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hotheadedhero · 2 months

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In Unrequited Love - Part 2

AN: When I say that writing this part had me feral, I don't mean it lightly. This part ended up being over 2000 words, blimmin heck. It had me losing sleep, losing sanity, and my grasp on reality and going insane. All in good ways of course! It got angstier than I originally intended but, man, I'm a sucker for it. I think you guys are too ;)

Part 1 - Part 3

Warning: angst for reader's lacking self-preservation, silly dummy, but Donnie is also a dumb-dumb, so you're as bad as each other really.

Donatello x Reader

Every explanation you can come up with to try and disregard your feelings for the tallest of the turtle brothers has only been met with more anguish. First, you theorised it to be some kind of miscommunication with your emotions, that you had merely misread a deep level of friendship as a new crush. Then, you tried to reason with yourself that it was a rebound - a re-focussing of such feelings onto someone else who likes spending time with you. Neither holds enough weight to get out of this funk, however. You’re chain-bound.

Then begged the question: what are you to do about it? Realistically, what can you do about it? Not once have you had the courage to even try and say something to Casey, so what makes you think this is any different? If anything, it’s worse. Not only because Donatello is so helplessly in love with April, but because you are so much more hopelessly in love with him. Even the way you used to feel about Jones wasn’t this overwhelming.

You hate it. You hate it so damn much and, yet, you can’t stop yourself from spending most of your free time in that forsaken laboratory. There’s a saying that keeps coming to mind whenever you find yourself aiding him with inventions and experiments: fool me once, shame on you - fool me twice, shame on me. You certainly feel the fool and more so after a particular incident. A word used candidly but it felt like an incident at the time. The details are foggy but you believe it had something to do with the daughter of The Foot - Karai - and a new robotic toy of hers. Donnie had come in and saved the day, earning a kiss on the cheek from his crush by the end of it. To say that it stung is an understatement.

Nothing appeared to change after that day other than the joy your new infatuation must have been riding on since. You hadn’t even taken note of how it’s affected you. You don’t take notice of it at all. Yes, you still regularly visit the lab but less so to help out. As of late, it is you who is being helped. A habit which has become the norm where the purple-clad turtle finds himself patching you up. Almost every time you see him, there’s a new bump, bruise, or scratch that needs tending to and every time he does what he can to make it better.

Today is no different. If anything, it has to be the worst of your afflictions that he’s seen to date. The first few times were viewed in mild hilarity but he’s not finding these frequenting successions of being your first aider funny anymore. He currently has you sat in his desk chair, knelt down and worriedly looking over your ankle. The pigment of your skin is only slightly discoloured but it’s clear from the way you hobbled in a few moments ago that it can’t handle much weight right now. Carefully, he holds a cold compress against the affected area, earning a jolted hiss from your person. He winces himself and mutters a quiet apology. Some silence follows until he decides he needs to know exactly what you did to warrant such a bad injury.

“What happened this time?” he asks as he continues to inspect the contusion, making sure nothing is broken beneath.

“I just slipped whilst I was coming down the ladder,” you admit casually. “Think there’s been some rain recently, so it’s my own fault for not wearing grippier shoes.”

Your answer is marginally concerning for two reasons: it hasn’t rained for at least a few days now and he’s seen the way you work - how careful you are when you’re helping him with mechanics or measuring various chemicals. This isn’t like you. Retrospectively, he hasn’t known you long but he likes to think you’ve hung out enough for him to discern that you aren’t typically this clumsy. He’s even detected a drop in your mood. You don’t crack out as many jokes with him, nor have you spoken much about Casey. The band of his mask creases over his furrowing brows and he slowly looks up at you.

“Is everything okay?” he inquires carefully, mindful of the potentially sensitive question. “You seem… out of sorts lately. If it’s something to do with Casey-”

“It’s not Casey,” you interrupt, rather abruptly he notices. Sighing, you quickly attempt to correct yourself and slump into the seat. “I dunno. It might be. I think I’m just done with all the love stuff at this point.”

You end on a bitter cadence, one that has Donatello sinking. His heart breaks knowing that yours has been taken away and trampled on by this mess. It well and truly hurts him to see you this way, to hear that you’re energy has been depleted because of this. Then, like a jab to the gut, it all comes to fruition. The ugly canvas decorated with the hard, cold facts paints this horrifying image before his mind: your physical pain is a manifestation of that from within. Whether it’s intentional or not, it’s still an alarming prospect. Swallowing past the nausea permeating and rising into his throat, he takes a moment to reflect on how best to help you. He doesn’t want to be the one to tell you that you should keep pursuing that ragged hockey puck-lover but he also doesn’t want to see you in such disarray. He can’t bear the thought that you might get hurt worse than this.

With a steadying breath, he takes your hands in his own and smiles up at you sympathetically. “Don’t say that. You never know. There’s still time for things to change in your favour.”

If only he knew how much that gaze of his torments you; how his hands make yours burn cold. You silently beg of him to not look at you with such warmhearted affection, that the very thing he believes to have ruptured your heart is not Casey but is him. Part of you wishes that you could get angry and blame this on him for being so sweet, funny, and an overall joy to be around but that wouldn’t be fair. The reality is that you can’t blame anyone, not even yourself. Feelings can’t be forced nor can they be changed. Your eyes drop to the two sets of hands that rest on your lap, knowing you can’t stand to stare into those puppy-dog maroons much longer.

Unenthused, you hum, “Guess so. Seems like you’re a little more on the hopeful side after that kiss on the cheek, huh?”

He glances away with an awkward smile. Everyone may assume that his head must have exploded when that happened and it would have done were it not for a certain change of circumstance. April kissing his cheek was ironically what led to him realising he loves you. At first, he was entirely confused. Why didn’t he get that round of butterflies? The heart palpitations? There wasn’t even a wild glee that he would have expected with something that monumental happening. Maybe there wasn’t supposed to be. He would have to look into it, he thought, and test it to figure out what was going on. An experiment that didn’t even make it to the drawing board.

No more than an hour later, Donnie’s tending to a burn on your arm after you spilt boiling coffee on yourself; the first domino to fall in this onset of injuries he would serve medical attention to. Seeing you hurt struck something fierce within him. He had this sudden urgency to protect you, care for you, and look after you. Then, followed a quick daydream of holding you in his arms, close to his body and safe from any and all extraneous variables that could threaten you. It flashed before his eyes with such volatile ammunition he almost stumbled over the dressing work he had been so carefully wrapping around your forearm. That’s when he realised and, boy, he couldn’t look you straight in the eye for the remainder of that day.

Perhaps, in a way then, your words ring true. He likes to believe he’s more hopeful. He likes to think he stands a better chance with you with how often you hang out and how well you get along. That’s why he doesn’t want you to give up on love. Regardless of where your sights are set, if you’re done with love, that’s his chance gone completely. He wants to keep that hope alive in you as well. Even if it’s for someone else, he doesn’t want you to be devoid of that sensation. It can hurt but it’s still a beautiful experience in his eyes.

Realising your smaller fingers are still overlapped in his, he blushes - a blush you assume to be the result of your conversation. He finally withdraws his grasp lest he risks you experiencing the backlash of his suddenly clammy palms. It’s about time that he secures your ankle in a bandage, anyway.

Ignoring your question altogether, he laughs nervously and clears his throat. “Well, the good news is that nothing is broken. Most of the fall was taken by your ligaments, though, so you won’t be able to walk properly for a few days. My recommendation is you rest at home in the meantime.”

You toss your head back into the chair and groan out lethargically, “If only I could replace it with a robotic one, hm?” Along with your overly attached, love-sick heart. “Would make things easier.”

“As long as you know to come here for repairs. Robotic limbs need just as much care and attention as organic ones.”

Glancing away, your lips turn up at the sides bashfully. There’s a smile. A genuine smile. He’s been waiting all day - a few days - to see one of those. What a dork. You can only hope your ankle does a fast job of getting better. At least that means no school for a few days but it’s still a bother. Simultaneously, that means no visits to the lair until you’re healed up. The thought is upsetting but you can’t help thinking it might do you some good; a bit of distance to calm the erratic, painful ache of the suffering muscle that sits behind your ribcage. Distance and distraction. On the topic of distractions, a particular object of interest has caught your eye from across the room: a small, rectangular mound hidden beneath a thin layer of cloth.

“Hey, what’ve you got under this?”

You don’t even wait for an answer, opting to propel yourself over to his desk with your good foot. The office chair glides along the floor and, before he can stop you, you’re already pulling the tarp from this mystery item. For someone who’s just injured their ankle, you’re annoyingly quick to feed curiosity’s temptation. Your snoopiness would reveal a narrow box, that which you open too, further revealing a slim sliver of chain with a charm sitting comfortably in the centre of it. Said charm is a purple turtle and you don’t have to think hard to figure out that this is a gift for a certain red-head. It’s magnificently crafted if not a little corny but you can commend his boldness.

“I’m sure April will like it,” you say sweetly enough that it masks the disdain bubbling in your throat. With a quiet sigh, you return the necklace to its resting place, fingertips brushing over the top of the box. “If she doesn’t, though, I… think it’s beautiful.”

Truthfully, that’s the only appraisal he’s looking for, especially seeing as he’s made it for you. He should take the opportunity whilst he’s riding on that high. You like it. He should just say that it’s for you. Get it out there and proclaim his feelings if not at least allude to them but the melancholy behind your eyes chokes him out of trying. It’s not the right time. Your heart is fragile - far too fragile to be here any longer, you’ve decided.

“Thanks again for helping out,” you mumble, swallowing past a lump whilst you attempt to stand. “Better make a start on resting, huh?”

Quickly, he holds an arm out in case you need to grab onto it, face scrunched and brows raised from the middle. “H-Hey, wait! Can I at least walk you back home? That manhole cover is gonna be a struggle let alone the ladder to get to it.”

Cursing the kindness of this tall terrapin would be cruel but he just makes it so darn difficult to not fall more victim to your feelings. You would love nothing more than to take his offer. Wholehandedly, you would within a quarter of a second. There’s just one teeny tiny problem, however.

“I appreciate the offer, Donnie, but it’s still daytime,” you remind him.

In his overzealousness, he had missed that fact. A seemingly obvious detail that he wouldn’t typically forget were he not so worried about you. He is not letting you go back to the surface alone in your current condition - both the physical and mental. Wishing to be human isn’t a naturally occurring thought but it’s currently a prevalent desire. How is he meant to ensure a safe trip home if he can’t go topside? Just as begins formulating a plan, a certain dark-apparelled miscreant passes the lab. Donnie can’t believe he’s actually going to do this but it seems like the only option.

“Casey.” He raises a hand dilatorily to catch the teenager’s attention. “Any chance you could escort (Y/n) home?”

Casey takes one look at your wrapped ankle and throws out two finger guns with a wink. “Jones is on the case.”

He understood the assignment quickly enough at least. Hooray for him. Donatello is prompt to smile when you cast him an estranged glance. You reckon he’s trying to wingman you, which is almost hilarious. If only he knew. Your “escort” temporarily donates you his hockey stick as a makeshift crutch and places a hand between your shoulder blades as extra leverage whilst walking you out. Donnie may have been lying to himself before. He doesn’t want you to be devoid of love but he doesn’t want your love to be directed elsewhere like he had initially tried to come to terms with. It should be him. He wants it so badly to be him. Pitifully, he watches you leave, hearing Casey remark something along the lines of “you’re in safe hands” before the two of you are out of earshot. Such friendly, flirtatious comments from your prior crush would have had you in a tizzy but, weirdly, you find comfort in them. It’s a short moment of silence for your incessant pining.

Now, all there is to do is hope that your forced rest isn’t met with bedridden wallowing for the oncoming days.

I know the first kiss on the cheek moment doesn't really fit with how it goes in the show but that's the point of fanfiction, is it not? :P Hope you enjoyed! I'm gonna lie down now, holy jeebus

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt 2012 #donatello #donnie #2012 donnie #tmnt x reader #x reader #donatello x reader #angst #part 2 #casey jones #april o'neil

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