist in his arms, skirt swishing awkwardly between you both. "Oh really? And traumatize your whole family?" He finds his way back into your neck, lavishing wet kisses over the skin.

"Cake would've made up for it." He mumbles, before sucking at the juncture between your neck and shoulder.

"Ah-- fuck," You wince but your arms try desperately to wrap tighter around him. "That cake was fantastic, wasn't it?"

"Not as fantastic as you," Donnie's made his way up to the side of your face, pressing his lips to your cheek. He's still, probably worrying about if he'd ruin your make up kissing you. It doesn't matter, it never did, and you turn your head to meet him with your own kiss. Deep and languid, sighing into it and letting yourself lean against him, hands on his shoulders. He's pulling back with a soft sound, eyes half open. "So damn stunning, you're radiant."

"Resplendent" Donnie kisses your chin, knees bending to crouch down.

"Mellifluous" He travels down your neck again, slow and meaningful, his hands tugging up your skirt.

"Inimitable" He kisses right at the edge of where your breasts and dress meet, his knees on the floor.

"You're just making up stuff now..." Your voice tapers off when his hands find there way up to your panties, fingers tucking into the edges.

"Am not," He's muffled, trying to bury himself right into the top of your dress. His tongue sweeps out to taste your skin, salty from sweat, before he's pulling back, smiling not so far from under your nose. "Sit down and I'll show you what they all mean."

The offer makes your stomach do back flips, his gentle hands nudging you to the plush chair situated by the window, overlooking the barn and moon. You had been married a little further past that, in front of the lake, under a big tree. A picture perfect scene, stamped in your mind.

You can't help it, becoming misty eyed and trying to be demure in your sniffling when you sit. The dress fluffs up, squished between the arms of the chair, and Donnie is shuffling on his knees closer to you, hands finding your ankles again, thumb petting at the straps of your shoes.

"What's wrong?" He asks on instinct, followed by a tease, "you aren't regretting it, are you?"

Even though he jokes, you can still see it, the way his smile awkwardly sits, not reaching. You don't hesitate to cup his face, to drag him closer to you and sprinkle kisses along his cheeks and forehead.

"Never." It's resolute. Final. In a way that eases any doubt, this was what you wanted. "I've dreamed about this and now it's came true, that's all."

The admission makes his own eyes sparkle, huffing through his nose and biting his cheek. "I love you." he mumbles, face close to yours.

"I love you more." You fire back, and the skeptical look his face pulls makes you laugh, loud and open. "You're so cute, I can't get enough of it."

"I'll show you cute," Donnie grumbles with no true ire. His hands start pulling your legs apart, "Spread your legs, and prop em up."

"You don't want me to take this off first?" You let go of him to pull at your skirt, watching him drag your legs up, up, up, knees resting over the arm of the chair. Your hips strain, just a little, but a big hand petting the inside of your thigh takes your mind off it.

"No, I wanna do that," Donnie kisses your knee, his cool breath making your skin tingle. "Let me just keep you in it a little longer, yeah?"

It's so easy to just let him, humming sweet when he trails further down your leg with his mouth and hand. You can't help the way you hold your breath in anticipation, chest tight and body stiff, waiting. The skirt of your dress hilariously hides him from view the closer he gets, and when he's brushing a thumb over the gusset of your panties it's like the touch amplifies, folded over into doubles.

"Feel good?" The little shit, you can hear the way he's smiling. Donnie's barely touching you, feather light. A sudden snap of the garter belt -- forced upon you by April -- makes you jump in your seat, legs jolting.

"Hey!"

"I asked a question, love." Before you can snark at him, like he knows you're about to, he nuzzles right into you, giving your pussy a firm lick through the silk piece. He stays nestled there, touch softening your sharp attitude.

"That does," You sigh, head falling back and trying to scoot closer, your body slumps a bit. It'd be uncomfortable if it weren't for the way he was snacking on you, soaking the fabric. An audible sniff from him buried in between your legs makes you throw an arm over your face, flushed with embarrassment. "Donnie!"

"Sorry, sorry," He mumbles against you, sounding unconvincing. You're about to bitch, throw begging out the window if being a brat would get him to move faster. Your mouth is already open, eyebrows pinched, ready to throw a retort sure to get you manhandled, but Donatello surprises you. He's got a finger hooked into your panties, tugging them aside, and laying a soft kiss on your mound, a touch laced with sugar. Sweet and sappy.

"I shouldn't be teasing you, huh?" He kisses down, like he had done to your neck, wasting no more time to finally dip in and taste you. You gasp and he groans, sound muffled into your skin, tongue excitedly focusing on your clit. You have to bite on your knuckle to stop yourself from tipping back and making a sound, knees shaking where they're propped.

"Always taste so good," Donnie breathes, and you realize his hands, petting the inside of your thighs, are trembling. "Amazing, I can't believe it." He's flattening his tongue against you, slurping up any taste collected, moaning when he feels the way your pussy clenches, begging for something -- for him -- to fill it. "Can't believe you married me."

Those shaking hands are at your lips, splitting you apart, showing him the dark sticky pink of you for him to admire. That weird little tick of his where he wants to see your anatomy before he gathers the spit in his mouth and tries with all his might to fuck it into your hole with his tongue.

Your scratching at the upholstery of the chair when he breaches, back arching, trying to get closer so he can hit that spot in you. He drags his palate upwards inside you, his glasses are bumping against you know, the corner of his frames digging into your skin.

"Fuck, wait--" You're flinging an arm over the skirt of your dress, fingers trying to reach the back of his head. One of his own hands meet you halfway, pushing yours back, so he can tuck his fingers into the tight top of your dress, palm kneading through the thick fabric. "don't stop!"

It takes one weak bump of his snout against your clit to have you seeing stars, legs coming up over the arms of the chair to keep him close to you, burying him in your dress. You squeal when he doesn't stop, your hand trying to push him away. It takes a leg tremoring kick to his shell for him to pull off of you, slurping up whatever left he can.

It's a possibility he took your soul alongside it. Brain mushy, slow blinking and trying to process the fact you finished quicker than usual, wondering if you should even be embarrassed that you did.

Donatello finally emerged, eyes bright and a big grin on his face, looking at you expectantly. You realize, as your mind tries to pick itself up and straighten out, tucked between his teeth is that gaudy garter belt. The vividly purple thing that you remembering huffing and puffing about putting on, cursing the traditions behind something so inane. But... between his teeth, where he sits on his knees like a dog showing off it's prize, the piece of fabric is charming.

"Spit that thing out and come take something else off of me."

Ever dutiful, the garter belt is stuffed in the pocket of his sports coat -- because of course the cornball is gonna admit later on that he loves that thing -- and he's getting off the floor.

"Yes ma'am"

I swear I'll write full on smut soon. I know I need to. I just really like oral sex as a concept right now.

Anyway.

Tag List:

ᥫ᭡

Donnie’s bed was warm. You’d spent the last three hours getting pelted by the hot, sticky New York rain as you failed in your endeavour to finish your errands for the day. First, all of the trains had been delayed because the city’s coalition of crackheads had decided today was the day they demonstrated their power. You had spent an hour outside with fat droplets bursting on your face as you waited for the bus instead, but to no avail. It seemed the bus driver just hadn’t wanted to pick up the passengers at the bus stop you were waiting at, and what’s more, drove past as such speed it soaked your legs with the grimy water collecting in the gutter that conjoined the road and the sidewalk. Another hour was spent trying to walk to a different bus station. Your phone ran out of battery midway and you resorted to very angrily stomping through the streets for shelter. Finally, thoroughly soaked through, undignified and ready to hit something, you made your way to the closest entrance down into the sewers and just prayed you’d find salvation in the lair.

Donnie had been grabbing a juice box from the kitchen when you’d squelched in looking utterly disgruntled. Mikey was closer, lounging on a beanbag by the lair’s entrance when you arrived and hopping up when he noticed your presence, bounding over with a big grin.

“Wassup, wassup, wassup! Uhh… You take a dip before you get here?”

You glumly stared at Mikey in response. Droplets of rainwater slid down the contours of your clothes and dismally dripped down onto the floor, leaving you with a personal puddle. “Funny, Angel.” You grit your teeth as you spoke, sighing heavily. You were sure the damp was entering your soul and giving you some sort of spiritual pneumonia. Donnie made his way over almost immediately after, a sympathetic look on his face. He did seem a little amused at the wet rat look you had going on, though. Adorable.

“Hey. You should get in the shower, you look freezing. How long were you in the rain for?”

You shook your head and shrugged.

“Um- maybe a couple hours? I left at 9 and I don’t know what time it is right now, so…”

“Three hours. C’mon, let’s get you dry. Don’t worry about the floor. Mikey can handle it.”

Donnie shot Mikey a half stern, half playful look and ushered you along. Mikey groaned exaggeratedly in the background as you both headed off towards the shower. Donnie’s large hands hovered beside your shoulders, unsure of whether he should touch you as he walked alongside you. You had started rambling.

“I’m sorry for turning up unannounced. My phone ran outta juice and the trains and buses were delayed and I couldn’t go anywhere to get out of the rain because apparently the stores have a limit on people getting shelter without buying something, which is ridiculous but they were full anyway so it didn’t matter if I bought something or not.”

Donnie was trying to listen, he really was, but he was more concerned about the way you were shivering and the waterlogged swell of your clothes. “Don’t worry, you’re always allowed down here. Here. If you’re okay with it, I can help you out of that?”

You hesitated, but then remembered the variety of embarrassing situations you’d been in with the turtles over the years and relented with a nod. This was just another one of those. That’s all this was.

“Right. Arms up.” Donnie peeled the heavy jacket off you, along with your sweater. He averted his eyes determinedly and busied himself with turning the shower on while you shucked off your heavy jeans. You were less than amused by the way they refused to come off and clung onto you as though suctioned by the rain.

“These- fuck- ass- jeans!” You heaved a breath once they finally came off, leaving you in your equally soggy underwear. You grimaced. Ew. Donnie almost laughed at the sound of your struggles. He rummaged until he found the nicer-smelling soap from the cabinet to leave in the shower caddy.

“Just leave them in the laundry bin, we can deal with the washing later. I’m pretty sure Mikey still has a big ass load of his stuff to be dried so we’ll need to wait anyway.”

“Thank you Don.”

Donnie left a couple of towels on the rail and very quickly exited, saying something vaguely about finding you some clothes. You weren’t listening, too busy stepping under the warm rush of the shower and sighing in relief; the steam quickly rose up to fill the bathroom. Salvation at last. As you sluiced the soap suds off your body and tried to forget the potential undiscovered waterborne diseases New York boasted, you thought about Donnie. You both had a strange dynamic. I mean, he’d literally just helped you out of your clothes like it was normal, doesn’t that count as strange? When you had first met the turtles almost three and a half years ago, you had been more concerned with keeping your distance: maintaining a decent balance of closeness while remaining apart. Your attempts to be poised had quickly become in vain with the sheer amount of life-threatening situations you’d been thrown into after meeting the turtles. There was being tracked down by foot soldiers, getting stranded underground with Raph and Donnie, having to deal with all the other problems that came with Leo’s insistence on your inclusion on patrols, not to mention the Krang’s quasi-invasion and subsequent disarray amongst the foot clan. After all of it, you had grown far closer to the brothers and less preoccupied with courtesy. Donnie was who you grew the closest to. He’d learned that he could rely on you to help him in the lab in ways the others couldn’t. Mikey was banned from the lab for a reason after all. You had the ability to reach where he couldn’t, had the same perfectionist trait that made him trust you’d do everything just as he told you to and the desire to learn and not just replicate. You loved when he taught you about complex things in simple ways and you quickly learned to get the gist of what he was talking about when he went into a lecture about planetary systems or biomechanics. After long nights working alongside him, or calls begging him to help you with your major’s material that turned into scheduled meetings where he’d help you with your assignments, things turned complicated. The calls often got sidetracked to the latest episode of a show you both liked, or the Knicks winning a game, or other ridiculous theoretical conversations. The two of you were complicated people with a complicated relationship, but you were eternally grateful to have found a friend and mentor in the purple turtle.

The squeak of the shower turning off pulled you from your thoughts and you instead focused on wrapping yourself up in one of the towels on the rack. Donnie had left you some of your spare clothes just outside, and you gratefully pulled them on. You and April had collectively decided to stash a change of clothes down in the lair for the next time you’d inevitably need it, and it had payed off once more. Though you did feel a little awkward about your underwear being right next to Leo’s stuff even if the leader in blue had insisted there was space for yours and April’s spare clothes. Mikey too had offered half of his and Raph’s shared wardrobe space, but you were a little skeptical of its cleanliness. You knew for a fact Leo religiously cleaned his room and taking up the cramped compartments both Mikey and Raph already needed to use hadn’t felt right. The orange turtle had definitely just asked for April’s sake, anyway. 

Feeling clean and far warmer than before, you padded right to Donnie’s bedroom to make use of his bed. Lord knew he hardly used it. He often opted to sleep in his lab or desk chair or the couch in the main area. The lair had a cold, damp, soggy sort of atmosphere due to the relentless rain above ground and you refused to catch a cold; you tugged the corner of the blanket around you to shield you from the possibility. Donnie wouldn’t mind. He never seemed to mind how you’d grown so comfortable regarding his things. As you huddled under the covers you spotted your phone charging in one of the ports beside the bed. You hid your smile in the blankets. The purple turtle truly was a sweetheart.

▹▹▹

“Leo, ion mess with this plan ‘a yours.”

“Yeah? Well we’re doing this anyway. Now listen up. We know Karai is taking over as leader of the foot clan, since Shredder is out of the playing field. I need our eyes across the city tonight, which means you—” Leo pointed at Raph “—need to focus on Downtown Brooklyn. Mikey, listen, you’ve got 63rd. Casey’s focusing on the NYPD gig at the bridge and April, you’re down scouting on lower east side. I’ll be around there.” The leader in blue reiterated your positions for the third time tonight, sighing heavily to himself and pinching between his eyes as Mikey gave April a big beam and thumbs up. He then turned to you.

“You’re posted near Red hook. Donnie, you’ve got the job of patrolling in the truck. But keep a low profile, would you?”

Donnie nodded in response, checking the time on his watch. You watched the way the tall turtle flexed his hands, his tridactyl fingers fidgeting to fix any loose straps on his gear. You yourself instinctively mimicked the action, checking your own comms and ensuring your pack was secured tight. The lot of you dispersed. The foot clan had become disorganised with Shredder out of the picture and only with Karai’s ascension to leader did they stand a chance. That was exactly what was happening, and tonight was the night the foot clan was going to hit the city, fully operational once more.

Initially you hadn’t been the greatest at these sorts of things. Leo and Master Splinter had seen your potential to be useful on missions and convinced you of your proficiency. Both you and April were good at remaining inconspicuous where the boys would stand out and your job tonight was to play innocent, patrol near the docks and inform the turtles of any foot clan activity by them. The lot of you were to act as a network, if one of you spotted the rise of soldiers the rest could relay it and, with the help of the NYPD, shut it down before it started. That was the plan at least. You really couldn’t stick around for long, not with the iron weight of the assignments you’d left to the last minute encumbering your thoughts. The idea of your beady eyed professor clacking on his keyboard with his grubby uncut nails to email you for the second time about your late submissions made you wrinkle your nose. One way or another you were shutting the foot clan’s shit down and finishing your pending work.

Two hours passed with no sign of any activity at all. You’d had a lovely conversation with an old man who seemed to have gotten the fancy to fish at this time of night, and you were too endeared to have any objections. Other than helping said man and his kit down to the docks there hadn’t been any further encounters. Your breath clouded as it hit the air. The cold of the evening began to penetrate your layers. The sky was dark and contrasted harshly by the lights of the city; wind blew in all directions and the endless noise of the sleepless citizens seemed to reach your ears through a muffler. You shut your eyes. The wind disturbed your hair and fluttered through your clothing. You felt your heart slow. Perhaps the sudden tranquility running through you was what prompted you to open your eyes again just in time to catch a dark shadow dropping down from a cargo container. Immediately the sound of your heartbeat entered your ears, your pupils contracted and you were as alert as anything. What was that? You had been hoping the bay would remain untouched, but the rational side of your brain knew that was implausible. The splash of the waves lapping at the edge of the bay and the usual bustle of the city were all that filled the air; gentle creaks and groans from the walled off construction site and the occasional muted yell pierced the night. Everything felt as though it was held in suspense for a moment. Before you could jump to any hasty conclusions you got closer to get a better look… Silence. Perhaps you’d imagined i- CRACK. The sudden crackle of your comms made you jump. You cursed and exhaled in relief when you realised it was just Mikey. You really needed to get Donnie on refining the long range comms system. Your relief was short lived once the sound of the orange turtle’s voice filled your ears.

“Dudes, we have foot soldiers coming out the underground. Hurry your shells over here, over.”

“Mikey we told you, you don’t gotta say ‘over’ every damn time.” The sound of Raph’s voice filled your ears and you almost let out a chuckle before Leo interjected.

“We have some trouble up here too. There was an IED that went off just a second ago. Casey, get ready, I’m gonna try to bring them to the bridge. Looks like about fifty of them. ATL Karai, Mikey.”

“ATL? Why are we talking about Atlanta right now, over?”

“Attempt. To. Locate!” You could hear the way the leader in blue was gritting his teeth even through the static-y audio of your comms.

“Guys, I’m seeing soldiers here, too. They must be all over the city.” April’s hushed voice could be heard. You scanned your perimeters, hoping she was wrong. That would really fuck up your night. Leave it to the foot clan to take a dump on your plans for peace.

“Ah fuck. Yeah, you’re right April. I got some trash downtown to take out,” Raph grunted. The blue glow from your tracker left highlights on your face. You checked their positions. Raph… Mikey… April… Leo… Your eyes flickered up away from your tracker a second too late, you were met face to face with a foot soldier. Shit! You hadn’t been paying attention. Comms. Tell Leo. You went for your comms and the soldier attempted to get a solid hit to your head with their elbow. It landed with a thump and you let out a yelp that thankfully carried through to the others.

“They’re at the docks!”

Donnie was coincidentally near the bay when the comms crackled to life and everyone clashed as they reported the foot clan activity popping up across the city. He swerved the truck the second he heard your voice. His heart rate spiked. The tone of your voice had sounded pained and he was starting to freak out a little. “Hang tight, I can get to the docks. Leo, what’s the plan?”

“Our mission is to minimise damage and lock up Karai. Focus on the objective people.”

You ducked under the second swing the soldier aimed at you, getting up close to hit the figure hard in the gut; the ninja doubled over and you used the butt of your trusty taser to hit them over the head. Thank god you’d curated your own set of essentials to bring on these missions. You spotted a couple of other shadows in the dark and, cursing, ran for cover. Despite the situation your mind was still on how screwed you’d be if you got home late. You ran through the different options you had in your mind: email your profs and say you were indisposed and hadn’t had a chance to finish, go radio silent until your next lecture, pull an all-nighter. None of the options seemed feasible and you silently lamented your poor decision to do your work tonight. The thought of employing Donnie’s help very briefly ran through your mind, but you knew full well you couldn’t bring yourself to keep the poor man awake. He had his own work to do. Quit being selfish. You ducked behind the rusty corrugated metal scrap left over from the construction site, sandwiched between a wall and the scrap with your head throbbing where the guy’s elbow had connected with your cranium. Holding your breath, you waited and listened for any sound. The others were talking over each other on the comms and you winced at the stuttering audio, praying it was inaudible to anyone who got close to your hiding spot, shutting your eyes for a second while you regained your bearings. Footsteps echoed. Their volume increased incrementally until you were sure if you didn’t move you’d be a sitting duck. Moving quickly, you sidestepped out from your hiding spot, holding the handle of your taser and keeping your elbows tucked close. I can do this, you thought. A throwing knife shot right in your direction as you emerged and the glistening edge grazed your arm, zipping past. Oh hell no, I can’t do this. You instinctively flinched away in anticipation of the second, but instead heard a dull twang as it ricocheted off a metal surface and you were left unscathed.

“You okay? Oh thank goodness. Right. Turtle time!”

Donnie had arrived. You felt a giant wave of relief flood your body. He kicked back and spun around, a couple more silver blurs rebounded off his shell; he used his staff to sweep two of the foot soldiers off their feet, hitting the advancing ones with the end of the bo. Spin, sweep, thwack, kick. You always loved watching him fight, the speed at which the movements were performed and the analysis and execution all at once baffled you. Donnie moved with a kind of fluidity that made you forget his size, he looked like he was floating. His combat skills were a form of art. The shadowy figures lay slumped on the ground and the tall turtle whipped back in your direction, coming back over to you once he’d ensured no one else was close by. Exertion made his voice a little lower. 

“Hey. We need to get out of here before any more ninja turn up. I was thinking if we use the truck, we might just be able to get across the city and rendezvous at the—you’re hurt. Hey, no, let me see.” Donnie frowned when he noticed your arm and you rolled your shoulder back so he wouldn’t fuss over it.

“Donnie, I’m fine, I’m just glad you’re here. You don’t have to-” You let out a big sigh as Donnie’s large hand gently pressed against your upper arm. He inspected the sliver cut into your clothing and the line in your skin that beaded glistening drops of red. His thumb swiped some of it away and he sucked in a breath at the same time you sharply inhaled. He fumbled for a patch in his tool belt, pulling down on the opening in the fabric to stick the sterile strip on your wound. He pushed to ensure it stuck properly.

“So. What d’you think?”

“What I always think. You’re amazing.” You inspected the patch and experimentally moved your arm. Donnie smiled.

“Not the greatest patch job in the world but I’ll take care of it once we’re in a safer location. Good to go for now. Let’s get to the truck.”

The two of you made it to where Donnie had parked after taking out several other soldiers. Donnie had a steadfast focus. The yellow and red ’Tartaruga brothers’ emblazoned across the side of the modded van stood out in the dim light of the streetlamp and you hopped in the passenger seat. You remembered doing the spot welding on the wires above the centre console a while back with the tall turtle; you’d had a gnarly crick in your neck after spending hours on the welding. It had been left untouched for a while before he’d enlisted your help. Donnie’s arm flexed as he started the van up and turned the steering wheel to round the vehicle onto the main roads, and you watched. You absentmindedly wondered if in the future you could do this again in a different context. Just you and Donnie on a night drive. That sounded nice. You’re on a mission, focus. You leaned over to switch on the main gps. Did Donnie really need so many buttons on the display? You eyed the little coloured dots that indicated where everyone’s location was. “There won’t be much traffic. Our ETA to the bridge is 20 minutes, but I’m gonna speed.” Donnie paused, looking over at you, then the road, then back at you. “You okay?” There was a faint ringing in your ears and you blinked. Your head pricked uncomfortably. The coloured dots of Donnie’s gps left light trails in your vision when the truck bumped over a pothole; long exposure was not on your list of effects your vision had. That wasn’t great. You blinked it away.

“I’m okay. Long night.” You tried to give him a smile. Donnie kept his eyes fixed on the road, not buying your response, but not able to press further, either. It was always like this with him. He could never find the courage to invade your mind, to ask the questions that actually mattered. He could touch you under the guise of helping you, but he couldn’t reach over to hold your hand. Now that he thought about it, there were all sorts of inconsistencies with the careful balance you both had. He’d helped you out of your clothes: that succeeded hand holding, right? No. You trusted him to help you and he had. That was all. He was the one agonising over every little detail and blowing things out of proportion. That had been to help you. Holding your hand now would just be presumptuous. But he wanted to. Greedy. The silent support would’ve probably helped him, too, but he kept both hands firmly on the wheel. Responsibility came first, like Leo said.

A good 15 minutes later you both reached the Manhattan bridge where the NYPD had gathered officers in charge of the operation. There had been a sort of barricade set up at both ends of the bridge that would serve to close in any hostiles who got in close. Leo had brought the foot clan to them; Mikey and Raph had also intersected with their respective groups of foot soldiers on their tails and were 2 minutes out from the force. If all went smoothly things would be wrapped up in the next hour. You hopped out from the truck, jogging over to where Casey stood beside Bureau chief Vincent with his hands on his hips. The man shook his head, cursing. “Dang it. No Karai.” You surveyed the scene: several black-clad figures bound together and being pushed down into the back of a police van. You looked to Donnie who was frowning but gave you a nod when he caught your gaze. As if sensing your want for information, he checked the holographic display on his watch.

“Mikey and Raph are a mile out. With the police covering the city attacks seem to be lower than the average at which they were when Shredder was in charge. We can only surmise that tonight the foot clan was… operating separately from Karai, probably with expendable recruits. It looks like she has some self-preservation.” He frowned again, eyes scanning your surroundings for Leo. You shut your eyes for a moment. Your head was still twinging, a relentless, cyclical pain that told you here and now to give up on your already half-hearted plans of an all-nighter. A touch to your shoulder snapped your eyes open once more.

“We’re moving.”

▹▹▹

The way back from the police department almost lulled you to sleep. Donnie offered to drop you to your apartment on the way back to the lair. You had gratefully accepted, leaning against the truck door and staring out of the window as Donnie drove. The quiet sound of the brother’s voices drifted from the back.

“I’m sayin’ they knew that we knew about their little stunt tonight. If Leo had listened when I said-”

“Alright, enough. I can admit tonight didn’t exactly go as planned, Raph. Now cut it out.”

“Did you guys see the amount of soldiers though? I was totally freaking out for a second there but it was like takedown city. I don’t even think they were trained, just guns in the hand and go.” Mikey gestured exaggeratedly, leaning back in his seat with a sigh and continuing to press his thumbs to his phone screen; a faint laser sound emitted from the game he was playing.

“Karai’s roping innocents into her ranks.” Leo spotted Mikey’s concerned expression and shook his head, stepping around to put a hand on Mikey’s shoulder. “Don’t worry little brother. We’ll handle this.”

“Man I’m tired of this junk. I ain’t doin’ the dishes tonight Leo, ’s your turn.” Raph mumbled. He ran a hand over his face to rub the sleep from it. Leo deadpanned.

“We have a rota.”

Raph imitated his voice under his breath “‘We have a rota.’ Control issues much?”

“Dudes I’m trying to beat my score on here would you please postpone this argument?”

“Shut up Mikey.”

Donnie parked in front of your dingy student apartment building, shifting in his seat and leaning across to open your door for you while you unbuckled. Your chest was warm where it had touched his forearm. The warmth of his skin lingered over your heart as you got out of the car and watched Donnie drive off. A tired walk later, you were back home. The door to your apartment creaked with effort as you opened it and closed it behind you. You kicked off your shoes, hopping in a frustrated circle to tug off the second one and almost falling over. The extractor in your little bathroom whirred to life and started up its loud humming while you attempted to wash your hands and splash water on your face. ‘Just a quick shower and I can start my work’ you reasoned, stripping out of the now dirty clothes from the mission. You took a minute to stare at yourself in the mirror. No bad bruises from the mission, thankfully, but you had a sneaking suspicion your hair was covering up a hefty splodge of dark purple. The ache in your skull told you as much. The shower washed away the sweat that had collected down your back. You towelled yourself off, flopping down onto your sheets completely bare and exhausted. A dog barked down the street. The tick of the boiler cooling down set a familiar pace to the evening, the cool night air flowing in from the old fire escape window and a warm, soft glow from the lamps you had everywhere spilled out over the floor. You reached for the neatly folded pile of clothing on the bed, hardly moving to tug on a pair of panties and a shirt before unceremoniously rolling over to sit up and locate your laptop and phone. It was late. Your head hurt and you still had inordinate amounts of work to do. You took a look at your phone screen and were met with the sight of several notifications: an email, a few messages in the group chat from Leo, the persistent settings notification asking you to update your phone for the umpteenth time and the latest notification was from Donnie. Huh. 3 minutes ago. You clicked on the notification, unlocking your phone to read it.

Don🔬: Hey. I’m available tonight if you wanted some help to finish your assignments.

You looked at the message with a completely blank face. Then you read it again and the tiniest of smiles began to form. God, Donnie was a lifesaver. You’d complained about the work before the mission earlier that evening to Raph with no idea at all that Donnie had been listening. You held your breath and typed out a reply.

You: Are you sure? It’s late and I don’t want to keep you up.

You set your phone face down, arm flung over your face as you lay there. His response came quicker than you expected.

Don🔬: I’m sure. Join the call when you’re ready, I’ll be waiting. 

You scrambled off your bed, sitting down on your squeaky desk chair and turning on your monitor. You winced at the sudden glare from the screen and blindly fumbled for your glasses to put them on. A couple of clicks later you were staring at yourself in the grainy video feed of a zoom call, preparing to join. You tugged your wrinkled shirt. The mini you in the box mimicked your movements. Donnie had called you like this countless times and every time felt just as nerve wracking as the first, the anticipation of seeing him got your gut all twisted. You clicked once more and were met with the usual sight of Donnie in his chair. The blue glow from his nook of monitors cast his face in soft shadows. You could see the other screens in the background as he scooted his chair closer and the fact that he was stripped of his usual gear. Donnie smiled at the sight of your rumpled appearance. “Hey. You ready?”

You had to swallow down your nerves, nodding and rummaging around for your notebook and a pen that hadn’t run out of ink. You preferred taking your notes physically even if half of them were illegible. The three assignments you had, two of which were almost third of the way complete, were promptly pulled up. “I’m trying to hunker down on my argument for the essay and I think I’ve almost got it so I’m good on that, but for um… this one,” you shared your screen so Donnie could take a look, “this one I have no clue how to start. Or finish. Or anything, really. I just don’t understand how to apply the stupid Herfindahl-Hirschman index in this context or what econometric and statistical modelling even is anymore and I’m sick of it. How is this even relevant? I also wrote down-” you pushed up your blue light glasses awkwardly as you rifled through your notes, “-this, about what the professor said on the assignment. I can’t actually make out the first half so it’s useless, but if you can decipher it then by all means.”

You had a stressed expression on your face that made Donnie want to simultaneously laugh and fix everything immediately. He swallowed, focusing on the material you’d provided him. He’d spent a while familiarising himself with the concepts you had to learn, and with his affinity for the mathematical sides of things he’d whizzed through it without issue. You on the other hand had always been the more creative sort, thinking largely in complex, abstract branches that looped around than focused, linear cognitions. He understood, he himself was similar, though he made more sense of certain equations than you did.

“Okay, let’s start by going through the concept and then you tell me how you tried applying the HHI to this context, sound good?”

You nodded. Donnie adjusted his glasses and pulled up the good old whiteboard function. “Sweet. Okay, so imagine you have uh- um, let’s say, a bunch of grapes.” Donnie began to scribble something vaguely resembling grapes on the white screen. The pen lagged on your end and after a glitch some misshapen purple blobs appeared. You smiled. “You split it so you have 1 grape, 2 grapes, 3 grapes and 3 more grapes. These are going to represent hypothetical market shares; 10%, 20% and so on, and you have to square these numbers.” Donnie squiggled little ‘2’s that looked more like mirrored ’S’s next to the poorly drawn grapes. He knew full well you were well acquainted with the topic, but knew the best way to teach you was to start from the beginning. Besides, this way was more engaging both for him and for you.

“Add them up and there’s your HHI. 2300. This one’s a moderately concentrated index since it’s less than 2500.”

“So 23 grapes,” you responded, and Donnie nodded with a smile. “Precisely. I’m not drawing 23 grapes so don’t get your hopes up,” he quickly added when he caught your hopeful expression. “We need to focus. Now, I won’t further insult your intellectual prowess by continuing, I think you got the point. Tell me how you tried applying it to this question?”

Hours passed without your awareness. Notes filled your lined paper. A lukewarm mug of tea sat on your desktop; you’d gotten up at some point to put the kettle on to keep you going. You had slowed down considerably, encompassed by the warmth of the duvet you’d dragged off the bed and the pillow you had atop your desk to save your elbows. The bruised-eye-blue of predawn clouded the sky and you had long since submitted your work, started completing the essay, and yielded to your drowsiness. Donnie himself was still awake. The long caffeinated nights and endless energy drinks had given him a sort of nocturnal ability that he found useful in moments like these. He was watching you slip away on his screen. The lightening sky was filtering in through your curtains and leaving your room with a comforting fuzzy quality that bathed your figure in deep blueish grey shadows. The clutter around his setup had increased overnight; a box of pop tarts was tipped over on his desk, several charts lay discarded with brown espresso rings staining their diagrams and an old knitted blanket Raph had made was hanging over the armrest of his chair and swung every time he swivelled around. He was speaking at a quieter volume so as to not stir you from your imminent slumber. You were squinting at your screen, trying to navigate the infuriating submission system your uni used while Donnie rattled on about the pros and cons of his ‘compact mechanic’ robotics project.

“-and bam! I got it. I knew it would be awesome when I printed the first prototype, but the detail on the final model really exceeded my expectations, inter alia. It’s still a work in progress, it’s just the outer shell- pun not intended- that I’ve completed. But enough about me. All done?”

You tiredly nodded; eyes straining as you went to click the final submission button of the night. You were very visibly nodding off. Your duvet was slipping off from around your shoulders along with your shirt sleeve. You suspired, gazing at Donnie on your screen with a look that made his heart stutter.

“Mmhm. ’Took forever.”

Donnie blinked himself back to his senses, watching you contentedly settle your head down on your arms, glasses askew. How he wished he could be there to take them off and put you to bed. But Donnie was a coward and in lieu of his wishes opted to longingly stare at you through his screen. “I’m beat.” You yawned, hair curling over your forehead. Donnie’s fingers twitched, itching to push it out of your face. He sighed. He needed to stop.

“You did it, though. Hard part’s all over.”

An almost delirious, satisfied smile formed on your sleepy face. “You helped. I don’t know…” you yawned again, “…what I’d do without you, Donnie. You’re the best. I love you.”

The words had slipped from you so casually Donnie hadn’t even registered them for a moment. You’d said it once or twice before in a joking manner, but nothing compared to hearing you say it in a soft, sincere tone, on the verge of dreamland and eternally grateful. He knew you were. You were always so thankful for the simplest of things he did. He felt like an idiot: here he was getting covetous and you were just grateful he was helping you. His own feelings were the anomaly. He buffered. You had fallen asleep, the imperceptible sound of your breathing entered his ears. He turned his computer’s volume to the maximum and just sat there for a minute. Your breathing evened out, not at all like the way you breathed when you were awake. He watched the neckline of your shirt shift as you slept, the bare skin of your shoulder showing. He ached to kiss it. He’d been aching to be near you for so long that he was going insane. An invisible line held him back. Respect, guilt, insecurity, hell, just straight up cowardice; all of it held him back. He moved one of his large hands up, slowly reaching his fingers towards the screen. You looked relaxed when you slept, your brow was no longer clouded with worry and your facial muscles were completely slack. Ignoring the possibility of smudging fingerprints onto the display, Donnie gently brushed his fingers over your image. His breathing was shallow, afraid of making any noise that could cause you to stir as he stroked the screen. Fuck. He couldn’t tear his gaze away. Quietly, he went to leave the meeting. The black ‘this meeting has ended’ screen left him in a dimmer light than before, and he felt the loss of your presence along with it. He rubbed the hand that had been outstretched over his face.

“I love you, too.” Donnie whispered to the darkness of the lair.

▹▹▹

The New York skyline burned a fiery orange that melted up into a blue ombre. The city was alive tonight, more so than usual, with the brimming excitement surrounding the parties being thrown across the city. Vern had invited the turtles along to a friend’s private party, claiming they needed to take a leaf out of his book and make ‘friends in higher places’; presumably he’d meant the very same friend who would be throwing the party when he’d invited them to come along. The turtles were to be in safe hands, the party consisted mainly of rich sponsors, select NYPD officers looking to move up in the world, all sorts of models and friends of friends and extravagant New Yorkers who made party-going their thing. Vern relayed that he’d been granted the opportunity to bring 50 people of his choosing, 4 of which the host had insisted needed to be the ‘heroes’ of NY. Leo had been incredibly skeptical, as had Raph, but with Mikey’s budding excitement at the prospect of actually being part of the party for once they’d all begrudgingly accepted. They’d need to get used to being at least a little in the spotlight. Even if Leo had decided they needed to keep mostly to the shadows, these kinds of things were still expected occasionally. Besides, Donnie was double and triple checking that all the guests had signed some form of paperwork that involved not publicising the turtle’s attendance. It was rigorous. You and April were extended invitations.  You stressed about dresses. You loved and hated dressing up; the idea of getting all glammed up was fun, but in practice it was often the first of many stressors. Not to mention being around so many people while dressed up made you nervous. Being around so many people in general made you nervous. Since the two of you were heading to the party together, you went over to April’s to get ready. Makeup items were strewn across the bathroom counter of her apartment, April’s speaker blasted hype-music and after singing along and actually putting your dress on you felt far more confident about the evening. You took deep breaths in the car, smoothing over the bust of your dress. It was a little thing, flattering your body and glittering even in the dim lighting. You were a little wobbly in your elegant heels as you hadn’t had much practice walking in them, but you liked how the sparkly detailing matched your dress.

The venue was glamorous. It was an elevated club kind of building, with several floors and a few balconies that overlooked large grassy lawns. Lights littered the place (confusing the insects that used the moon as guidance) along with what appeared to be thousands of flowers spilling out from the bushes and wrapped around every pilar in sight. A cluster of tables filled the outdoor area and several smaller tables dotted the inside of the building. Caterers had set up in the junction between the indoor and outdoor area, boasting a wide range of food you knew full well you’d have never been able to afford with the money from your part time jobs. This was the real deal. The indoor area was a maze of glittering rooms, each with its own bar. The bartops were made of a sleek, polished white marble in the largest room, with pelmet lighting running under the counter and casting a soft diffused downwards glow on the barstools. The venue had lots of similar lighting features, with neon blues, purples and pinks casting colourful highlights on the guests. The now dark night sky contributed to the deep, club-like atmosphere of the place and you were suddenly glad your dress matched the vibe. Classy, but still very much a party dress. Bass thumped through the speakers into the night, setting a steady rhythm that matched the movements of the idle guests.

Donnie was way out of his element. He and his brothers were expected to make an appearance after accepting so he couldn’t have just bailed, but he was starting to regret accepting in the first place. His mind was on his work, far, far away from the sparkling outfits and glitz and glamour and bubbly alcohol. He had attempted to clean up some after seeing his brother’s outfit choices and realising his usual tech wear wouldn’t slide. The lot of them had got on his ass about making an effort. Mikey and Raph had gone the traditional 2000s route. Mikey was in an orange jersey shirt that he’d in one way or another donned under his shell; a couple chains glinted around his neck and he wore extremely baggy shorts that had his nunchaku stuffed in a pocket. Raph had found himself an equally baggy pair of jeans and been convinced by Mikey that jewellery was the way to go. The red turtle had somehow found a gold ring to fit around one of his thick fingers and wore one of Mikey’s spare chains, along with tying a red bandana around his bicep. Leo was more formal, with slightly threadbare suit slacks, a belt and a watch on his wrist. Donnie had rooted through his pile of sweats and cargos to find something viable and had finally settled on a decent-looking pair of pants, a black belt that sat lopsided and his usual purple forearm straps. He refused to be roped into the jewellery wearing, not wanting to relinquish his beloved watch. No way was he wearing Mikey’s old chain that advertised him as ‘M-dawg’ to the party. The purple turtle had been loitering around the entryway for some time now but decided to do a couple of rounds to get used to the place and shake off the nerves he was feeling.

Your first thought when you saw the venue was ‘holy shit’. Your second was also ‘holy shit’. The sheer number of guests overwhelmed you immediately. There were one or two familiar faces (April had introduced you to some of her colleagues before), but the majority were unrecognisable. You followed April like a lost puppy and let her do the talking while you assimilated. There are way too many people here. No way Donnie vetted every single one. You scanned the entryway for the turtles from your position in the far corner every so often. With no sign of any of them, you decided to split off from the brunette and head for the food vendors to take a look. Large platters were overflowing with food, your mouth watered the second the scent hit you. Pasta with a number of earthy toned sauces you couldn’t even begin to know the names of, little sandwiches cut into adorable triangles skewered through with toothpicks and surrounded by a charcuterie style assortment of grapes, cheeses and cold meats, tureens of fragrant soup with bread bowls positioned strategically around them, honey glazed chicken and some odd looking foods you didn’t recognise but knew involved overpriced caviar. Glossy picture-perfect strawberries on heaps of cake and cream, miniature eclairs flaked with gold leaf, round red glacé cherries, chocolate fondue. All sorts of other foods crowded the different tables and you eyed them all with fascination. You definitely needed a plate at some point. Yeah, no, I need a plate now. You went straight to the warmed porcelain plates stacked to the side of the buffet tables. The tiny little price tags beside each dish next to the cursive catering company name showed off how much the host had spent. Better them and not me! In your distraction you almost missed Mikey chowing down on a very full plate at a table in the corner. You refrained from laughing as you came over with your own plate.

“Angel, you seen your brothers anywhere?”

“Hm? Whaschujgm-min,” Mikey garbled with his mouth full, holding up one finger and swallowing before trying again. “I don’t know, I think I saw Leo by the bar. But you totally gotta try some of this, brah.” Mikey made a high-pitched contented noise. “Free food is the best.” You snorted. Mikey shoved one of the stuffed rolls onto your already full plate. The two of you inhaled the food and you managed seconds. It was so good you were considering splurging some of your own cash at some point, which Mikey advised you against and insisted all you needed to do was go to more parties for the free food. You bid Mikey goodbye after you felt considerably fuller. The lights glimmered hypnotically as you walked. Leo was still in fact by the bar, awkwardly conversing with one of the NYPD officers. You didn’t want to intrude and sidestepped past some glowing models to enter an adjacent room.

▹▹▹

‘This conversation sucks. It really sucks,’ Donnie thought. He’d been roped into discourse with one of Vern’s connections who seemed to think themselves an innovator. Donnie had been subjected to 20 minutes of the man’s self-important rambling and he was beginning to lose it, his eyes were flicking over the room and its decor in a bored manner and the guy still hadn’t taken the hint. Politeness features in conversation stated he needed to find a way out of this without attacking the negative face of Mr-whateverhisnamewas, but he didn’t exactly feel like hedging his way out of the conversation. The man had bright green, brown and yellow stripes on his tie that clashed horribly and he kept adjusting it like he hadn’t yet figured out the right length to fit around his neck. Corporate jargon spewed from his lips between the attempts at explaining his company’s work on space probes. Donnie could tell the quack had no clue what he was talking about.

“-And I said, that’s a particle problem! Ahaha!” The man guffawed. Donnie’s waning patience caused his eye to twitch. He hadn’t even been listening to what he was on about, attributing it to the dude’s incredibly disproportionate ego and belief in his own academic superiority. He wanted to correct Mr. Self-important shmuck. Instead Donnie offered a sarcastic curl of his lip and went right back to looking around the room. Despite the dim atmospheric lighting his eyes caught onto a glimmer in the crowd; Donnie’s whole world slowed. Relief inundated his body. You were wandering around the opposite end of the room, an almost empty glass of something peachy pink in your hand and an absentminded smile on your lips as you passed the guests. You were doing a good job of keeping it together with the amount of people roaming about the venue and the drink you had was to ease the tension. Melting ice clinked against the glass in your hand. It swirled around as you moved. Donnie’s eyes were then drawn to your dress. You had a short dress on tonight. Your skin glistened a kind of bronzed colour in the lighting set off perfectly by the cerulean hue of your dress; it sparkled with each tiny little movement you made, throwing circular reflections on your skin from the tiny sequins. The manganese blue and pale azure sparkles catching the lighting glued Donnie’s gaze to you like a magnet. Your sleeve slipped off your shoulder, and in your movements Donnie caught the back- or rather- lack of a back your dress had. A thin strip of the material went over where the back of your bra would usually show, extra lines of glimmering pale gold connected it to the dress; it reminded Donnie of drop line cake icing. Fuck, was he salivating? The purple turtle swallowed. The detailing rested against your bare back and slid with your movements. Your heels sparkled the same light gold colour, casting white glints in the darker corners of the room. Donnie was hooked onto your presence, feeling reassured at the sight of you and cursing himself a thousand times for not trying to find you sooner. He reluctantly looked back to Mr. Receding hairline.

“Sorry, excuse me, but- I need to go.” Donnie hurriedly pushed past the guy. He payed no attention to the sputtering sound the self-appointed scientist was making, focusing all of his efforts on making his way through the crowed to you. You, who was shifting past a couple in order to slip into the next room and out of sight. You left your empty glass on a side table. Donnie hurried his footsteps. He narrowly avoided a waiter. All that was on his mind was getting to you.

You slid into the next room. Immediately the volume of the music increased. People milled around with one another. You looked up to see a thousand tiny lights illuminating the ceiling. They mimicked stars and you stared in wonder at them. How had the venue even achieved that effect? Some of the lights looked like they were hovering close to the ceiling and when you squinted you could just barely make out thin transparent wires connecting the floating dots of light to the ceiling fixtures. Optical fibres? Whatever they were, they sparkled from the high ceiling like suspended fireflies. You took slow steps, eyes fixed on the general splendour. Unbeknownst to you, Donnie was a few feet behind, trailing after you. He pushed past a couple more people, apologising hastily as he tried to get closer. You paused to check your phone and Donnie took the opportunity to catch up.

“Y/n!”

“Donnie! Hi. Where have you been?” You immediately shuffled closer to the tall turtle with relief plastered over your features. Donnie matched your movements, reciprocally drawing in close. He dropped his head so he could speak to you better over the sound of the music. The two of you formed your own little bubble. You looked up at him. His appearance was taken in very quickly and you wondered if his brothers had forced him to abandon the heavy tech gear and cargos he was partial to.

“I was talking to- never mind. You um-” Donnie raked his eyes over you again. You seemed to glow in the dim lighting and he suddenly found himself unable to say anything about your appearance. He rerouted.

“When did you get here?”

“I think 30 minutes ago? I lost April somewhere and I just ended up exploring. This place is so pretty! It’s a lot of people though, I’m glad I found you. Or you found me? Whichever. I’m just glad you’re here.” You were always glad to see him. You sounded nervous, clearly more put off by the crowd than you wanted to let on; your composure was sporadic. Donnie moved closer. 

“I lost Leo by the bar.” Donnie looked up at the lighting, before pulling his gaze back to you. “I like the place, but it’s pretentious. Vern really knows ‘the right people’, huh.”

You smiled. “I’m working on a plan to steal the cutlery. I bet you if I sold one fork I could pay my rent three times over.”

Donnie chuckled. “We could test it out. Distraction theft could work. I’ll go ask where to find the bathroom and you can shove some spoons in your purse?” You laughed, free hand coming up to cover your stupid grin; Donnie’s eyes crinkled at the corners when you laughed. You moved closer to Donnie to avoid the group trying to pass by, still giggling. Donnie’s hand hovered by your lower back; he’d been about to touch it to keep you out of the path of the guests but had stopped himself before he could. His fingers brushed the little sequins of your dress. Pretty. So pretty. You felt his body heat close and looked down with an affectation of decorum as the guests passed. Donnie gestured to the bar where the crowd was sparser. You nodded. He kept close as you both navigated to the shiny black counter, and you squinted at the various amber bottled lined up against the backbar. Your smile had momentarily slipped, and you put it back on, continuing to speak. “I don’t think your diversion tactics would work, Don. You’d just make it super obvious, no offence.”

“Offence taken; how would I make it obvious?”

“Act it out real quick?”

“Okay…” Donnie tried to get into character. He turned his head away and then turned back when he was confident he wouldn’t laugh. “Excuse me, do you know where the bathrooms are? I’m lost.”

You burst into peals of laughter. Donnie looked at you with a very confused expression. “What? That was good, right? Screw you, I know that was good.” He tried to quell his amusement but failed miserably and his lips morphed into a smile.

You snickered, “You sounded like a kid. We’d get caught in 5 minutes, tops.”

“Well when you put it like that it sounds ridiculous.”

Your eyes were drawn to the bar once more and as you skimmed the menu a single word stood out. On the small chalkboard sign with drink prices and names written in various colours of chalk, the word ‘milkshake’ stuck out like a sore thumb. You perked up.

“Donnie, look!”

The tall turtle turned his head away from your face to cast his gaze on what had stolen your attention away. You drummed your fingers on the bartop in excitement.

“They’ve got milkshakes! We have to get one. Strawberry, right? I’ll get us one. Stay here. Don’t move. Where’d that guy go…”

Donnie watched helplessly as you tracked down the bartender. He hadn’t even had a chance to get a word in. God, you were cute. You knew what flavours he liked, too. It wasn’t revolutionary, you remembered little things like that, but at times like these it made Donnie feel like he mattered to you so much more than he did. Quit it. She’s just being considerate, Donnie, it’s not a fucking proposal. You returned after a couple minutes with a retro style milkshake in your hands. Whipped cream. Cherry on top. Scoop of ice cream. The works. You had a massive smile on your face and Donnie could practically see the cold pink glass reflected in your pupils. He must’ve been making a stupid face because you awkwardly smiled.

“It was way more expensive than I thought it’d be, so I could only get one. I got us two straws though. You don’t mind, right?” You batted your lashes at him unconsciously, holding up the two straws as evidence. He couldn’t protest.

“Yeah, that’s um- fine.” He swallowed and took the straw you handed him. You took the first sip, squealing immediately as the fruity taste hit your tongue. You garbled something about it tasting good and took another long sip, lips pursed with the effort of trying to swallow down half the glass in one go. Donnie laughed, inserting his own straw and taking a sip once you’d moved back. “Mmh. The flavouring isn’t artificial, it’s actually,” he paused to take another sip, “really good.” You beamed at him in agreement. You alternated leaning in to take sips from your respective straws, talking about how the place sustained the flowers on long nights like these, the logistics of wheeling in the massive marble slabs that made up the bar counters in each room and how Donnie was doing with his robotics project. He was focused on creating a mini mechanic that could build, fix and maintain his other projects. He got so lost in his excited rambling that he forgot to keep his distance. His legs were intertwined with yours while you faced one another on the barstools. His hand brushed against your own where he set it down on the counter between his gesticulating. His sentences were punctuated with ‘omigosh’s and before he knew it his throat was getting dry, and he leaned down to take a sip of the pink shake at the same time you did. Your faces were impossibly close. Shit. He faltered and almost choked, his heart stuttered and certainly not because of the amount of sugar he was consuming. You scrunched your nose, pulling away from your straw to giggle. Donnie coughed once.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.” Wow. Great going, Donnie. Now you’ve just weirded her out.

You laughed, though he could tell from the way you looked down and focused hard on wiping the cream off your lip that you had been taken off guard by how close your faces had got. Were you uncomfortable? He fixed his gaze anxiously on you, trying hard to ascertain your feelings, but he couldn’t figure you out; the face you’d made was confusing and all he could conclude was you disliked being so close to him. He went to detangle his legs from yours, keeping his head down. You sighed.

“Y/n!” April’s voice cut through the crowd. She clacked over in her heels, holding two glasses of some gold bubbly liquid. She was smiling. Donnie was thankful for her merciful interruption.

“Donnie, you’re here too.” She took a second to glance between the two of you and quickly hit you a raised eyebrow that Donnie missed. The atmosphere in your little corner was as tense as a stretched spring. Full of potential energy. You raised a brow right back at her and the glasses she was holding. She was too tipsy to press further and smiled. “You’re coming with me, ‘kay? Donnie doesn’t mind, right buddy?” Donnie wanted to protest. He wanted to shake his head or grab onto you and keep you there next to him, but that was childish, and he was above that. You went to stand, throwing Donnie an apologetic look. “I’ll be right back.”

April tugged on your arm and squeezed it. She’d clearly had one too many drinks. You looked reluctant to leave Donnie like this, the unresolved air between the two of you lingered and wrapped around you. He wasn’t ready to end the conversation. No matter how awkward it had been, he’d liked having you to himself. Find a reason. Any reason. Say something. Ask her for a dance later! A sense of urgency filled the tall turtle as you began to turn away and he found himself reaching out; before he could prevent it Donnie was grabbing your hand in his larger one. 

“Wait. I-”

You looked at him. He looked flustered. You took a step closer again, not removing your hand from his. The look on your face was almost hopeful, albeit confused, and Donnie couldn’t speak.

“Be uhhh- careful. Lots of people ’n stuff,” he said weakly. Any hopes you had fell, and you just gave him a gentle, understanding smile and a nod before slipping away with an impatient April into the throng. 

▹▹▹

The guy April had introduced you to 15 minutes ago was nice, even if you weren’t interested. He reminded you a little of Donnie. He was tall, had blue rimmed glasses and a shy smile that kept you from leaving. You tried to enjoy the conversation. At the very least the man had a personality and wasn’t just clinging to small talk, even if he was shy. Your mind was elsewhere. Donnie had looked like he wanted to say something earlier. What was it? The thought nagged at you incessantly and you took another sip of the soapy alcohol in your hand. It made you feel even worse, so you slowly put it down and tried to focus on the man in front of you. The mawkish remnants in your mouth made you grimace. God this was gross. Everything about this felt gross. The part of the night where everything started to feel sticky and overwhelming had arrived and having to socialise wasn’t doing you any good. You wished you were back with Donnie and the milkshake. No, you reminded yourself, none of that matters. Focus. The guy was ducking his gaze and smiling.

“I thought they’d never make a movie adaptation of booster gold, let alone on the OMAC project. I guess the whole ‘hero comes back for one more job’ trope is pretty popular!”

You forced a pleasant smile. “I wonder if they’ll leave it inconclusive or move onto the whole blue beetle thing. I feel like it’ll probably just have an uplifting tone at the end or something. Most superhero movies do these days.”

The man nodded enthusiastically in response. You fidgeted with the hem of your dress just to have something to do with your hands. Suddenly, the guy blurted, “would you want to go dance with me?”

You lifted your head, surprised. Where did that come from? “Oh! Yeah…sure, I’d be down to.” A slow smile formed on your face and you nodded your head. What was the harm in one dance? This man was sweet in a way, and you needed to take your mind off things. Your thoughts had been straying in dangerous directions; places you’d never allowed yourself to go too far down for fear of screwing things up. You needed to stop thinking about Donnie.

You felt slightly guilty for not remembering the name of the man in front of you, but you took his hand nonetheless and let yourself be guided into the crowd. The lighting was dimmer there, full of flecks of muted yellows and blues and pinks that dappled over the moving bodies. The man in front of you pulled you closer. His hands were warm. Soft. They trembled in yours and you reflexively squeezed them. He squeezed back and slipped his hands nervously to your waist.

“Is this a good time to say I can’t really dance? I just wanted to… be uh… near you.”

You chuckled in spite of yourself. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. A familiar hum melted through the speakers as a new song started up. The guy’s hand brushed your bare lower back.

I don’t wanna be alone tonight

Your eyes widened slightly. A soft bitterness sparked in your stomach and you exhaled. Just your luck. Even the music refused to help you forget. You shut your eyes and focused on the bittersweet feeling of having someone close.

It’s pretty clear that I’m not over you… I’m still thinkin’ bout the things you do

You let the man swivel you around. The steady rhythm filled you up and you lost yourself to the atmosphere.

▹▹▹

Donnie felt nauseous. He’d finished off the milkshake alone. Your straw leaned idly against the edge of the cold glass, abandoned and making the scene even more depressing. He checked his watch again. 17 minutes. You’d disappeared with April 17 minutes ago. You had said you’d be ‘right back.’ How long did ‘right back’ constitute? Certainly not this long. He didn’t want to intrude on whatever you had going on, but there was something propelling him out of his seat. He was being selfish again, the cold stab of possessiveness branching through his veins and pushing him to find you; he couldn’t stand sitting there by himself. People had started to stare; he was used to the staring, being 6’8” and a mutant turtle, but their piercing eyes seemed to be drawn to the fact that he was alone and didn’t look like he’d be joined by anyone any time soon. He needed to find you. His heavy footsteps through the crowd became more hurried with each step. There was the sinking feeling that he was too late, that he should’ve said something earlier instead of chickening out and leaving his needs and desires unspoken. He cursed himself. Thud.

“Donnie? Ay, ay, what’s got you haulin’ ass?”

“Raph- Hey, I have somewhere to be, I’ll talk later- later.”

Raph’s brow furrowed as Donnie shoved past. The purple turtle had distraction all over his face and Raph wasn’t used to seeing his brother so frenetic other than when his work got serious and he locked himself in his lab for days.

“…Huh.”

Please be there, please be there, please be there. Donnie slid into the crowd of moving bodies. Music filled his ears. His eyes latched onto you in seconds; they instinctively searched for you in every room and every crowd. His eyes adjusted to the lighting and he stepped out of the way of an exiting trio. He was about to make his way over, disregarding the fact that this was a dance floor and he was butting in when he had no intentions as of right now to dance, when he noticed the man in front of you. Donnie’s whole world went cold.

Look what you made me do, I’m with somebody new, ooh, baby, baby I’m dancin’ with a stranger.

You had a small smile on your face as the brown-haired man in front of twirled you around and moved his hands over your waist. Your shoulders moved to the music and your hips circled. Donnie’s hand flexed. His mouth felt dry and his gut felt empty. It felt like someone was squeezing the muscles of his throat until his windpipe collapsed and he lost the ability to breathe. He assessed your body language in vain and found only politeness in it. You were clearly fine with dancing. But you remained poised. Donnie clung to the knowledge that you never acted so formal around him, but the dull throbbing in his heart began to overtake any bitterness he was feeling. 

Dancing with a stranger.

You dropped your gaze from the guy to look down at his hands on your waist. The sight felt wrong. Flecks of diffused orange light caressed your skin and sparkled off your dress. The melody cascaded over your bodies, flowing through your shoulders and moving you in tandem with the man before you, and yet it felt unnatural as anything. You found yourself wishing for a minute it was Donnie in front of you with his hands on your waist, tridactyl fingers caressing your back and head tipped down to focus all his attention on you; god did you almost feel like you could be dancing with him every time you shut your eyes. The man smiled down at you. You tried convincing yourself you could be okay with this; dancing with this man you knew little about, forgetting Donnie and replacing his image in your head with thin blue rimmed glasses and messy brown hair. The guy leaned down to put his face close to yours and you kept your head down, feigning shyness in lieu of giving away your distaste. Donnie looked away. He left the room silently, foregoing plodding back to the little bar the two of you had been sitting at, blindly pushing past a blur of faces until he found a secluded balcony. He had no one to blame for the melancholy he was feeling but himself.

It had taken you another eight minutes to wrench yourself out of conversation and away from the dance floor. You downed one of the shots lets on a half full tray, wincing at the nasty taste and using it to tear your mind away from everything. A warm burning sensation courtesy of the alcohol did nothing to remove the stubborn lump in your throat. You really should’ve just stayed with Donnie. The longer that man kept you there the more grossed out you’d felt, and the persistence that seemed to have taken him over after dancing with you threw you off completely. He really had wanted to be ‘close’ to you. You felt your head spin. Thud.

“Seriously, is everyone gonna keep bumping into me, or- y/n.”

“Raph.” You cleared your throat. “Sorry.”

“Yeah, it’s whatever. I guess I gotta keep out the doorways, huh. You seen Mikey?”

“No. He might still be downstairs. Did you…” “Donnie?” You nodded. “I saw him walkin’ through here earlier, but ain’t seen him since.” You sighed.

“Thanks.”

Raph eyed you. You had the same sort of look on your face that Donnie had earlier, and he didn’t like the wateriness in your eyes. He’d never seen you seriously cry; you were tough and he knew it. Crying wasn’t your forte, sure you’d let slip a tear or two on group movie nights down in the lair, but this looked different. Were you drunk? Seeing what looked akin to intoxication set him on edge. “You aight?”

“Mhm. A-okay.” Raph noted you looked like you were looking through him rather than at him. He sighed and patted your shoulder.

“You should get some water ’n get home soon. Ain’t lookin’ too hot.”

You offered him a small nod, before slipping further into the crowd. Raph was left to wonder what exactly was up with you and Donnie. He needed a drink.

The cool respite of the open balcony called to you. No one lingered around it, all of the guests and officials mingled among one another in the larger rooms of the building. The breeze curled through the wispy pale blue curtains and beckoned you close. You didn’t notice the tall figure leaning against the metal balcony railing until you got closer. The familiar sight of the turtle you were looking for met you. His eyes were red, though you couldn’t notice through the dark filter the night overlayed and your own distraction. His eyes flickered over to you. They widened. He didn’t know whether to act normal or not. He didn’t feel normal. No, he felt petty and heartbroken and stupid. Again he had to remind himself he was making a mountain out of a molehill. You were free to dance with whoever you liked. It wasn’t like he’d had the courage to ask you, anyway. ‘What’s Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, that he should weep for her?’ Even Shakespeare couldn’t save you now, Donnie. Thankfully his thoughts were shut down by you speaking first.

“Donnie! There you are. I’m sorry I left you for so long. April wanted to show me a painting and then introduced me to some friends and I couldn’t leave.” You took some steps closer, leaning on the rail beside him. You blinked. The lump in your throat had somehow only grown bigger with Donnie there next to you.

“It’s fine, I promise. Did you have fun?” Somehow, his question made the nausea you felt worse. You tried to nod, but couldn’t. A tear spilled over when you blinked and you hurriedly thumbed it away. Donnie’s eyes widened. Guilt flushed through him, and he felt even more of an idiot for letting the tone of bitterness slip through his question when you clearly weren’t feeling well. Eyes red. Unfocused. Wobbled when she came over; there’s an 80% variable that there’s a 73% chance that it’s the shoes, but she did have a drink earlier and April probably pawned off that other drink she had. Be sensitive.

He fumbled. “Hey, what- happened? Are-are you hurt?” He gave you a once-over and you shook your head quickly. Your voice sounded small. “No, ‘m fine. I’m okay.” You fanned your face with a hand and blew out cold air. “I think I wanna go home.” Donnie nodded.

“I get it. I can drop you off, if you need me to. I feel like I’ve been here long enough.”

You swallowed.

“No, it’s okay. Leo would be pissed at you.” Your heart thumped dismally in your chest. Donnie stared. Out here in the cold night air it felt as though the two of you were in a different world. Your eyelids fluttered and the soft breeze stroked your face with its chilly hand. A respite. You turned to face Donnie. He was already looking at you. His glasses magnified his eyes a little and made it that much more noticeable when he blinked. It was endearing. He still looked worried, keeping a watchful gaze on you as though searching for any more imminent tears; he didn’t know how to handle tears, let alone yours. Rather, he didn’t know how to handle your tears without revealing his feelings. Everything in him yelled to pull you into a hug, or hold your hand, or anything that would take that dejected look off your face and show you how you could rely on him. It was foolish. He was already in a state of his own. Neither of you spoke a word, coexisting in the serene silence with your eyes on each other.

▹▹▹

Thirteen goddamn missions. How many more would you have to go through ‘till Karai was behind bars? They spanned over a month. Your university had upped your workload in the same month, and the stress you were under was immense. Leo had oh-so graciously allowed you to miss the other 5 missions they’d planned out when your deadlines came up and you couldn’t spare any time to run around the city. He was being lenient. Real lenient. You groaned into your mattress. Your body ached from the nights of running and hiding and infiltrating and scouting and decoy-ing. You were so sick of it. Ugly washed out bruises littered your knees and shins from who knew when; your body was tense and you could barely set one foot in your lectures without falling asleep. One of your lovely acquaintances had taken to silently taking your notes for you and sending them over after the lecture. Guilt rested on your shoulders. The fact that you felt more for Donnie than you wanted to admit had started to chew slowly at you, ever since the night of the party there had been a looming sense of loss in your heart. Entertaining the idea of someone else had only aggressively confirmed you couldn’t stand thinking of anyone in that way but your purple turtle. Your feelings stuck fast, insurmountable and unforgettable. There was no way to push them aside and move on the way you were so proud of being able to do with everything else. Fuck love. You were tired.

“Yo. Fellas, let’s go, let’s go.” Leo marched through the lair, banging his katanas together and sending resounding crashes bouncing off the walls of the lair. Raph reluctantly peeled himself from the couch where he’d been trying to catch some shut eye. Mikey jerked awake, falling off the tipped-back chair he’d fallen asleep at; the bag of peanuts on his lap fell to the floor along with the comic book he’d left open over his eyes. Leo had become progressively more uptight with the pressure he was under these days. Raph shot Leo an irritated look and adjusted his mask, retying it so it would be secure and suppressing a snort at Mikey’s fumbling. Donnie winced at the racket his older brother was making. He yawned and lifted his head off his desk. Drool formed a pool on his schematics. He patted around for his glasses. Ugh. What time is it? Donnie brushed stray wrappers off his desk and finally grabbed his thick framed glasses, thumbing to press down the lifted corner flap of tape that bound the bridge of his glasses together.

Getting out of the lair and across the city was a blur. Donnie did some tricks across the rooftops to wake himself up when they got out of the truck. His sleep schedule was thoroughly fucked. He hadn’t slept much at all since the night of the party; his mind was clouded with images of you in the arms of someone else, someone better, someone normal, someone human. It was ridiculous. He wasn’t the most insecure, but with time it had crept in and wormed itself into muscle and tissue like some kind of parasite and refused to leave. You acted the same way with him as always. It was just him. He was sucked back into feeling stupid for all the one-sided emotions constantly flowing through his mind; you were less than aware of the turmoil he was going through and one look at your sweet face every time he saw you only increased his resolve not to slip a peep on his state. Donnie focused on the missions, refining the tech for his robots, and helping you with your work. He threw himself into it with the abandon of a man with nothing to lose. Except, he was losing both sleep and his sanity. And probably his body’s ability to process caffeine.

“Mikey, throw me the rope.”

“Gotchu, brah. Go long!”

Leo jumped up to catch the coil of rope before it could go over the side of the building, shooting Mikey a look that the orange slider very blatantly ignored.

Donnie squinted at his watch. No messages from you. He knew you’d be there tonight; this was one of the missions you couldn’t miss. The amount of grief his older brother had given you for missing the one before was no doubt a factor in your acceptance this time. Donnie swiped at the pale blue hologram to open up the text thread from the previous night.

Yesterday, 21:58

Don🔬: Good job tonight. I can check your citations tomorrow but be proud of the work you’ve done!

Donnie cringed when he reread the message. Wasn’t that too impersonal? He sounded like an old man.

You: You’re a lifesaver Don, but I don’t wanna overwork you

You: Get some sleep big guy

Don🔬: Will do, see you tomorrow

Today, 23:20

Don🔬: We’re on top of the TCRI building, no sign of the foot yet

The purple turtle stared long and hard at the embarrassingly short text thread. He had a strong urge to delete the latest message, but that would be even more embarrassing than the text itself. You were in on this one. There had been absolutely no reason to text you, and yet he had. It wasn’t like you’d be actively checking your phone. You knew the plan. Baxter Stockman was back and working for the foot clan. TCRI and its projects had been handed off to the authority of another qualified scientist when Baxter Stockman had supposedly gone ‘missing’ after Shredder’s own disappearance. However, if Baxter was back, he’d need to get hold of his research. The best way to go about it was break back into his old workplace and steal anything he deemed a requirement for their new plan of action. Krang was still a threat, especially if the fool managed to take back his research and create a new portal opening out of spite. That’s what the foot clan were. Spiteful. Donnie ran a hand over his face and clicked off the hologram. His frustration curdled back into the ugly dredges of doubt and all he could do to keep his mind busy and focused on something other than how much he desperately wanted your attention was run through the mission plan again.

You were in the building. The unrestricted floor clearance tag you’d been given by the company for tonight was clutched in your hand and you thumbed the corner of the laminated card as you walked. You wondered if they’d let you keep it, or if you could get away with slipping it to Donnie by the end of the night. If the tech-savvy turtle really wanted to he could bypass any and all security measures, but you still wanted the satisfaction of being able to give him something useful. You inwardly groaned. Here you were, wandering the halls with one of the higher up scientists, waiting for the foot clan to burst through the doors at any second and you were busy thinking about Donnie. That seemed to be a common theme on these missions. You frowned and recited the plan. You were the boys’ eyes on the inside for tonight; the NYPD was only involved to the extent they could be without making it obvious to the foot that they were prepared for any infiltration, and had arranged for your placement in the building as a human alert button. You also suspected they wanted some extra information on what exactly TCRI were up to these days. You could do that. The people who worked late in the building were only aware that you were there to ‘help evacuate’ and needed complete clearance to be able to do so, not that you had a personal agenda to snoop.

“And this here is our modelling department. They work on theoretical models of the collider you saw at sub level 3, the basic functions of potential alternate dimensions, and scaling of our other general projects. We don’t have many people working late in here, apart from-”

“Sir!”

The older man next to you who’d been touring you around the facility sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose in a way that reminded you of the habit Leo and Splinter had. You smiled. The guy who waved was fresh faced and energetic, you could tell he was probably new from the way he looked so enthusiastic so late at night. The older man next to you gestured with raised brows. “As I was saying, apart from Mr. Walker there, no one else works late in this department.” You tried not to laugh. That made your job easier. If there weren’t many people on these floors, you wouldn’t have to worry about casualties…

▹▹▹

Donnie dropped down to crouch to the cold floor of the laboratory as the foot soldier swung an electrically charged pole at him. He grunted and swivelled so he knocked the soldier’s legs out, and as the foot member scrambled for purchase they sent a tray of beakers and pipettes crashing to the floor and leaking orange and blue liquid out onto the surface. “Look what you’ve done now! Contamination is a serious- issue-” Donnie felt a sharp prick in his calf and instinctively went to rip the cables off before he got electrocuted. The sound of his brothers fighting around him filled his ears. The alarm system blared over the sound of the chaos and Donnie heard the sound of a glass door breaking. He looked over to see Raph smashing through the hail of glass shards. Bullets sprayed and Donnie ducked down behind a metal desk, cursing under his breath at the absurdity of the mission.

“Donnie!” Leo yelled over the gunfire, “Where’s Stockman?”

Donnie stammered as he got back up and kicked a gun out of a man’s hands. “He uh- he should be held up two floors down. You guys gotta hurry up.”

“I’m workin’ on it.”

“Bogey on your 6,” Donnie ran up and thwacked the foot member who emerged out of nowhere with his bo. Leo clapped his brother on the shoulder.

“Good looking out, Donnie. Mikey, Raph, on me.”

You were lost, trapped in a maze of identical rooms that all connected to one another, full of sleek, shiny tech that you weren’t acquainted with. 2 foot clan initiates circled you like sharks. They had chased you through the laboratories; the unconscious body of the cheery Mr. Walker had been in one of the rooms you ran through. Naive. You had been so goddamn naive. You grit your teeth in irritation at the foot soldiers who stood ready to disarm you. Baxter Stockman jogged past the door. Your eyes widened. No wonder they’d wanted to corner you! This was all to clear an unobstructed path. You disregarded the soldiers and made a run for the exit; no way could you let that bumbling idiot reach the instruments and research he needed to recreate the Krang invasion, not now. A foot soldier kicked your knee in the second you tried for the exit and you groaned. Fuck, that hurt. You feigned being winded, doubled over in a show of pain greater than what you actually felt. According to Donnie’s scan of their gear, foot soldiers had concealed knives. Righttt there! You grabbed the handle sticking out by the initiate’s ankle, lifting and pulling it up out of its sheath; you stuck it in the back of the man’s knee and turned around to disable the other one before they had the opportunity to electrocute you. They collapsed at the exact moment a bang and hiss rang in your eardrums. Your blade clattered to the floor. White clouds of steam burst through the room’s vents. The clear sliding doors slammed shut and you coughed, panicked, whipping around to search for the culprit. A blur of black and red was barely visible through the smoke clouding through the room, the boiling steam suffocated you and you felt your clothes dampen and the familiar feeling of nausea. That wasn’t just water through those pipe vents. Karai’s voice rang singsong through the sealed doors.

“Poor thing. You can’t escape. Perhaps, if you had been more useful we could’ve spared you. Your apartment gave us all the information we needed.”

You gasped, avoiding the burning steam and picking up one of the tools atop the desk in a vain attempt to crack the glass. It was no use. You were going to pass out before you could crack it. Karai receded and disappeared after Stockman and you cursed, kicking the door in frustration and swivelling around, searching for any alternate exit points or anything else you could use to get out. it didn’t look promising. The boiling heat made your skin blotchy with condensation. You went for your comms.

“Leo? Donnie? Karai and Baxter are in lab,” you gasped, “7. Hurry.”

Donnie looked over at Leo in alarm at the sound of your voice.

“Leo?”

“We’ll get Karai and stop Baxter. Go find her.”

Donnie split off and his brothers ran to the lab you identified while Donnie booked it to where you had last been.

You were kneeling on the floor. Any oxygen you could suck into your lungs was inhaled with desperation. You swam in a haze, surrounded by pure white and coughing at the chemical taste filling your mouth and swamping your other senses. You folded over on your knees, pressing your cheek to the floor and wheezing. You wanted Donnie. You were terrified that these would be your last moments. Suffocation was one of the worst ways to go. You. Wanted. Donnie. You never got to ask him to go for a drive with you. You never got to tell him you regretted not staying with him at that stupid party. God that had been such a waste of your time. You choked at the sudden lump in your throat. You never got to tell him you love him. Tears pricked your eyes and you shuddered, clawing at the ground to attempt to push yourself back up and to those sealed doors.

Donnie entered the lab area, eyes wide and panting. White steam clouded the glass panels and he could only make out the silhouette of a downed foot soldier behind the glass.

“Shit! Doors, doors, doors… c’mon Donnie… no pressure, no pressure, it’s not like she could be dead in there.”

He frantically looked for the override to the sealed-off section of the laboratory. “Fuck!” Donnie swore loudly, punching in the buttons on the designated control panel hard and getting more and more urgent when it refused to work. He held his staff to the panel and with a ‘bzzt’ the wires shorted and the doors opened. Steam emerged in swathes. Donnie held his breath, squinting through the burning hot clouds and falling to his knees next to your small figure on the floor.

“Hey, y/n? Can you hear me? God, please be okay. Come here, I got you. I’ve got you sweetheart. Oh my god, oh my god, I’ll never let you go again.”

Donnie mumbled words that probably soothed him more than it did you. He cradled you in his big arms, exiting the contaminated area and finding a safe spot to crouch down.

You thought you were dreaming. Cool, clean, crisp air flooded your lungs and you gasped at the feeling of Donnie’s hands checking your pulse through your temple. The sound of his voice reached you through a silencer, gurgled and wobbly like you were underwater. Time moved slowly. Your ears popped and without warning every sound suddenly had sharp clarity to it; time sped up and you were thrust back into the present. Donnie’s voice brought you back. You pushed up with surprising speed and wrapped your arms around him the second you could move. “Donnie!” you cried.

He held you close, pressing his face into the crook of your neck and squeezing you so tight you thought you’d burst. “I’m here. I’m right here.” He didn’t give a shit about the wetness of your skin or the way you constricted his windpipe, all he cared about was that you were breathing. He pulled away enough to give you a once over. His hands held your shoulders. “Let me check your pupils. Can you breathe okay? A-are you experiencing any intense nausea? Does your skin feel itchy? What happened?”

You shook your head, grasping at him with a wobbly lower lip. He shut himself up and pulled you back in.

“Don’t go anywhere, please. Please, Don.” You whispered into his neck, feeling hot tears roll down your face. Donnie leaned back against the wall, resting your wet, exhausted form against his plastron and pressing his face to the top of your head with a great, shuddering sigh. His adrenaline ebbed away incrementally and he rubbed your back.

“I won’t,” he whispered back, “I promise.”

Even now, as he held you and you matched your breaths to his, he couldn’t get out the words he so desperately wanted to say. I’ll keep you safe. I was so worried. I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you. I love you.

Mikey had been the one to detain Stockman, and the guy was tied up and being subjected to Mikey flicking his face; the orange turtle was having boatloads of fun prodding at the scientist and making a mockery of him. Leo had finally caught Karai. The leader in blue gave her a serious but very subtly smug look. He was triumphant. Karai bowed her head in defeat. Raph was just relieved they’d managed to catch Karai. He couldn’t have dealt with any more of Leo’s griping. He sat on the edge of a table as the police department were radioed and a chopper arrived at the TCRI building.

Donnie refused to put you down. Maybe it was because you looked pitiful trying to walk. Your head lolled into his chest, you sniffled every few seconds and coughed when your windpipe refused to cooperate. If you had been in a more coherent state, you might’ve noticed just how easy it was for the tall turtle to carry you. How his arms flexed when he hoisted you up and the way he removed one arm for just a minute to wipe your face. He was so strong. It was easy to forget just how strong he was. Donnie let Leo drive the truck on the way back to the lair. He sat in the back with you leaning on his shoulder, arm around his thick bicep as you slipped in and out of sleep.

“Are we going home?” You murmured into Donnie’s arm with your eyes closed, and the purple turtle rested his big, three-fingered hand on top of yours.

“We’re going back to the lair. I need to check your condition and run a couple tests, but we could stop by yours. Did you need something from your apartment?”

You opened your eyes at his words, recalling your interaction earlier. “I can’t go back there, Karai said- she said- I think they broke in. Maybe. I don’t know when.”

Donnie’s face contorted into one of worry and he absentmindedly rubbed his thumb over the back of yours. “If that’s true it might not be safe for you to go back there. That might be how they avoided getting caught in the first place…” Donnie’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. “I’ll call April and ask her if you can stay at hers, but for now you’re staying with us. Is that okay?”

You nodded and shut your eyes again. You leaned against his shoulder and sighed, burying deeper into his side when the truck bumped over a pothole. Donnie picked at the hair tie on your wrist. He looked at you, then at the way you had your arm hooked under his and then back down to the hair tie. He slid a finger under it, shimmying his index along your inner wrist until he could fit his second finger in. The hair band slid until it bound Donnie’s wrist to yours, and the slider intertwined your fingers and squeezed your hand. He hoped it would say what he couldn’t. He wanted to be stuck to you.

▹▹▹

“We’re doing this again, huh.” You groaned as you sat on the sink counter and let Donnie peel off the damp clothes that stuck to your skin. He’d taken a look at you and concluded you’d be fine after you hacked out the toxic substances, drank a load of water, consumed a wide assortment of medicine and got a hell of a lot of sleep. He tried not to smile down at you.

“You know the probability of this happening this many times should be really low. You’re an outlier,” he teased as he rolled off your shirt. You hummed tiredly when you put your arms back down.

“Maybe.” You got distracted by the soft purple of Donnie’s bandana ties resting on his plastron and reached up to rub the material between your thumb and forefinger. Donnie had his head down, watching you. “Donnie?”

He blinked. “Yeah?”

You looked up at him. His eyes widened a little and flickered off to the floor, to the wall; anywhere that wasn’t your face, but his gaze kept coming back to you. You opened your mouth. You closed it. Then you shook your head. “Thank you for being there.”

Donnie just looked at your small smile and took in a short breath as if to speak, to acknowledge the atmosphere in the little bathroom between you. He resorted to patting your elbow.

“Always.” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “O-kay, shower time. I’m waiting right outside so yell if you need anything. And I mean anything, don’t ignore dizziness or blurry vision or any other symptoms. You wouldn’t believe the number of annual deaths from people falling over in the shower, it’s nuts.”

Your shower was long and miserable. You stumbled out halfway to purge the chemicals from your body into the toilet bowl and lay flat on the floor with your legs kicked up on the wall, wet and shuddering as you felt your circulation return to your head and the spasming of your facial muscles finally cease. Getting back in the shower had almost been worse. You finally emerged, woozy from the heat. The old shirt you wore as you sat on Donnie’s bed after your shower smelled like tea. Your skin was hot. The phantom feeling of Donnie’s hand in yours lingered; the purple turtle was bustling around the lair to collect a cold glass of water, some hard candy for you to suck on to get rid of the nasty taste in your mouth, and the rickety fan Mikey had commandeered and left next to the couch. At long last Donnie collapsed onto the bed next to where you sat, face smushed to his bedding with his glasses lopsided. You stared at the way his arms gathered one of his pillows to his face and how he exhaled hot air; the lenses of his glasses fogged up. You swallowed. Did he need to be this hot? Donnie pushed himself back up enough to look at you through his cloudy glasses and nervously licked his lips.

“You don’t mind if I’m here, do you? I can move if you want the bed to yourself… Actually, I think I’ll move, I- I don’t wanna crowd you.” Donnie’s voice petered off when you shook your head. Wordlessly, you reached out to take his glasses off and took your time folding down the temples and setting the pair aside. Donnie held his breath. You scooted down to lie flat on the mattress. The tips of your fingers brushed his forearm as you made a grabbing motion, and he lowered himself back down. Donnie’s heart was beating a mile a minute.

“Stay with me. You promised.”

Donnie had never folded faster in his life. He was just glad he was already lying down or his knees might’ve given out and he might’ve given himself away. Holy fuck. Holy fuck. Holy fuck. His vision was blurrier without his glasses, but he reached towards you nonetheless and chastely held your hand. You squeezed his. He grounded you, you felt your muscles loosen and your mind shut off at last. “I won’t go anywhere,” He murmured. He pulled your hand closer, resting your joined hands by his face. You could feel his breaths hitting your knuckles. The two of you fell into slumber without another word, leaving the silence laden with a thousand unspoken words to tarry a little longer.

▹▹▹

You woke to the warmth of Donnie’s arms around you. Long, soft breaths skimmed your hair. It was comfortable in his arms, more comfortable than you’d been in a long time and you couldn’t bring yourself to move. You experimentally shifted your elbow. You didn’t think you could move, actually. Donnie’s grip was firm and impossible to wriggle free of. He had a thick leg between yours, his arms squished you to his plastron and he cuddled into you like he couldn’t bear to let you go. He was heavy. You groggily took the opportunity to nuzzle your face into the hollow of his neck. You wished this was what every night was like. A steady thump conducted through his chest to yours and you found yourself wondering if his heart ever sounded different, if his heartbeat had ever sped up or skipped a beat for the sake of love. This was painful; lying here next to him, held reverently in his arms and yet not knowing whether he felt the same way about you as you did him. You huffed against his neck and breathed in the scent of skin and grass and espresso and screwed your eyes shut tight in an effort to memorise this moment. A low grumble notified you that Donnie had woken up. You stayed very still, fearful he’d caught you in the act of breathing him in. A vibration ran from Donnie’s body to yours. He churred. You felt him nuzzle his face into the top of your head, no doubt still half asleep and probably assuming you were one of his pillows. You let it happen.

“…y/n?”

His voice. Lord, his voice. You nodded into his collarbone. “Mhm.”

Donnie’s muscles tensed and he gently pulled away from you, detaching his arms gingerly like he was scared you had been lying awake and uncomfortable for some time now. You tried not to let the disappointment show on your face at the sudden lightness where before his body had been flush with yours. He reached for his glasses. Donnie didn’t dare move his leg from between yours, feeling like removing it too would be more awkward than leaving it where it was. You spoke before he could. “Did I wake you?”

Donnie shook his head as he slipped his glasses on. “No.” The silence stretched until the two of you broke eye contact and simultaneously fell into quiet giggles. You reached for his hand and he held yours; the corners of his eyes crinkled as he stared in wonder at you next to him in his bed. Donnie took a deep breath and focused on the way you held his hand to glean some courage.

“I have to say,” he swallowed, “you look nice when you’re sleepy.” He blanched. “Not in a weird way. I guess I noticed when you fell asleep the time I taught you cointegration.”

“You watched me sleep?” You squeaked, eyes wide.

“No. Not exactly… Sort of.”

You let slip a tiny, surprised laugh. Donnie looked mortified. Your heart thumped louder in your chest. “I had the same thought when we were in the truck together. That time I was posted by Red hook and you came to get me. You look nice when you drive. Super- um- focused?” You sighed and thumbed the soft scaly outlines along his knuckles. “I wanted to go for a drive with you again.”

Donnie’s eyes were wide. He was struggling to breathe. You hadn’t freaked out at his weird admittance- you’d been looking at him, too. You clearly expressed you liked his face. His expression, same thing, whatever. You wanted to be alone with him. Shoot. Was he smiling? He hoped he wasn’t smiling. He probably looked a fool. Hope burst behind his ribs. The dam that had been blocking his ability to translate his thoughts to words broke, and months’ worth of confessions at last spilled out in a wave. “I wanted to ask you to dance at the party, but I chickened out at the last minute and I’ve been regretting it the past month. And I wanted to tell you, you looked beautiful.I actually went after you to tell you but then I saw you with some-” Donnie scrunched his nose and struggled “-guy and I thought maybe it was better not to say anything. Which was stupid. I was so insanely stupid. And I have been stupid.” Donnie’s eyes found yours and his gaze intensified. His voice dropped to a murmur, quiet and intimate like he was scared to let you hear it but couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“I love you. I want to be with you.” Donnie’s brows were knitted together in a needy expression as his hand trembled in yours. “I want to take care of you. I don’t deserve any of your attention and I’ve been trying not to want it, I swear I have, but I can’t help it. I love you.”

Your breath hitched and you felt your head spin. That look on his face was criminal. Donnie’s heartbeat through his wrist was ten times quicker than what you’d felt while he slept. Love. You had never been great at feelings; they were volatile, confusing things and in your mind people were impossible to rely on, but Donnie was your constant. He was your certainty, and he wanted to be. Your own shaky hand gripped him tight and without another thought your lips slammed against his. Donnie melted. His other arm pulled you closer by your waist and he kissed you back. Your lips were hot and plush and he kissed you again and again and again until he’d pushed you into the pillows with his enthusiasm. His glasses were askew and foggy again. You held his face to adjust them. The two of you panted. Your eyes glimmered when you looked up at him through your lashes and Donnie felt weak. “I love you, too. I don’t understand how you,” you kissed him once, sloppily, “thought you didn’t deserve my attention. I thought- I didn’t deserve yours.”

Donnie pulled you in for another kiss, letting out a small sound as your exhales mingled and your pretty, pretty hands wrapped around his neck. You were smiling so hard you couldn’t kiss him properly. “I’m dreaming. I have to be,” he mumbled as he planted wet kisses against your cheek. “You’ve always had my attention, I’ve been all yours for years.”

You pulled him in to kiss you again. “Years?”

“Years.”

You hiked your knee up enough to try to wrap your leg around him and keep him close to you. Your lips met his, softly, sweetly, pouring out all of the feelings you’d been too incompetent to convey. Donnie’s hands caressed your waist the way he’d dreamed of. The two of you knocked noses and giggled. 

The faint sound of music filled the lair as Splinter got up to start his morning meditation and hummed some old tune, smiling as he heard the sound of his son up early and the air of peace at last in the lair.

Leo is someone people often praise for having strong self control. He doesn't smoke, he doesn't egregiously snack -- ahem, Mikey -- he has practiced restraint in every facet of his life. Honed his mind and body to fit like a puzzle piece to his values, honoring his family.

Safe to say, he knows himself, right? Nothing could trip him now.

That is, until someone brings drinks, and you're having one, so why can't he? And another because he's mutant, he doesn't feel it right away. And another, and maybe two more.

Don't worry, he doesn't get sloshed, he isn't piss drunk. But that's because of this new feeling, something warm and sticky that drops from his chest and into his gut, makes his toes and fingers tingle.

Leo's hands can't help wandering, even under the gaze of others, right to you. A big finger trying to wedge itself between your skin and the cuff of your jean shorts, hand trying to wedge between your thighs. "To keep warm." He'll excuse, "I'm cold blooded."

He finishes one more drink before he's got you cornered, tucked away in the bathroom, big hands tugging you every which way. Never is he this vulnerable, never is he this outwardly desperate, trying to fit his big hand into your panties just to feel you. If this had been Leo sober, he would've made you wait, would've made you beg.

Your hips are pressed almost painfully to the sink, shorts halfway down your thighs and he's begging. Begging.

"Please, please, please, baby," He's got his mouth right on your ear, hips bumping against yours, seeking poor relief. You've got nails scratching along the edges of his shell to brace yourself. "Lemme feel you, yeah? I'll be so good."

Shitty ass blurb!! Come and get it!

Leo

He’s incredibly respectful about anything remotely sexual, this guy is a stickler for rules and boundaries and doesn’t push anything. He actually doesn’t think much about the sexual side of your relationship because it just doesn’t cross his mind, the way your dynamic comes off is very elderly-couple vibes even from the get go. That’s not to say the leader in blue doesn’t have urges, though. Sometimes he catches himself looking at you and has to force down any and all indecent thoughts that come to the forefront of his mind.

The way you both get to the point of your first time is entirely by accident. Leo wanted it to be perfectly planned out, romantic and scheduled in accordance with your availability, but that went wayyy down the drain when you came over to the lair one evening. His brothers were out on patrol, Splinter was god knew where, he had no responsibilities for once and you were sitting on his bed. How could Leo not kiss you? One thing led to another and you’re both confronted with your first time…

You had both been at it for a while. Hot, open mouthed kisses, the feeling of Leo’s wandering hands, the feel of his thick, muscled thigh pushed up flush against your crotch. He pulled away with his eyes half lidded, searching yours for any sign of discomfort. You were conflicted. The dull throbbing between your legs screamed at you to hurry up and get rid of the panties Leo hadn’t taken off yet, but another, louder voice was telling you to hide and never come out ever again. As long as you could remember the idea of your first time had been absolutely terrifying. It had only become worse with time; the internet, societal expectations and friends of friends’ experiences all contributed to how people viewed sex, and you were, quite frankly, scared. The grainy videos circling through guy’s group chats of unrealistic bodies and exaggerated moaning and really really questionable tropes didn’t help at all. You knew Leo. You knew how sweet he was, how he took care of you and you had no doubt in your mind about trusting him with something like this. However, there was the nagging fear that refused to leave you. You silently cursed humanity for becoming so prudish about nudity and not teaching you about what your first time would actually be like, or what was right or wrong or anything at all. Leo kissed your neck and you shivered, rolling your clothed heat up into his hard dick where it rested against your thigh. Your panties were soaked through, sticking to you and covered in a mixture of Leo’s pre and your own wetness. God, it wasn’t this difficult for nature. Most of it consisted of getting on all fours, fucking for like two minutes and being done with it. You sighed. Leo reached to brush your face.

“Are you… Do you want us to stop? I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable, sweetheart.” He was breathing heavily, an oddly pained look on his face that told you he was definitely struggling to control himself. You looked down. He’d taken your top off, and your pants, but left your underwear on. The feel of him rock-hard against your clothed pussy was making you squirm.

“I’m okay. Yeah, I’m…”

Leo frowned at the millisecond of hesitation that marked your words. He cupped your face. “Talk to me. I’ll stop right now if you don’t want this, yeah?” He breathed out, leaning his face down closer and moving himself back a little, away from between your legs to give you space.

You shook your head hurriedly, reaching up to touch his plastron. “No, I don’t want you to stop. I’m just… y’know. Nervous.”

“Good nervous or bad nervous?”

“Both? I don’t know.” You exhaled, squeezing your legs together around the thigh he’d moved away to get him to come closer again. “I’m scared,” you whispered, eyelashes casting shadows on your cheeks when you looked down. “I don’t want you to see, but I also really want um-” you burned with embarrassment. Leo understood what you were saying, and he didn’t like the tone of insecurity creeping into your voice. He kissed your forehead.

“Listen to me. Listen, okay?” He kissed your cheek. His cock was throbbing and he swore he could feel the pulse of your pussy just from where his dick rested. “We’re doing this slow. You trust me, right?” You nodded. “You have nothing to be scared of me seeing. I love you. You love me. I was scared about you not being exactly okay with my own situation, I mean- different anatomy- but you made me feel good about it. Let me make you feel good.” Leo’s voice dropped an octave as he spoke. He gently rutted against your clothed cunt once more, getting you to squirm and let slip a wanton moan. His hands trailed down to your panties. He glanced up at you once to make sure you were okay with it, before peeling the thin, sticky, semi-transparent fabric from your slick soaked pussy. He groaned. “Oh. You’re so… such a pretty pussy. Come here. Yeah, come here gorgeous.” Leo was going to fuck all the worry from your mind and then some.

Raph

He’s thought about fucking you before, but is at first too worried about hurting you to actually initiate anything beyond making out. Is likely more insecure than he gives off, that man loves getting you all flustered but has no clue how to deal with the aftermath. Your first time isn’t exactly planned. However, you both do have a lengthy conversation about how it’d work and the prep required in the first place.

Raph is the type to forego internet research, but will very awkwardly ask Donnie what to do because why would he need the internet when he has the equivalent in the form of his brother that doesn’t save search history? He does try to be all casual and hypothetical about it, but Donnie definitely knows why his brother’s suddenly asking about that kinda stuff. The red turtle has come across one or two outrageously explicit videos before, though. He will reassure you a million times over because he gets it. Eventually your first time creeps up on you and he finds himself with his head between your legs…

“Fuck. I can smell you.” Raph’s big hands were on your hips, rubbing little circles on them. It relaxed you a little, but you were still stressed out and were struggling not to shut your thighs in embarrassment. The idea of him so close to your cunt freaked you out and turned you on all at once. You’d been in this position before, but the knowledge that this time was for real was gnawing at your gut. The gooey slick collecting between your legs was only increased by Raph’s small, warm huffs against your panties. The anticipation was killing you, you could feel your thighs trembling and your hands shake as you stared down at Raph’s face between your legs. He was salivating, eyes fixated on where the damp patch in your panties grew bigger.

“Don’t say it like that,” you whined. He chuckled and experimentally licked over where the fabric clung to your pussy. You jerked your hips up, squeezing your thighs together reflexively in humiliation. Raph groaned, prying your thighs apart away from around his head. He noticed your trembling and paused. “Baby. You’re shaking.” You shook your head, keeping your head turned away as your face flushed. Raph slid a hand up to gently hold onto one of your own, moving up enough to kiss your lower stomach. You were so desperate it was making your thoughts fuzzy, but even then the dull prick of anxiety shot through your stomach and made your skin clammy and cold while the temperature between your legs stayed hot. The contrast was making you feel almost feverish.

“Sweetheart. Hey. What’s wrong, hm? It too much? You know I ain’t gonna do anything if it’s too much.”

You clung onto his hand for comfort, taking a few little breaths. “I’m scared. I’ve never done- you know. It’s a lot but in a good way?” The furrow in Raph’s brow relaxed as you clung tight and didn’t flinch away. He was scared of being too much, too big, too overwhelming. The last thing he wanted was to scare you off, but it looked like you were adamant about him staying right where he was. Your mind was at war with itself while your body had the straightforward objective of getting his cock in you. Raph kissed your lower stomach reverently, trailing the kisses down.

“I gotcha. I always gotchu, you know that, right?” You nodded your head and he kissed where your panties started. “Use your words hon.”

“Mhm. Yeah. You have me. You got me.” The affirmation was more for yourself than in response to him, but your breathing slowed and your trembling slowly lessened as Raph squeezed your hand and waited. Raph huffed against your pussy again, licking once when he felt like you were more prepared. You moaned in encouragement and he pulled your sticky panties to the side, groaning lowly as he pushed his thick tongue into your hole and lapped at your wetness. You rolled your hips, still clutching desperately onto his hand as he sloppily ate you out. His other hand’s thumb rubbed against the rim of the tight ring of muscle, before sliding slowly into your pussy with a squelch. He moved his mouth away from your clit with a loud slurp, saliva stringing between your pussy and his lips. You moaned obscenely, just his finger was enough to have you grinding down, already stretched out.

“Don’t you worry. I’m gonna take care of you,” Raph mumbled dazedly into your pussy, replacing his thumb with his index and making a beckoning motion that had your walls twitching and fluttering. His own hard dick slid in a pool of its own pre against the mattress and he grunted, rocking his hips as he stretched you out with his fingers. Raph was going to take care of everything.

Donnie

This guy has looked at every single online forum and alternate source of information possible. He’s a scientist, he’s well acquainted with bodily functions, but in practice it’s a little different. He’s similar to Leo in that he completely forgets about sex as a whole and then it just hits him that you both might do it one day. Is incredibly respectful and tentative with the sexual side of your relationship. However, he’s had all sorts of fantasies about you and has needed to sit with himself and a hard-on in silence more than once after you’ve been down to the lair. He’s the type to wait until you bring it up while being in absolute agony trying to suppress his urges.

Is absolutely resolute on needing to talk to you about it before and go over his own anatomy. He’s slightly scared of being rejected, but you love and trust him and he chills out about it. Your first time starts with the lab… (cause duh)

You were in one of Donnie’s worn shirts, nestled in his lap. You were waiting for him to finish his work and, in the process, had begun to fall asleep with your cheek smushed against his shoulder. Donnie was laser focused on his work, but he had started slowing down when he realised you were falling asleep. He paused his work every thirty minutes or so to kiss your temple and mumble something about being done soon. You huffed and sat back the third time you stirred awake and found yourself still stuck on his lap at his desk. Donnie rubbed your back guiltily.

“Hey, love. Did I wake you?”

You groaned and flopped back into his chest dramatically. You sleepily kissed his neck and Donnie froze, staying utterly still as you irritatedly smooched up his jaw and onto his cheek. “You,” kiss “said,” kiss “you’d,” kiss “be done soon!” Donnie’s expression softened and he found himself grabbing your face so you’d kiss him properly. The two of you melted into one another until Donnie’s other hand left his worktop and rested against your waist. You scooted closer on his lap, hand resting on his plastron and other hand against his shoulder; Donnie made a noise when your chest brushed up to press against his. Ten minutes later you were on your knees staring up at him. Determination filled you; if he wasn’t going to make good on his promises to finish up you were going to encourage him. His large, calloused palm was flush with your cheek, and his glasses were foggy. He was biting his lip. Donnie watched with his breath held in suspense as you nuzzled your face into his crotch, the warm air making him shudder. You tugged at his sweats and he fumbled to help you slide them off. He was panting from the way you kitten-licked his cloaca. God, you were perfect; he’d insisted you didn’t need to do anything for him, that he hadn’t wanted to make you uncomfortable, but you were adamant. He kept his hand on top of your head, petting you and mumbling assurances as you experimentally sucked.

“So good. You’re so good. Just like that. Sweet girl.” His voice cracked when he fully dropped and you felt the slightly slick feeling of his cock resting against your face. He was staring down at you with adoration in his eyes.

“Donnie- ah- Donnie, hold on…” Donnie had you back on his lap. He’d pulled you back up before he had the chance to cum, wanting to return the favour. His eyes were half lidded with lust and he thumbed over your hard nipples as he rocked his cock against you. You were humping his cock needily, the sleepy haze hadn’t yet left you and the pulsing in your pussy as he got you to grind down on his dick dragged you into another kind of haze. His hands were slipping down to palm your hot, achy pussy and you whined. “Donnie, you don’t need to I-” The purple turtle kissed your cheek slowly, glasses bumping against your cheekbone. He panted.

“I can- I’m sorry, I can stop. You want me to stop?” He looked down where the crotch of your panties were covered in a hefty coating of your own slick and his precum and made a low sound you swore sent vibrations up your cunt. His dick was shoved under the soft cotton and flush with your heat, the pretty fabric held his cock to you as you both rubbed against one another.

“No, no, I don’t want you to stop. I… If we keep going I- I don’t wanna disappoint you.” You whispered it reluctantly, as though you’d been thinking about it for a long time. Donnie paused. “Is that what you’re worried about?” You slowly nodded, ducking your head. He cupped your face. “You could never disappoint me. You’re perfect. You’ve done so well learning about me and adjusting to my needs; let me take care of yours. I want to, if you’ll let me. Let me prove how perfect you are.” You shyly nodded, forehead pressed to his.

Mikey

Two words: Dirty minded. I mean, Shell tightening?? This guy is so down bad for you in every single way it’s almost painful. His love is sweet and innocent and as bright as the sun at the start of you guys’ relationship, and you both get comfortable making crappy ‘that’s what she said’ jokes at one another. You can joke about sex, but Mikey is secretly terrified that when it comes to the actual thing he won’t know what to do. Like Raph he has also stumbled across some wild videos and been permanently scarred for life.

He’s made out with you tons of times, the two of you have strayed into dangerous territory more than once and every time Mikey has felt more and more confident about the prospect of a first time. He was scared at first, but now he’s needy on the low. Is incredibly respectful and will wait until you express your want of it, but is bouncing off the walls with need for his pretty girl. Your first time is perfectly set up by one of the tangerine turtle’s date night ideas…

“Aaaand open them!” Mikey took his hands off your eyes and gestured dramatically to the pillow fort he’d constructed. You squealed in excitement, looking up at Mikey and then back at the abundance of pillows and blankets.

“Movie date?” Mikey nodded in response, “Movie date, girl. Please, ah-ah, hold your applause. This way babe.” He led you to the centre of the mass of blankets. There was an assortment of snacks and several drink options set down next to them, condensation beading at their sides and slipping down to form watery rings on the little table Mikey had set everything out on.

The movie was long forgotten halfway in. Mikey was watching you lean into his side. You had a knee hiked up over his thick thigh, he was tracing his three-fingered hand up and down your upper arm. You were restless, feeling a sort of heat creeping up your thighs. Mikey’s every touch felt electric. He was clingy, you knew this, and yet today felt ten times more intimate than it had before. You huffed, lifting your head from where it rested on his shoulder and manoeuvring yourself to sit on his thigh. Mikey’s hands went straight to your hips to steady you.

“Angel. I can’t focus.” You frowned. Mikey gazed up at you where you sat perched on his thigh.

“Whad’you need baby? I can go get you some water? Ooh, ooh, we could totally ditch the movie and look for a game.”

You shook your head in response to both, not quite knowing what you wanted, but knowing that Mikey was the root cause of your restlessness. You leaned down slowly to nudge your nose to his cheek. Mikey’s breath stuttered. “I don’t know. I want you.” You mumbled it in hopes that he wouldn’t hear, but of course he did. His eyes widened, and his hand slowly slid up to your face. “You have me.”

Mikey was grinding you on his thigh. You’d been making out for the better part of an hour, worked up beyond belief and whimpering into each other’s mouths. Mikey’s thick cock had dropped the second he’d felt you humping his thigh. You whined when he squeezed your sensitive tits, pawing at you and flexing his muscular thigh under your pussy to goad you into jerking your hips harder. Mikey felt you struggling and placed a hand on your lower back; he pushed up and pushed you down onto the blankets. He was lost in the softness of your lips, moaning into your mouth and situating himself between your legs. You gasped when he replaced his thigh with his hand and slipped his hand under the fabric of your panties. Your thighs immediately clamped shut around his forearm and you squeaked in surprise. Mikey soothingly rubbed your outer thigh, slipping his hand out from between your legs. “You okay? Did I do something wrong?” You immediately shook your head. Your cheeks heated with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. You haven’t seen uh… down there before ’n I just freaked out for a sec.” Your voice was a whisper; Mikey’s brow furrowed in confusion and sympathy.

“Do you not want me to see?” You ducked your head, nodding once, but responding quickly to reassure him. “It’s not that I don’t want to, ‘m just worried. What if you don’t…” You trailed off, biting your lip anxiously. Mikey kissed your nose to pull you from your thoughts. You broke into a tiny smile.

“Babe. Baby. Love of my life. You’re the prettiest girl in the world. Every bit of you is pretty. Don’t do those ‘what if’s, I’m right here and I’m telling you, nothing about you will ever, ever put me off you, girl.” He kissed between your eyes again, a pure, unfiltered look of love on his face. You exhaled, feeling slightly teary as you pulled him down to kiss you again. Mikey was out to prove he loved every bit of your body.

Wedding Night: Smutty Donatello x fem reader one shot, but I'm also torn on maybe finally writing for my OC to make it a little more personalized to how I see their wedding. I really love the idea of Donatello in a sort of backyard, greenery, garden sort of wedding with soft silk lavender accents and a khaki suit with champagne flutes, but I can only really imagine this with my girl Dove as his bride. And if you think "they can't even legally get married, they're mutant turtles!" I dooooooon't caaaaarrrrreee, and I don't care even more. It's mostly smut focused, and probably going to be on the shorter end. It'll be easy once I actually sit down and commit.

Star Student: This was inspired by something @moxfirefly sent me with an edit of James Spader and Susan Sarandon in White Palace, but instead it'll be in a more academic setting and I'm giving the credit to @symbiosae for doing the general idea first. Mine is going to for sure be an OC x canon one shot, with a (non canon) age gap. Dove is going to be in her 40s while Donatello is a student attending her Humanities/Anthropology class in his 20s. There's a bit of depth to it, a little parasocial behaviors from Donnie, the grit of a professor and student relationship the blooms into a very deep and sexual one. I've written maybe a few paragraphs of this and it's still running around in my brain, but yes! I'm very excited for this one, actually! Once I actually get it down... The biggest hill is the academic discussions. I've never taken an in-depth class on human behaviors. Let alone a scientific one. How committed will I get to this bit? Who knows.

Country Roads: This will actually be a longer fic! How long?? I don't know! I only have half of chapter 1 down and that's already hitting a steady word count. But the AU is set in the 80s with a Truck Drive Donatello x Prostitute/Lot Lizard Dove (I know, another oc x canon, I'm sorry). The concept is an exploration of self discovery while finding comfort in unlikely people. Donatello is majorly imperfect in this one, having pushed himself away from the people he loves most, but in a way, she's done the same, and somehow that allows them to understand each other while roadtripping back to New York with a few pit-stops along to way. But will something heavy Donnie is hiding ruin what they've been building? Stay tuned to find out! I am very very excited for this one and it's only put 3rd because I really wanna take my time with it.

Ain't No Sunshine: This is a bit of a dingy and dark AU that explores a lot of very taboo subjects. The concept is a drug dealer Mikey x Drug user Reader with a sort of sex under the influence sort of take. It's very much like a he's obviously being used but he's also using her to make himself believe she really wants to be there with him for him and not for what he supplies her. I am not entirely confident on this one, I only wrote like a piece of it, we haven't even met reader. I also am hesitant because I have no history with substance abuse and idk if it'd be sort of risqué to write.

There's a few other vague ideas, mostly silly smutty Mikey related and mostly one shots, and one really big self insert thing that I am probably not gonna post for a loooong while because it's nowhere near ready and probably won't be for a hot hot minute. But yes! Thanks for reading my rambling, and goodnight!