Emilia | the home of travelfell AU(still in progress) | writer | traditional artist/beginner digital artist | narrator of fan fiction | hello there my friend, welcome to my blog, here i post lots of different contents like voice overs or book reading, fan art of different fandoms, i am the original creator of TravelFell, and i am a writer. i hope that you like what i post. OH, and if want me to voice one of your books just send me an ask and i will try my best. but it ca be one of my fandoms wish are: FAIRY TAIL, UNDERTALE AU, SOUL EATER. TMNT, BENDY AND THE INK MACHINE, YURI ON ICE. but if you have other than those send them and we'll see :D
Hii guys this is my first actual fic 😝 plz be nice i rlly like Leo can you tell lol
Warnings: none but maybe some grammar 🤪 just some slight angst slight I promise
The lair was quieter than usual.
Not completely silent, because nothing in the lair ever was. Somewhere far off, Mikey was laughing at something on TV, Donnie’s keyboard clicked in a steady rhythm, and Raph’s fists jabbed every swing like punctuation to his thoughts. But where Leonardo stood, tucked away near the edge of the training area, the air felt still.
He had been trying to focus.
Trying.
His katanas moved through the air with practiced precision, each swing controlled, each breath even. To anyone else, he looked calm. Disciplined. Untouchable.
But you knew him better than that.
You noticed the stiffness in his shoulders. The way his jaw tightened between movements. The way he pushed himself harder whenever his mind got too loud.
“You know,” you said from the doorway, “most people stop training when they’re tired, it’s the normal thing to do.”
Leo froze for half a second before lowering his swords. “I’m not tired.”
You raised an eyebrow, letting out a chuckle, “your body says otherwise.”
A small breath left him, almost a laugh, but not quite. He turned away to place his swords back on the rack, taking a little longer than necessary. “You should be asleep.” It was almost midnight.
“So should you.” You replied, just because he works at night doesn’t mean he shouldn’t rest.
“That’s different.” He said boldly, in a gentle manner.
“Because you’re the leader?” You questioned.
His silence answered for him. His eyes shifted to you, you were already looking at him.
You walked in slowly, not wanting to startle him or push too hard. With Leo, comfort had to be offered gently. He was used to carrying pressure, not handing it over. He could face enemies twice his size without blinking, but softness made him hesitate.
“I’m okay,” he said, before you could ask.
You tilted your head. “I didn’t ask.”
His eyes shifted to yours, and for a moment, the mask slipped. Not all the way, but enough. Enough for you to see that he was tired. Not just physically, but deeply, in the place he never talked about.
“I just needed to clear my head,” he admitted.
You stepped closer. “Did it work?”
Leo looked down at you, and the answer sat between them before he said it.
“No.”
Your expression softened. “Then maybe you don’t need to clear your head. Maybe you just need to stop being alone in it.”
That hit him harder than you meant it to.
His gaze lowered, not out of shame, but because your words reached somewhere careful. Somewhere guarded. He was used to Splinter’s wisdom, Raphael’s challenges, Donnie’s logic, Mikey’s silly humor. But this was different. You didn’t expect him to be perfect, never have never will. You didn’t need him to lead you through the moment.
You just stayed.
And somehow, that felt more dangerous than any fight.
“You make it difficult,” he said quietly.
You blinked. “Make what difficult?”
Leo’s eyes lifted again, steady but softer now. “Keeping distance.”
The words settled over you like warmth. You tried to keep your voice light, but it came out softer than you planned. “Do you want distance?”
His answer did not come quickly.
Leo was careful with everything. His movements. His responsibilities. His feelings. Especially his feelings. He looked at you like you was something he wanted to reach for but was afraid he might ruin if he held on too tightly.
“No,” he said at last.
The honesty made your heart stumble.
He took one step closer. Not enough to trap you, never that, but enough for the space between them to change. The lair sounds faded into the background. His presence filled the room, calm and strong, but uncertain in a way that made him feel younger. More real.
“I worry about you,” he said. “More than I should.”
Your lips curved faintly. “That sounds very leader-like.”
“It’s not just that.”
You looked up at him.
Leo swallowed, his fingers flexing at his sides as if he was fighting the urge to reach out. “When you’re here, I notice everything. If you’re cold. If you’re quiet. If you’re pretending something didn’t bother you. I tell myself it’s because I’m responsible for everyone’s safety.”
“And is it?”
His gaze flickered over your face.
“Partly.”
Her breath caught, but you did not look away.
Leo’s voice dropped a little. “But it’s also because it’s you.”
For a second, neither of them moved.
Then you stepped closer, just enough that the distance between you two became almost nothing. His eyes followed the movement, his composure thinning by the second. He was still Leo, still controlled, still holding himself back with everything he had, but there was something warmer beneath it now. Something honest.
“You don’t have to hold back with me,” you whispered.
His expression softened, but there was a trace of conflict in it too. “I don’t want to scare you.”
“You don’t.”
“I’m not exactly…” He looked away, searching for the right words. “Easy.”
You smiled gently. “No. You’re not.”
That made him look back at you.
“But you’re worth being patient with.”
The words undid him more than you expected.
Leo lifted one hand slowly, giving your every chance to pull away. When you didn’t, his knuckles brushed lightly against your cheek. The touch was careful, almost hesitant, like he was memorizing the feeling but afraid to admit how much he wanted to. His thumb rested near your jaw for one quiet second, and the tenderness of it made your chest ache.
He leaned closer, not rushing, not taking, just waiting.
Always waiting.
Always making sure.
Your eyes flicked to his, and you smiled softly. “Leo.”
His name sounded different from your mouth in that moment. Less like a call for help. Less like a title. More like permission.
His forehead rested lightly against yours.
“I asked Splinter about this,” he confessed.
You let out a small, surprised laugh. “About what?”
His mouth curved, embarrassed but fond. “About… caring for someone when duty makes it complicated.”
“And what did he say?”
Leo’s eyes softened. “That love is not weakness if it teaches you to protect without controlling, and to care without fear.”
You went quiet.
“That sounds like him.”
“It does.”
“And what do you think?”
Leo’s hand lowered from your cheek, but he did not step away. “I think I’m still learning.”
You reached for his hand gently, threading your fingers with his as much as you could. “Then learn slowly.”
His gaze dropped to your hands, and something in him eased.
Slowly, he squeezed back.
For once, Leonardo did not look like the leader of the team.
He didn’t feel like the son who had to carry the whole family, he did not look like the brother who has every answer, or the ninja who always placed himself between danger and everyone else.
He just looked like someone who cared too much and had spent too long pretending that care did not weigh on him.
And maybe that was why you admired these moments most.
Because beneath the armor, beneath the discipline, beneath the quiet commands and practiced patience, Leo was softer than he allowed anyone else to see.
But he let you see it.
Not all at once.
Not completely.
But enough.
His voice was low when he spoke again, gentle in a way that made the words feel less like an order and more like a plea.
“You should still get some sleep.”
You smiled, tilting your head at him. “There he is.”
Leo gave them a look, but there was no real sternness behind it. His eyes were too warm for that, too tired, too full of something he had not quite learned how to say out loud.
“I mean it,” he murmured.
“I know.”
“And I’ll walk you back.”
Their smile softened. “Because you’re worried?”
His mouth twitched slightly, almost like he wanted to deny it, but he had never been very good at lying.
His gaze lowered for a second, landing somewhere near your hand before returning to your face.
“No”. He said.
“Because I want to.”
The honesty of it settled between them quietly.
Not dramatic.
Not loud.
Just true.
And somehow, that made it feel even more precious.
As they walked out of the training room together, Leo stayed close. Close enough that his shoulder nearly brushed yours, close enough that his hand hovered near your own as if he was fighting the instinct to reach for them completely.
Every few steps, his fingers brushed yours.
Once.
Then again.
Small, hesitant touches that felt like questions he was too shy to ask.
You did not pull away.
Neither did he.
By the time they reached the hallway, the lair was quieter. The distant hum of machinery filled the space, mixed with the faint sounds of his brothers somewhere deeper underground. Leo slowed before you could turn the corner, before the others could see the softness he was trying so hard to keep private.
“Wait,” he said quietly.
They stopped.
When you turned to face him, Leo was already looking at you.
There was something almost aching in his expression, something careful and tender, like he had a thousand things sitting behind his teeth but only trusted himself with one at a time.
For a moment, he just looked at you.
Like he was trying to memorize you in the dim light.
Like being near you was something he wanted more than he knew how to admit.
Then, slowly, he reached for your hand.
His touch was gentle, almost reverent. His thumb brushed over your knuckles once, then twice, as if he needed to remind himself that you are here, safe and real and close.
“You know,” he said softly, “I worry about you even when I try not to.”
Your chest tightened.
“Leo…”
“I know you can take care of yourself,” he added quickly, his voice still quiet. “I do. I just…”
He paused, looking down at their joined hands.
The great Leonardo, leader of his brothers, The oldest son, fearless in battle, calm under pressure, suddenly looked almost shy.
“I just don’t like the thought of you walking away from me without knowing that someone is thinking about you.”
The words were simple.
Sweet.
So painfully honest that you did not know what to say right away.
Leo seemed to take your silence as too much, because his gaze softened with uncertainty.
“I’m not trying to be overbearing,” he said. “I just care.”
“I know,” you whispered enough for him to hear. “I know you do.”
That seemed to ease something in him.
Not all of it.
But enough.
Leo lifted your hand carefully, giving your every chance to pull away. When you did not, he bowed his head and pressed the smallest kiss against your knuckles.
It was brief.
Gentle.
Almost shy.
But it carried so much more than he said.
A promise.
A confession.
A quiet, trembling kind of hope.
When he lifted his head again, his eyes met yours, deep and blue and impossibly soft.
“Goodnight,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.
You smiled, trying not to show just how affected you were by him.
“Goodnight, Leo.”
He did not let go right away.
For one more second, his fingers curled around, like he was trying to stretch the moment as far as it could go without asking for too much.
Then, slowly, he released your hand.
You turned and walked down the hallway, but you could still feel his gaze following you, warm and protective and full of everything he had not said.
Leo stayed there long after you disappeared around the corner.
Still.
Quiet.
Soft in a way only you seemed to bring out of him.
His mouth curved to a soft smile.
And for the first time that night, the weight on his shoulders felt a little lighter.
Can you write what bayverse Leonardo would do to spend time with his lover/fine shyt?
Like where would he take them on dates? What hobbies would they share?
I love seeing everyone’s opinions of this topic!
Thank you!!
- 📸💕
Hi, of course! I feel like Leo would be very intentional when it comes to spending time with his lover. He is not the type to do flashy, over-the-top dates all the time, but he would make everything feel meaningful because he plans with care.
Bayverse Leo spending time with his lover/fine shyt blurb
Leo would prefer quieter dates where he can actually focus on them. He is already surrounded by chaos with his brothers, patrols, training, and the city, so when he gets alone time with his partner, he wants it to feel peaceful.
Rooftop dates would be his favorite. He would take them somewhere high above the city where the lights look pretty, the air feels calm, and no one can bother them. He probably would not call it a “date” at first because he gets awkward, but he would absolutely plan the whole thing.
He would bring food, blankets, and maybe something warm to drink if it was cold. Leo is the type to act like it is “nothing,” but he remembers every small thing they liked.
I can also see him loving anything history-related. He is very disciplined and traditional, so he would enjoy walking through quiet places, reading the displays, and listening to his partner talk about what they find interesting.
Bookstore or library dates would be so cute for him. He would not be loud or overly playful, but he would stand close, recommend books, and quietly enjoy just being near them.
Training together would probably become one of their shared hobbies. Not in a harsh way, but more like Leo teaching them self-defense because he wants them to be safe. He would be patient, focused, and maybe a little too serious until they made him laugh.
Meditation would also be something he would share with them. If his partner was stressed, he would invite them to sit with him somewhere quiet and just breathe for a while. It would be his way of saying, “I am here with you,” without always needing to explain it.
He would enjoy simple domestic moments too. Cooking together, folding blankets, organizing his weapons, or sitting nearby while he sharpens his katanas would feel intimate to him because he is letting them into his private routine.
Leo would love late-night walks, especially if it was somewhere hidden or quiet. He would walk on the outside of the sidewalk, keep an eye on everything around them, and pretend he was not being protective.
If they had a hobby like drawing, writing, music, baking, or photography, he would support it so sweetly. He would ask questions, remember details, and probably keep something they made for him in a safe place.
His ideal date would not be about impressing them with money or grand gestures. It would be about making them feel safe, listened to, and chosen.
He is definitely the kind of boyfriend who says, “I thought you might like this,” and then gives them something small but extremely thoughtful.
Since Leo carries so much responsibility, he would really value a partner who can enjoy quiet time with him. Someone who does not always need him to perform or be perfect, but just lets him exist.
Overall, Leo would spend time with his lover in ways that feel calm, protective, and deeply intentional. His love language would be quality time, acts of service, and remembering the tiny details no one else notices.
Yuppp I said I was going to post, so we're doing it
"Morning" Routines
Bay! Raph x GN! Reader
Warnings- No explicit mention of gender but reader does clean up their makeup and brush through their hair so?? Maybe that implies Fem! reader for some.
The walk to the lair had become second nature to you.
School bag slung over your shoulder, the dull exhaustion from classes still clinging to you, you slipped through the familiar entrance and down the tunnels. The smell of the underground—cool concrete, faint dampness, and something unmistakably lair—met you halfway down.
You already knew what time it was.
Their “morning.”
When you stepped into the main room, the place was exactly how you expected.
Master Splinter sat out in the open area, perfectly still in meditation. His posture was straight, hands resting lightly on his knees, the quiet hum of the room seeming to settle around him like a blanket.
In the kitchen area, Leonardo was already awake and moving around. You weren’t entirely sure what he was making, but the ingredients looked… concerning. Something green. Something purple. Something that definitely shouldn’t be blended together.
Donnie was slumped at his desk nearby, asleep in a way that looked incredibly uncomfortable. One arm dangled off the side of the chair while his head rested sideways on a keyboard. Tools, wires, and half-finished gadgets surrounded him.
Completely normal.
Mikey and Raph were nowhere to be seen.
Which meant exactly what you expected.
You dropped your bag by the couch for a second, glancing toward the hallway that led to the rooms.
Yep.
Time to find Raph.
You padded down the hallway, the familiar path leading straight to his room. When you reached the door, you didn’t bother knocking.
You opened it.
Immediately, the sound of the shower greeted you.
Water running behind the bathroom door. Steam slipping out from underneath it.
You stepped inside, closing the door behind you.
His room looked exactly how you left it last time.
The bed was still messy, blankets half tossed to one side like he’d barely bothered getting out of them. A half-drank glass of water sat on the nightstand. His TV was on, quietly playing an episode of Ancient Aliens.
Which he absolutely denied watching.
Every time.
From the bathroom, music drifted through the room from the speaker he kept on the counter. The occasional clink of a shampoo bottle or soap container being moved mixed with the steady spray of water.
You set your bag down near the wall and placed your phone on his nightstand like you always did.
Then you walked over and knocked twice on the bathroom door.
“Comin’ in.”
No protest came from the other side. Just a low, sleepy grunt.
Routine confirmed.
You pushed the door open.
The bathroom was warm and foggy, steam coating the mirror and the tiled walls. The shower curtain was pulled closed, Raph’s massive silhouette just barely visible through it.
You moved around the counter like you owned the place—because honestly, by now you practically did.
Opening drawers.
Rummaging around.
There was your brush.
Your face wash.
A small bottle of lotion you’d left here weeks ago.
A couple makeup items shoved in the back corner.
You wiped the steam from the mirror with your hand, clearing a streak across it before leaning forward to fix a smudge under your eye.
Behind you, water continued to run.
You started talking.
“…and then my teacher decides today is the perfect day for a pop quiz.”
From the shower came a deep, sleepy hum.
“Mm.”
You grabbed your brush and started running it through your hair.
“And I studied the wrong chapter. Completely wrong.”
A faint shift behind the curtain. A bottle clunked against the tile.
“…that’s rough,” came Raph’s gravelly voice through the running water.
Still half asleep.
You kept going.
Ranting about school. About people. About dumb things that happened throughout the day.
To anyone else it probably would’ve looked weird—sitting in the bathroom while someone showered, casually talking like this.
But for you two?
It was routine.
You’d show up after school.
He’d usually just be waking up.
Half the time he’d already be in the shower.
So you’d sit there and talk while he woke up properly.
It had just… become a thing.
Eventually the water shut off.
You didn’t even need to be told.
You turned around automatically, facing a wall while you fiddled with your phone.
Behind you, the shower curtain rustled open.
The heavy thud of Raph stepping out onto the tile followed, along with the sound of him grabbing a towel.
You heard the rough drag of fabric against his plastron and shoulders as he dried off.
Even after all this time, it was hard to ignore the sheer size of him.
Almost seven feet of mutant turtle.
Massive shoulders.
Ridged shell.
Thick arms strong enough to lift a car if he needed to.
A low grunt came from behind you.
Then a large, warm nudge against your shoulder.
“Done.”
You turned back around.
Raph stood there in loose shorts now, toweling the last bits of water off his arms.
His skin—dark green and textured—still glistened slightly from the shower. Droplets caught along the edges of the ridges on his shoulders and along the plates of his plastron.
And his head—
You squinted at him.
“…you’re bald.”
Raph froze mid-dry.
His yellow eyes narrowed immediately.
“I'm always bald.”
You leaned back against the counter with a grin.
“Yeah but usually you’ve got your bandana or do-rag on.”
He snorted.
“You’re dumb.”
Still, you caught the tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth.
You hopped up onto the counter, legs swinging slightly while you watched him go through the rest of his routine.
Brushing his teeth.
Dragging a hand over the edge of his shell.
Pulling on his bandana and tying it tight behind his head.
Even fully awake he still looked a little sluggish. His movements slower, shoulders rolling like he was trying to wake the rest of himself up.
He probably had woken up less than an hour ago.
But this—
This was your time.
The first couple hours after they woke up.
Your time with Raph.
Eventually he nudged past you and headed out of the bathroom.
You hopped down and followed immediately.
Like always.
He wandered into the kitchen, grabbing food without much thought. Whatever Leo had been making got a suspicious glance before Raph reached past it and grabbed something simpler.
“Smart,” you muttered.
“Don’t trust it.”
While he ate, you leaned against the counter nearby, scrolling through your phone and occasionally showing him something.
A couple dumb TikToks.
A video of someone falling off a skateboard.
Raph huffed a quiet laugh under his breath.
After that he made a quick stop by the dojo.
His sai rested on the rack where he’d left them.
You leaned against the doorway while he checked them over—spinning one slowly in his hand, inspecting the metal with practiced ease. The movement showed off the power in his wrists, the sharp precision he had even when he was half awake.
Satisfied, he set them back.
Then the two of you headed back to his room.
Your side of the bed waited against the wall exactly how you left it.
Your pillows.
Your blanket.
Stuff you’d brought over weeks ago and just… never bothered taking home.
You crawled into your little spot while Raph dropped onto the mattress beside you. The bed dipped heavily under his weight.
The TV was still playing Ancient Aliens.
You glanced at it.
Then at him.
“…you watch this.”
“I don’t.”
“You literally left it on.”
“Coincidence.”
You snorted and pulled your blanket around yourself.
Raph leaned back against the headboard, one massive arm resting behind you along the wall as he stretched out.
You showed him another TikTok.
Then another.
Eventually your head leaned back against his arm while the two of you watched the ridiculous alien show continue.
School stress slowly melted away.
Raph’s breathing slowed as he woke up properly beside you.
The lair buzzed faintly with the sounds of the others starting their day somewhere outside the room.
But for now—
You were cozy.
He was warm beside you.
And this quiet little slice of the day belonged entirely to the two of you.
Ermmm yeah this has been sitting in my drafts foreverrrr so ૮₍ •̯́ ₃ •̯̀₎ა
- The second he decides you're his responsibility (and therefore his), every other person in your life becomes a potential threat to your safety in his mind.
- Extremely good at the "soft/caring boyfriend" act in front of others while simultaneously memorizing every single person who talks to you longer than 8 seconds.
- His "protection" is a gilded cage. He will meticulously map out safe zones in the city for you, and any deviation from these routes is met with deep concern and a stern, lengthy "debriefing" about what could have happened.
- He uses his strategic mind not just against enemies, but to orchestrate your life. He engineers situations where you naturally have to rely on him, cutting off your support system until he is your sole confidant and savior.
- If you express admiration or even casual friendliness toward someone else, he will see it as a tactical vulnerability. That person will soon find themselves facing a series of unfortunate "coincidences" or a very intimidating, shadowy warning from the leader of the turtles.
"I'm not jealous. I'm concerned. There's a difference."
The Burdened Obsession:
- The stress of leadership finds a dark solace in his fixation on you. You become his private retreat, but also his most pressing responsibility. He logs your routines, moods, and preferences in his mind with the same rigor he uses for mission planning.
- He sees your normal human life as fraught with unseen dangers. Your job, your hobbies, your late nights — they all present risks he cannot allow. He may sabotage your opportunities (e.g., causing a blackout so you miss a social event) and frame it as "keeping you safe from the chaos of the city."
- Has absolutely stood on rooftops watching your apartment windows at 3:17 a.m. "just to make sure you're safe". He's assessing the environment for threats, calming his own mind by ensuring you are, for that moment, secure within his line of sight.
Outbursts and Affection:
- The most terrifying thing about yandere Leo is how calm he remains while explaining why he had to "handle" someone.
"I did what any leader would do. I eliminated an unacceptable risk to the person most important to the team."
- His yandere episodes are cold, terrifying, and brutally efficient. An enemy or rival would be dismantled with precise, overwhelming force, a grim demonstration of what happens to threats.
- After a violent episode, he might appear at your side, slightly battered, with a soft, strained expression. He'd gently grasp your hand, his voice quiet but intense: "It's okay now. I took care of it. You're safe. You'll always be safe with me." He seeks acknowledgment that his action was necessary.
- The ultimate sign of his devotion is offering you a place in the lair. Permanently. He would present it as a sanctuary from the dangerous world above. Leaving would be unthinkable; to him, it would be you choosing to walk into a battlefield unprotected, and he would be physically unable to allow it.
- Might leave you beautifully folded notes written in perfect calligraphy that start sweet and end with chillingly polite warnings.
"I trust you. It's everyone else I don't trust. Please remember that."
Family Dynamic:
- Raphael is the biggest problem. Leo sees Raph's rebelliousness and temper as a direct threat to your safety. Their arguments now often revolve around you.
"You can't just lock her away, Leo! She's not a weapon!"
"And your way gets people hurt, Raph! I won't let that happen to her."
- He uses Donatello's tech to "keep you safe." You likely have a tracker (passed off as a "safety pendant" or discreetly placed on your phone), and Donnie might be guilt-tripped into providing surveillance data, told it's for a critical mission.
- Michelangelo is subtly discouraged from spending too much time with you. Leo fears Mikey's chaotic energy could put you in danger or, worse, make you laugh and bond with him in a way that feels outside of Leo's controlled narrative.
- Splinter would sense the dark turn in Leo's focus. Leo would justify it as the ultimate expression of his duty: "Master, you taught me to protect my family. She is my family. I am protecting her. By any means necessary." The conflict would cause Leo immense, silent anguish, twisting his duty and honor even further.
He truly believes this is love. He bears the weight of the world and your safety on his shell, and the thought of failing you is what fuels his descent. Your happiness is his mission objective, but he has become the sole arbiter of what that happiness can look like: a life where the only thing you need is him, your silent, ever-watching guardian.
Raphael
"If I can't have you no one can. I'll fight the whole world for you".
The Volcanic Guardian:
- The world has already tried to take everything good from him. You are the last good thing. Therefore the world must bleed before it touches you again.
- Zero to feral in 0.3 seconds if anyone so much as looks at you wrong.
- He doesn't meticulously plan like Leo. He reacts. A stranger looks at you too long? They find Raph looming behind them, a low growl in his throat. A coworker makes you cry? Their car might end up on a rooftop.
- He is intensely physically possessive. Standing between you and any perceived threat, a heavy arm slung around your shoulders or waist, pulling you into his side. It’s a claim, a barrier, and a warning all in one. He leaves marks and is secretly, fiercely proud of them.
"Mine."
- Once punched a hole through a brick wall because some guy catcalled you two blocks away.
- Will absolutely kidnap you "for your safety" if he thinks the Foot Clan / Purple Dragons / your shitty boss / your ex / the weather is too dangerous.
"You think I'm overreacting? Babe. There's a difference between overreacting and being the only one who actually gives a damn about what happens to you."
The Insecure Obsession:
- Deep down, Raph believes he is unlovable. A monster, a brute. Your kindness to him felt like a miracle. Now, the constant, gnawing fear is that you’ll realize he’s right and leave. This insecurity fuels his rage and paranoia.
- He hates when you interact with people he deems better than him: kind, normal, human people. They represent the life you should have, a life without him. He’ll sabotage dates, friendships, and job opportunities not just out of jealousy, but out of a terrified belief that you’ll choose that sunlit world and abandon him in the shadows.
- His stalking is less about strategy and more about raw need. He’ll follow you, a hulking shadow in the alleyways, not just to watch for threats, but to watch you. Seeing you live your life soothes the beast in him, but also stokes its fear. He memorizes the sound of your laugh, and anyone who causes it too often becomes a rival.
- Has a box hidden in his room containing: your stolen hoodie, a few strands of your hair "for scent tracking", your favorite candy wrappers, and photos he definitely didn't ask permission to take.
- The rare times he cries, it's always after he's terrified he almost lost you, then he gets even more suffocatingly protective.
"I know I'm too much. But I'd rather be the monster that keeps you alive than the good guy who lets you get hurt."
Outbursts and Affection:
- His violent episodes are not clean. They are brutal, loud, and messy. A rival won’t just be beaten, they’ll be made an example of. It’s primal terror-mongering.
- After the storm comes the raw, shattered calm. He might come to you, covered in scrapes and grit, trembling with adrenaline and remorse. He won’t look you in the eye, his voice a ragged whisper.
“...I lost my temper again. ‘M sorry. They... they were gonna hurt you. I can’t... I can’t let that happen.”
- He needs your reassurance, your touch, to quiet the monster and prove he’s still lovable.
- His idea of keeping you safe is bringing you to his space in the lair. The garage, the pit, somewhere that smells like oil and concrete and him. It’s not a polite invitation. It’s him literally or figuratively carrying you off to his den, surrounding you with his belongings, his scent, his presence. Here, he can finally relax. Here, you are his.
Family Dynamic:
- Leonardo is his biggest trigger. Leo’s calm control and perfect leader act feels like a direct challenge. Raph is convinced Leo will try to take you, to “manage” you as part of the team, or worse, that you’ll look to Leo for the stability Raph can’t provide.
“You think you can protect her better? From your strategy room? I’M the one in the trenches! I’M the one who feels it!”
- He is weirdly softer with Michelangelo, but also uses him. Mikey is his best source of information on you, and Raph will grumble and bribe him with pizza to keep an eye on you when he can’t. He trusts Mikey because he sees him as non-threatening.
- He tries to intimidate Donatello into building surveillance tech, but usually just ends up breaking it in frustration. He prefers his own methods: following, listening, confronting.
- Splinter would see the destructive path Raph is on. Raph’s justification would be a snarled, emotional outburst: “You don’t get it, Sensei! Out there, they’ll eat her alive! I’m the only one strong enough to keep her safe! I HAVE TO!” He would see any intervention as the family trying to separate him from his one source of peace.
In his heart, Raph doesn't believe he owns you. He believes he is owned by you. You are the only chains he willingly wears. His obsession is a desperate, raging prayer: as long as he is useful to you, as long as he is your protector, your weapon, your monster, then you will have a reason to keep him. To leave would be to render him purposeless, and a purposeless Raph is a truly dangerous thing—to the world, and to himself.
Donatello
"I just want to keep you safe forever."
The Architect of Your World:
- Stalker genius.
- His "protection" is a digital and physical panopticon. He has access to your home Wi-Fi, smart devices, online accounts, and public transit cameras along your routes. Your life is a series of data points on his holographic display, and he monitors your vitals (via a "gift" of a fitness tracker), location, and even mood indicators (analyzing your texting patterns and social media posts) with quiet intensity.
- You have at least 7 different trackers on you at all times and you only know about 2 of them.
- Can (and has) hacked every security camera within a 12-block radius of any place you regularly visit.
- He engineers your comfort and isolation with terrifying efficiency. That frustrating coworker gets transferred after their work email is "mysteriously" compromised. Your favorite coffee is always in stock at the bodega he subtly subsidizes. Your internet seems to conveniently go down when you plan to attend events he deems unsafe or socialize with people he hasn't vetted.
- He builds things for you. Not just gifts, but solutions. A "personal safety device" that's also a tracker and microphone. "Air purifiers" that monitor for toxins and unusual sounds. A new, ultra-secure phone that routes all communications through his servers.
"I made you this necklace! It has a 72-hour battery life GPS, microphone, and emergency tranquilizer dart. …What do you mean that's weird?"
The Obsessive Analyst:
- He has a detailed, encrypted file on you that puts government dossiers to shame. It includes everything: medical history, daily routines, food preferences, emotional triggers, sleep cycles, the cadence of your voice when you're happy versus anxious. He studies it to predict your needs before you feel them.
- His jealousy is cold and logical. He runs social network analysis on your friends and associates, identifying potential rivals. He doesn't get into fistfights; he conducts smear campaigns. He'll uncover embarrassing secrets, plant doubts, or frame them for minor crimes, all from the safety of his lab, rationalizing it as "removing an unstable element from your ecosystem."
- His stalking is technological, but he needs physical observation for complete data. He has drones disguised as pigeons, micro-cameras in places you frequent. Watching the raw, unedited footage of you is his reward, his solace. He convinces himself he's merely conducting field research.
- If you ever try to leave him, he'll calmly explain with charts and graphs why statistically you're 87% more likely to die without him.
"I could lock you in a velvet-lined panic room with perfect temperature control, unlimited snacks, and every streaming service… but I won't. See? I'm being reasonable."
Outbursts and Affection:
- His violent episodes are clean, remote, and horrifyingly efficient. A rival might find their life digitally erased—bank accounts drained, records corrupted, their reputation destroyed by a cascade of forged evidence—all while Donnie sips tea in his lab, watching the chaos unfold on six monitors.
- When his system fails, when you get hurt, or worse, express a desire to leave his sphere of control... He glitches. He becomes hyper-focused, muttering to himself, fingers flying across keyboards, eyes wide behind his goggles.
"Recalibrating... variable not accounted for... need more data... must optimize..."
- His idea of romance is sharing his inner world. He might finally bring you to his lab, not as a guest, but as a permanent addition. He'll show you his systems, explain how he's woven a web of safety around you, his voice full of quiet awe.
"See? Everything is here. Your life, your safety, your happiness. It's all right here, in my hands. Where it belongs. Where you belong."
- It's a presentation of his life's work: you.
Family Dynamic:
- Raphael is the most frustrating variable. Raph's unpredictable, emotional violence threatens to destabilize Donnie's careful plans and scare you. Donnie sees him as a brute-force tool at best, a dangerous glitch at worst.
- He views Leonardo as a fellow strategist, but one with an outdated, physical-centric playbook. There's a quiet, smug superiority. "Leo thinks he can protect them with katana and good intentions. I provide actual, quantifiable security." He might selectively share data with Leo to steer the team's actions in ways that benefit his agenda for you.
- He uses Michelangelo as an unwitting data-gathering tool, sending him to interact with you with specific "fun" questions or tasks, then debriefing him for intel on your emotional state.
- Splinter would be the hardest to deceive. Donnie would present his actions with cool, logical justifications, spreadsheets and risk-assessment charts.
"Sensei, the probability of a human sustaining serious injury in this city without protection is 91%. My protocols have reduced that to 0.4%. My methods are unorthodox, but they are effective. Emotion is a liability in security."
- He genuinely believes he's evolved beyond his family's simplistic understanding of protection.
He believes he has liberated you. He has freed you from worry, from danger, from the chaotic, inefficient mess of an unmonitored life. In the perfect, predictable ecosystem he's built, your only necessary function is to be happy, and his only function is to sustain that happiness. To reject his system isn't just to reject his love; it's to reject logic, safety, and reason itself. And for a mind like his, that is the ultimate madness, one he will use every ounce of his genius to correct.
Michelangelo
"You're my whole universe."
The Sunshine Warden:
- Starts as the most adorable, clingy, love-bombing boyfriend imaginable.
- Feels like being adopted by an overeager, incredibly strong golden retriever. He's always there, with a joke, a snack, an invitation to watch a movie, play a game, just hang out. It's exhausting, but it's hard to be mad because he's just so nice. He'll physically insert himself between you and anything that causes you stress, a rude customer, a rainy day, a sad news story.
"Hey! Let's go do something FUN instead!"
- He doesn't build cages, he builds a party for two. He'll transform his corner of the lair (or if he's really bold, a secluded spot in your apartment) into a neon-lit shrine to your shared interests. Your favorite movies, games, snacks—all sourced by him, often "liberated" during above-ground raids with a gleeful disregard for the law. It's his perfect world, and you're the guest of honor who is never allowed to leave the party.
- You wake up to 47 good morning texts, 9 voice memos of him singing to you, and a pizza with your face made out of pepperoni.
- He shows affection through relentless, tactile closeness. Hugs that last a little too long, leaning against you, playful bumps, sitting so close there's no space between you. It's his way of marking his territory with warmth instead of fear. You will be included, whether you want to be or not.
The Animated Obsession:
- Underneath the cheer is a profound, childlike fear of abandonment. He's used to being the "baby," the one not taken seriously. You took him seriously. You laughed at his jokes. You are his. The idea of you finding someone cooler, smarter, or more normal than him is a nightmare that fuels his most desperate actions.
- His jealousy is expressed as sabotage by prank. That guy who asked for your number? His phone is now mysteriously filled with pictures of sad clowns. Your friend who cancelled on you to study? Their notes are now covered in harmless but incredibly annoying glitter. He discredits and frustrates rivals, making them look incompetent or crazy, so you'll naturally drift back to the one who always makes you smile: him.
- His stalking is deceptively open. He's the "funny mutant" who just "happens" to pop up wherever you are—on your rooftop, in the alley by your work, outside your favorite shop. He frames it as a happy coincidence, a surprise visit from your best buddy! The fact that he knows your schedule perfectly is just because he pays such good attention to his friends!
Outbursts and Affection:
- Everyone thinks he's harmless… until someone makes you cry. The switch is instant and terrifying. The smile stays, but his eyes go dead. Will giggle while breaking every bone in someone's hand for touching you. It's terrifying because it's so at odds with his normal self.
"Awww dude, you shouldn't have touched my best girl~ Now I gotta color outside the lines a little!"
- His ultimate goal is to make you a permanent part of his world. Not hidden away, but celebrated. He'd want you by his side constantly in the lair, playing games, adding your art to his walls, making you part of the family's movie nights. To him, it's the happiest ending imaginable: you, him, his brothers, pizza, and fun. Forever. Leaving would be the ultimate rejection, the ultimate party foul.
- If you ever try to break up with him he will ugly-cry, beg, then immediately pivot to "okay but can we still be pizza buddies at least?" …while slowly blocking every exit.
Family Dynamic:
- Raphael is his confidant, but also a threat. He might excitedly tell Raph all about you, seeking approval. But if Raph ever growled about you being a distraction or a liability, Mikey's cheerful facade would crack into something uncharacteristically dark.
"You don't get it, Raph. She's mine. Back off."
- He sees Donatello's tech as a wonderful tool for his mission. He'll happily be Donnie's field tester for trackers or cameras if it means he can keep a better eye on you. He doesn't see the creepiness; he sees a cool gadget that helps him care for his friend.
- Leonardo is the authority figure he must deceive. He'll play up the "harmless, dumb Mikey" act around Leo, making his constant visits to you seem like mere childish whimsy rather than calculated obsession. He knows Leo would try to manage the situation, and Mikey can't have that.
- Splinter would be the most heartbreaking. Mikey would genuinely believe he's doing something good.
"Sensei, I'm finally doing something important! I'm making someone happy! And she makes me happy! We're keeping each other safe and having fun! It's perfect!"
- He would interpret any caution as his family not wanting him to be happy.
In Mikey's mind, he's sharing his heart. His heart is just a very crowded, loud, and clingy place. He genuinely believes that if you just gave in to the fun, if you just let him make you happy all the time, you'd see how perfect it is. Your desire for solitude, for other friends, for a life outside his glow is a puzzle he can't solve. It feels like you're choosing to be sad, and Mikey, the self-appointed Fun Ambassador, cannot allow that. He will love you with the relentless, crushing enthusiasm of a sunbeam you can't escape.
~~~
Final ranking of "how doomed are you really" if they go full yandere:
Donatello – escape probability 2.3% (he already predicted every route you'd take)
Leonardo – escape probability 9% (you might out-think him… for about 3 days)
Raphael – escape probability 18% (you can physically run, but he'll always find you again)
Michelangelo – escape probability 47% (he might actually let you go… but only after he's already broken everything that ever hurt you)
Could I have TMNT Bayverse Leo x reader small HC’s? I have a few but mostly like how turtles would nuzzle or bite in affection to another, or him tracing shodo on readers skin 🥹
Bay! Leonardo HC’s: Private Affection
hiii! thank you for the request, hope you enjoy :) these are fairly short, but i’ll absolutely expand in the future! 💙
requests are open! <3
tags: headcanons, fluff, very few of these are slightly suggestive… if you squint. very very hard.
synopsis: a few bayverse leo headcanons surrounding his methods of love and showing affection!
Leonardo was never typically one for PDA. He loved you, you loved him– publicity wasn’t exactly either of your fortes, for that matter.
Gripping each other’s hands, big hugs that everyone could see, minute-long kisses– eh. He was iffy about it. If you tagged along for a patrol, fine! You were in private. He was perfectly okay with it.
But after the turtles became publicly recognized figures, it all went a little downhill. Was he supposed to be doing this with you in public? With people watching? He preferred privacy, where he could prove to you with his own genuine actions that he loves you. Where he could show you how he loves you. Anything else felt performative.
Maybe it was the “human” aspect of it all. Was that something that everyone did? Made a huge deal out of their lover in public? He found other things much more appealing compared to those huge, unnecessary actions. Not that it was wrong.
He likes quiet affection.
Leo prefers to hug you from behind. Rest his chin gently along your shoulder. Move the inner side of his face towards your neck. Nuzzling, as his own personal research had called it.
He’ll softly kiss the outside of your neck. Not too much, he saves the excessiveness for personal moments. Leo likes to see the soft smile appear on your face if his breath just happens to brush too close; tickling your skin. He’d stop if you ask him to, but that man is a tease.
When he’s tired or overstimulated, he presses the side of his face into your neck. Maybe one or two kisses this time. Lingering.
It’s the closest he’ll get to resting on top of you. He’s far too heavy. If he can just stay there, forever; he’s content.
When you two are in private, he conforms a bit more to his turtle instincts.
He bites.
Only a little, teensy tiny bit, though.
It’s not aggressive. Never is he aggressive. He does it when he’s feeling playful or wanting your attention. The latter, more often.
Like his nuzzling, he likes seeing your reaction. A little laugh, a small gasp, a flinch. It’s only a gateway for him to be able to tease you more.
When he’s feeling particularly bold in private, he’ll gently bite along your jawline or collarbone while keeping his lips close to your face. Leo likes watching you, that’s all.
His hands wander. Only occasionally. You’d swat them away– he’ll roll his eyes playfully, but accept defeat.
The biting is definitely a more suggestive one-shot or story I'll lean more into someday, trust 🤞
Aside from all of those shenanigans, he likes tracing shapes on your skin with his fingers, mimicking the brush strokes he’s been practicing in shodō with Splinter.
He treats you as if you were his own personal canvas.
Leo finds his calm in teaching you the meanings of what he’s tracing: Peace. Sunlight. Heart.
His personal favorite: purpose. He’d trace that one on you because he saw you as his “reason for being.”
“You’re the first time I’ve been able to draw these for an actual reason,” he’d mumble, voice muffled as he was once again shoved straight up against your backside to cuddle. Drawing these japanese calligraphy symbols had always felt like a significant part of Leo’s character; they were really only found on their masks or shells, really!
Splinter was the one to teach Leo how to illustrate the symbols. Ink to canvas. Pen to paper. They were full of significance and meaning; all condensed into a few tiny characters.
He likes the soft feeling of your skin against his colder, three-fingered hand as he traced.
(Doing another ask bc I ADORE THE LEO ONE! 🥹)
turtles reactions to reader having another style… as in clothes. Like say the reader often dresses in comfy wear, baggy clothing, used to seeing them like a bum /jk
then Reader just came to the lair to pick of something while in a different style of clothing that they never see them in! Personally 2yk clothing style is so cute! Especially them all prettied up!
Bay! Turtles: All Prettied Up 🌺
i’m very proud of this one… especially raph’s!! enjoy, my friend 💌
requests are open! <3
tags: fluff, turtles are cutie patooties and i love writing them, probable mischaracterization (? is that a word) of new york 😅 written towards a fem reader
synopsis: you spend a good majority of your time in baggy and comfortable clothes. one day, an event occurs where you suddenly change styles! how do the turtles react?
Comfort had always come first when it came to what you wore.
Oh, how loyal you were to those baggy sweatpants of yours. And sweatshirt. The white hoodie you once possessed has long been forgotten; it’s once pure fabric now stained a charcoal grey, with how often you’ve sported it.
You wore other things too, of course— but the comfy clothing was your go-to. The hoodie was just the quickest thing to grab. You weren’t unhygienic with it— quite the opposite, actually. Very clean!! You always wore your signature scent, cleansing yourself practically nightly. But, you did prefer clothing that masked your figure, for a variety of reasons. Nobody ever asked. Nobody necessarily cared. Comfort was your thing; it made you happy.
But one day, some issues arose. A date, of some sort? It knocked you straight out of your comfort zone.
“That’s life,” your peers would always remind you. You’d groan in annoyance. You glared at the once white hoodie, the new color of it having finally registered in your head.
Maybe it is time for a change.
(turtles not in order 😞)
Donnie
At 2:00 sharp, you had an interview. A new (and well-paying) company had offered you a spot, and if you wanted the job; you had to make one last effort.
That stupid, in-person interview and presentation of your skills.
So, you decided to ask for some help.
Standing in Donnie’s lab, it feels no different than it has before. Purple lighting, whirring from broken electronics, a slight warm draft from his overheating machines yet still present is the feeling of the cool tile on your feet… it felt like home. You could still feel the butterflies in your stomach from anxiety.
Business attire is… awkward on you. Unfamiliar, for the most part. The fabric is much, MUCH more tight fitting and defining compared to your baggy sweatpants you’ve stained. You keep tugging at the sleeves, resisting the urge to pull them down over your hands even though they stop short, exposing your wrists. Your shoes feel, somehow, too adult? Hell, is this what it feels like?
Yuck. At least you smell like yourself. Clean and absolutely doused in your favorite perfume.
Donnie said he’d help you prep.
It was with the basics: interview questions, presentation pacing, eye contact. Lots of things that made you nervous, even with him.
He’s sitting at his desk when you walk in, multitasking between his computer monitors and a half-dismantled device he’d been messing with for the past week or so. “Hi, love,” he says without looking up, welcoming you in– voice already slipping into a more gentle-toned lecture mode. “How are you feeling about your inter–?”
He finally looks up. And stops.
“…Hi,” he says, quieter than usual.
You frown. “Hi?”
Donnie exhales, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Sorry. You just surprised me. Brain went blank for a minute. You look… wow. You look amazing,” he murmured, swiveling his chair toward you fully, resting his elbows on his knees. He analyzed your outfit, clearly approving of what you had chosen to wear for the day. A light blush caressed your face; you didn’t turn away, not now. If you were already turning away and playing shy at his words of affection, how easily would you turn away with the hiring managers?
“Thank you. I don’t really know how I feel about it… it’s not, uh, me.” You stifle out a laugh– clearly not a real one. He noticed, but didn’t pry.
“Yeah, I’ll give you that. Doesn’t take away from how good you look, though.” You shot him a look. “Aren’t you supposed to be helping me with interview questions?” The combat came quickly from your lips; Donnie laughed and spun around again, grabbing a piece of paper. He motioned for you to sit. You did so.
After a long while of answering questions, you do feel prepared—more than you expected to, at least. The anxiety doesn’t vanish completely, but it dulls, settling into feelings that are manageable instead of overwhelming. Donnie walks you through everything one last time, correcting you gently when you rush, reminding you to breathe when you forget to. Which was, to be fair, quite frequently.
The clock ticks over to 1:20. You should leave soon if you want to get there by 1:45—earlier, even, if you want time to practice.
You hesitate. “I am… so terrified, right now, Don. What if I mess it up?”
“You won’t.” he says immediately, no pause. “And even if you do, I promise it doesn’t define you as a person, as much as you think it does.” He pulls you into his arms for one last hug, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before letting you go. “Besides,” he says, tone light again, “I am working on a flamethrower… if you decide you want to dramatically destroy the outfit afterward. As much as I like it, I have a feeling you want it gone.”
You glance up. “Really?”
He smiles, small and fond. “No. Wish I was,” he chuckles. “But you do have some extra clothes in the back.”
You snickered. “That’s why you’re my favorite.”
“That’s why you’re dating me, thank you.” He sarcastically corrects. You roll your eyes and grab your keys.
Raph
Somehow, by a minor miracle of persistence and sheer luck, you had managed to find a pool that was actually open. Not just open, but entirely deserted. It was situated outside, perched precariously on the very top floor of a high-rise hotel; a shimmering, slightly dirty rectangle of blue in the dark night. Even a hot tub was placed nearby, the rainbow LED’s left on and shining from the last person who used it. No one else was around—no loud families, no splashing children, no lifeguards. Just you, and your boyfriend, finally able to carve out some time for a proper date. Or, at least, what you could assemble of one with severely limited resources and the time of day– he still had patrol.
The air was sharp and cold, compared to the pool water. The night itself was silent. The only light came from the pale moon, the many stars, and the yellowish glow of the distant streetlamps on the major avenues below. The hotel's pool lights were a soft, submerged turquoise, making rippling patterns on the stained white mosaic tiles.
The only sounds disturbing the quiet were the gentle slosh of the water and your own steady breathing. You quickly dipped and withdrew your toes from the pool. "Yeah, I might just stick to the hot tub," you decided. Raphael mirrored your action, wincing at the cold. For a turtle, he was remarkably particular about the temperature of the water.
Taking a breath, you took off the giant shirt that Raph had lent you for the hike there. It was stained. Messy. Not like you cared, it was what you wore half of the time, anyway. Underneath the giant shirt was a dark scarlet red bathing suit; one you’d specifically bought because it matched his signature color. You noticed he would stare more, when you did that. Wore red.
Raph didn’t move right away. He stayed where he was, feet planted against the cold concrete, arms crossed, eyes fixed on you like he was trying to convince himself he was seeing this correctly. I mean, he was aware he was going to see you in a bathing suit, he’s seen you in less- but this was… fuck. The neon from the hot tub caught the water on your skin, reflected in soft pinks and reds, and his jaw tightened.
“…Jesus,” he muttered under his breath. He was warm himself.
“You okay?” You ask, dipping into the hot tub. You sat on the ledge in the tub, tilting your head back onto the concrete where the ground was at. “Love, get in. This feels amazing.”
“Yeah,” he said, finally. “I’m comin’.”
He pushed off the railing and moved towards you, his gear set aside and his bandana kept on. Even here, even now, he checked the perimeter without thinking, eyes flicking to the stairwell door and the dark edges of the rooftop before he stepped closer. Old habits– you didn’t try to break him out of it.
He eased down into the hot tub beside you, shoulders sinking under the water. The heat hit him and he visibly relaxed, head tipping back for half a second. Raphael’s muscles relaxed; something he doesn’t do often. “Okay,” he muttered. “Yeah. That’s… that’s better.” He glanced at you again, slower, making sure you knew damn well that he was staring. One arm stretched along the edge of the tub behind you.
As his eyes trickled down your form, Raph started rambling again. “The red ain’t fair, sweetheart.” He said, messing with the hem of the suit.
You shifted closer without thinking, the water sloshing gently between you. “Oh, fair?” You chuckled. “There’s rules now?”
“Yeah, well,” he said, voice low, arm firm along the tub behind you as your knee brushed his, “you’re makin’ it real difficult to care about patrol after this.” The turtle sank deeper into the hot tub, bringing you with him but catering you to the top of his plastron to keep you above the water. “Water feels too nice. And you too, I guess.”
You smirked, letting him have the tease. Raph’s eyes flicked to the skyline, then back to you, jaw tight but softened at the edges.
“It’s worth it.” He groaned, letting his head rest on the inner dip of your neck.
Leo
When Leo opened the door and found you standing there in a dress, his first reaction was silence.
He had been expecting nothing more than a brief exchange. Your brownie container returned, a quick smile, maybe a comment about the formal fundraiser you had mentioned earlier in passing. Instead, he was faced with something he somehow hadn’t prepared himself for: you, presented in a state of pure professionalism and put-togetherness (?) he rarely saw. Not that he minded; he loved you for you. Your dress wasn’t extravagant, nor was it too flashy or unique. It moved with you naturally, the fabric following the line of your posture rather than concealing it. Whereas your usual baggy clothes softened your presence, your dress clarified it. It defined you. And by God, did Leo love it. He took a controlled breath before speaking.
“You look beautiful,” he emphasized, clearing his throat and fixing his posture to stand a little straighter.
You smiled, small and self-conscious, already shifting your weight. You told him you were only there to retrieve what you’d forgotten, that you didn’t have time to linger. The fundraiser for work was waiting. Responsibility was still there. You didn’t want to leave, but there was truly no choice; time was of the essence.
He stepped aside to let you in, but when you moved to take the container and leave just as quickly, he gently stopped you. Leo placed a hand on your back and tilted his head a little to murmur a proposition.
“I don’t want to leave your coworkers waiting. I know you have somewhere to be. I just…” He paused, choosing his words with care. “Can I keep you here, for a few, if that’s alright? Nothing more than that. A few minutes,” he requested, running his hands up and down the fabric of the dress. Giving in, you nodded. You picked up some fabric to the dress, too— scrunching it in your hand.
“I wasn’t sure about it,” you admitted, glancing down at the outfit. You smoothed the fabric absentmindedly, fingers catching on the seam the way he had just traced it. “I wanted to wear something that was a little more loose-fitting, but there was some dress-code my office provided that said I had to follow certain circumstances if I wanted to wear something specific, and blah-blah-blah.” You groan. “So, I settled for this. Really the only thing I had that fit all the criteria in my closet.”
Leo listened without interrupting, his attention fully on you now rather than the dress itself. Your words earned a soft huff of amusement. Leo shook his head, appreciating what you had on either way.
“Criteria or not, you… you look gorgeous. Like I said. Better than I imagined.” He ran a thumb over the edge of the fabric near your waist.
“What, you imagined this? Me? In a high-school-formal-looking dress?” A chuckle came from your lips as you shrugged your shoulders lightly, teasing him with a light poke. The whole ensemble was slightly similar to a prom dress, but only much more… mature. You picked a dress that was actually cute compared to the monstrosity you chose to wear a few years ago.
“Can’t say I haven’t,” Leo looks you up and down, then up at the ceiling as a faux deterrent. “I don’t want to rush you out the door. Let me see you like this for a minute… just a few minutes? Please? Not often I get to see you like this at all,” he pleaded, holding you tight so you couldn’t escape if you tried. His blue eyes bore into yours as he looked down, his lips curled into a smirk– practically ensuring your response before you could even reply.
“Uh-huh, just a few?” you teased, eyebrow raised.
“Just a few,” he said with a quiet grin. “Please?”
You eased down onto the couch edge, settling in. His eyes were glued permanently on you for the rest of the night.
Mikey
You paused before the full-length mirror, adjusting the delicate, shimmering straps of your "costume" for the holiday. The fabric was a stark contrast to your everyday wardrobe: fitted in unfamiliar ways, with sleek lines and some very revealing choices. The jeans clung far too tight—nothing like the oversized hoodies and loose pants you usually hid in. Yet, your top, which was practically a bra, fit you undeniably well. Halloween offered a lame excuse to try something new, even if it meant risking looking silly. Still, a familiar warmth of worry pooled in your stomach, and you shook your head.
Your friends had invited you to a club—a genuinely thrilling, loud, and slightly intimidating proposition. You weren’t really a partygoer; your ideal Friday night involved a soft blanket and sleeping. With your beloved orange boyfriend. And video games. And ingesting an unhealthy, catastrophic amount of calories. There were no loud noises, no large groups of people.
… But it was Halloween! New York, since you’ve moved, has been an absolute hell of a time when it comes to parties. Why not step into that scenery, for a change? Why not, for one night, be the person in the cute, instagram-post worthy outfit for one time in your life?
There was one tiny, almost comical problem. It was themed: y2k. A theme you hadn’t really been familiar with beyond vague mentions on social media. You’d spent the better part of the afternoon poring over Pinterest boards—low-rise everything, butterfly clips, pastel metallics. You’d seen some people your age dress with the style, but you were never really interested enough to try it.
What better time than the present?
"Mikey," you call softly, your voice barely reaching across the small bedroom. "Can you… come here for a second?"
He looks up instantly from where he’s been strategically positioned on the bed, pretending not to stare—a performance that fooled absolutely no one. A very common thing from him, really. The moment he fakes his eyes to land on you, he stills completely, his jaw and head moving to prove a clear point. All the casual tension leaves his shoulders. The smile that forms on his face is absolutely begging to drown you in words of encouragement. While he was the complete opposite of you surrounding your social habits, you still lived for his praise.
“...Angel,” he says, the single word exhaling from him quietly.
You glance at him through the mirror, catching your own anxious reflection. "Is that a good 'angel' or a bad one?"
He pushes himself off the bed and steps closer, stopping just behind you. He is careful not to touch yet, sensing your fragility. “Is that a serious question, babes?”
You exhale, the breath shaky, and feel your shoulders relax just a little—a fraction of the tension easing its grip. "It’s not too much? I know I don’t usually dress like this. I just didn't want to look… out of place. Like I tried too hard, or not hard enough."
Mikey shakes his head immediately, a firm, non-negotiable movement. “No! Absolutely not, you look incredible! Has this outfit been in your closet this entire time, gorgeous??” His hands finally settle at your waist, his touch comforting you successfully through the tight fabric. His thumbs gently rub small circles on your hips. “You look pretty, all dressed up. So what if you don’t end up liking it later, it’s cute? Just think of it as a Halloween costume. I love it. Now turn around and show me the full thing,” Mikey sticks his tongue out, spinning you around as if the two of you were dancers. He stopped, picking you up and swinging you into his arms. You screamed hysterically in surprise for a half-second.
“If it gets loud, or weird, or you decide you hate it after twenty minutes—or some guy tries to hit on you that’s not, you know, yours truly—text me. I’ll come get you. Nooo questions asked,” Mikey clicked his tongue.
You giggle, shaking your head. “Whatever.” You tilt your head back. “It’s just a club. I’ll be fine. Go do your annual sewer‑stalking of the Halloween parade, you weirdo.”
“And you go be hot and mysterious, angelcakes. Get some free drinks from men—I consent. Just delete their stupid numbers. I want my girl to have a good time!” He places you down, holding his hands up in fake defeat.
“Oh my God, please shut up. I’m going now.” You lift your hands over your face, laughing to yourself. With a final smile, you step into the hallway, confidence running deep in your veins like it hasn’t ever before.
(ФωФ): little moments with leos, established relationship, fluff, lil bit of angst here n there, mentions of blood and injuries, domestic fluff
2003 up to 2023 leo.
i love love love love tmnt stawp. i have a vid of 3yo me sobbing over my mom telling me if i dont brush my teeth she'll lure my "husband" out with pizza and hand him to shredder. said husband was leonardo.
⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･
MORNING RITUALS
The first few times you stayed over in the lair, you’d awaken to the sound of his breathing—deep, measured, rhythmic—and realize, not without a flutter in your chest, that he was already up, already dressed, already kneeling on the mat across the room with his swords resting beside him. It used to make you self-conscious, the way he’d train before sunrise while you were still tangled in sheets and dreams. But then you realized that he wasn’t trying to be impressive or distant; it was just his way. His version of peace.
Eventually, you started joining him, not to train—though he always offered to teach you—but to sit beside him on the tatami mat, wrapped in a hoodie you kept in the lair, sipping slowly from the cup of tea he’d always have waiting for you. He never said anything during those moments, didn’t need to. Just leaned a little closer, let his shoulder press against yours. It became a ritual: his morning meditation, and yours—quiet, mutual grounding before the world started asking things of you again.
---
AFTER-MISSION CARE
There’s a specific look Leo gets after a rough mission, a tightness around his mouth, a flicker of guilt in his eyes even when no one got hurt. You learned to spot it early in your relationship, even before he admitted how heavily failure—or even perceived failure—weighed on him. He never really spoke about it. Not directly. Not unless you pried.
So you stopped prying.
Instead, when he came back with a split lip or knuckles scraped raw, you’d reach for the first-aid kit without asking, sit him down, and tend to him in silence. You learned the way he winced, not from pain but from being seen, from being vulnerable. You learned the small, silent language of his guilt—the way he wouldn’t meet your eyes when you cleaned the cut across his collarbone, or how he’d clench his jaw when you dabbed at a bruise on his temple. You’d talk softly about mundane things—what you made for dinner, what Mikey said that made you laugh—and eventually, the tension in his shoulders would melt just a little.
The first time he let out a shaky breath and leaned into your touch instead of away from it, you didn’t say a word. Just kissed his knuckles, right over the bruises, and felt the way his fingers threaded through yours in response.
---
WHEN HE CAN’T SLEEP
You woke up to the sound of his footsteps, soft but unmistakable, pacing. At first, you thought it was part of a dream. But when you cracked open your eyes and saw the empty space beside you, the faint light of the hallway casting long shadows across the floor, you knew.
You found him in the training room, of course. Sword in hand. Sweat darkening the edge of his bandana. You didn’t say anything right away—just leaned against the doorway and watched as he moved, fluid and sharp. But there was something off about it. A hesitation in the swing. A falter in the stance.
“Nightmare?” you asked quietly.
He stopped mid-strike and let the tip of his katana dip toward the floor. Didn’t look at you. Just nodded once.
You walked over and took the sword from him gently, like it was a weight he’d been holding too long, and set it aside. You didn’t ask what it was about. You knew he’d tell you if he needed to. Instead, you reached up and cradled his face between your palms, feeling the faint tremble in his jaw.
“I’ve got you,” you whispered.
And he just folded into you, arms wrapping tight around your waist, forehead pressed to your shoulder, and stayed there like your heartbeat was the only thing anchoring him to the present.
---
QUIET CONFESSIONS
Sometimes, the deepest things he said came when he wasn’t trying to be poetic at all—when he was halfway between exhaustion and honesty, staring up at the ceiling from the makeshift couch-bed in your apartment while your fingers idly traced the curve of his plastron.
“I don’t always know how to be… just a person,” he murmured once, the words falling like water in a quiet room. “Not a leader. Not a warrior. Just… someone.”
You had looked at him then, surprised but not startled, and slid your fingers up to touch his cheek.
“You don’t have to figure that out alone,” you said simply. “You’re someone to me.”
His eyes had gone soft, distant. “I know,” he said, voice barely above a breath. “That’s the scariest part.”
And you understood, somehow—how terrifying it must be to be seen so completely. But he let you see him, over and over. Let you love him, despite the edges.
---
DUMB DOMESTIC STUFF
There was one afternoon when you walked in on him trying to fix the sink.
He had the most determined expression on his face, wielding a wrench like it was a second katana, muttering under his breath while Donnie hovered in the background, clearly amused but not interfering. You leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, biting back laughter.
“Should I be worried?”
He didn’t look up. “I’ve got it under control.”
“You say that like you didn’t once accidentally decapitate a vacuum cleaner.”
“That was one time.”
“That was last month.”
He paused, gave you a flat look, then—when the pipe under the sink gave an ominous creak—sighed and set the wrench down.
“…Okay, I might need help.”
Donnie burst out laughing. You just smiled and walked over to kiss his cheek.
“I’ll go get the towels.”
---
LITTLE TOUCHES
He’s not very physically affectionate in public. Not in the way Mikey is, with his constant hugs and leaning. But in private, in the soft quiet of shared space, he touches you constantly. Not clingy, not needy, but present—a hand on your back when you’re cooking, his knee brushing yours when you sit beside each other, his fingers brushing your wrist as he passes by.
You started keeping count once, just for fun, of how many times he touched you in a day—twenty-seven before dinner. Thirty-eight by bedtime. Each one said something different: I see you. I’m here. I need you. I love you. He never said the words often, not out loud, but they were in every gesture.
And the nights when he did say it—usually quiet, soft, spoken like a prayer against your skin—you felt it in your bones.
---
WHEN HE LETS GO
There are rare, sacred nights when Leonardo actually lets himself laugh. Not the polite little chuckle he gives when Mikey’s on a roll, or the amused exhale when Raph gets caught in his own sarcasm—but a real laugh, warm and unguarded, the kind that shakes through his whole body and makes you feel like the universe just cracked open and let the sun in.
One night, it was because you were trying to do a yoga pose he’d shown you, and you lost your balance and flopped onto his lap in the most undignified way possible. For a second, you were horrified. But then he looked down at you, eyes wide with disbelief, and burst out laughing—full-on, head-tilted-back laughter that made your embarrassment melt away completely.
“You—” he gasped between laughs, “—you looked like a falling turtle.”
“Wow. I feel so loved right now.”
He pulled you up into his lap, kissed the top of your head, still grinning.
“You are,” he said, and his voice was so full of affection you couldn’t even pretend to be mad.
---
FUTURE TALK
It doesn’t happen often, but sometimes, late at night when everything is quiet and you’re wrapped in blankets with the hum of the city in the distance, he talks about the future. It always surprises you, how gentle his dreams are.
“I think about a place,” he said once, voice barely more than a murmur against your shoulder. “Not a battlefield. Just… somewhere quiet. Green. A garden, maybe. Somewhere I could still train. Somewhere you’d feel safe. Somewhere… we could be.”
You reached back to thread your fingers through his.
“We could make that,” you said.
He was quiet for a long moment.
“I want to,” he whispered.
And you knew he meant it. Knew he could, if you stayed beside him.
---
THE MOMENT THAT STAYS
There’s one moment that lives in your mind more than any other.
You were standing on the rooftop one evening, watching the sunset bleed into the horizon, his hand warm and solid in yours. No words. No plans. Just the two of you breathing in the same sky.
And without looking, he said:
“I used to think peace was something I had to fight for. But with you… it’s just there.”
You squeezed his hand.
And in the hush of that moment, with the world spinning soft and slow beneath your feet, you believed him.
The distance didn’t kill your love, but it did stretch it thin across time zones and lonely nights, and it made his return less like a reunion and more like learning how to hold him all over again—learning that the Leo who came back from the jungle wasn’t the same one who left. He was broader now, more serious than ever, and sometimes got lost in his own silence like it was the only thing he trusted. But he looked at you the same way, touched you the same way—tentatively, reverently, like every part of you was a prayer answered.
---
THE RETURN
You still remembered the way his arms wrapped around you the first time he came back to the lair—not in some movie-perfect spin-and-dip hug, but something tighter, fiercer, almost desperate. He didn’t say much, barely got out a “Hey,” before his arms were locked around you and your face was buried in his neck. You could feel the roughness of travel in the folds of his bandana, smell the damp earth and jungle still clinging to his skin, hear the tremble in his breath as he exhaled like he’d been holding it for seven months.
You had whispered, “You came home,” and he’d replied, voice cracked with something brittle, “I had to.”
---
THE NIGHTMARES
He didn’t talk about what happened while he was away—not at first. There were too many ghosts in his silence, too many things he hadn’t processed yet. But the nightmares gave him away. You’d wake to find him sitting at the edge of your shared bed, elbows on his knees, head in his hands, breathing like he was still running through the jungle.
You didn’t ask what he saw. You just touched his shoulder, climbed onto his back like a child needing reassurance, wrapped your arms around his chest and pressed your cheek to the curve between his shoulder and neck. “You’re not there anymore,” you’d murmur. “You’re here. You’re home. You’re with me.”
And every time, he’d cover your hand with his and hold it like it was the only solid thing in the world.
---
DOMESTIC STILLNESS
The lair was quieter since his return. He wasn’t loud to begin with, but something about the way he moved now was even more subdued—gentle footsteps, careful glances, as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to take up space anymore. But you found ways to fill the quiet together. Long evenings reading on the couch, your legs tossed lazily over his lap while he traced slow patterns into your shin with a calloused finger. Sometimes he’d fall asleep like that, upright and still, head bowed slightly, your warmth the only thing anchoring him to the present.
You learned to cook simple things together—soups, stir-fries, quiet meals shared shoulder-to-shoulder in the kitchen while the city buzzed beyond the sewers. He once smiled halfway through chopping carrots and said, “I missed this.”
---
WHEN YOU FOUGHT
It wasn’t frequent, but when you fought, it was like a dam cracking. His voice rarely rose, but his words could cut sharp when he was afraid—“You don’t understand what’s at stake,” or “I have responsibilities you’ll never have to carry.”
And sometimes, it felt like he was still more committed to his duty than he was to you.
But when the silence settled afterward, when the adrenaline was gone and his shoulders dropped under the weight of regret, he always came to you. Not with grand apologies, but with his heart in his hands.
“I’m sorry,” he’d whisper, kneeling in front of you, fingers tangling in your own. “I’m trying to unlearn the part of me that thinks I have to do it all alone.”
And each time, you’d remind him—gently, sometimes with your own tears held at bay—that love wasn’t another mission to complete. It was allowed to be messy. To be shared. To be leaned into, not carried like armor.
---
HIS UNGUARDED MOMENTS
There was one rainy evening when you caught him dancing in the kitchen—not good dancing, not graceful or poised—but pure, genuine awkward foot-tapping and hand-flailing while some old soul record played through the static of the lair’s ancient radio. He hadn’t seen you come in, and when he finally turned and saw you, he froze mid-step, one hand still raised like a deer caught in the act.
You laughed so hard you nearly cried.
He groaned, turned around, tried to play it off—but you ran to him and threw your arms around his neck and kissed him right there, half-bent in laughter, rain thudding overhead and the smell of cinnamon from the tea still steeping.
“You’re ridiculous,” you giggled into his skin.
His arms tightened around you, his voice low and happy. “I know. But only for you.”
---
WHEN HE’S SICK
He is the worst patient.
Absolutely the worst.
He tries to train through fevers, insists he’s fine even while coughing into his arm, and refuses to rest until you threaten to sedate him. You have to wrestle him onto the couch and pile blankets on him like you’re trapping a wild animal.
“You’ll overheat me,” he grumbled once, flushed and pouty under two comforters and a quilt.
“You’re a reptile,” you replied, adjusting his position.
He gave you a look that was mostly amusement and slight betrayal. You kissed his forehead before he could argue again, and he melted instantly, limbs going soft under your touch.
“Okay. I’ll rest,” he mumbled.
And he did. Because if nothing else, Leo always listened when you asked him gently.
---
HIS LOVE LANGUAGE
Leo was quiet with affection, but he showed it in the way he memorized everything about you—the way you liked your tea, the angle you curled into when you were cold, how you always tilted your head when trying to decide something. He’d hand you your favorite mug before you asked, pull a blanket over you without a word, step into the space behind you and wrap his arms around your waist like it was second nature.
When you were stressed, he’d set up a bath for you, light candles (awkwardly, because Raph always teased him for it), and sit nearby while you soaked, reading out loud from whatever book you were working through, voice calm and low.
When you were sad, he didn’t try to fix it. He’d just hold you—sometimes in silence, sometimes whispering little truths against your temple: “You’re not alone.” “I love you.” “I’m here.”
And somehow, that made everything bearable.
---
THE MOMENT THAT STAYS
There was one late night—city asleep, lair humming soft with the sound of distant subway cars—where you both lay tangled in a nest of pillows and leftover warmth, your head on his chest, his fingers trailing up and down your back with thoughtless devotion.
And he whispered, like it hurt to say, “Sometimes I don’t know if I deserve this.”
You didn’t move. Just rested your hand over his heart and whispered back, “But you have it. Every part of it. Every part of me.”
And he pulled you in like that answer was the only thing keeping him whole.
---
THE PATH FORWARD
He still struggled, sometimes. With balancing duty and love, with forgiving himself, with remembering he didn’t always have to be perfect to be worthy. But you stayed. Through every stumble, every silence, every moment where he thought he had to carry it all alone—you stayed.
And every time he looked at you, you could see it.
The peace.
The gratitude.
The quiet, relentless love that built itself up in the spaces between missions and memories, in every little moment you made together.
THE FIRST TIME HE REALIZED YOU WERE IT
It wasn’t even a grand moment. No sweeping music or slow-motion realization. Just you, one late afternoon, sitting cross-legged on the floor of the lair, a bowl of popcorn on your lap, humming some dumb song he didn’t even recognize while watching a show he didn’t really care for. Your hair was a little messy. Your shirt was one of his, worn and soft. Your fingers flicked popcorn into your mouth between laughs.
He was supposed to be training. Supposed to be focused. But something in his chest squeezed—slow, gentle, like his heart was blinking. And he knew, then and there, watching you in the glow of the TV, feet wiggling in time to the opening theme, that this was it. You were his person. His future. His home.
He’d said nothing. Just walked over, sat behind you, and rested his chin on your shoulder. Quiet. Heavy with feeling. You didn’t say anything either—just reached up and threaded your fingers through his.
---
MOVIE NIGHTS GONE WRONG
He always picked the cheesiest, most dramatic action flicks. You made fun of him relentlessly for it.
“Leo, why do they keep flipping over cars? There’s no reason for this car to flip. It’s a normal road.”
“They’re setting up tension!”
“That guy just caught a grenade with his teeth.”
“Okay, but it was symbolic.”
You spent the entire runtime with your legs tossed over his lap, throwing popcorn at the screen while Leo tried to defend the plot like he wrote it personally. At some point, your arguing always dissolved into giggles, and by the end of the night, you were curled up against him, his arm around your waist, your head tucked under his chin.
He always said, “Next time, we’re watching something serious.”
And then picked another action flick every single time.
---
THE TIME YOU TOOK CARE OF HIM WHEN HE WAS HURT
Leo wasn’t scared of getting hurt. He was a trained ninja. He knew pain. What he wasn’t good at? Accepting help.
“Leo, sit down.”
“I’m fine.”
“Leo, your side is literally bleeding onto the floor.”
“I’ve had worse.”
You had to push him—gently but firmly—onto the couch, your fingers tugging off his gear while he hissed and tried to pretend it didn’t hurt. You cleaned the gash slowly, carefully, your brows furrowed, mouth pressed into a flat line of worry.
He watched you, quiet. Noticing the way your hands trembled just a little. The way your lip wobbled like you were trying not to cry. And it hit him then, hard and sudden, how much you cared.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured.
“Because you’re hurt, idiot.”
He reached up, brushing your cheek with a knuckle. “I’m okay. Because you’re here.”
You sniffled and swatted his hand. “Don’t flirt while you’re bleeding.”
He grinned anyway. Blood loss and all.
---
TRAINING TOGETHER
Leo was a surprisingly patient teacher—meticulous, focused, and always watching you with this tiny smile that said he was proud even when you were just learning how to punch.
He always caught you when you fell. Always adjusted your stance with careful hands, never too tight, just the right amount of touch to send a jolt down your spine.
When you finally knocked him on his shell (with some help, but you never had to know that), you stood over him panting, beaming, triumphant.
“Did you let me win?” you demanded.
He grunted, winded. “I plead the Fifth.”
You flopped down on him, laughing, sweat-slick and breathless.
“Next time, I’m going for Mikey.”
“Good luck,” he wheezed.
---
THE TIME YOU WORE HIS GEAR
You’d been cold. That was the only reason. His chest strap was nearby, and you’d slung it on over your hoodie just for warmth—but then Leo had walked in mid-strut and stopped dead in the doorway.
He stared at you like you’d grown a second head. Or sprouted wings. Or maybe both.
“What?”
“…Nothing.”
“You’re blushing.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
He walked up slowly, eyes locked on you like you were something sacred.
“You can’t wear that,” he said, almost breathless.
“Why not?”
“Because—because I can’t focus when you do.”
You raised an eyebrow, smug. “Oh?”
He tore it off you in two seconds and kissed you up against the wall like it was the last thing he’d ever do.
You wore it again the next day.
---
RAINY DAYS
You curled up in his bed while thunder rolled overhead, legs tangled together under too many blankets, both of you sleepy and warm and tangled in that lazy affection that only came when the weather outside demanded stillness.
Leo read out loud. A book you’d been working through together, his voice low and slow and a little rough from how relaxed he was. You had your head on his chest, listening more to the sound of him than the story.
He paused mid-sentence and kissed your hair without thinking.
You mumbled, “That’s not in the book.”
“Should be.”
---
THE ARGUMENT
It was over something dumb. Pizza, or missed training, or him not letting you follow during a mission. But it exploded, like everything you’d both been bottling up came out in one go.
“You don’t trust me.”
“I’m trying to protect you!”
“And I’m not just something you can shelve when things get hard!”
Silence.
He stared at you, breathing hard. “I know,” he said finally. “I know. I’m sorry.”
You sat down hard on the couch, all your anger gone in one breath.
He joined you a second later. Quiet. Small.
“You mean everything to me,” he said. “It’s hard to let you be in danger. Even when I know you can handle it.”
You rested your forehead against his.
“Next time, let me decide what I can handle.”
He nodded. “I will.”
And he did.
---
WHEN HE MISSED YOU
He once went away for a training retreat with Splinter. Only a week. But it felt longer than that.
he called when he could. Left you little notes in your hoodie pocket. Texted you every morning:
Morning, Sunshine.
Stay warm today.
Eat something real today, no cookies for breakfast.
I miss you.
When he came back, he held you like the world was ending. His face buried in your neck. His arms iron-tight around your waist. You didn’t speak for a long time. Just held each other, breathing each other in, until the ache of absence finally faded.
Later that night, curled up in bed, he whispered against your cheek, “I love you more every day.”
You whispered back, “I never stopped missing you.”
---
WHEN YOU GOT HURT
He panicked. Like, really panicked.
There was blood. A sprain. You were limping. And Leo was at your side instantly, eyes wild, hands trembling, trying to touch you everywhere at once—your face, your arms, your legs—checking.
“Are you okay? Talk to me. Where does it hurt?”
You tried to laugh it off. “It’s not that bad—”
“You’re hurt.”
His voice cracked on the word.
He carried you home. Didn’t let go once. And when you were bandaged up and resting, he just sat beside you, head bowed, hands clasped.
“I can’t lose you,” he said quietly.
“You won’t,” you promised.
And he didn’t.
---
A PEACEFUL FUTURE
There was one evening where nothing hurt. No fights. No stress. Just the two of you on the rooftop, watching the stars through the hazy New York night. You were sitting between his legs, his arms around you, your fingers laced with his.
He murmured, “Ever think about the future?”
You tilted your head. “All the time.”
“What do you see?”
You leaned back against him. “You. Somewhere quiet. Maybe a cabin. A garden. Peace.”
He was quiet for a long time.
Then he whispered, “I want that. With you.”
And you sat there, under the stars, wrapped in warmth and the promise of a someday that felt more real than any mission ever had.
WHEN YOU REALIZED DATING LEO MEANT NEVER BEING BORED AGAIN
It started with a text.
leo: meet me on the roof. urgent.
You panicked. Sprinting up the stairs, heart racing, imagining blood, tears, a krang invasion, a missile falling from space. Only to find him dramatically lying on the floor like he was in a Renaissance painting, hand over his forehead, face contorted in pretend agony.
“What happened?!”
He blinked open one eye. “They... they ate the last pizza roll.”
“…Leo.”
“I was SAVING it. It had my name on it. I wrote it in Sharpie. In cursive.”
You groaned so loud it echoed, but then he sat up and gave you the most ridiculous puppy eyes in existence.
“Only your love can fill the pizza-roll-shaped hole in my heart.”
You still kissed him. Because of course you did.
---
THE TIME HE TRIED TO MAKE YOU A ROMANTIC DINNER AND ALMOST SET THE LAIR ON FIRE
He insisted. “I can cook. I watched a whole two-minute tutorial. I am a culinary legend.”
You should’ve known something was wrong when you smelled smoke before you even got to the kitchen.
You burst in to find him frantically trying to teleport flames off the stove and onto random plates, his apron reading “Kiss the Chef (Or Else),” flour on his face, and one noodle dangling from his bandana like it had tried to flee and died in the attempt.
“I can fix this,” he said, wild-eyed.
“Leo.”
“You love me, right?”
“…unfortunately.”
He ended up ordering pizza. You both ate it on the floor, legs tangled together, sauce on your faces, laughing so hard your stomachs hurt. You never let him cook again.
---
WHEN YOU WERE SAD AND HE TRIED (HIS VERSION OF) COMFORTING YOU
He didn’t always know what to say when you were quiet. When your eyes didn’t sparkle like they usually did, when your words got shorter, sadder, when you started holding your breath more than speaking.
But he knew what to do.
He appeared in your room wearing a blanket cape and a handmade crown (don’t ask where the glitter came from), holding a glittery scepter made of a spoon and duct tape.
“I hereby declare today A No Sad Days Zone,” he announced. “By royal decree, you are required to be adored, pampered, and held like the precious creature you are.”
You blinked at him.
Then you burst into tears.
He panicked—panicked—but then you just clung to him and buried your face in his plastron, sobbing and laughing all at once, and he just held you.
He held you until the tears stopped. He kept the crown on the entire time.
---
COUCH CUDDLES, AKA HIS FAVORITE PASTIME
Leo would always pull you into his lap the second you even glanced at the couch. Movie night? His lap. Game night? His lap. Nap time? Guess what.
He called it “his throne,” and you were “the crown jewel.”
His arms were always wrapped tight around your waist, chin perched on your shoulder, legs tangled beneath you. He radiated body heat like a furnace and always hummed random songs in your ear—off-key, sometimes on purpose.
And if anyone dared interrupt?
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize you were trying to DIE today.”
---
WHEN HE GOT JEALOUS
He wasn’t mean about it. But he was dramatic.
Someone flirted with you at the hidden city market once and Leo stared them down with the intensity of a thousand suns.
“Hey,” you whispered, nudging him. “Be nice.”
“I am being nice,” he said, arm tightening around your waist. “I haven’t banished them to another dimension. That’s restraint, baby.”
You rolled your eyes, but he leaned down and kissed your cheek in front of them, whispering, “Mine,” into your skin.
You never saw the stranger again. You assumed it was a coincidence. Probably.
---
THE TIME YOU GOT HURT
Leo tried to laugh it off.
At first.
“You’ve had worse papercuts than this,” you groaned, clutching your arm.
“Yeah,” he said, voice too high. “Totally. Totally fine. Not freaking out. Nope.”
He teleported you to Donnie so fast you almost threw up, and then paced like a caged tiger while Donnie worked.
When Donnie said you’d be okay, Leo collapsed onto the floor in a heap of relief. “Sweet merciful pizza gods,” he moaned.
You stared at him. “You good?”
He reached for your hand from the floor. “You’re not allowed to die. That’s, like, the one rule.”
“I just sprained my wrist.”
“The ONE RULE!”
You had to climb down to kiss him where he’d melted. He didn’t move, just sighed dramatically. “Your love resurrects me.”
---
PILLOW FIGHTS TURNED WAR ZONES
It started innocent. A little bop to the head while you were both making the bed. He smirked. You smirked.
Then he jumped behind you like a villain and whacked you square in the back with a pillow so hard you went flying onto the mattress.
“You DARE challenge the champion?!” he cackled.
“YOU’RE A COWARD.”
War was declared. Pillows were shredded. A plush turtle went flying and broke a lamp. Mikey walked by once and got caught in the crossfire. Raph had to confiscate your pillows for a week.
But your laughter echoed through the lair long after the feathers settled.
---
LATE NIGHT CONFESSIONS
It was 3 a.m.
You couldn’t sleep. And Leo… well, Leo never really slept unless he had to.
You were lying on the rooftop, side by side, the city humming beneath you, stars barely visible through the glow.
“I don’t get it,” you murmured. “Why me?”
He turned to you slowly.
“What?”
“You could have anyone. You’re Leo. You’re cool, and funny, and handsome—”
“Go on,” he said, waggling his brows.(or..the bones..that were there..)
You laughed, but looked away. “Seriously. You’re you. Why’d you pick me?”
He was quiet. Then:
“Because I’ve never met someone who looked at me like I was more than the jokes. Like I could be something... real. And you make me feel like I’m not pretending all the time.”
You turned back. His eyes were so soft.
“I love you,” you whispered.
“I know,” he said. “I love you more.”
And then he kissed you slow, under the stars, like the city was just background noise.
---
THOSE TINY, SILENT MOMENTS THAT MEANT EVERYTHING
Like when he always waited for you to walk through portals first, just to make sure you’d land okay.
Or how he’d draw little doodles on your arm with his fingers when you sat beside him, absentminded and sweet.
The way he’d steal your snacks and then pretend he saved them from “spoiling.”
How his hand always found yours—without even thinking, like muscle memory.
The way he looked at you when you laughed too hard. Like the world had just started spinning again. Like you were gravity.
---
THE MOMENT HE KNEW IT WAS FOREVER
He had been scared. Of being serious. Of committing. Not because he didn’t love you—he did, deeply, wildly—but because sometimes he felt like a spotlight with nothing under it. All flash, no foundation.
But you believed in him. Always.
And one morning, you were curled up on the couch, your head on his lap, hair tangled, sleep-warm and safe, and you looked up and mumbled, “I want this forever.”
And Leo, for once, didn’t crack a joke. Didn’t tease.
He just smiled. Soft. Wide.
“Me too.”
THE FIRST TIME YOU REALIZED HOW HARD HE TRIES TO IMPRESS YOU
It wasn’t loud. Not like most things with Leo. Not like his chaotic flips through the living room or his exaggerated battle cries or the way he used to dramatically flop over the furniture anytime he got a scratch and yell, “Tell my story…”
No, it was subtle—like the way he started fixing his bandana every time you walked into the room, smoothing it out in the reflection of the toaster oven or tugging at his elbow pads like they were fancy suit cuffs. Like the way he stood a little straighter when you were around, or the soft flush that crept up his cheeks when you caught him staring too long. You hadn’t realized it before—how much he wanted to impress you, how every quip, every gesture, every over-exaggerated pose was him holding out his heart in his hands, not quite sure what to do with it, but hoping you’d take it anyway.
And when you finally told him, just barely above a whisper, “You don’t have to try so hard. I already love you,” he froze. Blinked once. Twice.
Then smiled—small and bright, the kind of smile that made your ribs ache with how tender it was.
“Okay,” he said, voice cracking just a little. “But I’m still gonna keep trying.”
---
WHEN YOU FOUND OUT HOW PHYSICALLY CLINGY HE IS
Leo was a limpet.
If he was within three feet of you, odds were high he was touching you—elbow against yours while you sat at the table, knee bumping yours when you stood still, arm slung around your shoulder like he was your personal weighted blanket.
But his favorite thing? Cuddling. Not just cute, little snuggle-in-bed cuddling. Full body clinging. He’d sprawl across you like a blanket that talked too much, his chin resting on your chest, arms wrapped tightly around your waist, legs tangled with yours like you’d both get blown away in a storm if he let go.
You couldn’t move. Not without hearing a soft little whine and feeling him grip you tighter like a sleepy octopus. “Don’t gooo,” he’d murmur into your shirt, voice muffled. “You’re my favorite pillow.”
Even if you peeled yourself away, you’d find him crawling after you five minutes later like a needy little cat. “Come baaaack, I miss you already,” he’d say, despite you having only gone to grab water.
You stopped fighting it after a while. Not just because it was cute (though it was disgustingly cute), but because the way he sighed when you let him hold you—like all his tension dissolved the second he had you in his arms—made something melt in your chest.
---
THE DAY HE BROUGHT YOU FLOWERS AND GOT PUNCHED (KINDA)
He’d been planning it for days.
You knew something was up. He’d been suspiciously sneaky, whispering with Mikey and giggling in corners, acting like he was pulling off a heist every time he left the lair. Then, one day, he came into your room holding a messy, chaotic bouquet that looked like it had survived a battle with a weedwhacker—but he was beaming, blue eyes wide and bright, petals in his teeth, leaves sticking out of his bandana.
“For you,” he said proudly, thrusting the bouquet toward you like it was Excalibur and you were royalty.
You stepped forward to take it—and promptly got smacked in the face by a thorny stem sticking out at an unholy angle.
“OH MY GOSH—I’M SO SORRY—I SWEAR I—MIKEY SAID IT WAS A ROSE—IS THIS POISON IVY—ARE YOU BLEEDING—SHOULD I GO GET DONNIE—IS THIS HOW I LOSE YOU—”
You were laughing so hard you couldn’t breathe.
He looked so distressed, cradling your face and inspecting the barely-there scratch like you were on your deathbed. “I just wanted to be romantic,” he sniffled.
You kissed him on the cheek and said, “You are. You’re the most romantic person I know.”
He carried that bouquet around for the rest of the day like it was sacred. Accidentally hit Raph with it. Refused to apologize.
---
WHEN HE GOT NERVOUS ABOUT SAYING “I LOVE YOU” AND BLURTED SOMETHING ELSE INSTEAD
You knew he loved you.
It was obvious—in the way he always remembered your drink order from that one place, in how he’d travel across five boroughs to bring you your favorite snack, in how he always instinctively stood between you and danger with his arm held out like a shield. But saying it? That was another story.
One night, curled up in a hammock, swinging slowly with the sound of the city murmuring through the lair vents, he was holding you close—closer than usual, his hand rubbing gentle circles into your back, his voice quieter than normal. You looked up, about to speak, when he blurted:
“I really like your face.”
You blinked. “What?”
“I mean—not just your face, I like—you. All of you. I just—you know—your face is—really great—and—uh—”
You stared.
He panicked.
“I LOVE YOUR FACE, OKAY?”
You were laughing before you could stop yourself. You grabbed his cheeks, squishing them until his words stopped fumbling out in a rush, and said, “Leo. It’s okay. I love your face, too.”
His whole body melted.
Later, when it was darker and softer and sleep was starting to curl into the edges of your mind, you heard him whisper it. So quiet it barely existed.
“I love you.”
You squeezed his hand and whispered it back.
---
THE FIRST TIME HE SAW YOU CRY
He didn’t know what to do at first.
You weren’t loud. You didn’t scream or sob or throw things. You just... shut down. Went quiet. Your hands shook when you tried to hold your cup. Your breath hitched like your chest was breaking under invisible weight.
And Leo—Leo, who could attempt to talk his way out of any situation, who could joke through danger and chaos and fear—suddenly had no words.
He sat beside you. Not too close at first. Let you curl inward, pull your sleeves over your hands. He waited until you looked up at him, until your walls cracked just enough to let him in.
Then he opened his arms.
You collapsed into him without hesitation, and he held you like you were something breakable and precious, rubbing your back in slow, even strokes, murmuring nonsense—little sweet words, things like “you’re safe” and “I’ve got you” and “let me carry some of it, please.”
And when you finally fell asleep against his chest, his hand in your hair, he whispered, “You don’t have to be okay for me to love you. I love you anyway.”
---
WHEN YOU GOT HURT AND HE WENT FERAL
He doesn’t remember half of it.
One second you were fine, laughing beside him during a fight, trading jokes and ducking lasers, and the next—someone knocked you to the ground. Hard.
He saw red.
He was not the biggest, not the strongest—not like Raph—but Leo was fast. And when he was angry, when something precious was threatened, he moved like a knife through air.
By the time the others caught up, the attacker was down—hard—and Leo was at your side, shaking, his hands hovering over you like he didn’t know where to touch, afraid anything might hurt you more.
You were okay. Just a bump. Maybe a scrape.
But he held your face in his hands and whispered, “I need you to be okay. I can’t—please—just—stay with me—”
You kissed him. Right there. Right in the middle of the battlefield.
“I’m okay. I’m not going anywhere.”
He didn’t let go of your hand for hours.
---
SILLY MOMENTS THAT HAPPENED WHEN NO ONE WAS LOOKING
Like when he tried to do one of those “cool lean-in” kisses and headbutted you by accident. You both had matching bruises for a week. You still call him "horny turtle" when you want to make him blush.
Or the time he accidentally turned on romantic music during patrol and started spinning you around like a ballroom dancer in the middle of a dark alley. “For ambiance,” he claimed.
When you were brushing your teeth and he peeked around the corner to rap battle with your mouth full of toothpaste. You lost.
Or how sometimes, when he thinks you’re asleep, he whispers little things into your hair like, “You’re my favorite part of the day,” and “I think I want forever with you.”
---
WHEN HE KNEW HE WANTED YOU TO BE HIS FOREVER
He didn’t know how to say it. Not really. Not yet. But he knew.
It was a quiet night. You were sitting beside him on the fire escape, legs dangling, your head resting on his shoulder, the stars barely flickering against the smog. He looked at you—just looked—and felt that ache in his chest that wasn’t painful, just big. Too big to contain.
You turned and smiled at him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like you knew he was in love without him saying it. And you kissed his cheek and said, “I’m happy.”
1. I'm not entirely focused on requests anymore as far as one shots, HOWEVER, if you want to ask for some headcanons about the boys, go ahead. Nothing obscure or crazy. Keep it pretty broad. If you request something I don't think a lot of people will read and enjoy then I won't answer it.
2. Smut is allowed, as is angst, partial gore, and other topics
3. I'm all up for discussions on characters, I'm big on sharing an opinion. So ask away if you want a bit of a ramble!
4. 18+ BLOG! Pretty self explanatory. You don't have an age in your bio or some sign of being an adult then I block. I'm not babysitting.
5. Don't remind me of old works. I'm not exactly the biggest fan of them lol
Masterlist
(This is a work in progress, I'm not exactly tech savvy and still trying to figure out word links. No Tumblr fanfic posts made before this will be added here.)
Key 🔑
Fluff -☁️ Smut -❤️🔥 Angst -💙 Violence -❤️🩹
Any Ao3 works will have a 📖 beside it and any trigger warnings will be listed on respective posts. As far as if content is suggestive, just go ahead and assume it is. I find a way.
Leonardo
Soft Skin and Gingham Shorts ☁️📖
Random Leo Headcanons
Raphael
99 Problems But This Girl Ain't One ❤️🔥📖 (3/4 chapters)
Random Raph Headcanons ❤️🔥-ish
NSFW 99! Raph headcanons ❤️🔥
Donatello
Climbing Floors To Purple Light ❤️🩹📖
Climbing Floors To Purple Light (Tumblr version) ❤️🩹
The ultimate switch, Donnie (ramble) ❤️🔥
Random Donnie Headcanons
Michelangelo
To Fill A Hole ❤️🔥📖
Random Mikey Headcanons
All of them
How they handle their spaces being rearranged by s/o
Types the Guys have
Pet names the guys would use
The Guys When Jealous
Hi! If you made it this far then awesome! My name is Ray, I'm in my 20s, and recently finished school. I'm on a mission to rebrand my Tumblr some, so enjoy!
Wait yes yes I’m so curious now I wanna know their types
I'm gonna use this ask to post it!
Which this is a reminder that I think the guys are very flexible about this stuff. Not being the kind of person that match their preferences isn't a deal breaker for them and they're always capable of trying and even loving new experiences and people.
With that best being said...
Types the Guys Have!
Leonardo
- Leo is a very straightforward and in charge kind of guy, he's not fond of being told what to do
- That being said, he loves being told what to do. Within reason! He likes challenges and if you're a difficult person then it draws him in. You would think that wouldn't work considering who he is but Leonardo is the kind of person that needs to have his boundaries stretched
- Someone that, when it calls for it, can hold their own. He wants a person that's fit and can learn quick when it comes to fending for theirselves. He never minds being your hero when it comes down to it, but just knowing you can handle his world eases his mind
- a strong back and legs really get his gears going
- This also means he wants someone that is resilient. Even if your world is chaos or you have it hard, it's admirable to see you go through it unphased
- I love Leorai (not, in a 2012 or rise kind of way), so this influences a lot of it. But even if he likes someone that can be snappy and quick witted and bossy, he also needs that person to be real with him. At the end of the day, when you're alone, you both should be able to lie side by side and just let go of the weight and be vulnerable. He considers it really special to have someone he can be raw and honest with
Raphael
- #demiromantic @moxfirefly knows what I'm talking about
- He needs someone that is PATIENT! Like a saint. Especially in the start, because even you breathing different makes him scatter. He has bad days, he has great days, he wants someone that can handle it. Handle the week where he disappears, the week where all he wants to do is be up your ass, he needs stability
- You've gotta lead in terms of intimacy and breaking barriers. First kiss is you, first make out is you, all of it is you giving the big 'OKAY' and then letting him take the time to learn
- Wants someone that isn't involved in his world. No fighting, no vigilante business, no trying to get involved. He needs you to be his sense of normalcy and the only chance you're getting in his world is staying at the lair and being medic and even then he just hates you seeing it. You know what he does but he doesn't want you seeing it all
- You could be fit or soft, he isn't the guy to care. He loves making late night snacks with you but also loves when you join him in the gym
- Has a deep appreciation and love for people with hard jobs. Medical, EMS, criminal justice, etc. He has a softer heart for people that love helping others, because that's something you'll have in common
Donatello
- Most likely to date a sweetheart and a tender soul. Something about a person that's kind despite the world really calls to him
- That being said, also likely to date a teacher. Especially elementary or middle school. He loves hearing your lesson plans, your passion for child development, the way you're still able to get up in the morning with a smile and ready to do it again, even if your students are difficult. Also likes contributing to your ideas, especially if you're a science teacher
- Said this once before, he would gravitate towards a person that's on the chubbier or softer side
- Doesn't mind you knowing about his world and what he does, and if you want to contribute then he can't stop you, but he begs for you to just stay at base. You don't need to be running around and about on his account and he likes coming back to know you're there waiting for him
- Needs someone that has their own hobbies. Reading, art, anything. Mostly because that means coexisting and not having to worry about entertaining you
- You need a sweet tooth, because he has a sweet tooth. And if you say no to a midnight ice cream snack then what's the point
Michelangelo
- The most flexible of them all. He just wants someone that is kind, that can laugh, and that can understand him. He's someone that requires patience, care, and empathy. He knows he can be a lot sometimes, he just asks you go along with it
- And on those days where he can't get up in the morning, where the fact he's a mutant glares in his mind, he really needs you. Just hold him, let him feel it, let him be... not Mikey. He isn't always bouncing around and he hates it
- If you wanted to learn how to fight then he's all for it. Self defense, combat (Leo barges in on that one), play fighting. It's all fun and good until you get hurt, then he's doubting if he should have ever indulged you
- Boobs. Any kind. Man, woman, enby, whoever. Pecs or tits. He is weak. Most shallow thing about him is the way he pinches your nipple and gropes your chest
- Alternative people! He loves when you customize your character. Haircut and style, piercings, tattoos, clothes. It's mesmerizing
- You have gotta have some child like wonder in some capacity
So I know that each of the guys have a particular way about their space they frequent the most (bedroom, lab, ect) How would they react if their s/o decided to rearrange it for them? And if they went to far if they were angry about it, how would they make it up to them? I don’t know if you do Bayverse version, but if not, any version you are comfortable with works for me! Glad to see you back around, much love to you 😊💜
Thank you! I'm glad to be feeling a little more creative and lax, so I'm hoping to ease into it all!
As far as your request, from least to MOST bothered....
Mikey, Raph, Donnie, and LEO!
Mikey is a free domain kind of guy, his room is artistic chaos with a mountain of clothes and a stack of comics. He knows it's messy, but he has a pretty good idea of where stuff is and that's fine by him.
So if you come in and reorganize, clean up, move some stuff around I don't think it would bother him all too bad. Be expected to answer questions like "Hey, where did you put my...?" Or "Do you remember where...?"
His only instance of putting his foot down is if you try getting rid of stuff. Don't get rid of his bedding, don't get rid of his comics, don't get rid of his console! You can add to his space all you want, you can organize whatever you want, just don't throw something out.
And if you do? It's like Leo levels of anxiety, he's sweaty, he's itchy, he feels sick.
Yeah... turns out this is a trauma response to growing up with little means. Didn't exactly come by stuff still in good condition as kids, so he has a lot of attachment to things. Even the melted power ranger figure you threw out.
It takes a lot of growing up and healing on his part to realize they have easier access to stuff now. Throwing it away doesn't mean that's the end of it. Most things are replaceable. And he will get better about looking at something like a super super flat pillow and realizing that, yes, he can throw this away. Especially if he's got you to flop onto to!
Now Raph is like your typical guy. Yeah, rearrange that room! Put up that picture of us! Explain to him what a sham pillow is, he won't get it, but you're happy and that's good enough for him. That mirror you brought in? He's flexing in it. Decor wise and stuff, he's really lax, just don't make it a completely different room or give him some pink sheets and he's okay.
If you do wanna push for more "girly" or "feminine" decor, he does hold a boundary. He doesn't mind animal print, or dark colors, or satin sheets. Gold or silver is good, he don't give a damn. He prefers it a little mature. That's what you get, now go and do to your heart's desire.
His biggest issue, is when you start taking his stuff OUT of his room. It could start with little stuff, punching gloves he keeps in there are now in the gym, maybe his shoes are put with the family shoes by the entrance, okay. That's fine. But going beyond that makes his eye twitch. Because why are you trying to drag his weights out the room??
And you can explain it, certain stuff belongs in certain places, but you need to understand is Raph actually spends a lot of time in his room. When he's angry, when he's sad, when he just needs a minute from it all. He needs to decompress in healthy ways and that's with his weight lifting, boxing, napping, knitting. So taking out the things that make him who he is? That irks his nerves.
He doesn't mind compromising. You're the only person he can actually do that with. If the weights are in the way of something you wanna do? Ask him to move them. Don't hurt yourself dragging that. He'll find a better spot that works for both of you. He wants this space to be yours and his.
And Donnie isn't necessarily worse, but he's a lot easier to annoy. Especially small stuff. And especially his lab. Don't move this, don't put that away, don't throw that out (even though it's useless). He has a place for everything, even though it's not the right place. And you aren't about to be changing it all up.
He's easier about his room, especially if you make his bed space more comfy. Spritz lavender, buy those high thread count sheets with his money, get those LED lights. He loooves it. But also don't you dare clear off that nightstand.
He can get a little mean and sassy about you touching his stuff. And he doesn't sway easy. And then you drop the word hoarder and he's especially set off.
After a fight about it he would close himself off in his lab, and he realizes that he is in fact a hoarder. And suddenly he's just suffocating in it.
He's such a whimpy brat when he apologizes, head in your lap, glasses off- ANYWAY.
He would compromise. Things will get organized. But! Only if he can lead it and if you'll sit with him while he goes through it all. Once the space feels more free, and he he doesn't feel like the junk man, he's your sweet dork again.
And last, but not least... Leo
This man? He comes back to his room, or dojo, or bathroom and you've moved the things around in his space?
#freshlybrokenup
Kidding! Although it does become one of his more unsavory moments. He foolishly doesn't realize that getting a partner means inevitable change, even if small.
Leo, young and new to a relationship Leo, is like the ultimate dating challenge. Very set in his way, very set in his routine. He likes being in control of the controllable (in an environment sense, he isn't purposely evil). You have to stretch out these boundaries, even if the idea of making him upset with you is scary. Making him crash out and be extra does in fact tone him down by notches.
Because when you leave, and he locks back in, and his family is looking at him like "What the hell was that?" He immediately feels the embarrassment settling in and realizes that his desperate need for his stuff to be left alone and the same everyday is probably rooted in something.
He still struggles with letting you do stuff. And if there was ever the chance of moving in together he will >politely< ask that you hand over any furniture and decor of yours and let him handle where it goes and how it looks. And even though that can make anyone nervous, he does have a tasteful eye, and includes some photos of you both alongside them.
This is a little brain worm I've had, for who knows how long, and I finally got it out. I know there isn't much interaction between reader and Donnie but I'm gonna be honest the point of this fic was to give you guys a reader who has the chance to fight for herself. Domestic violence is a rampant and killing oppression that many people face. Some do not have the strength to leave their situations, some may not even know they're in situations to begin with, and some do die. I come from a childhood filled with domestic violence and child abuse, and many years I had laid awake watching out that trailer window not knowing that what I was going through was wrong but knowing I never wanted it for myself. Sadly, that doesn't make me immune to falling into the cycle my mother and grandmother had, we are all at the potential of falling into harmful relationships. Stay aware, stay safe, and stay open to help. You are not alone
Tw: domestic violence, crude language, ugly men, ominous ending for ex
It's a little bit of a rainy night here in New York, drizzling against your umbrella as you walk back to your apartment with a pep in your step. The guy's and April had made the plan to have a fun game night to start off the weekend, and afterward, the guys would head out to do their usual rounds. Hanging with them was always the best, Mikey had a habit of making whatever drink you have coming out your nose with his jokes, but you were more excited about one brother specifically.
You and Donatello had been going steady for… 6 months? You struggled to remember, but he could tell you the exact days, minutes, and hours. He was a total upgrade from your last relationship, kind and attentive, patient, and forgiving. April claimed this should be considered the norm, but your bar had been set kinda, maybe super, low. But that just made everything better in your eyes! And yeah, sometimes when he was nose deep in some business, you can get kind of lonely. But you can't even dwell on it long before he door dashes a treat to your apartment or sends you plans for a date that he'd rolled in his brain for the past couple hours.
Just thinking about him makes you smile, and quickly, you pull your phone out, shooting a quick text to him that you're about to be inside the building. Maybe you were moving too fast with him, falling in so deep, sharing parts of yourself with him that you probably wouldn't have done with any other guy. Yet, it all felt so right.
There was one part you had not shared with him, though.It hadn't helped that your last relationship was so…mean. Being hit hurt more than it looked on TV, and a long time ago, you had convinced yourself that a part of you deserved it. The hair pulling and kicking your knees, gripping you till there were big purple splotches. You lost friends, somehow didn't lose your job, and at this point could feel the look of pity from miles away. Being handed brochures on how to leave dangerous situations by supporting groups or defacs workers and being asked if there was trouble at home by worrying grannies. You would persist that it was fine, would throw away the pamphlets or guiltily shove them in an old coat pocket in the back of your closet.It had taken being beaten down on the bathroom floor just because of how you were "looking at him" to finally realize it'd be best getting out of there. That resulted in a restraining order and moving in with April, which led to meeting the turtles and led to meeting someone who made you so happy. It was the best choice you had made in a long time. It's been nearly 2 years since then, he felt like a distant memory behind you.
You're quick to put your card key to the door panel and swing it open, shoes clicking onto the linoleum when you get in. The elevator was straight across from the main door. All you had to do was get in, and you'd be a hallway away from your apartment. Pressing the button, you wait, watching the numbers above the door dwindle down as they come to the lobby and ding open. Stepping in, the overhead light is dim, having not been changed in who knows how long, and the buttons are worn, but you know which is yours.
You expect the doors to shut, but a hand shoots out and stops them, and in a dark hood and a ball cap, your ex's face pops up.
"Y/n?" He's not even waiting before he wedges himself in through the barely opened doors. Your stomach drops, and a heavy weight makes you nauseous as your tongue feels cemented to the top of your mouth. He's standing on the opposite side of the elevator, at least, but you're thumbing your phone in your pocket. "Hope you don't mind, I followed behind you when you opened the door."
What?
Had you been so careless not to notice him right there??
"You were behind me?" It comes out as even as you can make it, a little breathless from anxiety. He nods like it's the most casual thing in the world, and the elevator doors are sliding shut. Like the heavy gates to some cage, they squeak, and your center of gravity feels off as it lifts."Yeah," He shuffles a bit, hands in his pockets. "I had to wait for you at work and everything to figure out where you were staying. You're pretty hard to find." He double takes when you do, noticing your panicked state and defensively raises his hands. "But it was just so I could talk to you! I really wanna work things out babe…"
"I don't!" Your voice cracks, and he looks stunned, so you gulp a breath down and speak again. "We are done. We have been done, I don't know why, why you at all thought it was okay to come find me li-" He's coming towards you and it makes you flinch, shoulders pressed into the corner of this suddenly very too tiny elevator. He doesn't touch you, just crowds, body blocking your line of sight from the elevator panel and doors.
"Y/n, liten to me…" You're already shaking your head and trembling hands reach up, leaving your phone in your pocket, just in the hopes to maybe keep space between you both. That makes him sneer. A rough hand tries to knock them away, but you yank away, trying to slide past him. "Y/n!"
"No! I don't want to!" You hate that you're getting panicked so easy. But he had been so cruel the last time you had seen him, had left you there to pick yourself up while he went out without you. You couldn't do it anymore. And now that he's in front of you again, it's like you're a rabbit in the jaw of some hunting dog. Raised and bred by their hunting, neglectful fathers, and sad, pushover mothers to be hateful and harmful to women. A cycle that you had repeated onto you, a flower squashed in some book about war, you can't let it happen again.
You try to turn away from him and pull your phone out but freeze as the elevator stops, the emergency alarm beeping from overhead. "I said listen to me, Y/n."You barely get to turn and see that he had pushed it before knuckles meet your face, and you crumple away from him, phone skidding across the small floor. You feel like you're blabbering as you beg for a second to catch yourself. "Wait, wait, please -"
"I don't know why you're acting like such a major bitch." He's crouching down, grabbing your ankles, trying to drag you to him. "I did a lot for you, I was the reason you even had friends, even got your job." You sober up quickly when you feel yourself coming closer to him, fingers digging into the floor to drag and lift yourself. Those few self-defense lessons Leo had given you wouldn't be for naught.You've gotta get to your phone and get out of here.
—
"Hey, where's Y/n? She was supposed to be here a couple of minutes ago, right?" April wonders, leaning against the counter as she watches the queso dip heat in the microwave. The brothers sit in the living room, watching as Raph indecisively scrolls through what movie they'd play in the background. Mikey is stacking the game boxes ridiculously high in one corner while Leo lazily scrolls on his phone. Donnie is the only one to lean back and answer her, though.
"Yeah, she texted me earlier and said she was close, so I'm assuming it'll be another minute or two." A toilet flushes, and Casey walks out from the hall, adjusting his pants.
"What are we talking about?" He comes into the open kitchen with April snuggling up to her side. "Y/n isn't here yet. Did you wash your hands?" He freezes awkwardly and backs up, sheepishly moving to the kitchen sink.
"Eeew, Case C'mon.""I bet if you ask those four, they're not washing their hands." April's face pinches up, but Donnie snorts. "I don't know, Leo is pretty anal about that kind of stuff."
April can hear Mikey and Raph giggling before they even open their mouths, and she can't help but smile herself. "Okay, you guys are officially nasty!"
Everyone laughs, carefree, and floating out the window.
—
You're panting. This elevator feels like a grave to you, buried under cement and hidden from everyone. Your phone sits, cracked in between you both. Your eye feels like it's throbbing, blood drips down your nose, and you taste it in your mouth. He has scratches on his cheek, and a part of his hair is ugily skewed from being pulled. When he had gotten ahold of your ankles, you had kicked out of them, but he was quick to lunge and slam his fists down on you.
You had done everything you could, kicked your knees up into his stomach, and slid yourself away. You had tried picking your phone up again, hands fumbling, but he knocked it from you. Crowding you again, hands going into your hair and yanking to the point it brings tears to your eyes, you take a hand and slash at him, coming up again to pull his own hair. He had a grip on you, though, shaking you violently by your hair and standing you both up. His other hand punched at your face again with no direction. One hit collided with your eye, directly into the lens. You hear your glasses crack, and the plastic pinches your nose and the soft skin of your eyebrow.
"All you had to do was hear me out!" Spittle hits your face, head whooshing, and you can barely hear him with all this sound. The emergency alarm sounds louder than it had before, thrumming in your ears and flooding your senses. And in slow motion, you're colliding with the wall of the elevator, body slammed against metal. "Why are you so fucking dense! You never learn!"
It's like a sleeper agent coming to life when you hear that phrase. The last thing he had said to you the last time he had seen you, what you had hoped was the last time.
"GET OFF ME!"
With a sudden rush, you're awkwardly hiking up your leg and shooting it straight at his gut. Your work shoes must've hurt because he's stumbling back, hand releasing your hair.
This is what leads to you both standing across from each other. Your phone, in the middle, the button to get the elevator moving beside him, nothing beside you. The choice you had to make, the levels of importance. To get this elevator moving brought you closer to home, to get your phone would let your friends know you needed help.You don't even give him a chance to open his mouth before you're jumping for the elevator panel.
You throw yourself against it, crying out as his arms wrap around you, throwing you down onto the floor. You wilt for a second, thinking you had wasted it as he grabs at your clothes, a seam ripping as he drags you again, but victoriously, the alarm stops and the elevator is in motion once more.
"You bitch!" He's staggering to get up and press it again, the elevator moving throws him off balance. And you, with vindication,kick the back of his knee and watch him stumble nose-first into the railing.
"Siri!" You shout, and the chime rings, cutting the moment of silence, and he's whipping around. The first name that comes out of your mouth, the one you had waited for all day, your purple light in that dark tunnel. "Call Donatello!"
…
"Calling Michelangelo!" Good enough!Your phone is ringing when a punch lands on your ribs. The pain makes your whole torso ache. You still have to fight, to shout, you wouldn't lie down again, and this time you wouldn't be alone picking up pieces of yourself, you were not gonna be left broken. You hear the phone pick up, Mikey's happy 'Sup Gurl!' Murmurs from the phone, and you gasp, gathering the air in this little space…And scream.
—
Things had started getting set up, Leo insisting they pull out a game so when Y/n got here, the ball would be rolling. They're all sitting around the coffee table, clue is set up, and everyone is picking pieces.
"I just don't understand why you won't let me have Mrs. Peacock." Leo fusses, looking sourly at the Reverand Greene pawn he's holding.
"The only reason is because Y/n likes her," Donnie insists and cutely makes Professor Plum and Mrs. Peacock touch faces, his oldest brother stares the action down, unamused. "It'd be unfair to leave her with leftover characters just because she's running a little late."
"Uh huh, sure," Mikey teases, fiddling with his own pawn. "Definitely not because you're thinking that's you two in another life."
"That's not plausible," Donnie snarks, "We're far more compatible than Professor Plum and Mrs. Peacock. We just like these two.
"My Bubblegum by Rasheeda starts up, coming from Mikey's pocket.
"There is no way that's your ringtone!" April giggles, watching as Casey dances in his seat to the music. Mikey is cheesing, glad it's getting recognized.
"Well, duh! It's trending right now," Taking a quick peek at his phone has him sitting up, though. "Uh oh Don, it's your snookums, think she changed her mind on which brother is the best?" He's waggling his brows for show as Donnie rolls his eyes, big hands still pressing Mrs. Peacock and Professor Plum together. Mikey answers the phone on speaker phone and with a quick "Sup Gurl!" And before he can follow up asking where she's at, her scream cuts through the speaker, shrill and frantic.
Everyone is suddenly standing, the air tenses as some man is shouting profanities at her, and dull thuds can be heard.
"Where the hell is she?" Raphael asks, but Donnie is already looking concerned at a screen with a dot flashing on it."She's here." He tries, eyes roving over nothing, trying to think of any spaces there are, but a ding reaches over her struggling, and the dots connect.
"The elevator!" April confirms, having heard the ding every day coming home. It was hard to miss. Leo starts to grab his sheathed katanas, already thinking of how to get access."Alright, we need to find a way to get into the elevator shaft, if we can get the dro- "
He doesn't even get to finish before Donnie is racing right out the front door and into the hallway. His brother's call behind him, warning him of the risk he's taking, but they don't deny following after him, Casey tailing to watch any doors that may open.
He can see before he touches the door that the elevator has reached its floor, but before the doors slide open, there's a thud, and the emergency alarm blares from it again. Donnie gives it no time before he's taking both his hands and wedging his fingers through the elevator door. What would've taken two or three men to open only took him, with barely any strain, and the sight before him makes his vision spotty.
—
That call had been your saving grace. The silence on his end showed you they had understood. The pain is nothing to the relief in that moment, his hand around your neck as the other reaches behind him and slams into the emergency button again. This time, the lights go off, and the strain on the elevator makes the overhead bulbs pop.
You fear the fight you'd have to put up in the dark, weakly kicking your feet, his hand trying to tighten around your neck, but then you hear this loud groan. A sliver of light peaks through where the doors are, and in a sense of urgency, your ex pushes off of you and separates himself. He's already stammering out some excuse as you lie there trying to catch your breath, but whatever he sees has him gasping.
"Wh, what the fuck!" His voice goes up an octave, face drained of color, the scratch marks on his face now starkly red. Your head feels heavy, flat on your back knees still hiked up in defense, you try with the last bit of your strength and turn to see.
Donnie, with the hall lights shining on his back, looks objectively terrifying and threatening. To anyone, he would be considered a monster, but to you, it was, again, that purple light in the dark tunnel.
He doesn't even pay mind to the other person in there with you, crouching down to gently lift you to your knees and beckon over some of his brothers.
"You did so good," He gently murmurs, brushing back your hair and fretting over your broken glasses, taking them off your face and pocketing them. Michelangelo comes behind him, hands reaching to guide you out, but you feel hesitant leaving Donnie, your body still shaking. "I'll handle the rest, Dove. They've got you."
That gentle nudge convinces you to move into Michelangelo's arms, being lifted and carried past a rather calm Leonardo, Raphael, and Casey, who almost look like they're holding post in the hallway. April meets you at her door, rushing Mikey in and racing for her first aid kit. You feel numb, like the energy was sucked from you, but Mikey still fidgets with your clothes, trying to imitate the way Donnie had pet your hair back.
"Don't worry, angel, it's gonna get handled, your ol' Donnie's on it." And all you can do is nod and breathe, the pain slowly growing as that adrenaline and fear fade away. April is coming back with a mess of a box when you see it, beyond the open doorway. An old man is shutting his door.
—
He watches as Michelangelo takes her back down the hall and doesn't turn back until they're both out of sight. He looks at his two older brothers, at Casey, who all nod."Do what you've gotta do." Raphael, ever the one to encourage a fight. But Leonardo looks like he's ready to agree.
He's about to speak, but a door creaks open, the one across from April's, where an old man peeks out to see what the noise is about. He freezes for a second, seeing this scuffed up guy in the elevator, but then he sees Y/n crying, sitting in sight of the doorway of April's apartment, looking worse.It doesn't take a man long to understand what's happening here. He knows Casey and April, knows their good character, and whatever they let happen with these men must be for good reason
."Have a good evening, boys, yeah?" And he shuts the door, doesn't even bother to lock the door, and it's just them again.
That was his cue.
Donnie stands to his full height, looking down at this shaking leaf, and takes a looming step onto the elevator. It creaks a little under his weight, dipping just an inch past being level with the floor, and reverently, Donnie leans over to the panel and turns the emergency alarm off. The Guy must realize what he's trying to do, and scrambles, trying to bolt out, but he's snatched up by Donatello, harshly gagging as the collar of his shirt chokes him. The elevator dings, yet the light doesn't come on, and as the doors are shutting, Donnie brings this guy right to the front of him, peering down. "Let's see if you can last as many floors as she did."
