Does anybody have any recommendations for long tmnt fics slowburn , preferably Leo/ Raph/ Mikey in the bayverse / 2007/ last ronin universe I feel like I’ve searched everywhere , I’m dying to see a badass OC🥲
A little first time after math , mildy suggestive mdni, unedited , I really don’t like how I characterised Raph here so any constructive feedback is appreciated
The rain was viscous in its assault of the window pane, tiny torrents tapping meticulously , melodically. Acting as a lullaby to keep you in that delicious in between. You shimmied back on the bed until your back hit the hard grooves of your boyfriend’s plastron.
Still deep in sleep he Instinctively , possessively wound massive arms around you , nestling you further into him, lips smacking as he hooked his jaw on your shoulder. Inhaling deeply , breathing in the smell of you. on the exhale a rolling churr. The vibrations from his chest coiling up your spine.
Although his sleepy grip was firm, you could move. The brightening light paired with the bitter chill drifting in from the cracked window had you turning and retreating further into the mass of muscle, attempting to sap all his body heat greedily. He shifted to accommodate your movement’s, the dawning light beginning to draw him from his sleep. Although he did a very good ‘ im still sleeping’ impression.
You tucked your head up into the crook of his neck, legs tangling with his. Pressing a little peck to the scales that lay there. In a tit for tat manner he pressed a quick kiss to your forehead , arms closing around your new position. He rubbed his head against yours softly before settling with his chin resting on the crown of your head.
“ good morning.” You dared to break the comfortable silence first. You got a grunt in response but you could feel his lips quirk ever so slightly on your head. Not quite content to fein sleep anymore as he seemed so happy to, you gave his mid-section a playful squeeze. He returned with a half hearted squeeze , still with enough strength that encourage a soft giggle to bubble from your lips. That sound had him breaking into a rouge grin.
Pulling back to peer up at his face , he swiftly wiped the smile and continued to pretend to sleep. Boldly you leaned up and placed a chaste kiss to his scared lip. So soft and delicate. He returned gladly. Deepening the kiss , it was painstakingly slow and full of love. Lips moving against each other in a practiced perfected movement. His hand coming up to cradle your face, his fingers fanning across your neck and pulse point, his thumb resting on your chin. Delicious was the only word you could use to describe it.
He broke the kiss, ending it with a few well placed pecks before opening his eyes, half lidded with tiredness. Magnificent golden eyes catching the morning sun, his eyes trailing down and he just looked at you. Like, really looked at you, like he was committing every part of you to memory. Becoming shy you tried to say anything that would take the pressure off his undivided attention to you.
“ how’d you sleep? “ you almost squeaked, the words tumbling out too quickly. he just chuckled , a deep and pure sound. He could read you like a book by now. Amusement and pride swirling on his features as he shifted to prop his head under his arm . “ I slept great “ his voice riddled with a sleepy husk although the smile on his face was inequivicbly happy . The hand that was once cradling your face began to trace the shell of your ear lazily. “ how did you sleep?” He returned; souly to humor your need for conversation. As you thought , your mind travelled back to the night previously.
Immediately your face and skin felt too hot and you could just die with embarrassment. Last night had been the first time for your young budding relationship. And to put it short, he rocked your world. “ amazing “ you breathed. upon seeing your face heat up he heartily laughed, Cuteness aggression getting the better of him as he kissed your temple and pulled you back into him selfishly. you were happy for spotlight to be taken off your vivid blush. Raphael was never one for words in general so expect extra silence in the morning time. You didn’t mind it, you knew him inside out at this point, he was always like a humming ball of tense pent anger.
Now, he felt settled and content to enjoy the rest, to enjoy your body slotted against his and to simply bask in the glow that you emanated. It was almost meditation, last night had him feeling a sense of belonging , of security to know this all wasn’t a rouse, that you wanted him as much as he wanted you. All though he doubted the latter, with how he felt today he genuinely believed no one in the history of time ever loved someone how he loved you.
Distracting him from his train of thought you asked if he’d like coffee and his response was to tighten his grip on your waist, as if you leaving his side for simply five minutes was intolerable , You would be lucky if you left this bed today, not that you’d be complaining.
An- I haven’t wrote in years, I threw this together on a whim so hopefully it’s not terrible , unedited
I wrote this listening to gigi Perez be rude
You awoke with a slight start , just enough to form semi conscious words and to acknowledge who had disturbed your peaceful slumber. He shushed you quietly, determined not to sway you from sleep.
Groggy-ness still not quite ready to ebb away, eyes stinging as you fought to keep them open.
A great three digit hand delicately tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. Repeating the motion and caressing the side of your face with a feather light touch. A well practiced technique that he knew would lull you to sleep again.
Trying and failing to keep your eyes open , especially with the added comfort of his delicious caress.
“ I’m awake I swear” you mumble, leaning further into his touch and your eyes falling shut once more.
you are met with a hearty rumble , his hot breath fanning across your face. He kept up his administrations of affection, rising goose flesh in its wake.
“ oh are you now?” His deep voice never failed to rise the hairs on the back of your neck. You were happy to lap up his attention. Basking in his warmth like a cat in the summer sun. A simple incoherent mumble was all he got in return.
Whilst enjoying this touch you couldn’t help but wonder why you were fighting so hard to leave this warm gooey place. It dawned on you then , as sharp and stark as being doused with ice water. You had been like passing ships , you with work meetings, him with patrol. Life just kept happening and time spent together was few and far between. Tonight , both your schedules lined up for the first time in weeks. You had been so busy you had no idea how much that would catch up on you, until now.
Guilt added extra vigour to help stir you from your cozy in between. Upon opening your eyes you are met with devastatingly blue ones staring back at you. Soft and kind, molten almost. Amused even. The worry about him being upset that you had fallen asleep during date night immediately dissipating. Before you could get a word out his lip quirked into a crooked smile that made his dimple prevalent. It was painful how much you loved him And Still the need to apologise was still there.
“ if you even try to apologise “ he was quick to cut you off , as though he could see the gears of your mind turn.
Your ajar lips immediately shut , almost comically and another beautiful breathy rumble left his chest. There was a deep husk to his voice, a clear sign of sleep creeping up on the fearless leader too. That the time apart affected him as much as it had you.
He found another hair to tuck into place before his hand cradled the back of your neck, his thumb tracing patterns along your jaw. Blue mask already discarded , the lamps you had fallen asleep with on now switched off.
“ are you staying the night?” You tried not to sound too hopeful, trying and and failing to sound ‘ breezy’.
“ I am “ he concurred , shifting on his side to make himself comfortable beneath the covers , the dip in the bed bringing your body closer to his. He shifted you how he liked, his bicep becoming your pillow and his forehead settled against yours, slotting Together perfectly. legs tangling with his.
you knew he was comfortable when an audible sigh came from him and his shoulders visibly slumped, the tension melting away as he tucked himself into his happy place. The eldest leader bravado left at the bedroom door. Here he was just Leo.
When you opened your eyes again his were shut , the silvery glow of the moon cascading elegant shadows along the panes of his face. his chest steadily rising and falling , getting slower and slower as he began to drift off. You couldn’t help but whisper that you loved him , that you were so grateful for him. He responded that he loved you too without a minutes of hesitation. like it was a mantra he repeated to you over and over again , leaving no room for you to ever doubt him. He kissed your cheek like it was second nature and melted further into your embrace. The two of you drifting off to sleep basking in finally being together again.
Hello! How are you! I have literally binged all your work on ao3 in the space of a few hours! I am besotted!!! You write angst like it’s no one’s business!
Lucky me I see your requests are open!
Okay I was wondering if I could request 2007 or bayverse , either Raph or Leo with an established relationship!reader
who had a life altering event happen, ( for e.g being involved with the turtles got her in danger ) and the trauma completely changes her , she becomes cold, secretive ( bonus point if reader becomes vigilante to get revenge ) as a way to cope. how Would the turtles react to that? How would they mend their relationship?
up to you whether it’s straight up angst or angst to comfort!
I know this is a lot so please disregard this if it’s a bit out there, or take what you want from this and make your own spin! I’d frankly read your grocery list!
A/N: Hey there! 👋 Thank you so, so much for your incredibly kind words about my work! Hearing that you binged it and enjoyed the angst has really made my day 🥰
For this request, I’m going with Bayverse Raph. I hope you enjoy it! 💖
The Space Between a Touch (angst)
❤️ Bayverse Raphael/Female Reader ❤️
CWs: Angst, depictions of PTSD and trauma aftermath, past kidnapping, self-destructive behavior, light swearing, some violence and fighting. All characters are aged-up.
The change didn’t happen overnight. It was a creeping frost, starting in your eyes and slowly encasing your heart.
Before, your laughter used to echo in the lair. You’d spar with Leo, teasing him about his seriousness, play video games with Mikey, and assist Donnie with ideas for his inventions. At the end of the day, you’d curl up against Raph’s side, his massive arm a familiar, comforting weight.
That was before.
Before the ambush, before Karai’s blade had sliced too close. Before you’d been grabbed, used as bait.
The memory of the knife’s edge against your neck, the feeling of rough hands dragging you, the chilling pronouncements and threats from Shredder—they play on a loop. You were a vulnerability, a weakness they exploited. And that knowledge has become your armor, keeping everyone out.
Mikey will hold out a controller, his eyes hopeful and pleading. “Just one round? For old times’ sake?” The flashing colors on the screen and the upbeat music feel garish now. You shake your head and tell him you’re busy. The lie tastes like ash in your mouth as you walk away, his smile faltering.
Donnie still shows you his latest gadgets, his explanations enthusiastic, but you no longer offer suggestions. Your mind, once buzzing with complimentary ideas, feels … blank. Static-y. He’ll look at you, searching for that spark. And when he doesn’t find it, his voice trails off, a quiet disappointment settling in his eyes.
Leo approaches you with a different tactic. He finds you in the dojo. Not meditating, not practicing. Just standing in the center, your arms wrapped tight around yourself as if trying to hold the splintering pieces of your composure together. His footsteps are deliberate on the tatami, giving you ample time to acknowledge him.
You don’t turn.
“We need to train,” he states, his voice devoid of its usual older-brother warmth, replaced by the clipped, focused tone of a leader assessing a critical situation. It’s not a request. He moves to stand a few feet in front of you, his expression unreadable. “Now.”
The words are like stones dropped into a frozen pond. For a moment, you almost expect them to skid across the ice you’ve built around your heart. You finally meet his gaze. The Leo before you isn’t the brother you teased; he’s the warrior, the strategist—and he’s looking at you like a problem to be solved.
Training. As if a few katas could erase the phantom feel of steel against your skin. As if a perfect block could undo the way your own body had betrayed you by freezing in terror.
“Why?” The word escapes you, a broken shard of sound, barely a whisper. It’s more than you’ve said to any of them in days.
Leo’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “Because out there,” he gestures vaguely towards the city beyond the lair, “they won’t care if you’re not feeling up to it. They won’t wait for you to be ready. Shredder knows your face. He knows you’re with us. You think he won’t try again?”
The implied threat, the reminder of your vulnerability, stabs through the numbness. It’s the very thing that haunts you. You slowly unwrap your arms, your fingers stiff. “Fine.” The word is flat. You don’t reach for a weapon. You simply settle into a basic defensive stance, rigid and shallow.
Leo observes you, his gaze sharp, analytical. He doesn’t comment on your lack of a weapon, nor on the reluctance radiating from you. Instead, he mirrors your stance. “Defend yourself,” he orders, and then he attacks.
His fist comes at your face. A deeply buried reflex from countless hours spent in this very dojo makes you raise an arm. Though it’s too slow, too hesitant. His knuckles connect with your forearm, not with full force. But enough to send a shockwave up your shoulder. The thud echoes the dull ache that has taken permanent residence in your chest.
He doesn’t pause. A leg sweeps towards yours. You stumble back, ungainly, your feet feeling like lead. There’s no grace in your movement, none of the familiar rhythm of sparring. He’s peeling back the layers of your composure, one precise strike at a time.
“Again,” he says, and launches another flurry.
You try to parry, to block, but your limbs feel disconnected from your brain. The commands get lost in the haze. Each impact, even a glancing one, sends a fresh jolt of memory through you.
Rough hands gripping your arms, pinning you.
The glint of steel too close to your vitals.
You flinch, and the movement leaves you open. Leo’s foot connects with your side. It’s controlled, a training tap, but you gasp, doubling over slightly. The air rushes out of your lungs, and with it, a sliver of the ice around your heart seems to crack, releasing a fresh wave of chilling fear.
“Focus!” Leo barks.
His words strike a nerve. An animal—that’s what you feel like. Trapped. Helpless.
“I can’t!” you yell. A choked sob escapes you, a sound you instantly try to swallow. But it’s out. Hanging in the air between you, more damning than any outcry.
Leo stills, surprise and concern flickering in his eyes.
You can’t fight him. Can’t fight this.
You can’t go back to who you were.
“I … I can’t,” you whisper, the admission tearing through you. Before you rush out of the dojo, out of the lair.
Of course, your change in behavior hits Raph the hardest.
When he reaches for you on the couch, you flinch, the phantom weight of Shredder’s hand a cold press against your skin. It’s a reminder of helplessness, of being held against your will. At night, you lie rigid, your back mostly to him, feigning sleep almost immediately. You feel him hesitate, his breath warm against your hair, his hand hovering as if unsure whether to touch you, to bridge the gap.
The feeling of Raph’s plastron against your back, the rumbling chuckle that vibrated through you when you said something particularly cheeky. The surprisingly gentle way his massive, three-fingered hands would cup your face—those are memories now. Sepia-toned and distant, from a life that feels like it belonged to someone else.
The closeness you once craved now feels like a brand, and the frost inside you deepens. Preserving the pain, ensuring no one can get close enough to make you vulnerable again. Your armor is strong, unyielding.
And utterly, terribly lonely.
A chasm has opened between you and the brothers. You see the worry on their faces, the way they exchange glances when you turn away. You hear the hushed tones of their conversations, though the words remain just out of reach. But the fear whispers insidious lies, telling you that distance is safety.
And so, you remain encased, a prisoner of your own memories.
You don’t visit the lair much anymore. Instead, you train at home. At the gym. Becoming faster, more ruthless. You patrol on your own, taking down Foot soldiers and other criminals with a fury that would make even Raph pause. You’re protecting them, you tell yourself.
You won’t be the weak link again.
You’re rarely even at your apartment long enough to talk to Raph when he visits. And sometimes, you disappear for hours on him, often returning well after midnight. You offer vague excuses: “Needed air” or “Just a walk.”
But Raph sees the new bruises overlaid on top of the fading ones. He sees the cut above your eyebrow you try to hide with your hair, the way you move with a carefully concealed stiffness that speaks of fresh pain.
And tonight, something in him snaps.
You barely have your keys out of the lock when his enormous frame fills the narrow hallway of your apartment, blocking your path. He crosses his arms over his chest, his shadow engulfing you. The dim light from the living room throws his features into sharp relief, and the usual gruff fondness in his eyes is gone, replaced by a simmering, dangerous stillness.
“Where were you?”
“Out,” you mumble, trying to sidestep him.
He doesn’t move. Instead, his hand reaches out, his fingers brushing against the fresh scrape on your cheekbone you hadn’t even realized was bleeding. You flinch violently, recoiling as if burned.
His hand freezes, then slowly retracts, a flicker of hurt crossing his face before the anger resettles. “Out gettin’ this?” he presses, his voice tightening. “And the one you’re hidin’ over your eye? What about the ribs I know you’re favorin’?”
“I can handle myself, Raph,” you say, your voice harsher than you intend.
“Handle yourself?” He takes a step closer, and you instinctively brace, your back hitting the wall. “More like handling gettin’ yourself killed. There’s a difference, you know.” His eyes, usually a warm green, are narrowed, boring into you. “You think this is protectin’ us? Runnin’ around like a maniac, pickin’ fights you can barely walk away from?”
“I’m not weak anymore,” you spit out, the old fear twisting into a snarl. “I won’t be a liability. Not again.”
“A liability?” He scoffs. “You think this ain’t makin’ you one? What happens when you don’t come back one night, huh? What are we supposed to do then? What am I supposed to do?”
His voice cracks on the last question. You see the deep worry lines etched around his eyes, the exhaustion in the slump of his shoulders that he usually hides so well.
“You think we don’t see you? The way you keep pullin’ away?” he continues, his voice dropping again, thick with pain. “Leo’s beside himself. Mikey keeps tryin’ to get you to smile, just once. Donnie … he just looks lost.” He shakes his head, his gaze dropping to the floor for a second before snapping back to yours. “And you … you look at me …”
He hesitates.
“You look at me like I’m … like I’m him,” he says, his voice barely a whisper. “Like I’m gonna hurt you.”
The accusation hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating. His eyes search yours, desperate for a denial. For any sign that the you he knew—the you he loves—is still in there, somewhere beneath the ice and fury.
You open your mouth, but no words come out. The shame of his statement lodges in your throat, a bitter pill. Because sometimes, in the dark, when a hand reaches for you—even his—the terror is so blinding you can’t tell friend from foe.
His expression crumples, just for a second, the sight more devastating than any roar of anger. Then, the hardness returns. “This ain’t strength,” he says, his voice flat, final. “This is you dyin’ slow. And you’re draggin’ us all through hell with you.”
He turns then, not waiting for your response, leaving you alone when he departs for the lair. The cut on your cheek stings, a reminder of the battles you keep choosing. And for the first time since everything went to shit, you wonder if this is a battle you can actually win.
Or if you’re just ensuring everyone you care about loses.
Donnie confirms your late-night habits one night. As if Raph didn’t already know. But he dreads his brothers’ reactions.
You’re not here, of course. You’re out somewhere in the city’s sprawling darkness, chasing the adrenaline that numbs the ache, oblivious to the fact that your carefully constructed secrecy is crumbling—because Raph knows his brothers aren’t going to let it go.
Donnie swivels in his chair to look at his monitors. “I’ve been tracking the use of my tech,” he says, tapping some keys. A map flares to life on the main screen, your recent patrol routes shown in red lines. “As well as unusual activity on police scanners and reports for the past few weeks.” He pauses, looking over his shoulder at his brothers. “She’s been going out alone. Not for walks. She’s been hunting.”
Despite already knowing, Raph’s blood runs cold, then hot. The protective fury that defines him surges, so potent it makes him tremble. Not at you. For you. And at Karai, Shredder—at the world that broke you.
Leo’s breath hitches. His eyes, usually so focused and analytical, widen as he stares at the patrol routes—your patrol routes—illuminated in damning red across the city map. The sheer recklessness of it, the isolation, hits him like a blow to the chest.
“Alone?” he murmurs, the word laced with a dawning horror and a sharp sting of guilt as he remembers your shattered cry in the dojo.
Leo thought it was a momentary break, a surrender to fear. He hadn’t grasped it as a declaration of this self-imposed, dangerous exile. His mind races, replaying every interaction, every sign he missed or misinterpreted. His gaze flickers to Raph, seeing the barely contained storm in his brother’s eyes, and then back to the screen, a muscle working in his jaw.
He should have seen this. He should have known. The strategic part of his brain screams about the tactical disadvantage, the unnecessary risk. But beneath it, he aches with a profound sense of failure.
Mikey goes utterly still—before his head snaps up, his eyes wide with an emerging, terrible understanding. “Hunting?” he echoes, the word small, almost childlike. He pictures you out there, alone in the dark, facing down the kind of threats that make even their seasoned team move with caution.
The image of the you he knows being consumed by this cold, violent purpose is hard for Mikey to comprehend. A knot forms in his throat, tight and painful. “No …” he whispers, shaking his head slowly, as if denying the truth will make it somehow vanish. “Not … not by herself. She wouldn’t … she knows better …”
But even as the words stumble out, he remembers your averted gaze at his game invitations, the way you recoiled when he tried to sling an arm around your shoulder. He’d thought you were just sad, lost in a funk he could eventually coax you out of with enough persistence. He hates he was so oblivious.
“She could get really hurt, guys,” Mikey says, his voice filled with a visceral fear for your life. “We gotta find her. Now!”
“What are we waitin’ for?” Raph slams a fist into his palm. “Donnie, you got a lock on her?” His voice is a low growl, the protective fury he feels for you practically radiating off him in waves.
“I’m working on it,” Donnie replies, fingers flying across his keyboard, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Her tracker signal is faint. She must be deep in the old warehouse district by the docks. And—oh no.” His voice drops, a note of alarm entering his tone. “Multiple heat signatures converging on her position. Foot. A lot of them.”
Leo’s face is grim, his earlier guilt solidifying into steely resolve. He meets Raph’s furious gaze, then Mikey’s, and finally Donnie’s. “Gear up,” he orders, doing his best to remain calm despite his rising panic for your safety. “We go in fast, we secure her, and we get out. No unnecessary risks, but she’s our priority.”
This isn’t just a rescue mission. It’s about bringing you back from the brink.
From the abyss you’ve thrown yourself into.
You’re crouched on a rain-slicked rooftop, the city’s neon glow reflecting in the surrounding puddles. The wind whips your hair across your face, stinging your eyes, but you welcome the bite. It keeps you sharp, keeps the ghosts at bay, if only for a moment.
Below, a van pulls up to a darkened warehouse, figures clad in familiar black outfits spilling out. Foot. Too many. Caution tries to pierce through the anger that’s become your constant companion. You ignore it. This is what you do now. This is how you prove you’re not a liability.
You drop silently from the rooftop, landing in the shadows of an alleyway, your breath misting in the cool night air. You move with a speed and ferocity that is born of a reckless disregard for your own safety. The first two Foot soldiers go down before they even register your presence—a swift strike to the temple, a brutal knee to the gut.
You move through them, a whirlwind of focused rage. But they keep coming.
They’re more prepared tonight, or maybe you’re just pushing your luck too far. You narrowly avoid a kunai, the metal grazing your arm, drawing a thin line of blood. Spinning to meet the next attacker, you grit your teeth against the sting. You block a punch, counter with an elbow, but another soldier comes at you from the side.
You duck, but not fast enough; the weapon connects with your ribs. It steals your breath and sends a jagged bolt of pain through your side. You stumble, a gasp escaping your lips. For a horrifying second, the faces of the Foot soldiers blur, morphing into Shredder’s visage. Panic lances through you.
No. Not again!
You fight back with renewed desperation. You take down two more, but you’re outnumbered, outmaneuvered. A blow to the back of your head sends you sprawling onto the pavement. Stars explode behind your eyes, and the world tilts precariously. Rough hands grab your arms, hauling you to your feet.
“She’s the one,” a gruff voice snarls, too close to your ear. “Karai will be pleased.”
Your heart plummets. This is it. This is exactly what you were trying to avoid, the scenario that’s haunted your nightmares. You’ve failed. You’ve become the weak link all over again. Despair washes over you, so potent it almost extinguishes the fight in you.
Just as a pair of Foot soldiers begin to drag you towards the warehouse, a familiar roar cuts through the night.
“GET YOUR FILTHY FUCKIN’ HANDS OFF HER!”
A massive green shape hurtles out of the darkness, slamming into the two soldiers holding you with the force of a battering ram. You fall to your knees as they’re sent flying. Before you can even process it, another green blur, smaller and faster, clears a path around you while another deflects incoming attacks.
From the rooftops, shuriken fly with pinpoint accuracy, disarming several more soldiers. You look up, then look around you.
Raph. Leo. Donnie. Mikey.
They’re here.
They found you.
They came for you.
Leo lands beside you, beating back a blow aimed at you. “You okay?” he asks, his voice tight with controlled urgency, his eyes assessing you quickly for injuries before flicking back to the remaining Foot.
You can only stare, the word “Fine” dying on your lips. The fight is still raging around you, but for a moment, everything seems to slow.
Raph is a force of nature, tearing through the Foot with a righteous fury that makes your own recent efforts look like child’s play. Mikey is a vibrant, chaotic blur of orange amidst the grunts and sounds of combat. Yet every move is precise, protecting your periphery. Donnie uses his tech-enhanced staff, sending out small electrical charges, creating openings, and controlling the flow of the fight.
You watch them move as one, a perfectly honed unit. Protecting you.
The armor around your heart cracks.
They dispatched the remaining Foot soldiers with brutal efficiency. The clash of metal fades, replaced by their heavy breathing and the distant wail of city sirens. But your world has narrowed to the colossal figure dropping to his knees in front of you.
Raph.
His eyes are wide, frantic, scanning you from head to toe. The fury that propelled him through the fight is still thrumming beneath his skin, but now it’s overshadowed by a desperate concern that makes his features almost painfully vulnerable. “You hurt?” he asks, his voice a hoarse rasp.
His hands, the ones you’ve flinched from—the ones you imagined were Shredder’s in your nightmares—reach out. They hover for a heart-stopping second. Then, with an almost agonizing tenderness, one hand gently cups your cheek, his thumb brushing your jaw. You don’t recoil.
You try to nod, to form words. But a choked sound is all that escapes. The fight, the fear, the sudden appearance of your saviors—it all crashes over you.
“Hey, hey, look at me,” Raph murmurs, his other hand coming up to gently take your arm, examining the graze from the kunai. “We gotcha. You’re safe now.”
His gaze locks with yours, and in their depths, you don’t see accusation or disappointment. You see the raw, unfiltered fear he must have felt, the pain his own words inflicted on you earlier. And beneath it all, an unwavering, stubborn love.
A single tear escapes, tracing a path down your cheek. Then another. You try to stop them, to maintain some semblance of the hard shell you’ve cultivated. But it’s useless. The crack widens, and the pent-up emotion floods through. “Raph …”
He carefully pulls you forward, and you don’t resist. You collapse against his broad plastron, your face buried in the crook of his neck. His arms wrap around you, strong and secure, holding you together as the sobs wrack your body.
He smells of rain, sweat, and the faint, familiar scent of the lair.
Of home.
“Shhh, it’s okay. I got you. We all got you.”
He just holds you, murmuring against your hair, the rumble of his voice a soothing vibration near your ear.
Through your tear-blurred vision, you see the others. They’re all here. They came. Despite everything, despite the walls you built, they came.
The mending won’t be easy. The shadows of what you endured, and what you have become, will linger. But as Raph holds you, his brothers stepping closer to form a protective circle, you feel the first, tentative thaw around your frozen heart. The journey back to being yourself will be long—
Now for my second request: I don't know if you're comfortable writing love triangles (the first one was kinda a triangle too but well…) but this time I would like a 2007 Raph x Reader x Leo where they both fall in love with her at the same time and she has to choose who to be with in the end (let's make their relationship in that movie even messier and with another thing to argue about! I love drama!😈). This triangle started before Leo went to South America but back then no one ever knew about anyone's feelings and they were all just acting like normal friends. Then Reader was just as disappointed and angry as Raph when Leo didn't want to come back and stopped sending them letters (the reader received also secret personal letters addressed only to her and Raph realizes from this that Leo might be interested in the Reader romantically just like him), and Raph and her got really close and bonded because of that. Reader was also the first one to find out that Raph is the Nightwatcher and offered her apartment as a second shelter when he wanted a place to sleep, be away from his brothers or just hang out with her. During this time Raph also thought about confessing his feelings to her but here comes Leo back from South America to complicate things again! (I love 2007 Leo just as much as 2007 Raph I promise, that’s why this is a love triangle. I genuinely can’t choose between them). I’ll let you choose how you want the story to end again (who will the Reader choose? Will Raph and Leo kill each other? Find out next episode lmao) and I apologize again if my English is not the best!
A/N: Oh-ho-ho *rubs hands together* I love myself a juicy, tense love triangle 😈 But ya’ll are getting both versions of the ending.
CWs: Angst, love triangle, themes of abandonment, sibling conflict, jealousy, brief descriptions of fighting and injuries, multiple endings (you choose!). All characters are aged-up.
Before Splinter sends Leo to Central America, back when the four brothers were still a fractured—but whole—unit under the city. You’re there, woven into the fabric of their strange, hidden lives.
You train with them, spar sometimes (mostly with Mikey, who doesn’t mind losing), patch up scrapes after patrols, and share greasy pizza on movie nights in the lair. Even then, there’s an invisible current pulling you towards two specific points in this constellation of brothers.
Leo. His gaze often finds yours across the room—intense, analytical, yet softened with something unreadable when it lands on you. A shared glance during Splinter’s lessons, a quiet question about your day that feels weightier than it should. Looks that linger just a few beats too long. Not that you minded.
Then there’s Raph. A tumultuous, rough sea of energy. But around you, there’s a specific turbulence—a protective warmth that flares unexpectedly when someone gets too close. Even one of his brothers. He’s the one who walks a little closer when you navigate the darker tunnels, the one whose shoulder bumps feel more deliberate than accidental.
But you’re still friends. Allies. Confidantes. That’s the story you all stick to, the safe label taped over a box of much more complicated feelings.
Then Splinter made the call. Leo must go to a foreign country for a year of leadership training. The thought of his steady presence vanishing left an immediate, aching void. You saw the conflict in Leo’s eyes, duty warring with reluctance. He promised to write, his gaze pausing on you for a fraction longer than on his brothers.
He kept his word, at first. Letters arrived addressed to the lair. You gathered with Donnie and Mikey to read them aloud. Leo’s careful script detailed grueling training regimens, encounters with unfamiliar wildlife, and the strange beauty of the jungle. Donnie and Mikey would talk about the letters, but Raph—he only listened. Jaw tight.
Especially after you started getting letters only for you.
In these, Leo was different. More personal. He shed the leader persona. Asked about your life, your classes, even the most mundane details. Shared doubts, frustration, moments of quiet contemplation he’d never voice to his brothers. He recalled a joke you made months ago, mentioned dreaming of sparring with you, specific conversations you had late at night.
It all sent a confusing jolt through you, making your heart beat faster, chased by a prickle of guilt. You still keep the letters hidden, tucked away in a shoebox under your bed. But you had a feeling Raph already knew about them, even without him having to resort to snooping around.
Then the letters stopped. All of them. Silence stretched from weeks into months. Worry festered, then soured into a shared bitterness, particularly between you and Raph. He often paces, slams his fists into the punching bag harder than necessary, his already short fuse burning down to nothing.
“Guess Fearless Leader’s too good for us now,” he snarled one evening, smacking the bag hard enough to break it. “Suppose he found better things to do than write to his family.”
You nodded, the shared sense of abandonment a bitter taste in your mouth. “He could at least tell us he’s alive,” you murmured, picking at a loose thread on your shirt. “Or that he’s okay, or … something.”
The disappointment became a strange, potent glue. You and Raph gravitated towards each other. You trained together more often, pushing each other, the physical exertion a release for the pent-up anger. For hours, you would talk. Sometimes in the lair, other times huddled on your fire escape, sharing frustrations about Leo, about the team falling apart. Everything.
You see past Raph’s rage, glimpse the aching vulnerability beneath the shell, the deep-seated fear of not being enough. He sees your disappointment, your confusion, your own quiet hurt.
One night, when you were walking home, you heard the unmistakable sounds of a scuffle. Not the usual mugging, but something more brutal. You peeked cautiously around a dumpster—and there he was. A figure clad in armor taking down a group of thugs with terrifying efficiency.
The Nightwatcher.
Your breath caught. But there was something familiar about the way he moved. After he disarmed the last thug, he turned, glimpsing you in the shadows before vaulting onto a nearby roof. And you knew who it was.
Raph had started sleeping all day, becoming distant—almost as if he was hiding something from everyone. But you didn’t confront him immediately. The next time he appeared near your neighborhood, though, you didn’t hesitate and called out his name. He froze on the fire escape opposite yours, silhouetted against the moon.
Then he pulled off his helmet, his eyes locking onto yours, full of defiance and exhaustion.
You simply gestured towards your open window. “Come in. Before someone sees you.”
Your apartment became his haven, his second shelter. A place disconnected from the lair. He crashes on your couch sometimes after rough evenings of vigilantism and you tend to his wounds. Other nights, he just shows up, shedding the armor—but not the weight on his shoulders, needing a place to just be, away from his family’s expectations.
You listen. You don’t judge.
Over time, your bond deepened. You see the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not watching, a mixture of longing and frustration. A comfortable silence often settles between you now, charged with unspoken desires that flicker in the periphery of your awareness. Becoming stronger by the day.
By the time Leo’s been gone a year, you and Raph are practically inseparable, a constant presence in each other’s lives that has evolved beyond mere companionship.
Tonight, Raph sits on your closed toilet, his armor piled haphazardly in the tub. He still breathes raggedly, the adrenaline from his patrol slowly leaving him. You sit on the edge of the tub, dabbing carefully at a gash above his brow ridge with a cotton pad.
“Hold still,” you murmur as he flinches from the sting of the antiseptic.
A low grunt escapes him, but he obeys, his gaze fixed somewhere on the linoleum floor. You’re used to caring for his wounds, but something feels different this evening. There are more cuts, deeper bruises blooming on his knuckles. And he’s quieter than usual, the typical simmering anger replaced by a raw exhaustion that seems to seep into the very air around him.
You reach for a butterfly bandage, peeling off the backing. Your fingers brush against his rough, green skin as you position it over the cut on his forehead. He doesn’t pull away. Instead, his head tilts slightly, his gaze lifting from the floor to meet yours.
The proximity is suddenly overwhelming. You can see the flecks of gold in his eyes, the slight tremor in his hands resting on his knees, the way his throat works as he swallows. That look is there again. Your breath hitches.
The silence stretches, filled only by the distant hum of city traffic and the frantic thumping of your own heart. It feels like standing on the edge of a cliff, the ground shifting beneath your feet. Years of friendship, shared grief over Leo’s silence—it all swirls between you, threatening to tip you over the cliffside.
He leans forward almost imperceptibly, his rough knuckles brushing against your knee. The contact sends a jolt, sharp and warm, straight through you. His eyes search yours, questioning, demanding something you aren’t sure you can give. Images flash through your mind: Leo’s steady gaze, the careful script on his hidden letters, the confusing warmth they’d sparked. Guilt pricks at you, sharp and unwelcome.
Raph must see the flicker of conflict in your eyes. The intensity in his gaze wavers, replaced by a familiar frustration, which is quickly masked. He pulls back slightly, breaking the spell. The air rushes back into your lungs, leaving you feeling shaky.
“Thanks,” he mumbles, finally breaking the silence. His voice is rougher than usual.
“Anytime, Raph,” you reply, your voice steadier than you feel. You stand up, gathering the used cotton pads and wrappers. The moment has passed, the fragile connection severed. But the echo of it remains, hanging heavy in the air.
He finishes wiping the lingering grime from his face and arms, avoiding your eyes now. “Donnie’s been askin’ questions,” he says abruptly. “Where I go. Why I’m so beat up all the time.”
You nod, busying yourself with tidying the small bathroom counter. “What have you been telling him?”
“Same old crap. Extra training. Fell down some stairs.” He snorts, a humorless sound. “Mikey just thinks I’m sleepin’ all day ‘cause I’m lazy.” He pauses, then adds, quieter, “Easier that way.”
He stands up, stretching gingerly. The movement pulls the muscles taut across his shoulders and back. He’s still Raph—volatile, protective, a storm contained within a powerful frame. But here, in the relative safety of your apartment, the cracks in his armor show. You see the vulnerability he fights so hard to conceal, the fear of abandonment that fuels his anger.
He goes to collect his stuff. As he passes, his hand brushes yours again, lingering for just a fraction of a second longer than necessary. Then he gathers the rest of his gear, gives you a nod, and slips back out the window, melting into the pre-dawn gloom.
You stand there for a long moment, listening to the fading sounds of his departure, the silence of your apartment feeling both emptier and more complicated than ever before. You go over to the couch, sinking into the cushions. Exhaustion finally begins to claim you. The emotional whiplash of the evening, coupled with the late hour, makes your eyelids feel like lead weights.
You don’t bother changing; you curl up, pulling a throw blanket over yourself. Your thoughts drift, a jumbled mess of green skin and intense eyes—
—then the sudden, shrill ring of your phone jolts you awake. You blink, disoriented; you must have dozed off. Who would be calling at this hour, anyway? You fumble for the phone on the coffee table, checking the caller ID: Donnie. Anxiety spikes. He rarely calls, unless it was urgent.
Had something happened to Raph on his way back?
“Donnie?” you answer, your voice thick with sleep and apprehension. “Is everything okay? Is Raph—”
“He’s back,” Donnie’s voice comes through the line, cutting you off. He sounds breathless, wired, a mixture of disbelief and frantic energy buzzing through his words. “He’s back. Leo’s back!”
The world tilts. You bolt upright, the blanket pooling around your waist. “What? He is?” The words are barely a whisper. Leo. Here? Now?!
“Yeah,” Donnie confirms. “Splinter’s with him now. It’s really him!”
You feel as if someone punched the air out of your lungs. The nearly year of silence, worry, frustration, anger. And the comfort you’d found in his absence with Raph—all of it crashes down at once.
Leo was back.
You grip the phone tighter. “I … okay,” you manage, the words feeling inadequate, hollow. “Okay, Donnie. Thanks for … telling me.”
You hang up, the phone slipping from your suddenly nerveless fingers and falling to the floor. The silence in the apartment roars back, louder than before, saturated with the impossible news.
Leo. Back.
The two words echo in your skull, bouncing off the walls of your mind. Back from the jungle, back from the silence. Back from the place he’d occupied in your memory, like a photograph tinged with resentment and a persistent ache. He was supposed to be a ghost, a problem deferred, a complication locked away with those hidden letters.
Not anymore.
Your heart hammers against your ribs, a frantic rhythm completely at odds with the numbness spreading through your limbs. You stare at the opposite wall, unseeing, the pattern swimming before your eyes. Just minutes ago, the world had felt compressed, focused down to the charged space between you and Raph in your bathroom.
That moment now feels like a scene from someone else’s life, blurred and distant.
Raph.
A wave of something akin to panic washes over you. Raph, who had just slipped out your window. Raph, who had listened to you rail against Leo’s abandonment. Who had shared his vulnerability with you. Whose frustration and longing had been so palpable. How would he react?
Donnie’s call meant the news was already spreading through the lair. Would Raph feel blindsided? Betrayed, even, by the universe suddenly dropping his long-lost brother back into the mix just as something fragile and tentative was solidifying between you?
Guilt twists in your gut. Not just for the hidden letters anymore, but for the intimacy you’d shared with Raph, forged in the crucible of Leo’s absence. Did you build it all on a foundation of shared resentment? Was the comfort you found in his presence just a reaction, a way to fill the void Leo left? Or was it something real, something separate, something that now felt impossibly complicated?
You push yourself off the couch, pacing the confines of your living room. Your thoughts race, colliding like billiard balls. Leo’s return changes everything.
You wonder what Leo is like now; a year is a long time. Would he still be the same thoughtful leader? Or would the jungle have changed him, hardened him? Why come back now, without a word? So many questions, and the thought of facing him, of navigating the tangled web of unspoken feelings, makes your head spin.
Two brothers. Two intense, complicated connections.
Before, the choice felt hypothetical, distant. Leo was gone, a memory wrapped in unanswered questions. Raph was here, solid, intense, a growing certainty in the chaos. But now, Leo is back—and the choice is suddenly very real. You close your eyes, taking a deep, shaky breath. You have to choose your next move.
And you have no idea which way to turn.
Just like that, the fragile bubble bursts.
The reunion in the lair is strained, fraught with tension. The arguments start almost immediately, old wounds ripped open, new ones inflicted. Leo tries to step back into his role as leader. But Raph bristles under his command, the resentment now fueled by more than just brotherly rivalry.
Those old wounds aren’t just reopened; they’re ripped wider, doused in the salt of the past year’s bitterness. And you? You’re caught squarely in the middle.
Leo seeks you out, his gaze earnest, apologetic. He tries to explain the silence, the overwhelming nature of his training, the isolation. “I messed up,” he admits, “not writing. And not writing to you, especially, is unforgivable. Being away, being alone … it made me realize things. What I’d left behind. Who I’d left behind.”
His eyes plead for understanding, for a return to the tentative connection forged through those hidden letters. He’s the prodigal son, the steady leader trying to find his footing, reminding you of the intellectual spark, the shared ideals you once admired.
Simultaneously, Raph’s presence becomes fiercely territorial. His jealousy is no longer a subtle undercurrent; it’s a tangible force field. A possessive hand landing on the small of your back when Leo approaches. Standing deliberately between you and his brother. His voice drops to a low growl when Leo addresses you directly. His glares are daggers.
He reminds you, wordlessly and sometimes explicitly, that he stayed. He endured the silence with you. And more than ever, he seeks refuge in your apartment; being in the lair is physically unbearable for him now. “Can’t breathe down there with him acting like nothing happened,” he mutters, collapsing onto your couch.
The arguments between the brothers escalate, and you know, with a sickening certainty, that you are part of the fuel for their fire.
You hear snippets: “Stay away from her, Leo!” “You think I didn’t notice how close you two got while I was gone?” It tears you apart, watching them fight, knowing your feelings are a wedge driving them further apart. The pressure builds, an unbearable weight on your chest.
They both corner you at different times, the words tumbling out.
Leo finds you on the rooftop, the city spread out below. “I know this is complicated. But what I felt then, what I tried to tell you in those letters—it wasn’t just about missing a friend. It was more. It is more. Coming back, seeing you … it confirmed everything the jungle taught me about what truly matters. I want a chance to prove I can be the man you deserve, the partner I should have been all along. I messed up big time, and I’m so, so sorry.” His eyes search yours, full of hope and regret.
Raph confronts you in your apartment after another explosive fight with Leo. He paces your small living room like a caged tiger before stopping right in front of you, his eyes blazing.
“I can’t do this anymore. Watching him look at you, talk to you and pretend like he didn’t just abandon everyone, abandon you. You know me. All of me.” He takes a ragged breath, the vulnerability stark on his face. “Is this real? What’s been growing between us? Tell me. I need to know if I have a shot, or if I’ve just been fooling myself.”
Your heart feels like it’s being ripped in two different directions. But you must choose. Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath …
Do you invite Leo over?
Or Raph?
💙 LEO ENDING 💙
The faces of both brothers flash behind your eyelids.
Raph—the raw, protective energy, the shared struggle through the lonely year, the fierce vulnerability he showed only you. The palpable connection forged in late-night talks and frustrations, the almost-kiss in the bathroom. Choosing him felt like picking the present, the tangible, the fire that burned bright and hot right beside you.
But then there is Leo. The quiet intensity, the exchanged glances that spoke volumes before he ever left. The thoughtful leader who, even in his absence, reached out through letters, revealing a depth of feeling that had resonated long before Raph became a constant presence. His apology felt genuine, steeped in the weight of his realization.
Choosing Leo feels like picking a path started long ago, interrupted but not erased. Like choosing the steady mountain, the man who saw you clearly even from afar. The guilt over the shared intimacy with Raph while Leo was gone gnaws at you. But the foundation with Leo felt older, deeper, somehow more right for you, despite the hurt his silence caused.
Maybe the bond with Raph, as intense as it was, had been born more of circumstance and shared abandonment than a true meeting of souls. It’s a painful thought, disloyal even, but it felt true. Your heart aches for Raph, for the pain this would inevitably cause him. You know his reaction wouldn’t be quiet or easily managed.
But you couldn’t base your future on preventing his anger, nor could you deny the pull towards Leo that had existed long before the complications arose.
With trembling fingers, you retrieve your phone.
It rings twice before he picks up, his voice cautious. “Hello?”
“Leo,” you begin, your own voice barely a whisper. You clear your throat, trying to sound stronger. “Can … can you come over? To my place. Now.”
There’s a pause on the other end. Then, quietly, “Yeah, I’ll be right there.”
Hanging up feels like sealing a door shut.
You stand in the middle of your living room, wrapping your arms around yourself, bracing for the conversation to come, and the inevitable fallout that would follow. The weight of the decision settles heavily in your gut, a mix of terrifying clarity and profound sadness for the friend you were about to wound deeply.
Later, a soft knock echoes through the apartment. Not the impatient rapping Raph sometimes used, but a hesitant, measured sound. You slide open the window, seeing Leo looking uncertain, his wary but hopeful eyes searching yours.
“Hey,” he says softly, stepping inside when you gesture him in.
The air crackles with the history between you, the year of silence. You lead him to the couch, but neither of you sits immediately.
You turn to face him, needing to get this out. “Leo, I …”
He holds up a hand gently. “Let me,” he says, his voice earnest. “Before you say anything. I need you to understand. Going away—it wasn’t just training. It was … breaking myself down. Splinter knew I needed it. I was becoming rigid, losing sight of what mattered. The isolation was brutal. At first, writing helped. Writing to you especially helped. It was the only time I felt … normal. Connected.”
He takes a breath, his gaze unwavering. “Then it got harder. The training intensified, the self-doubt … it became overwhelming. I convinced myself I wasn’t worthy of leading. That silence was easier than admitting failure, even in a letter. Especially to you. I thought I needed to come back whole, fixed. So I shut you out. It was cowardly and selfish, and I regret it more than anything.”
He looks around the small apartment, his eyes lingering on the couch. “I know things changed while I was gone. I see how close you and Raph got. And I don’t blame either of you.”
Tears prick at your eyes, a mixture of relief at his honesty and residual pain. “It hurt, Leo. The silence. We thought … everyone thought something had happened. Or that you just didn’t care anymore.”
“I always cared,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “Being away, especially being silent, only made me realize how much I cared. About my family. About …” He pauses, his gaze locking with yours. “About you. Those letters—they weren’t just letters, not for me. They were me trying to hold on to the most important thing I’d left behind.”
You finally meet his gaze fully, seeing the sincerity, the regret, but also the steady conviction that had always drawn you to him. “Raph …” you start, the name tasting like guilt on your tongue.
“I know,” Leo nods, his expression pained but resolute. “This is going to be hard. For all of us. Especially for him. But I needed to tell you how I feel. And I needed to know …” He trails off, waiting.
Taking another deep breath, you finally make the choice concrete, speaking the words aloud. “I needed you to come back, Leo.” It’s not a perfect declaration, but it’s the truth. “What I felt before you left, and when I read your letters … it’s still here. Underneath everything else that happened this year.” You step closer, the space between you shrinking. “It’s complicated. And I’m scared. But … it’s you. Always has been.”
A wave of relief washes over Leo’s face, so profound it seems to physically lighten him. He reaches out, his hand hovering for a moment before gently taking yours. His touch is warm, steady. It feels different from Raph’s rougher, more demanding touch. It feels like coming home, albeit to a home that needs serious rebuilding.
“Okay,” he murmurs, squeezing your hand gently. “We can figure out complicated. Together.”
Understanding passes between you. This is not the end of the struggle, but the beginning of a different one. There will be shouting matches in the lair, hurt feelings, tough conversations. Raph’s reaction looms large and ominous. But in this moment, standing in your apartment, hand-in-hand with the brother you chose, there’s a fragile sense of hope, a quiet determination to face whatever comes next, side-by-side.
The path ahead is uncertain, likely painful, but for the first time since Leo’s return, you feel like you’re finally facing the right direction.
You stand there for a long moment. His thumb brushes gently over your knuckles, a small, grounding gesture. You watch the movement, then lift your gaze back to his eyes, which are filled with the look of someone who had almost lost something precious and was only now allowing himself to truly believe it might still be within reach.
He hasn’t let go of your hand, and you find you don’t want him to. He takes a step closer, the space between you shrinking until you can feel the subtle warmth radiating from him. The air feels electric, just like it had in those stolen glances years ago. But amplified now by everything that has happened since. His gaze drops briefly to your lips, then flickers back up to meet your eyes, a silent question asked.
Your breath hitches. This is it—the culmination of those letters, the late-night thoughts, the ache of his absence, the confusing swirl of emotions upon his return. The guilt over Raph still lingers, a dull ache in the background, but it’s overshadowed now by the undeniable pull towards the man standing before you. This feels … inevitable. Right.
He lifts his free hand, slowly, and cups your cheek. His touch is comforting, though slightly calloused from his training, but infinitely tender. You lean into the contact, your eyes fluttering closed for just a second. And when you open them again, his face is closer, his expression soft.
He doesn’t rush. He simply tilts his head, his gaze holding yours until the last possible moment, before closing the remaining distance. The first touch of his lips is soft, hesitant almost. Tentative as if testing a fragile ground after an earthquake. But then, as you respond, pressing back gently, the kiss deepens.
It isn’t explosive; it’s a slow burn, infused with a year’s worth of longing and regret. Tasting of relief, of apologies accepted. There’s a quiet strength in it, a steadiness that mirrors Leo’s very core. It’s like finding shelter after being lost in a storm, a sense of clicking back into place. Months of worried silence melt away, leaving only this.
Him.
When he finally pulls back, it’s only slightly, resting his forehead against yours. His eyes remain closed for a beat, his breathing a little unsteady now. You keep your eyes closed now too, savoring the closeness.
“You have no idea,” he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion, “how long I’ve thought about …” He doesn’t finish the sentence, didn’t need to.
You open your eyes to find him watching you. You reach up, tracing the line of his jaw. “Me too, Leo,” you whisper, the admission feeling momentous.
He smiles then—a genuine one that reaches his eyes, crinkling the corners. It holds the weight of your past.
And the hope for the future.
❤️ RAPH ENDING ❤️
The faces of both brothers flash behind your eyelids.
Leo—the steady gaze, the potential promised in those hidden letters, the man you thought you were waiting for. His apology felt sincere, his explanation plausible. Choosing Leo feels like picking up a thread from the past, acknowledging a connection that had deep roots. Like choosing the calm harbor, the thoughtful partner.
But then there is Raph, who stayed. Weathered the storm of Leo’s absence with you. The one whose rough edges soften only for you, revealing a fierce loyalty and a depth of feeling that resonates in the here and now. The almost-kiss in the bathroom wasn’t just a fleeting moment; it felt like the culmination of a year spent leaning on each other, seeing each other’s true selves laid bare by frustration and vulnerability.
Choosing Raph feels like picking the present. Leo’s return feels like an echo from another time, while Raph is the solid, breathing reality right beside you. The bond with him isn’t just a placeholder; it has grown into something strong and vital on its own merit. Choosing Leo now would be betraying not just Raph, but the truth of the past year.
Your heart aches with a different pain—the sadness of letting go of the ‘what if’ with Leo. The knowledge that you are choosing a path potentially filled with more immediate conflict, given Raph’s nature and existing tensions. But the thought of turning him away after everything feels wrong, a denial of the connection that has become your anchor.
With trembling fingers, you retrieve your phone.
He answers on the first ring, his voice tight, guarded. “Yeah?” Like he was expecting bad news.
“Raph,” you begin, your voice steadier than you expected, fueled by a sudden certainty. “Can … can you come over? To my place. Now.”
There’s a sharp intake of breath on the other end, followed by a loaded silence. Then, rougher than usual, “You sure?”
“Yeah, Raph,” you say, the conviction solidifying in your chest. “I’m sure.”
“On my way,” he grunts, and the line clicks dead.
Hanging up feels like sealing a door shut.
You stand in the middle of your living room, wrapping your arms around yourself, bracing not just for the conversation. But for the intensity Raph would bring back with him. The weight of the decision settles, heavy but clear, a choice made for the present. For the man who had stood by you, fire and all.
Later, there’s a familiar, slightly impatient thudding sound at your window—his usual way of announcing himself. You slide it open, and Raph vaults inside. He stands there, filling the space, his eyes narrowed, searching yours, braced for impact.
“So?” he asks, his voice low, challenging. Ready for a fight, or maybe just protection against getting hurt again.
You don’t hesitate. You walk right up to him, stopping just inches away. “So,” you echo softly, meeting his intense gaze. “Leo came looking for me. He apologized. Explained things.”
Raph’s jaw tightens, a muscle flexing. He doesn’t look surprised, more resigned. “Figured.” He looks away, before muttering, “Good for him.”
You reach out, placing a hand gently on his arm. He flinches slightly but doesn’t pull away. “Raph, look at me.” He drags his gaze back to yours, his eyes guarded but showing a flicker of the vulnerability you know so well. “What happened this past year. Between us. It wasn’t just because Leo was gone. And it wasn’t just filling a space. It was real. Is real.”
His breath hitches. The guarded look cracks, showing the desperate hope beneath. “Don’t mess with me,” he growls, but there’s no heat in it, only a raw plea.
“I’m not,” you insist. “Yes, Leo’s back, and it’s … complicated. I won’t lie. I had feelings for him before he left. Those letters—they confused things. But you were here. You saw me through it. We saw each other. What grew between us …” You inhale a shaky breath. “It’s you, Raph. You’re who I want.”
For a moment, he just stares, processing. Before he lets out a ragged breath, a sound heavy with a year’s worth of tension, frustration, and longing finally being released. He closes the small distance between you, his hand coming up to stroke your cheek. “You mean it?” he whispers, his voice thick, searching your eyes for any hint of doubt.
“I mean it,” you whisper back, leaning into his touch.
He exhales. “Thought I lost you…” he murmurs. Relief washes off him in palpable waves as he pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you tightly as he buries his face in your hair. It’s a desperate hold, almost as if he needs to physically feel the reality of your choice.
You hold him back just as tightly, feeling the rapid beat of his heart against yours. This is it. The choice made. The path chosen.
And it won’t be easy. Leo’s return has already guaranteed conflict. The brothers are fractured, and this may deepen the cracks before any healing can begin. Raph’s possessiveness and temper will be tested, as will your patience. But here, wrapped in his arms, feeling the undeniable strength of the bond you forged in the loneliness, it feels right. It feels real. You chose the fire, the storm, the beating heart that stayed.
And together, you’ll face the fallout.
The two of you remain in an embrace. You can feel the tension slowly ebbing out of his shoulders, replaced by the sheer force of his relief. He holds you like a lifejacket, like you’re the only solid thing in a world that has just tilted violently off its axis and is only now beginning to settle.
Finally, he loosens his hold just enough to pull back slightly. His hands move from your back to frame your face, his thumbs brushing rough calluses against your cheekbones. A touch that is both possessive and tender. His eyes search yours with an intensity that robs your breath.
“You sure?” he asks again, his voice low and gravelly, needing the reassurance one last time. Because it isn’t a question of your feelings anymore, but of your understanding of what this meant—what choosing him entailed.
“I’m sure, Raph,” you breathe, meeting his gaze without flinching. You raise a hand, covering one of his, pressing his palm more firmly against your skin. “This. Us. It’s real.”
That’s all it takes, the last shred of restraint in him snapping. With a low growl deep in his chest, he claims your mouth. The kiss isn’t gentle or hesitant. It’s demanding, a raw outpouring of a year’s worth of pent-up longing and frustration. It’s the heat of the forge, the pressure of the dam finally breaking.
His lips are firm, insistent against yours, moving with an urgency that borders on overwhelming. But it feels undeniably right.
You kiss him back with equal fervor, winding your arms around his neck, pulling him closer still. This isn’t about forgetting about Leo or erasing the past; it’s about embracing the present. The tangible, fiery reality of Raphael. The kiss deepens, tasting of relief. And beneath it all, the undeniable taste of him. It’s grounding and exhilarating all at once, a confirmation that the intense bond you’ve built is exactly where you belong.
When he finally breaks away, you are both breathless, foreheads pressed together. The air is thick and charged between you. His breaths come ragged, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He doesn’t pull away completely, instead keeping you caged gently in his arms.
“Mine,” he rasps, the words possessive but stripped of its usual anger, spoken like a statement of fact. A prayer answered.
You don’t argue, don’t make a move to escape. You just nod, a smile touching your lips. “Yours,” you agree, planting a chaste kiss on his cheek.
A rough chuckle escapes him. “Good,” he grunts, pulling you back into a secure hug, burying his face in the curve of your neck.
The storm isn’t over. Leo is back, and the fights are inevitable. But here, secure in Raph’s arms, feeling the unwavering beat of his heart—you know you’ve chosen the eye of your storm.
Hi there! I’ve recently found your work and oh my god I’m obsessed! You write yearning so well! I’m chancing my arm and seeing if you take requests , if not please don’t worry and ignore this message!
I was wondering if you could write bayverse raph x reader , a little angst fluff maybe? Maybe he’s Inlove with her but doesn’t feel like he even has the right to let her know, angsty yearning, turns out she’s been madly in love with him for months
If you decide to do this Thankyou! Take as much creative liberty as you’d like! ☺️
“Stay Outta the Dark”
Thank you, sweetheart! That was my first request, so I’m really honored! I’ll do my best , let me know what you think!
Bayverse Raphael x reader
| agnst | confession | fight
Raphael didn’t belong in the light.
He was born in shadow, shaped by war and survival. Everything about him—his size, his face, his freakin’ existence—was built for battle. Not for soft things. Not for laughter. Not for you.
And yet, you were there.
Always there.
You started off as April’s friend. Someone from her past, someone smart and stubborn and too curious for your own good. And he’d hated you for that at first—your wide eyes, your easy friendliness, the way you looked at him like he was someone worth knowing.
He tried to avoid you. Tried to push you away with sarcasm and silence and every ounce of that hard shell he’d built to keep the world out.
But you never left.
You came back to the lair. You asked questions. You brought books and food and your dumb little playlist that Mikey became obsessed with. You laughed too loudly, fell asleep on their couch, danced around like the place belonged to you.
And somewhere along the way, you started belonging to him.
Not that he’d ever tell you.
Raphael didn’t have the right to want someone like you. You were light, he was stormclouds. You were soft edges, he was blades. If he touched you the way he wanted to—if he told you what he felt—it would ruin you. Pull you into the dark with him. And you didn’t deserve that.
So he stayed silent.
Watched you from a distance, memorizing your smile, your voice, your scent. Let his feelings rot in his chest like poison. Every laugh from you carved another crack in him. Every casual touch—your hand brushing his arm, your fingers in his bandana when you helped him fix it—felt like a blade under his skin.
And at night, when the others slept, he’d sit on the edge of the roof and whisper your name like a prayer and a curse. Don’t fall. Don’t hope. Don’t fucking dream.
But he dreamed anyway.
—————
It all came to a head on a cold, sharp night in November.
You showed up at the lair soaked from the rain, eyes red, voice shaking. Some guy you’d been seeing—some normal guy—had stood you up. And Raph hated how a part of him liked it. Hated how he had to fight the urge to punch a hole in the wall because he wanted to be the one to make you feel safe.
He didn’t say much. Just handed you a towel, let you rant, sat too close without meaning to.
Then you said it.
“Why can’t I just fall for someone who’s good for me?”
The words punched him in the gut. Because even you knew you wanted someone else. Someone better. Someone not him.
He snapped. “Maybe ‘cause you know you’d ruin it. Maybe that’s why.”
You looked at him like he’d slapped you. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means stop lookin’ for something you ain’t meant to have,” he growled, standing. “People like you don’t belong with people like me.”
“And what kind of person are you, Raph?” you asked, voice low and shaking.
He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Just stared, jaw clenched, pain flashing like lightning behind his eyes.
“I see the way you look at me,” you whispered. “Like you’re starving. Like you hate yourself for it. And I—”
You hesitated. Then took a step forward.
“I look at you the same way.”
Raph backed up like he’d been burned. “Don’t. Don’t say that.”
“Why? Because it’s true? Because if you admit you want me, you’ll have to admit you’re capable of being loved back?”
His fists shook at his sides.
“You think I don’t know what I am?” he snarled. “I can’t be what you want. I’ll wreck you. I’ll drag you down with me. You’ll end up hating me, and I won’t survive that.”
Your voice cracked. “Then stop pushing me away before I have to prove you wrong.”
Silence stretched between you like a blade.
And then—you stepped close again, slowly, like approaching a wounded animal.
“You don’t scare me, Raph,” you said softly. “You never have.”
Tears prickled behind his eyes. He turned his face away.
You touched his hand.
He didn’t pull back.
“You don’t have to stay in the dark,” you whispered. “Not with me.
Something in him broke
Not all at once—but enough.
His hand closed around yours, rough and trembling. His forehead dropped against yours. And he breathed—really breathed—for the first time in months.
“If you get hurt ‘cause of me,” he rasped, “I won’t forgive myself.”
I have two requests, both with the Bayverse turtles. This is the first:
Leonardo x Female Reader.
Angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort.
She is a vigilante like the turtles and they met while they were saving New York from yet another enemy, after this meeting they all became friends. Some time later all of them undertook another mission together where the Reader was seriously injured and Leonardo blames himself for it + Some introspection from Leo on the dangers of their job and how actually easy it is to lose the person you love forever. You can decide if they are already a couple or if they haven't confessed their feelings yet ;). Thank you so much in advance if you decide to write it!
A/N: Hey, anon! I ended up going with Leo and the reader having not yet confessed their feelings. I think I subconsciously wrote it that way as an excuse to inject more angst 😂 (Also, I hope this is a happy enough ending for you 😅)
Enjoy! 💖
Cost of the Fight (angst)
💙 Bayverse Leonardo/Female Reader 💙
CWs: Description of injuries, blood mention, near-death experience themes, anxiety/guilt, angst, hurt/comfort. All characters are aged-up.
Pain is the first thing you register.
It’s a vicious, grinding ache deep in your left side, stealing your breath with every attempt to draw it in. It radiates outwards, a hot, throbbing map of injury beneath layers of gauze you can feel pressing against your skin. Cold sweat has plastered strands of hair to your temples.
The second thing you register is the smell—a sharp antiseptic clashing with the familiar, damp scent of the sewers. You force your eyelids open. They feel heavy, gritty like sandpaper. The low, ambient light of the lair takes a moment to resolve into familiar shapes.
You’re lying on a cot, tucked beneath a thick, worn blanket that feels surprisingly soft against your clammy skin. And as you take in your surroundings, your gaze snags on the figure sitting beside you.
Leo.
Though he’s not sitting so much as slumped, his frame coiled tight with tension. His hands are clenched into fists on his knees. Dirt smudges his skin, and a fresh scratch runs along his jawline. His gaze is fixed around your heavily bandaged torso, his brow ridge drawn together in a knot of worry … and something else.
Guilt.
Memories of the mission surface in jagged pieces. Rain, cold and stinging, slicked the rooftops like black ice. Chaotic clashes against remnants of the Foot Clan. You were covering Leo, trying to keep the smaller, more agile combatants from swarming him while he dealt with a heavier brute. Then, a blur of movement from your blind spot—and you shoved Leo out of the way, taking the brunt of the attack yourself, which sent you flying and hitting something hard.
The world exploded in agony as Leo reached you first. You remember his panicked voice, distorted by the rain and your fading consciousness, calling your name. You recall being lifted and him shielding you with his own body as he yelled orders, coordinating a retreat under fire.
Then darkness.
Now, in the relative quiet of the lair, his silence is deafening. You try to shift, a wince escaping your lips as pain flares. Instantly, Leo’s head snaps up, his eyes finally meeting yours. The shadows under them are stark, evidence that he hasn’t been sleeping properly—and you wonder how long you’ve been out.
“Hey,” you rasp, your throat scratchy. You try for a weak smile. “Didn’t think sewer tunnels came with room service.”
A small, humorless sound escapes him. “Don’t,” he says, his voice low, gravelly, tight with suppressed emotion. “Please, don’t make light of this.” As he leans closer, you see the maelstrom of emotions in his gaze: relief, fear, and a layer of guilt so thick it feels like a physical weight in the air between you. “How … how do you feel?”
“Like I argued with a freight train and lost,” you admit, wincing again. “But I’ll live. Donnie patched me up, right?”
“He did,” he confirms, but his gaze drops back to your bandages. “It … was bad. Cracked ribs, internal bruising, minor concussion … You also lost a lot of blood.” He swallows hard. “It was too close.” He reaches out, his hand hovering hesitantly over your uninjured arm before gently settling on your shoulder. His touch is warm, grounding, but you can feel a slight tremor in his fingers.
You see the self-blame etched onto his features, the way his jaw tightens. Know him well enough by now, after months of fighting alongside him and his brothers, sharing late-night pizza, and stealing quiet moments on rooftops just talking. You know how heavily the burden of leadership weighs on him, how personally he takes every setback, every injury.
You’ve seen him shoulder blame before, but never like this.
“It wasn’t your fault, Leo,” you insist, trying to project conviction through the pain. “You know it wasn’t. That attack surprised us all. My choice to move, my risk.”
“I should have seen it,” he counters, his voice tight with frustration as he lowers his gaze to your torso. “I’m the leader. I’m supposed to anticipate threats, protect the team. Protect you. I couldn’t react fast enough.” He balls his fists again before looking you straight in the eye; the vulnerability there makes your heart clench. “I watched you go down. I thought …”
You see the storm raging within him. The fear, the regret, the frightening realization of what could have happened. This life you all lead, with the constant danger, the line between success and catastrophe—it’s thin. You see him grappling with the stark reality of that one wrong move that could mean losing someone permanently.
Losing you.
The unspoken feelings that simmer between you—the charged glances, the lingering touches, the way your orbits seem to naturally pull towards each other—make this unspoken fear even more potent. He almost lost you before he ever had the chance to tell you … well, whatever it is he feels. Whatever it is you feel.
“You thought what, Leo?” you press gently. You need him to say it, to voice the fear clawing at him, because only then can you start to dismantle it.
“I thought I’d lost you,” he whispers, the admission ripped from him, raw and frayed. “Watching you fall, seeing you just lie there, so still … the blood …” He breaks off, shaking his head as if trying to dislodge the image burned into his memory. “I thought you were gone. Because of me. Because I wasn’t fast enough, wasn’t smart enough, wasn’t good enough to keep you safe.”
The weight of his words settles heavily in the quiet lair. This goes beyond leadership guilt. This is personal, deeply felt. He’s not just mourning a tactical failure; he’s mourning the potential loss of you.
You reach out, your fingers brushing against the back of his hand where it now rests on the cot beside your hip. He doesn’t pull away. Instead, his hand turns, a silent invitation. You lace your fingers through his, the contact sending a small jolt through both of you.
“Listen to me. What we do comes with risks. We all know that. Every time we go topside, we know things can go wrong. It wasn’t a failure of leadership. It was the enemy getting a lucky shot.” You squeeze his hand. “You got me out, got everyone out. Under fire. That’s leadership, Leo. Protecting your team even when things go sideways. You brought me home.”
He looks down at your joined hands, his thumb tracing a slow circle over your knuckles. “Had I not been there to cover you, what would have happened? What if that hit had been just a few inches higher? What if Donnie hadn’t been able to stabilize you?” He looks back at you, his eyes pools of fear. “We face death all the time. I’ve seen my brothers hurt. I’ve been hurt countless times. But you …”
He takes a shaky breath as you remain silent, letting him continue.
“It’s different. Because the thought of losing you—it’s not just losing a teammate. It’s … more.” The fragile admission hangs in the air. He hasn’t said the words, not explicitly, but the meaning resonates between you, clear as a bell.
Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes, blurring his image slightly. It’s partly the pain, partly the medication Donnie likely gave you. But mostly it’s the raw vulnerability in his voice, the confession wrapped in fear. “It’s more for me too,” you whisper, the words catching in your throat. “The thought of not coming back here—to you, your brothers—it scares me, too.”
His gaze drops to your injury again, but you tug gently on his hand, drawing his attention fully back to your face. “This wasn’t your fault. It was mine, if anyone’s. My choice. My move. Remember?” You try another small smile, this one a little less forced. “And apparently, I have a hard head. And maybe some cracked ribs to show for it.”
He brings his other hand up, brushing a stray strand of hair from your forehead, his fingers lingering for a moment against your temple. “You scared me,” he says softly, the simple statement carrying the weight of everything unsaid. “More than I’ve ever been scared before.”
“I know,” you reply, leaning into his touch. “And I’m so sorry, Leo … So sorry I scared you.”
His grip tightens reflexively on your hand at your apology. “Don’t,” he says, his voice thick with an emotion you can’t quite place—frustration, pain, maybe both. “Don’t apologize for getting hurt. That’s not … that’s not what I meant.”
“But I am sorry you’re hurting because of it,” you clarify, holding his gaze, trying to anchor him. “I hate seeing you like this. Carrying the weight of the world, plus this.”
He shakes his head again. “I should have expected their pincer movement. I let the flank get exposed while I focused on the brute. If I had just positioned us differently, if I’d reacted a second sooner—”
“Leo, stop,” you say, cutting off his spiral. “You could ‘what if’ this until the sewers freeze over. What if I had hesitated before pushing you? What if that Foot soldier had tripped over his own stupid feet?” You sigh. “We analyze, we plan. But sometimes, unpredictability wins a round. So we adapt, we fight, we survive. And sometimes, we get hit. It just happened to be me this time.”
You watch him closely, seeing the subtle shift in his posture as your words land. He doesn’t immediately refute you this time. Instead, his gaze drifts away from yours, settling somewhere near the edge of the cot. The rigid lines of his shoulders seem to soften, just a fraction. The tension hasn’t vanished, but it’s as if someone has allowed a tightly wound spring a bit of slack.
“It shouldn’t have been you,” he finally murmurs, his voice quieter now, less defensive, more weary. He looks back at your joined hands, his thumb resuming its slow, comforting circles over your knuckles. “That’s all. It just … shouldn’t have been you.”
Again, the implication hangs heavy. Not just anyone getting hurt, but you. It makes a warmth spread through your chest.
“Maybe not,” you concede gently. “But it was. And I’m here now. Sore, probably going to complain a lot about sponge baths, but here.” You squeeze his hand again, trying to inject some lightness. “And you’re here. Not pacing yourself into a trench in the floor, which is good.”
A flicker of a smile, genuine this time, touches his lips. It’s fleeting, but it’s there. “Donnie threatened sedation if I didn’t sit down. Yours or mine, he didn’t specify.”
You chuckle, though it sends a jolt of pain through your ribs, making you hiss softly. Leo’s brief smile vanishes, replaced instantly by concern.
“Easy,” he cautions, his hand tightening on yours. “Don’t make yourself laugh.”
“Noted,” you breathe out, waiting for the throb to subside. “How long … how long was I out?”
“About eighteen hours,” he answers, his expression serious again. “Felt like eighteen years.” He shifts, leaning closer. “Donnie says the cracked ribs will take time to heal. A few weeks of taking it extremely easy. No training, no patrols, definitely no arguing with freight trains.” His gaze holds yours. “He means it. We all mean it.”
You nod slowly. The thought of being sidelined is frustrating, but the alternative … You glance down at the bandages covering your torso. You understand. “Okay. Easy it is. Couch duty?”
“Supreme couch duty,” he confirms. “Mikey’s already planning a movie marathon and stockpiling snacks. Raph’s, well. Raph’s mostly been punching the training dummy extra hard, but he keeps asking Donnie for updates every five minutes.”
It’s comforting to hear, a reminder of the strange, fierce family you’ve found down here. They care.
Leo cares.
You watch as the tight knot between his brow finally smooths out, and you meet his gaze again. The fear hasn’t vanished entirely; you suspect it will linger for a while, a ghost haunting the edges of his thoughts. But the tide of self-blame seems to have receded somewhat. You find him looking at you—really looking at you. His eyes tracing the lines of your face as if memorizing them.
“So,” you begin, “what’s first on Mikey’s marathon list? Please tell me it’s not one of those convoluted franchise superhero movies again.”
Another small smile flickers across Leo’s face. “Knowing Mikey? Probably. Unless Raph hid the remote again. But maybe we can find something else. Something … quieter?”
It seems he’s not planning on leaving your side while you recover. The thought sends another wave of warmth through you. “Quieter sounds good,” you agree, your eyelids feeling heavy again. The adrenaline, the pain, the emotional weight of the conversation—it’s all caught up to you.
Leo notices immediately. “You need to rest,” he says, his tone shifting from worried leader to caretaker. He carefully disentangles his fingers from yours, though his hand lingers protectively on your arm for a moment longer. “Donnie said sleep is crucial right now.”
You want to protest, to keep him close, to hold on to the connection solidified in the last hour. But the exhaustion is a physical weight, pulling you down. You manage a small nod.
He hesitates, then reaches out again, his knuckles brushing softly against your cheek. It’s a feather-light touch, tentative yet full of unspoken tenderness. “I’ll be right here,” he murmurs, his voice low and intimate in the quiet. “If you need anything. Anything at all.”
You lean into the brief contact, soaking up the reassurance. “Okay,” you whisper, your eyes drifting closed despite your efforts. The pain in your side is still excruciating. But somehow, knowing he’s there, watching over you, makes it feel a little less consuming.
You hear the faint rustle of his gear as he settles back into his vigil beside the cot. The last thing you remember before sleep claims you again is the feeling of his gaze resting on you, watchful and infinitely gentle.
As you fall asleep, Leo watches the tension finally ease from your face, replaced by the slackness of deep exhaustion. He lets out a breath, a long slow release that loosens the knot still coiled tight in his own chest. The rigid posture he’d held for hours eased, muscles protesting the release. Seeing you finally succumb to sleep, the lines of pain around your eyes softening slightly, was like a physical weight lifting from his carapace.
‘It wasn’t your fault.’
He turns your words over in his mind. Part of him—the ingrained leader, the strategist—still rebelled. A dozen tactical errors, a dozen moments where another choice might have avoided this, readily come to mind for him. He should have seen the flank attack. He should have positioned you differently. The ‘should haves’ were a familiar, suffocating chorus in his head.
‘You brought me home.’
He looks down at his hand, the one you had held. He could still feel the faint impression of your fingers interlaced with his. That small act of connection, of grounding him when he was spiraling, had cut through the noise of his own failure narrative.
He flexes his fingers, remembering the fragile strength in your grip, the way you pulled him back from the edge of self-recrimination. He had been drowning for so long in the potential horror of what could have happened, lost in the grim playback loop of the mission gone wrong.
The lingering antiseptic smell is a reminder of the med bay, Donnie working frantically, and the coppery scent of your blood staining the sheets. He shivers involuntarily, pulling his arms tighter around himself. The image of your pale, still form on the rooftop has burned itself into his mind. The terror that gripped him in that moment was unlike anything he’d ever experienced.
Not even facing Shredder had evoked such a visceral, paralyzing fear.
Losing a brother would be devastating. But the thought of losing you—it carved a hollow, aching void inside him that felt terrifyingly vast. Because it wouldn’t be just losing a skilled fighter. A trusted ally. It’d be the silencing of your easy laughter in the lair, the absence of your sharp insights during planning, the loss of the quiet understanding that often passed between the two of you without words.
It’d be the extinguishing of a light that has, almost without him realizing it, become essential to his world.
He watches the rise and fall of your chest beneath the blanket. Donnie had assured him the worst was over. That recovery, while slow, was expected. He resists the urge to reach out again, to brush the hair from your face or simply rest his hand near yours. You need undisturbed rest.
Instead, he lets his gaze linger on your face, taking in the details he rarely allows himself to study so openly—the curve of your cheek, the way your lashes rest against your skin, the faint scar above your eyebrow from a training mishap weeks ago. Each detail feels precious, sharpened by the horrifying proximity of almost losing it all.
The guilt hasn’t vanished; he knows it won’t for a long time. It settles deeper now, a dull ache beneath the sharp relief. But your words, your unwavering insistence that it wasn’t his fault, chipped away at the worst of it.
‘It’s more for me, too.’
He hasn’t dared to hope, hasn’t even fully articulated to himself the nature of the feelings simmering beneath the surface of your camaraderie. Duty, friendship, respect … those are clear. Definable. But the terror that seizes him, the absolute, gut-wrenching certainty that losing you will break something fundamental within him—that goes beyond.
And hearing you echo that sentiment cracks open something vulnerable inside him.
A faint shuffling sound makes him turn. Donnie stands near the entrance to the makeshift med bay, holding a scanner. He approaches quietly, giving Leo a brief, assessing look before turning his attention to the small monitor beside your cot, checking readings.
“Vitals are holding steady,” Donnie murmurs, his voice low. “The pain medication seems effective for now. Sleep is the best thing for her.” He glances back at Leo, his expression softening with fraternal concern. “And for you.”
Leo just nods, his gaze returning to your sleeping face. He isn’t going anywhere.
Donnie hesitates, then places a comforting hand on his brother’s shoulder. “She’s strong. And you did good bringing her back.” He squeezes Leo’s shoulder once, then retreats as silently as he came.
He looks at the bandages covering your side. The injury is still severe, the recovery will be long. There will be weeks of worry. Weeks of keeping you safe, ensuring you heal. Weeks of sitting beside you, watching over you.
This time, fear won’t paralyze him. Guilt will not consume him. He will learn from this. He will be better. Not just as a leader, but for you. Because the thought of a future without you in it, without your sharp wit, your warmth, your unwavering presence beside him …
It’s unthinkable.
He carefully shifts his weight, trying to find a position that is more sustainable for the long hours ahead. He won’t sleep, not yet. For now, he will watch. He will guard you in your sleep. His gaze stays fixed on you, a silent promise hanging in the air.
Hey, I really love your work ❤️, I have a bit of a long one, and I'm sorry it's so longwinded, but I would really appreciate it if you did something with it. It's like an AU zombie universe but the future of the bayverse world they get transported to. So they get transported to the future where there are zombies, they go around a bit discovering and surviving, thinking its a different reality, when its actually the future, when they run into reader. Reader absolutely freaks out, and they think its because the fact they are mutant turtles. Then, future raph comes in because he's concerned for the reader, who is his best friend. He was upstairs, and she was downstairs in this house they were looking for supplies in. They are all surprised and shocked, and they get taken back to their base. A bunch of people live there, as the turtles kind of run somewhere like alexandria from the walking dead, and they meet future mikey, who is in charge of the gardens and farms and also a solider protecting this place and he has a one month old baby and a wife, future donnie who's a medic and is in charge of all the technical stuff while also ofc being a protecter and he has a wife that died and has adopted a kid whos 10 from the apocalypse, he could have a situationship going on or something like that. Future raph is a forager and has a gf for 2 years. All the turtles look older and worn down by the apocalypse, like, for example, raph is missing an arm. The present-day turtles find out that the reader was Leo's wife, who died protecting her and their adopted son, who's 4 now. Spliter died fighting the zombified shredder who bit him as the foot base was overrun by zombies. The rest is for interpretation but just like them living in the apocalypse with their future self while reader and their son feeling strange about the situation as leo died, and sort of treat leo like their husband/dad while also realizing it's not him. All the turtles are still ofc still grieving the loss of their brother, but Raph takes it the hardest and leo made them all promise to do everything to protect the reader and their son. Just mostly consisting of the turtles living the zombie apocalypse with their future selves and future partners, mainly focusing on reader and leo. Maybe it ends with the turtles going back to the Present and reader tells leo that he will meet his own present day reader, maybe some sort of scene where he recognizes a much younger version and rescues them.
A/N: Thank you so much for the compliment; it means a lot to me! 😊
I love writing horror, so I maaay have gone a bit overboard with the details/set-up for this request 😅 I really hope you enjoy it, anyway!
The Promise He Carries (angst/horror)
💙 Bayverse Leonardo/Female Reader 💙
CWs: Post-apocalyptic future setting, descriptive violence, blood/gore, zombies (including an implied child), grief/loss themes, major character deaths mentioned, attempted mugging, hopeful (for the most part) ending. All characters are aged-up.
One moment, the four turtle brothers are in the lair.
In the next, reality lurches. Colors bleed into nauseating streaks, the world warping, tearing away with a force that feels like being turned inside out. Then, it snaps back like a rubber band, flinging them down hard onto cracked pavement.
Heat presses in, thick and dry, the air heavy with the metallic reek of bloodshed and the cloying sweetness of rot. Towering skyscrapers stand skeletal against the sky, their windows dark. Cars lie overturned, tangled with the weeds reclaiming the broken asphalt.
Worse yet, an unnatural stillness blankets the city.
“Whoa, dude,” Mikey breathes in the oppressive quiet. “This place gives me the major creeps. Feels like a horror movie set gone way too real.” He sniffs the air. “And it smells like—”
“—something died here,” Leo finishes, cutting Mikey off before he can make an ill-timed joke. “A lot of somethings, maybe.” He scans his surroundings, his hands instinctively going to the hilts of his katanas.
Raph’s gaze sweeps over the ruined storefronts, his eyes narrowed. “Just focus, Mikey. Something feels way off.”
Donnie is already scanning the desolate landscape. “The ambient energy signature is highly unusual. Fluctuations are consistent with temporal displacement. Perhaps a tear in reality? Or spatial distortion.” He drops to one knee, examining a chunk of rusted metal. “Judging by the corrosion, it seems this place has been abandoned for a significant amount of time. Logically, this suggests …”
“Suggests what, Donnie?” Leo prompts impatiently.
“Suggests this is another dimension,” Donnie replies, pushing up his goggles as he stands. “A different reality.”
Mikey shivers, despite the heat. “Abandoned? More like apocalypse-ed. Look!” He points a trembling hand towards a toppled newsstand.
Raph goes over to it and picks up the paper. The headline, barely legible beneath layers of grime, sends a wave of unease through him. “Plague Sweeps City,” he reads aloud. “Military Retreats; NYC Declared Lost Cause.”
Mikey takes an involuntary step back, bumping into Leo. “P-plague? Like, zombie plague?!”
“The term is vague. It could refer to a multitude of infectious agents,” Donnie says. “However, given the pervasive signs of rapid decay and the complete absence of observed lifeforms—”
“Not helping!” Mikey practically squeaks.
Leo straightens, his gaze sharp and focused. “Okay. So, we’re in an alternate New York that got hit by some kind of apocalypse plague years ago. Great. Just great.” He points towards the nearest intact-looking building—a sturdy, brick-built library, its windows dark but mostly unbroken. “We need cover and a defensible position. Let’s move. And Donnie—keep scanning for energy signatures, life signs. Anything.”
“Way ahead of you, Leo,” Donnie murmurs.
Raph takes point, sai drawn, muscles coiled tight as he leads them towards the library entrance. The heavy oak doors are scarred but still hang on their hinges. “Locked,” he grunts, testing the handle.
“Allow me,” Donnie steps forward, pulling a device from his belt. He fiddles with the lock mechanism for a moment, before a soft click is heard, too loud in the stillness.
Raph pushes the door open, revealing an interior shrouded in shadow and thick with the musty smell of decaying paper. Dust motes float in the shafts of sunlight piercing through the dirty windows. Books lie scattered across the floor, shelves are overturned, and there’s broken furniture.
“Clear?” Leo whispers, peering into the gloom.
Raph nods slowly, scanning the immediate area. “Looks clear for now.”
They step inside, the door swinging shut behind them with a dull thud.
“Okay,” Leo says, his voice hushed but firm. “Donnie, see if you can get any systems online, find out more about this ‘plague’. Raph, secure the entrance. Mikey, check the surroundings. Stay close.”
While Donnie moves towards a computer terminal near the main desk and Raph wedges a broken table leg under the door handle, Mikey edges along a row of overturned bookshelves. He runs a hand along the spines, over the thick layer of dust coating them.
“Man,” he says to himself. “Talk about overdue library books …”
Suddenly, a sharp, metallic clatter echoes from deeper within the library stacks.
All four brothers freeze. Raph whirls around, weapons ready. Leo draws a katana while Donnie pauses his work, turning towards the sound with his staff extended. Mikey, meanwhile, flattens himself against a bookshelf, eyes wide. Another sound follows—a wet, dragging noise, accompanied by a low moan.
And it’s getting closer.
Leo raises a hand, fingers splayed. Hold. Raph remains still, sai gripped so tightly his knuckles are practically white. Donnie’s head whips back and forth, his goggles feeding him thermal and motion data. Mikey, still plastered against the bookshelf, doesn’t dare to move.
Then it lurches into view from behind a fallen stack of books.
It was human. Once. Now, its gray skin stretches like brittle parchment over jutting bones, slick with patches of oozing fluid. Twisted into an unnatural angle, one leg drags uselessly, scraping with each movement. Milky, cataract-filmed eyes somehow fix on their general direction.
“Shit,” Mikey breathes, his voice barely a squeak; he’s watched enough horror movies to know what that thing is.
Raph lets out a low growl. “What is that?”
“Biological entity confirmed,” Donnie reports, his voice low. “Minimal life signs, erratic neural pattern. Reads as highly aggressive. A zombie?”
The creature takes a shambling step, then another, its dragging leg catching on a pile of scattered pamphlets. It stumbles, its moan hitching into something almost like a pained snarl, before it rights itself. Its jerky movements pick up speed, launching into an uncoordinated but determined lurch towards them.
“Not exactly the welcoming committee,” Leo mutters grimly. “Alright team, tactical—”
He’s cut off by another moan, echoing from the shadowy depths of the periodical section to their left. And then a third, a wet, rasping cough that sounds disturbingly close, from the nonfiction stacks to their right.
“Multiple hostiles!” Donnie calls out.
The first zombie is almost upon them now, its arms reaching, fingers tipped with cracked, yellowing nails.
“No time for tactics!” Raph bellows, surging forward. “Just bash ‘em—and don’t get bit!” He slams into the zombie’s shoulder, but it barely seems to register the impact as it swipes clumsily with surprising speed. Raph dodges back, aiming for the creature’s limbs, wary of whatever contagion it carries.
Leo moves instantly to Raph’s flank, katana slicing down in a precise arc, severing one of the zombie’s reaching arms at the elbow. It doesn’t scream, just continues its forward momentum, the severed limb falling to the dusty floor with a wet slap.
“Gross! So gross!” Mikey yelps, scrambling backwards towards Donnie near the main desk.
Another shambling figure emerges from the stacks on the right, this one smaller, perhaps once a child, moving with the same jerky gait.
“Donnie, status!” Leo calls out, parrying another clumsy swipe from the first zombie while keeping an eye on Raph and the emerging threats.
“Working on it!” Donnie yells back, tapping furiously at the terminal with one hand while using his staff to fend off the smaller zombie attempting to flank Mikey. “I can’t access anything! The system is ancient and mostly offline!”
The smaller zombie, ignoring the defensive sweep of Donnie’s staff, lunges past it with surprising agility, snapping its rotten teeth inches from Mikey’s retreating ankle.
“Eeep!” Mikey shrieks, scrambling backwards for a moment before adrenaline takes over, whipping out his nunchaku. “Get back, you freaky little ghoul!” He brings his weapon down hard, connecting solidly with the side of the zombie’s head.
It stumbles sideways, its jaw hanging loose and askew, fluid dripping onto the floor—before it recovers with unnatural speed, turning its blank gaze back towards him.
“Whoa, persistent!” Mikey remarks, swinging again—this time aiming for a sharp, decisive blow at the zombie’s temple. The impact sends it crumpling to the ground, finally motionless beside a scattered pile of poetry books.
Mikey pants, staring down at the small, still form. His eyes dart towards Leo and Raph, who are still battling the larger, one-armed zombie, dodging its clumsy but powerful lunges. Then his gaze flicks nervously towards the shadowy aisles, where the dragging sounds and low moans are definitely getting louder. Closer.
“Dudes!” he shouts, his voice tight with panic. “This place is zombie-central! Forget the computers, forget the info! We gotta get the hell outta here! Like, now!”
More shambling figures are lurching into view, their silhouettes framed by the dim light filtering through the tall windows.
“Mikey’s right!” Leo yells, dodging another swipe. He brings his katana up in a swift decapitating stroke. The head thuds onto the floor, rolling before coming to rest against a library card catalog drawer. The body collapses instantly, twitching for a second before falling still. “Donnie, forget the tech! Raph, with me! We need an exit, now!”
Donnie abandons the useless terminal and intercepts another zombie with his staff, knocking its legs out from under it. “Back here!”
“Go, go!” Raph roars, shoving past the downed zombie before barreling towards the corridor Donnie indicated.
Leo follows behind Raph, slicing at any reaching limbs that get too close. Mikey sticks near Donnie, creating a small zone of defense around them as they retreat down the hall. They reach a metal door marked ‘Emergency Exit’. A push bar spans its width.
Raph slams against the bar, and the door flies open with a screech. “Move!” He holds the corridor, watching for the advancing creatures.
Leo shoves Mikey through the doorway, and Donnie follows. “Raph, now!”
Raph disengages, kicking one zombie back into another, sending them flying before diving through the doorway. Leo slams the heavy door shut and looks at the others before darting down the alley, motioning for the others to follow.
“So where to now, fearless leader?” Raph asks as he closely trails his older brother. “Kinda exposed out here.”
“Agreed. Remaining in the open is tactically unsound,” Donnie says. “We still lack essential supplies—clean water, uncontaminated food sources, medical equipment.”
“A place to rest,” Mikey chimes in.
Leo sprints towards a familiar neighborhood. “Then we find what we need and figure out how to get out of this damn nightmare.”
Their search leads them to a promising target: a two-story house, seemingly less disturbed than the surrounding residences. Weeds grow thick and wild in the small front yard, strangling rose bushes that once might have been beautiful. It’s not exactly pristine, but the house might still have supplies worth scavenging.
“Alright, standard sweep,” Leo says, signaling. “Raph, Mikey, take the upper floors. Check every room, quiet as you can. Donnie, you’re with me downstairs. Priority is medical supplies but grab any usable food or water. Alert on any contact, living or … otherwise.” He grips his katanas, ready once more. “Let’s move.”
They enter, silent as a phantom. The air inside is stale, heavy with the scent of dust. Furniture lies askew, cushions slashed, drawers pulled out and emptied. Scavenged before, but perhaps not thoroughly. They move cautiously through the ground floor—before they see a figure crouched low, back towards them, shoving goods inside a backpack.
Human. Alive.
Leo raises a hand, halting Donnie. Then he takes a slow, deliberate step forward, keeping his voice calm. “Hello? We don’t mean any harm. We’re just looking for supplies, too.”
You flinch violently at the sound of his voice and spin around. Your eyes fix on Leo, the color draining instantly from your face. A strangled gasp escapes your lips as you rise, backing away, your hand flying to your mouth. You trip backwards over an ottoman, your gaze locked on Leo like he’s a ghost risen from the grave.
He might as well be.
“Whoa, hey, easy!” Leo says, holding his hands up placatingly. “We’re different, yeah. But we’re the good guys.” He assumes, like always, that the shock stems from their mutated forms.
“No …” You shake your head frantically, tears welling, blurring your vision. “No, i-it can’t be … Leo?” The name is a broken sob.
Suddenly, heavy footsteps pound on the staircase. “Are you alright? Did you find something?”
A figure appears at the bottom of the stairs—and all four present-day brothers freeze.
He’s a turtle. Raphael.
But older, broader, scarred. Deep lines carve paths around his eyes and mouth. Scars crisscross his visible skin. He wears rugged, patched leather and canvas gear—but most startlingly, his left arm is gone, replaced with a crude but functional-looking metal prosthetic.
His gaze snaps from you, now huddled on the floor, to the turtles standing before him. Recognition flickers, then ignites into stunned disbelief, his jaw dropping. He stares—first at Leo. Donnie. Then at the younger version of himself and Mikey. His mind struggles to process the impossible sight.
“What … what in the goddamn hell?” Future Raph murmurs, incredulous, his voice deeper than his counterpart. He then steps protectively in front of you, using his formidable frame to block the others, his glare fixed on them. “Who the hell are you? And how did you get here?”
“We … we got transported,” Donnie stammers, adjusting his glasses nervously. “We were in our lair, and then there was this energy surge. It seems we’ve ended up in another dimension.”
Future Raph lets out a short, harsh laugh devoid of humor. “Dimension?” He shakes his head, a grim, pitying look entering his eyes. “You ain’t in some other dimension. This is home. Or what’s left of it after the world went to shit. You’re in the future. Your future.”
The words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of the revelation. Their future—this is what awaits them?
Future Raph sighs, the fight draining out of him. “Alright. Come on, all of you. We’re heading back to base. Looks like we got a hell of a lot to talk about.” He turns back to you, his voice softening fractionally. “You okay?”
You nod mutely, still unable to tear your gaze from Leo. Future Raph offers you his hand, and you take it, letting him help you up.
“This way,” Future Raph says, nodding towards the back door of the house. “Streets are quieter back here, usually.” He leads the way, moving with a practiced efficiency that speaks of years navigating this broken world.
You follow close behind him, still trembling slightly. Your gaze keeps flickering back to Leo, who walks near the rear of the group, his expression a mixture of confusion and determination. Every time your eyes meet his, a fresh wave of shock washes over you.
It’s him, but … not him. Younger. So much younger.
The present turtles trail Future Raph. Present Raph watches his older self intently, taking in the missing arm, the scars, the grim set of his jaw. Donnie scans their surroundings while Mikey stays close to Donnie, his youthful energy completely extinguished.
“So,” Leo starts, his voice low, addressing Future Raph’s broad back. “The future, huh? How… how far?”
“Long enough for things to go sideways and stay there.” Future Raph glances back briefly, his expression unreadable. “About fifteen years.”
You emerge into a narrow alley choked with overflowing dumpsters and rusted fire escapes. Future Raph moves quickly, checking corners before waving everyone on. The silence is unnerving, broken only by the scuttling of unseen things in the shadows and the distant, mournful cry of the wind whistling through broken skyscrapers.
“Where are the others?” Mikey asks quietly, his voice barely a whisper. “Splinter? April? Casey?”
Future Raph’s shoulders tense almost imperceptibly. He doesn’t turn around this time. “Some made it. Some didn’t.” His voice is flat, which somehow makes the words hit harder. “We talk when we get inside. Too exposed out here.”
He leads you through a labyrinth of backstreets and crumbling alleyways, avoiding the wider, more open avenues. You pass skeletal remains of cars, graffiti from the old world, and faded posters. Once, a low moan echoes from a nearby building, causing everyone except Future Raph to freeze, weapons instantly ready.
Future Raph just puts a hand up, listens for a second, then shakes his head. “Moving away. Keep going.”
Eventually, you reach your destination. It’s a fortified section of the city, reminiscent of old apocalypse zombie fiction. High walls, constructed from welded scrap metal, shipping containers, and reinforced concrete encircle several blocks. Armed lookouts patrol makeshift walkways.
And inside, a semblance of a community survives.
Future Raph leads everyone into the command center, a converted warehouse. There, they meet the others.
Future Mikey is leaning against a wall, gently bouncing a tiny, swaddled infant in his arms. He looks older, the perpetual grin replaced by a more reserved, watchful expression. Though a genuine softness illuminates his face as he gazes at the baby. A woman with tired lines around her eyes but a warm smile stands beside him: his wife, Sarah.
Future Mikey’s in charge of the community’s gardens and farms, which are crucial for survival. But his worn combat gear speaks of his other role as a protector. Seeing his younger self, his eyes widen in disbelief, then fill with a profound sadness. He just shakes his head slowly.
In a cordoned-off section brightly lit by LED strips, Future Donnie meticulously cleans a wound on a survivor’s arm in the makeshift infirmary. He’s thinner and moves with an efficient, almost detached professionalism. His tech is a marvel of apocalypse engineering: salvaged computers, solar panels, jury-rigged communication arrays monitoring the perimeter and vital systems.
A quiet girl, around ten years old, sits nearby, drawing: his adopted daughter, Maya. Future Donnie explains that his wife, a fellow scientist he met after the outbreak, died during a supply run two years ago. Rumors suggest a ‘situationship’ with one of the other medics named Elena. Seeing his younger self, a flicker of his old curiosity sparks in Future Donnie’s eyes. But knowing what’s in store for his counterpart quickly overshadows it.
Future Raph puts a hand on the shoulder of a tough-looking woman with short-cropped hair and a kind smile. “This is Cara,” he introduces gruffly, but with underlying affection. “My girlfriend. Two years now.”
Cara offers a curt nod, her expression guarded but not unfriendly. They share a look, a silent communication honed by hardship and nightly watches on the wall.
Then Future Raph gestures towards you. You stand nearby, your four-year-old son now clinging tightly to your leg. He stares curiously at the newcomers—especially Leo.
“This,” Future Raph says, his voice thick with emotion. “This is—was … Leo’s wife. And their son.”
The present turtles reel. Air punches out of Leo’s lungs. He stares at you, then at the boy. His wife? His son?!
“Was?” Present Leo forces the word out, his throat tight.
Future Raph nods slowly, his gaze distant, lost in a painful memory. “Leo … our Leo. He didn’t make it. Died about six months back, protecting his wife and Leon during a breach on the west wall. He went down covering their retreat.” His gaze fixes on Present Leo. “He made us promise—all of us. To protect them. Keep them safe, no matter the cost.”
The grief emanating from the older turtles is palpable. Future Raph seems to carry it the heaviest and most visibly, his usual anger tempered into a deep sorrow.
The younger brothers learn about Splinter, too. How he fell fighting a zombified Shredder after the Foot Clan’s base was overrun in the early days. He took the monster with him, but not before receiving a final, fatal bite that forced their older counterparts to put him out of his misery before he turned.
As for Casey and April, they died years apart. Casey—a decade ago during a breach similar to Future Leo. And April, just shy of five years ago, during a supply run gone wrong alongside Future Donnie’s wife.
With all this information now known, the present-day brothers are determined to find a way back home—and not let their own world turn down this horrific path.
Life settles into a surreal, strange routine.
The present turtles integrate cautiously into the community, learning the brutal ropes of survival in this future. Present Raph joins Future Raph and Cara on foraging runs, learning how to move silently through zombie territory. Present Donnie spends hours with Future Donnie, working to figure out a way back home. Present Mikey works alongside Future Mikey in the gardens, finding a strange comfort in the repetitiveness of cultivation.
Present Leo, on the other hand, walks a tightrope of conflicting emotions.
Leon instinctively gravitates toward him—the one who looks, sounds, and moves so much like the father he barely remembers. He even starts calling Present Leo ‘Daddy.’ Each utterance is a fresh wound for you, and a confusing jolt for Leo.
Present Leo sees the life he could have had, the love he could have shared, shattered by this terrible future. He feels the weight of his future self’s promise; it manifests as an intense, almost overwhelming urge to protect you and the boy. He tries to be there for Leon—playing with him, answering his innocent questions about the ‘before.’ All while navigating the minefield of your grief and his own tangled emotions.
You struggle, caught between the sharp, persistent ache of grief and the presence of a younger version of the man you loved. You find yourself watching him—the way he moves, the cadence of his voice. So familiar, yet so different. But he doesn’t have the weight, the scars, the shared history.
And you sometimes slip, treating him like your Leo. Asking him about things he couldn’t possibly know, catching yourself starting to share a private joke. A memory. Or simply reaching out to touch his arm in a familiar way—before pulling back sharply, the reality that this isn’t him crashing down anew, as if it happened just yesterday.
Your grief is a constant, raw torment.
Weeks turn into a month. Then nearly two.
Future Donnie, working tirelessly amidst his medical duties, pores over the temporal data logged by Present Donnie during their arrival. After cross-referencing reading and residual chronal signatures, they believe they’ve isolated the specific energy frequency. And found a way to replicate the event by creating a controlled, localized burst.
Finally, they can return home.
The future turtles gather with their young selves near the Donnies’ temporal rig. Future Raph claps a heavy hand on Present Raph’s shoulder.
“Keep your head on straight, you hear me?” he advises. “Protect your brothers. Especially him.” He nods towards Present Leo. “Don’t let him be reckless.”
Present Raph can’t help but chuckle softly. “Isn’t that my job—the reckless part?”
Future Raph playfully smacks his head, grinning. “Smartass.”
Future Mikey offers Present Mikey a small, genuine smile. “Find your sunshine, kid. Even when it gets dark. Mine”—he glances towards where Sarah holds their baby, “is worth fighting for.”
Future Donnie adjusts his glasses, meeting his younger counterpart’s gaze. “Knowledge is power, but wisdom is knowing how and when to use it. Don’t let the logic blind you to what matters.” He glances towards Maya, who gives Present Donnie a small wave. “Protect what’s important.”
Finally, Present Leo stands before you. Leon reaches out, holding his hand, and Leo lets him one last time. Tears track silently down your face.
“He loved you all so much,” you say, meaning his future self, though your gaze remains fixed on Present Leo. “He never stopped fighting. For us. For this place.” You crouch in front of your son. “Say bye-bye, sweetie.”
Leon looks up at Present Leo, his small face serious. “Bye, Daddy. Be safe.”
The words twist in Leo’s chest. He kneels too, meeting the boy’s eyes. “You too, little man. Stay strong and listen to your mom.” He stands, his gaze finding yours.
You place a hand on his arm. “Leo,” you say. “When you get back, you’re going to meet her. Me. I won’t—she won’t know what you’ll mean to her, what she’ll mean to you. But you’ll find her. Keep her safe. Keep yourself safe.” You pause, before continuing, “Don’t let this happen.”
Leo can only nod, his throat thick with unshed tears.
Once the present turtles are near the pseudo-time machine, Future Donnie adjusts a few things before throwing the final switch. The energy field crackles before reality begins to blur and warm around them. The perpetual stench of decay recedes, replaced by the familiar damp smell of the sewers as they find their footing on concrete.
They’re back. Disoriented, shaken.
And fundamentally changed by the knowledge they now hold from the future they witnessed.
Weeks pass.
Training sessions are more intense. Leo feels the change most acutely. He pushes himself the hardest, the memories of you grieving and Leon’s trusting eyes burned into his mind. He carries the weight of his older counterpart’s sacrifice. The burden of the promise made by his future brothers.
One rainy evening, Leo moves across the rooftops near April’s apartment building. As he patrols, he hears a commotion in the alley below. Two rough-looking men have cornered someone against the brick wall, demanding their bag.
“Just give it to us, and nobody gets hurt!” one snarls, brandishing a switchblade.
Leo doesn’t hesitate. He drops down from the fire escape above, landing almost silently on the wet pavement behind them. “Leave her alone.”
The thugs whirl around, startled by his sudden appearance. The one with the knife lunges. Leo moves with blinding speed, disarming them with practiced ease, sending the weapon clattering harmlessly away. A well-aimed kicked to the man’s chest has him sprawling against the dumpster.
The other sees the writing on the wall and runs away into the night, his partner in crime joining him a few beats later once he’s gathered his bearings—and picked his pride up from the grimy alleyway ground.
Leo turns his attention to the person they were harassing.
You.
Younger, perhaps. Face streaked with rain, clutching a messenger bag protectively. Your eyes are wide, reflecting the dim alley lights. Fear lingers, but there’s also a spark of defiant anger under the surface.
You haven’t seen the end of the world yet. The deep lines of grief haven’t etched themselves around your eyes. You don’t know him.
You stare up at the towering mutant turtle, water dripping from his shell, mouth slightly open in stunned silence. Finally, you find your voice, though a little shaky. “Uh … wow. Thank you.”
Leo looks at you, really looks at you. The woman his future self loved and died for. The mother of their child.
His promise for the future starts now.
“No problem,” he says, his voice softer than usual, tinged with an emotion you can’t possibly understand. Not yet, anyway. “Just … be careful out here. This city can be dangerous.”
He offers a small, fleeting smile, imbued with a sadness that seems out of place. Then, with the same impossible silence he arrived with, he turns and melts back into the shadows of the fire escape, rappelling upwards and disappearing onto the rooftops.
You stand alone in the rain, staring after him, heart pounding, wondering about the melancholy you saw in the eyes of the giant turtle who just saved your life. A strange feeling settles over you, a sense that something significant just happened.
Does anybody have any recommendations for long tmnt fics slowburn , preferably Leo/ Raph/ Mikey in the bayverse / 2007/ last ronin universe I feel like I’ve searched everywhere , I’m dying to see a badass OC🥲
izzy806
germansingergirl
theartofmadeline
snowghoul
jacobvanloon
romaincrisis
kaledo-art
