Hello, sae, this is the first time I make a request and, having in mind a fluff! and hurt/comfort rise turt x reader, I'm (coincidentally) hearing your plea. I had in mind raph x reader or donnie x reader when reader is having period cramps, but if period is too yucky and uncomfortable for you, scratch that 🫣 Hope this request is not too demanding/arrogant for you ☺️
That Time of the Month: Rise! Raph & Donnie Headcanons
💌 hello hello!!! thank you so much for making a request, i always love when people do 💕 i did both of the turtles you requested, hope you don’t mind. these will be pretty short. just some headcanons for each! happy spring, friend!
requests are open! <3 getting to them slowly. tried out a new little format for headcanons. let me know if yall hate it and i'll fix it haha
tags: rottmnt, x reader, raph, donnie, headcanons, pre-established relationship, request, fluff, comfort, fem reader/reader who has a period
synopsis: it's that time of the month again. your cramps are worse than ever, and you want nothing more than to curl up in a hole and to just stay there forever. your lovely turtle boyfriend helps you through it 🍓
Raph 🍓
You came home one day, stomach aching like it never had before. You knew you dealt with intense cramps when this time of the month would roll around. But, this bad? These cramps were quite literally the equivalent of tiny little needles stabbing their way around your guts, aiming again and again and again as if they’d missed.
Raph was supposed to come over that day. Instead of finding a typically happy, enthusiastic you, who was supposed to be cheerily waiting for him to arrive; he found an unusually depressed you, hunched over in half on your bed, your fetal position a clear indicator that something was very very very wrong.
He has no idea what’s going on at first– he was in no way whatsoever attentive to the hot water bottle you had laying on your stomach, not to the chocolate, not to the old and tattered towel under you, not to the running shower water you had on in the background...
Raph immediately ran up to you as he noticed stains of… was that… blood on the towel? What in the world?!
“You're bleeding?! Who did this?! Does Raph need to hurt somebody?!”
Well, that cheered you up a little bit. Oh, how he’s so willing to fight for you– but has such little idea about how the female body works. It made sense, a little bit. They were trained for war. Literally. If the biggest, most war-torn turtle saw blood on his partner– he was bound to give in to his protective instincts.
You manage a weak, pained sound. Something of a laugh and groan, and you grab his wrist before he can move.
“Raph—no—no, it’s not—” you wince. “It’s just cramps.”
Well, now, why would you be folded in half for cramps this bad if you haven’t been, I don’t know, stabbed beforehand? The red-clad turtle was confused. Empathetic, but confused.
It took a minute for you to register that your beloved mutant seriously, whole-heartedly, hadn’t the slightest clue what a period was. Oh, heavens.
“…Raph,” you start, already tired. “Do you know what a period is?”
“Duh. Yeah, they go at the end of a sentence? Ain’t that obvious?” He puts his three fingered hand under his chin.
It pained you to sit up, but you pat the spot next to you in hopes he comes to sit. Or, best case scenario, he gets behind you and puts those warm hands of his on your stomach. Yeah, that’s what you want. He initially sits next to you, but you flip over and push him down with a finger to get your way.
You spend the next fifteen minutes explaining to him one of the most excruciating experiences of girlhood– how women spend around a week out of every month bleeding and aching whilst having no other option but to put up with the world around them.
He did admit-- when you told him that bleeding every month was a normal thing, it made slight sense to him why there was a more metallic scent around the lair. He didn’t dare admit he could sense that to your face.
Raph physically shakes his head to snap out of it. His giant feet swing around you, standing up– you nearly cry from disappointment that his oh-so-warm hands have left your abdomen.
“Okay—okay, what helps? Meds? Water? Talk to me.” The snapping turtle leaves, making an absolute mess out in your kitchen from rummaging through your cabinets, and returns with wayyy too many items! A reheated water bottle, chocolate, blankets, pain meds, your favorite snacks. Big guy thought of it all. 💕
“Alright, I got stuff. I don’t know if it’s the right stuff, but Raph's got stuff.”
He looks way too proud of himself for someone who just tore through your kitchen like a hurricane. That mood settles when he sees your face peeking out from your blankets, sleepily. Cozily. More exhausted than he likes to see you be. He can fix that.
He sets everything down a little too fast, then immediately slows himself, remembering you’re not exactly in the condition to deal with his usual energy.
Raph sets everything down on the nightstand next to you, ready to handle you like a fragile little baby. He places the reheated water bottle down on your stomach gently. Of course, it was gentle. He immediately notices a tiny little shift in your face. You liked that. Heat seemed to be a source of comfort for you. He can work with that, right?
The turtle stands there for a few seconds… unsure of what he was supposed to do. Offer you words of comfort? Physical comfort? All of it? He’s down to do anything, obviously! He’s a snuggly reptile. He’ll cuddle you any chance he gets.
Raphael sits down beside you, the bed sinking as he does so. He winces, but continues his route downwards to you. You shift closer into him, seeking nothing but warmth. His arm hovers awkwardly above you; but he eventually settles his hand around your waist, allowing the heat from his body to encase your own.
Oh. That helps, you thought.
You let out a slow breath, your forehead pressing lightly, backwards, against his plastron. It was silent for a little bit. Comfortably. You two could stay silent for hours in each others presence.
“…You deal with this every month?” He mumbled. You nod against him; Raph sighs into your neck. His thumb starts circling around your waist.
“Tell me if I’m makin’ it worse,” he adds. You nod again.
That was the first time you’ve been able to fall asleep with no pain, in the last week.
Donnie 🍇
Unlike Raph, Donnie has taken the liberty of teaching himself quite literally everything about the human body ever since he met April.
Periods are nothing new to him. Nothing scary, either. They’ve faced way worse. Kraang invasions, The Shredder, the Foot Clan. Blood is not a new concept. He is not scared of a little monthly hormonal dysfunction.
What Donnie was scared of was your emotional influx. Not April's. Not Cassandra's. He highly cared about the two, obviously, but you came first. Whether it be an increase in your sadness, anger, irritability, fatigue– he hated seeing you anything other than a perfectly happy state! So when you came into his lab, tears breaking through the corners of your eyes, begging for some sort of medicine— ibuprofen, tylenol, god, did he have any of it? Donnie was up and out of his chair immediately.
Verbally, what was he supposed to say? His hands kind of wave around for a minute, confused as to what he was supposed to do. He was struggling. What did you need it for? Maybe he could find something more effective to help you? Talk to him? Please?!
“I—yes—obviously, I have pain relievers, that’s—hold on, give me two seconds, I have a system for this? Oh, Sweet Galileo, this is a lot, what are your current symp-”
You take matters into your own hands, god forbid. You huff a breath of air and snatch a bottle of medicine out of his desk drawer, counting out your dosage like you’d done a million times before.
In the midst of shoving the drawer shut with your foot, Donnie turns back around from his little ramble session. Oh, how you loved him, but those got tiring sometimes. Especially when all you wanted from him right now was his comfort. You softly take a step forward and place a hand over his mouth. “Sweetheart, please be quiet. I love you. And your rambles. But just for a second.”
His drawn-on eyebrows furrow, confused. What? You didn’t want to hear him yap about whatever your symptoms could possibly mean? Ah, well. There was always next time. Donnie’s hands came down to fold above his plastron. What was going on with you?
After a minute of digesting the situation, observing you solely based on your physical appearance, he made a guess; simply just a shot in the dark. You had a comfy blanket tossed over your shoulder, dark circles under your eyes that weren’t usually this prominent, and a giant red indented marking above your abdomen from where your shirt lifted up? Likely from a heat source, the softshell had thought. Ah. She’s on her period.
Donnie pulls his workbench chair over to you with his foot, the rolling piece of furniture settling right under your legs. “Okay. You have Ibuprofen. Here’s some water. Sit. Please sit.” His voice is softer. Still analytically commanding, as he usually is, when he’s in this setting. His lab. You barely make it onto the edge of his chair before he’s pushing it closer to his workbench so you don’t have to move again. It didn’t take long for Donnie to go doctor mode on you.
“Okie-dokes. Scale of one to ten,” he says quickly, crouching in front of you now, goggles pushed up onto his head. “Can you tell me your pain level?”
You chuckle, the pain ultimately causing you to wince a bit. “Nine.” You say, voice firm.
Donnie does not like that number.
He quickly grabs a pre-made heat pack from a drawer—the softshell always keeps extras in his lab for April, and occasionally, some of his brothers, when they get sick, or inevitably hurt themselves doing something stupid. He gently lifts your shirt up an inch to place the warmth directly over your cramping abdomen. You sink back into the chair, letting out a small sigh of relief. The material was softer, you noticed! Softer than the harsh, scratchy material your personal heating pad was made of. This felt like it was made from old fabrics. Encased in it, at least.
"Good. Warmth. Now, tell me about other symptoms. Nausea? Headache? Fatigue?" He rattles off the list, already grabbing a small notebook and pen from his largest desk to document everything.
Old habits die hard, even when he’s tending to his beloved.
You answer him in short, tired bursts. Headache, yes. Fatigue, absolutely. The pain was easing by the second with the makeshift heating pad. Maybe it was just talking to him that helped.
You give him the benefit of the doubt, allowing him to help you like this. It was a win-win situation. You felt better. He got to nerd out about… menstruation. And helping his partner, of course.
"Based on my immediate observational data and your self-reported symptoms," he announces, turning back to you, "the ibuprofen should take effect in approximately 20 to 30 minutes. In the interim, maintaining hydration is paramount, as is continued thermal regulation." In simpler terms, he wanted you to continue drinking water and applying heat to your body where you needed it. On your stomach.
He hands you a bottle of water he pulled from a mini-fridge he keeps hidden in a panel.
You were far too busy slumping down in the chair and dozing off in comfort before you realized that Donnie has done something… unexpected, considering his typical behavior regarding having to aid with human emotions. Donnie does not go back to work. Donnie does not hide away in a deeper corner of his lab. Donnie does not ignore you entirely. (He would never do that in general. Not to you, at least. Maybe to Leo.)
He pulls up a smaller, more ergonomic stool next to his workbench chair. He takes off his goggles and gloves, setting them aside. He turns his full attention to you, placing a gentle three-fingered hand on your forehead to check your temperature.
"I’ll put all of my current projects on hold," he says, his voice losing its clinical edge and gaining a soft, comforting tone. "You need to rest. Can’t say I’m a fan of how out of it you look right now, love."
Donnie starts to explain the whole shebang behind menstruation and reproductive processes in women. He knew distractions worked for you. If annoying the hell out of you with his ramblings is what worked, so be it. He would have done it anyway.
Once he's satisfied you're sufficiently distracted and informed, he shifts his position slightly, leaning his plastron against your covered legs as he crouches down from his chair. He reaches out a hand, finding yours, and laces your fingers together.
"Just rest, darling," he murmurs, gently stroking your hand with his thumb. "Let the medication work. I’ll be right here.”
Your eyes drift off to sleep. It’s comforting, knowing that he treated you like this; with such care for something that happens so painfully every month. His fingers stroked your hair as your breathing steadied, one hand massaging your scalp and one hand typing away at his computer; coding something, who knows. You didn’t care.
Hm. He was really good at this.
╰♥︎ ╮
someone tell me if the tiny subscript font is unreadable or if it sucks. i will change it if so hahaha. only plan on using that for headcanons, not actual fics, if y'all prefer it!
good night lovely ppl xoxo
