You thought today was going to be normal. Just another morning. Wake up, shower, grab your coffee, go to work. Easy. But nope. Cue the mental buzzer—wrong! Because instead of getting dressed for your day, you got kidnapped. By none other than Donatello.

Yes, Donnie. The “smart one.” The “quiet one.” The “harmless tech nerd.” He literally said it to your face yesterday—“I’m going to kidnap you.” You laughed. You laughed. You thought it was a joke. It wasn’t.

You woke up once in his arms, your head slumped against his shoulder, vision hazy and flickering. His grip was steady, methodical. His body radiated warmth, and the rhythmic sound of his steps was strangely soothing—until you noticed the cloth pressed to your face. A heavy, sickly-sweet scent filled your lungs.

And then everything went black again.

This time when you woke up, you were lying on soft purple fabric—cool and smooth beneath your skin. The lighting was low, bluish-purple like something out of a sci-fi movie. You weren’t chained. No cuffs. No ropes.

Just... free. Your first thought? Run. And that’s exactly what you did.

You bolted from the bed, heart slamming in your chest, bare feet thudding against the floor. You’d seen the layout before—Donnie’s lab had to be nearby. Weapons. Tools. Anything to defend yourself.

You burst into the lab, hoping for salvation. Instead, you found horror. Screens. Dozens of them. Wall to wall. Every monitor flickered with footage. Of you.

You sleeping in your bed. You at your desk. You cooking, brushing your hair, walking through your apartment—changing. Angles you didn’t even know existed. Hidden cameras. Weeks, maybe months of footage. Every intimate moment recorded with surgical precision.

Your stomach churned, bile crawling up your throat. You backed away from the screens, trembling, disgusted, violated— Then you felt it. The cold grip of a hand on your shoulder. And his voice. Low. Firm. Unmistakable.

“Well, now that you know…”

You were yanked around, spun on your heels—and there he was.

Donatello.

But not the calm, bookish Donnie you remembered. This version was different. His eyes were sharp, gleaming with something between madness and devotion. His smile stretched just a little too wide, just a little too still. Terrifying.

And yet—God help you—there was something magnetic about it. Something dangerously attractive.

“Enlighten me…” he whispered, voice silky with malice and amusement, “Are you scared of me? Are you afraid of me— the one who loves you most?”

He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, dominating every inch of air between you. He tilted his head, studying your every flinch, every twitch, drinking in your fear.

This wasn’t some twisted experiment. This was possession. And you were no longer a person to him. You were his favorite subject.