Quick reminder for fanfic writers both on here and ESPECIALLY on AO3…
If your main character has a name and described appearance, DO NOT use the character x reader tag. Like…seriously.
That is an OC. Use the “x oc” or “x original character” tag. Stop using the “x reader” tag. It will not give you more reach because people looking through the “x reader” tag aren’t going to read it. Three guesses why.
You are also making the filtering system null and void, which is harmful ESPECIALLY for archival sites like ao3 where the tags and filtering system are specifically there to make things easier. It’s basic fandom etiquette guys. Common sense and consideration for others. It won’t kill you to tag things correctly.
turtles pat each other’s faces when courting each other so just imagine tmnts doing that to their crush
as a side note: red eared sliders sometimes instead gently stroke their intended mates face! leo is 1000% touchy and holds ur cheeks when he kisses you.
michaelangelo probably pats your cheeks to the beat of his favorite song.
donnie, on the other hand, either pokes your face like he’s trying to test the squishiness of your cheeks or drumming his fingers softly over them, especially when he’s boredly waiting for something to load.
raph is gentle and quick, just pat-pat-pat! all over your face, a gentle reminder youre his. he gives you a closed eye smile and turns back to his training.
CWs: Possessive/territorial behavior, scent marking, the guys acting a bit feral. Considering the subject matter, it’s not a stretch to say that these may be somewhat NSFW, but not super explicit. All characters are aged-up.
LEO
Leo is lounging on the edge of the skate ramp, tossing one of his katanas in the air with practiced, bored ease. When he sees you enter, he flashes you that classic cocky grin. But the sword fumbles in his grip the second the wind shifts.
The silence that follows is deafening.
He drops from the ramp, landing silently, moving with the fluid grace of a red-eared slider. But the water is turbulent today. His eyes narrow, scanning you, zeroing in on the collar of your shirt. He smells his twin.
“Donnie?” he asks, though it’s not really a question. His voice is light, but there’s a razor blade hidden in the tone.
He circles you like a shark in open water. He stops behind you, and you feel his hand clamp on your shoulder, trapping you in place. Then, he slides both hands under your jacket, pulling you back against his chest. He noses at your hairline, inhaling the scent of his twin, and gives a mocking scoff.
“Boring,” he whispers, his lips grazing your earlobe.
He spins you around, pinning you with a look of intense, possessive heat. He drags his nose along your jawline, rubbing his cheek against yours, effectively wiping away the other scent. His hands wander lower, cupping you, pulling your hips against his to make you feel exactly how jealous he is.
“I’m going to ruin you for him,” Leo promises, his voice a sultry purr. “By the time I’m done with you, the only name you’ll be screaming is mine.”
He kisses you then, demanding and deep, intent on marking every inch of you until the scent of his brother is nothing but a distant memory.
RAPH
The moment you step into the lair, the air in the main atrium grows heavy.
Raph emerges from the projector room. He doesn’t greet you with his usual teddy bear warmth and snaggle-toothed grin. Instead, his nostrils flare, and a low rumble starts deep in his plastron. He stops inches from you, his shadow swallowing you whole.
“Leo,” he grunts. He doesn’t ask; he knows. The scent of his brother is a stain on your neck, a neon sign of a challenge.
Before you can explain, his large hand encases your shoulder. He crowds you against the nearest wall, his size effectively caging you in. Raph is an alligator snapping turtle—a creature of instinct and force. And right now, his pupils are blown wide, eclipsing his normally kind irises.
He leans down, burying his snout into the junction of your neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply before letting out a sharp, angry hiss. “He thinks he’s slick,” he growls against your skin. “Leaving his mark on you like he owns you.”
He nuzzles you, the texture of his skin scraping deliciously against your pulse point, replacing the lingering trace of Leo with his own scent. He bites down gently on your neck, just enough to make you gasp, his tongue swiping hot and wet over the spot immediately after.
“I’m gonna cover you in so much of me that you’ll forget he even exists.”
He pulls back just enough to look you in the eye, his gaze dark and hungry. Raph intends to stake his claim so deep inside you that no amount of scrubbing will ever wash him away.
DONNIE
The lab is loud with the sound of welding and music, but the moment the sensors at the door recognize your biometrics, the noise cuts out instantly.
Donnie spins in his chair, a rare, genuine smile forming—until he smells it. His smile flatlines. He stands up slowly, the mechanical spider limbs of his battle shell unfurling from his back, betraying the agitation he’s trying to suppress.
He smells the chaotic, vibrant scent of his younger brother all over you. It’s messy. It’s loud. It’s incorrect.
“Calculated probability of you visiting Michael before me was low,” Donnie states, his voice monotone, masking a brewing storm of possessive rage. He walks toward you, his movements stiff. “And yet, here you are. Contaminated.”
His hands clamp onto your waist and shoulder, pulling you closer. He examines you, leaning in and sniffing the air around your neck with clinical precision, his face twisting in distaste. Then he cups your face, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones.
“I don’t like sharing,” he murmurs, his eyes dark and dilated, “and I certainly don’t like sharing you.”
As he presses his forehead against yours, his battle shell disengages and retreats back to storage, revealing the soft shell underneath. He begins to kiss down your throat, methodical and wet, placing suction bites in a perfect geometric pattern over the areas where Mikey’s scent is strongest.
“I’m going to conduct a thorough recalibration,” Donnie breathes against your skin, his arm sliding down to tease the hem of your pants. “We aren’t leaving this lab until your biometric readings are exclusively synchronized with mine.”
MIKEY
You expect a flying tackle-hug and a loud “Omigosh!” Instead, when you walk into the kitchen where Mikey is cooking, he freezes mid-chop. The knife lowers slowly to the cutting board.
The playful box turtle vibe evaporates, replaced by an uncharacteristically terrifying stillness.
Mikey turns around. He’s not smiling. His face is blank, eerily calm, which is infinitely scarier than him yelling. He smells Raph on you, and it triggers a primal, bratty defiance in him. He walks over to you, wiping his hands on his apron.
“You smell like Raph,” he states. His voice is soft, but it lacks its usual bounce. It’s deep, flat, and laced with possessiveness. “Why do you smell like Raph, angel?”
He wraps his arms around your waist, burying his face in your neck, inhaling deeply. Then, he tightens his grip. He looks at you, his eyes wide and pitiful, but underneath that puppy-dog look is a feral gleam.
“Did he touch you?” he asks, his hands wandering, gripping your rear firmly, pulling you into his hips. “Did he think he could just take you? Because he’s the biggest?”
He lets out a low growl. He hates it. Hates that his brother’s scent is clinging to his person.
Suddenly, he spins you around and hoists you up onto the kitchen island. He steps between your legs instantly, prying your knees apart with his thighs to settle himself firmly against your center.
“I hate it,” he hisses, again burying his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling sharply before dragging his teeth over the sensitive skin there. He rubs his cheek aggressively against your chest, your neck, your jaw, acting like a cat that’s terrified of losing its territory.
“We aren’t leaving this kitchen,” he vows, “not until I know that the next time Raph walks by you, all he smells is me.”
Bayverse!TMNT and the sacrifices for their human girlfriend
Leonardo:
If his girlfriend's life is on the line, Leo will completely shatter the ninja code of secrecy. He would march out into the middle of Times Square in broad daylight if that is what it took to save her, fully exposing the existence of mutants to the world without a second thought.
He would willingly disobey a direct order from Master Splinter. If Splinter told him that rescuing her was a tactical trap that endangered the brothers, Leo would hand over his twin katanas, step down as leader, and walk out of the lair alone. He would rather become a rogue ninja and lose his title than lose her.
Raphael:
Raph would drop his pride entirely. If an enemy had her cornered and the only way to save her was to surrender, the angriest, most aggressive brawler in New York would literally drop his sai and fall to his knees. He would beg. For Raph to look an enemy in the eye and say, "Take me, let her go," is the ultimate destruction of his tough-guy ego.
On the flip side, if an enemy hurt her, Raph would break the "honorable combat" rule. He wouldn't fight fair. He wouldn't care about the ninja code of discipline. He would unleash a level of sheer, unhinged brutality that would genuinely terrify his brothers, completely abandoning his self-control.
Donatello:
Donnie would completely abandon reason. If she was caught in a situation where she only had a 0.001% chance of survival, the logical move would be to retreat and regroup. Donnie would ignore the math. He would throw himself into an entirely suicidal mission, letting pure, irrational emotion override his intellect for the first time in his life.
To keep her safe from the Foot Clan or TCRI, Donnie would break every digital law on the planet. He would hack government databases, delete her existence from public records, drain the bank accounts of anyone who threatened her, and turn city infrastructure into a weapon. He would weaponize his genius in a way that crosses every ethical line he usually upholds.
Michelangelo:
If his girlfriend is threatened, the jokes die immediately. He would stop holding back. Mikey is arguably the most naturally gifted and agile of the brothers, but he uses his nunchucks playfully. For her, he would drop the flashy tricks and become a cold, ruthlessly efficient weapon.
Mikey would be willing to permanently lose his innocence. Master Splinter taught them to incapacitate, not destroy. But if someone put their hands on the woman who made Mikey feel like he belonged in the world, he would cross the line from vigilante to executioner, sacrificing his own sunny soul so she wouldn't have to get hurt.
Imagine waiting up for Leonardo to come home after a late night patrol but you fall asleep in his bed?
Walk with me,
You waited up late at the lair for your Leonardo to come home.
At first, the hours passed easily.
You sat with Splinter in the dojo, sharing quiet conversation while the soft sounds of the underground drifted through the lair.
Master Splinter spoke calmly, offering bits of wisdom between stories, and for a while it kept your mind occupied.
But as the night stretched on, exhaustion slowly began settling into your bones.
You tried to stay awake.
First, you lingered in the kitchen, absentmindedly picking at a snack while glancing at the clock every few minutes.
Then you moved to the living room, curling up on the couch with one of Donnie's abandoned books. You barely made it through a few pages before rereading the same sentence three times.
Eventually, your feet carried you somewhere familiar.
Leonardo's room.
You paused in the doorway for a moment, smiling softly at the sight of it.
Everything was exactly as he always kept it—organized, disciplined, and painfully neat.
Books neatly tucked away on the shelf. Training gear was carefully put away. Even his bed looked untouched, the blankets smoothed perfectly across the mattress.
It was so painfully him.
You sat down on the edge of the bed.
Just for a minute.
Just until he got back from patrol.
The faint scent of him still lingered on the blankets, comforting and familiar. Without thinking, you pulled them closer around yourself.
Your eyelids felt heavier.
And heavier.
The next thing you knew, sleep claimed you completely.
When you finally woke, confusion hit you first.
This wasn't your apartment.
There was no sunlight filtering through your bedroom window.
No familiar ceiling above you.
Instead, your cheek was pressed against something warm and solid.
Your brain took a moment to catch up.
Plastron.
Leonardo's plastron..
The realization made your heart stumble.
At some point during the night, he'd returned from patrol and climbed into bed beside you.
One powerful arm rested beneath your head while the other was wrapped securely around your waist, keeping you tucked against him as if he'd never intended to let go.
His blue mask sat discarded near the corner of the room beside his katanas, evidence of how exhausted he must have been when he came home.
Yet somehow, he'd still taken the time to pull you into his arms.
You didn't even remember him getting into bed.
Slowly, you tilted your head upward.
Leonardo was still asleep.
Without the stern focus he carried during the day, he looked younger somehow. Softer. The constant weight of responsibility that usually sat on his shoulders seemed absent for once.
For a moment, you simply watched him.
The rise and fall of his chest.
The faint scar crossing his eye.
The way one hand remained curled possessively against your side, even in sleep.
As though he instinctively needed to know you were still there.
Your chest ached with affection for him.
Maybe it was silly.
But moments like this felt rare.
No missions.
No training.
No danger lurking around the corner.
Just you and him.
Safe.
Together.
As if sensing your stare, Leonardo let out a low groan before shifting slightly. His arm tightened around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.
His eyes never opened.
"Go back to sleep," he mumbled, voice rough and heavy with exhaustion.
You couldn't help but smile.
"You knew I was awake?"
A faint huff escaped him.
"Mm."
You laughed quietly.
His only response was to bury his face against the top of your head and pull you closer still.
The room fell silent again.
Wrapped securely in Leonardo's arms, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear, you let your eyes drift shut once more.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, neither of you had anywhere else to be..<3
Can you imagine the boys receive their keys to the city, they take in the views of New York City from the crown of the Statue of Liberty, and now it’s time to go home because it’s getting late and the ceremony is over.
The boat pulls in, all the officers begin to board, and you (a detective or something), quickly take the last seat open.
You’re engaged in a deep conversation with one of your colleagues and then for a split second you catch a glance of Splinter standing nearby.
Sure, he’s a giant rat, and you’re still trying to process that fact, but you can tell he’s just a cute old man and your parents raised you to respect your elders, no matter what.
So you abruptly pause your conversation, rise from your seat, and say-
“Here, you can have my seat, sir.”
Then, without missing a beat, you continue chatting with your friend, now standing in front of them as if nothing had interrupted your flow.
But just as he begins to take a seat, you suddenly appear beside him, extending your arm to offer support, not knowing that he can literally do a handstand on one finger.
But you're so obviously kind that he just plays the helpless old man role and takes your arm before slowly sitting down with that typical old man sigh.
All while you're still chatting with your friend, not making a big fuss about it.
Splinter is just like, 'Wow, such a kind young lady.'
And then you have Leo, who watched the whole thing with literal hearts in his eyes, already planning yours and his wedding.
Prompt: "What's your type?" - In which you're asked what your ideal partner is, and they fit the bill.
Variant: 2012! TMNT (Characterization fits for Bayverse as well aside from a few 2012 plot refs.)
Characters: Leo, Don, Raph, Mike
Format: Headcannons ^-^
Warnings: None.
Request: N/A. SenchaOriginal
From teens way in over their heads and the world on their shoulders, to seasoned young adults that are still guessing how to make it in this crazy world. In the years you've been friends with the Hamatos, April O'Niel, and Casy Jones, you've never shown romantic interest in anyone. Not a hint, always the type to keep your cards close.
While vigilantes, highschool dropouts (*cough*Casey*cough*), and mutants alike - everyone has a type. A want for a special connection. Even if romance and friendship created drama that felt so small compared to the world turned upside down. It was those small conflicts that made everyone still feel like normal teenagers in the past. Even if many loves died out or never had a chance. C'est la vie.
Everyone had their story to reflect on and endure some nostogic teasing over...except for you.
Until one evening, when everyone's together in the lair in celebration of April being promoted from writing the daily horoscope to being an actual, bonified reporter for NY Times. Finally, out of the office and onto the field.
The Hamato brothers share in their favorite pizza, fighting over who gets the last slice of cheese when the only other option is Mikey's jelly-bean-and-habenero experimentation.
Meanwhile April, Casey, and yourself idle on the side with a few drinks. The brothers never partook, one of their few rules as on-call ninja. Intoxication wasn't a risk worth taking when there are other indulgences to relax with.
You weren't much of a drinker yourself, always willing to be the designated driver whenever April wanted a girls night out. Yet tonight you were all safe in the lair, and she was so happy that you figure a margarita won't hurt. Not enough to get hammered, but you were feeling the flush in your cheeks early on and the burn in your veins just turned from uncomfortable to toasty warm. Everyone's having a good time for what feels like months of grinding, and you're happy to idle as they all chat away.
Right when you go to lick the salt rim and ease off with some water, both April and Casey seemed to conjoin their remaining brain cells. When April slides off her seat to squeeze in next to yours, you cock a brow mid-suck on a lime wedge.
"Y'know...there's something I always wondered about you but never had the guts to ask." She said, her words slurring on their tails yet not incomprehensible, and your interest piqued.
You take a sip, putting a pin in grabbing water. "You shouldn't be afraid to ask me anything, April. I have nothing to hide from family."
That's all she needed to hear.
"Okay...biting the bullet then, but do you have a type?"
Ah.
You stiffen just as Casey slings his arm over your shoulder. He reeks of cheap beer bought from some guy behind a seven-eleven.
"Uh," your tongue hangs to dry, "I beg your pardon?"
Casey groans, "Dude! It's not that hard of a question. Do you like, got, anything? For the whole..yaknow..." He waggles his eyebrows too close to your face for comfort, and you shove him off on instinct. He hits the concrete ground with a weak groan. Yup. Definitely cheap beer.
"I was expecting a genuine concern, not some latent teenage gossip," you snicker, still with a bit of your wits.
Aside from Mikey and Raph sharing a high-five at Casey's expense, you miss how the brothers' conversation drifts to a standstill.
"Oh c'mon," April rolls her eyes, "you're so overdue for this it isn't even funny! Let loose for once in your life!"
Your lips purse, unsure if the flush on your collar is from the alcohol or how curious she seems to be. April's doe-eyes glaze over as she fixes you with the same dejected look that got her the bed back at the farmhouse, while you slept in a cocoon on the floor.
Casey pulls himself to a tilting sit, clutching his head.
"Not cool man," he shoots you a weak glare, "not cool. I bet you reproduce by...by...mee-toe-says...or whatever it's called."
From a few feet away Donatello scoffs under his breath, ''It's mitosis, you lug. Crack a book."
It's not that you don't have any interest, but there is someone in this very room that you would prefer to not connect any dots. With a friendship so precious it wears the cloak of family, you have been exceedingly careful to not lose what took so long to build.
"Please? Just a bit of gossip? We're basically blood, how does it look if I don't at least know wat kind of fictional character you like on tv!"
See, sober April would never say something like that. Yet with sweat dripping down your ass and Casey thinking he's smart by subtly pouring a bit more vodka out of the communal pitcher and into your cup...the mind slips.
Before you can gather some common sense, the buzz takes initiative. You feel better, a bit looser, and decide to let yourself speak unfiltered for the first time in years.
"Fine," you sigh and stretch to kick Casey square in his back for the earlier jab, "I do have...a preference, I guess. It's..."
Leonardo
“Mmm. The responsible sort. Yes, darlin'. Look at you paying your taxes. So so so sexy, mhm. Kill that spider for me. Fold that laundry. Vacuum under the couch. Be punctual to your appointments. Text me you’re home safe at night and I’m already halfway there. Love me enough to tell me when things need fixin’ for us and be part of the process.”
Pause.
Hard pause, because what spirit just posessed you to speak like that? Leo cannot recall a day in your shared time where your words ever came so dazed and soaked in honey. He’s known your compassion but is this what the voice in your head sounds like?
Leo is a turtle that respects boundaries. He was one more push from Casey from inserting himself into the conversation and bailing you out. Yes, it was April's big night. Yes, the gossip is relatively harmless.
Okay. Maybe the second statement isn't true. You are under the influence and may have regrets tacked alongside a hangover tomorrow.
And he? ...while Leonardo was curious, he was also afraid to hear the answer. Master Splinter raised the brothers to face their fears, to not let them control their actions, yet he was also raised to be a gentleman. Aged past your shared troublesome youth, he would not press for more. Having you in his life was already enough. The turtles could only welcome so many into their lives.
Complicating what you had with romance was too risky...and while Leader, there were some fears even Leo had trouble recognizing. Let alone internalizing and acting on. He had so much to learn before he could be on par with his Sensei.
Maybe he never would be. Maybe life was just meant to always have that feeling of something to risk. He didn’t know, and no one could offer an answer.
He always thought you would find a human in time. Like April and Casey found each other. Someone that might pull you from the Hamatos circle and into a life that resembled normalcy. Someone he and his brothers would have to welcome. For all his fears, Leo didn't think you would be with anyone they couldn't trust. You would never leave them. You were too devoted…a blessing, and a guilt on his shoulders.
You were smart. Careful. You always listened if they had a concern, even Mikey with his superstitions. If any of his family did not approve, you would cut the chord instantly. He wondered for a time if that pressure is what kept you from making long lasting connections with other humans. That it was their fault.
Leo thought about the type of person you'd spend your life with more than he should. He had no right, no claim to you, but it was always a matter of 'when' in his eyes. Not an 'if,' because who wouldn't want you? Someday. Somehow. You’d get there, and the circle in this room would change, and he’d have to accept it.
He just never had a clear picture of who YOU wanted...and now that he does? He isn't sure what to do with the information.
So he is the one to grab you that glass of water, steal that last slice of good pizza for your stomach, and offer his bed until you're sober enough to go home.
Yet when the party is over, and everyone's dispersed? April and Casey knocked out in the conversation pit. Raph to his room, Mikey at the TV, and Donnie off to tinker away in his lab...
Leo scrolls through his phone while sitting outside his bedroom in case you need him, shell against the door, and clicks your chat. While more of a 'phone call' guy than a texter, he's never once forgotten to tell you when he's back home safe and say goodnight.
Raphael
“Someone a lil’ wild, like - yes king. Let’s paint the town on a Monday night. That’s right. A work night. Ghost pepper nachos and the shittiest daft punk on hand. Remind me that I’m alive and not just surviving, and I’m yours.”
Barks a laugh. Except it’s not funny. Not one bit. Raphael is instantly put in the position of second male lead in his life.
He is not an idiot. That description is too specific to be about a general population. The hooded look in your eyes suggests that you have someone in mind and no one else will do.
Raph’s a guy that likes his privacy as much as the next. At first he found your reclusive nature off-putting. You were too much like an adult for him to vibe with when he was a teenager, but after the Kraang invasion? He understood. Shit happens that we can’t control, and it makes us that way
Someone always has to step up to the plate. While the start was full of wariness and distrust, Raph was just worried for his family. Humans never did them much good and he couldn’t read you like April, or relate to you like Casey.
Yet he always respected you.
If you ask when that changed to something more, he wouldn’t be able to name an exact moment. More like the attraction was always there. It takes a strong person to lay down roots in a concrete canyon like New York. You didn’t talk, but you were always there.
In his eyes, you probably had a life of your own up top. Some guy buying you flowers that none of them knew about. Did the thought piss him off? Yeah. It did, but you had a good head. No one’s going to be worthy of you in his eyes, but you look happy most days when he swings by your balcony. So you can have your secrets. He’ll leave it be…which for Raph, is basically a testament in itself.
All this is why Raphael can’t help but laugh, because that ideal description of yours fits him perfectly. He could walk into his room right now and find a shit daft punk CD from the 2010s in under ten seconds. He could jump from rooftop to rooftop with you in his arms until you have no choice but to look as the ground closes in. He could do it all on a work night, pick you up when your thread is thin and show you what it’s like to be young. To exchange flow in the way he once thought impossible.
Yet this faceless bastard gets the privilege to put that hooded, infatuated look on your face. When the only thing he has that Raph doesn’t is five posable fingers.
He’s human, and Raph’s not. All those times he reminded Donnie back when they were, and how humans could never look at them in that way, were really just freudian slips.
Raphael tunes out the rest of your conversation, sparing just enough of his effort to grab three glasses of water. No favoritism.
While the three shitfaced humans sober down, he goes to get some punches in on his old training dummy. Stuck in his mind like he’s been for years, Raph misses how your glazed-over infatuation never strays from his shell.
Donatello
“Functioning brain cells. If I don’t need to think my responses through then I don’t want him. Call me a masochist but I like to work for it. I have to look at him and know we’re not the same puzzle, but two that when put together crack the code of life. I need a man that can handle a whole woman and keep the chemistry. Pun intended.”
Donatello never fully recovered from his feelings for April. She would always be his first. His first friend, his first human contact, his first lab partner, his first crush.
Yet she wasn’t his first love. It took time and much reflection, but at some point he realized that what he felt for her was a deep seeded admiration. She was the first person to take his work seriously and genuinely express an interest in him as a living, sentient being. That protectiveness he felt for her was love, but not the romantic kind. He was just so afraid of all those firsts being taken away.
So yes. April will always have a special place in his heart. Her rejection also lead to him building carefully constructed walls around the organ.
Donatello had to accept that he could never be someone that he is not, and rather than looking for someone who has what he is ‘missing,’ he should hold his heart in hand and wait for the one who compliments it. If they never come, it would be okay. There are many forms of love.
Donatello was content to be as he was and care for the people he considered family and friends in his own way. He would not force anything.
Which is why when you spoke those words, his pulse jumped. His breath hitched in his chest, coming out a wheeze through his front teeth.
The ideal you described was exactly the same as his. Donatello wasn’t afraid of a challenge and he hoped that one day there would be someone who looked at him and thought he was the equation they were meant to spend years theorizing over.
And you…felt the same. He always suspected you were of alike minds on the matter. Was he curious why you never sought company? Certainly. Yet he understood how hard it was to open up, show someone all the gears that make your heart tick.
When he was still hung up on April, you helped him bare those pieces to her without judgement. And when he had to move on, he had to find the strength alone, but you helped him think of a new system for his cogs. One that still had April in it, and still had space for hope.
You were special. Always. To him. There has never been a doubt in his mind of that.
Which is why Donnie wonders, even if it is a fleeting moment, that if he cracks his chest open and lines his gears up next to yours…would they create something brilliant? Maybe with you, he might find that final first.
Michelangelo
“Silly billies. Like…golden retriever energy, y’know? If I don’t know you love me then we’re not meant to be. If I feel comfortable telling you that I just ripped a fart higher hit than MJ’s ‘teehee’? It just won’t work. When we get 4:00 am gas station sodas together and high off life itself, then I’ll have found my man.”
Michelangelo always knew you had a silly side. He has a sixth sense for this kind of thing, trust. Getting you to laugh was one of the easiest things in the world, because while you held back? Dr. Prankenstein never missed. There was always the gentle shake of your head before helping him out of a mess. The crinkle of your eyes when someone made a fart joke or anything April told him belonged at a playground.
You were way simpler minded than everyone thought, and Mikey was the one to figure it out first.
Whoopie cushion. Toothpaste filled Oreos. ‘Kick me’ signs. Off-tone singing while on a drive in the Shellrazor (purposeful, but he won’t admit it). Nights tucked under the blankets with old cartoons and buttery popcorn fingers.
You loved all of it.
And that meant a lot to Mikey.
Deep down, you were just as silly as him. He saw the cracks of yellow in your soul. If he had to draw it, the aura would be a meld of carnation and ivory. Except Mikey kept his energy high, his smiles big, so that his family would never get too serious - and you? You restrained that childlike wonder, so that when times got tough they could join in alongside him.
You held it together, but Mikey knew that the little things were what kept you…well, happy. Sparkling. Yeah. You could be a buzzkill sometimes…but it was usually because you cared. You never got mad unless someone was hurt really bad or told a lie.
From the very beginning, Mikey liked you. A lot. Buzzkill moments and all. He smiled big for his family, but for you? He did it just right. You were golidilox, and he was the perfect porridge. Enough to pull the carnation from where you hid it away when you least expected it,without losing your mix of ivory.
And he was confident that no one else could be the perfect porridge. Human. Mutant. Whatever. Maybe he was scared to act on how he felt, but that’s just because of timing. It was never good enough. Stupid Shredder. Stupid Foot. Stupid Kraang. Stupid people screaming when he tried to snag a few flowers of some lady’s balcony.
When you answer, Mikey’s already across the room. April yelps when he plucks you from the chair, spilling margarita and sending the other two humans to fall in on their own weight.
He spins until your laughter turns to a gag, and then makes a mad dash for the bathroom with his brothers yelling after him for being too reckless. Maybe so, but Mikey will make sure that tomorrow you’ve got a reason to smile through the hangover. After your guts empty and he snags you that 4am soda.
