It’s like a full-blown addiction, but instead of drugs or booze, it’s this fictional guy who’s got her wrapped around his finger. She knows it’s fucked up—knows she’s out here daydreaming about someone who’s not even real—but who cares? This guy? He’s everything. He’s charming in the worst ways, flawed in every possible sense, but there’s just something about him that has her hooked. He doesn’t even know she exists, but she’s ready to fight anyone who says a word against him. Seriously, she’ll defend his honor like it’s a fucking life-or-death mission.
He’s a goddamn trainwreck, but he’s her trainwreck. She’ll put up with all his baggage, his emotional scars, his dark sides, because somehow, that brokenness makes him feel more real to her than any real guy could. He’s messed up, but she’ll fix him in her head every single time. Maybe it’s that thrill of knowing he’s dangerous and untouchable that makes him even more irresistible. He might break her heart in a hundred ways, but it’s the kind of heartbreak that makes her feel alive, even if it hurts like hell.
And it’s never gonna happen, right? She knows that. He’s not gonna waltz into her life and sweep her off her feet. But it doesn’t matter. Because she gets to have him on her terms—no messy reality, no awkward first dates, no risking her heart for real. He’s always there when she needs him, in that perfect little bubble of fantasy she’s built for herself. And maybe she’s a little crazy for it, but at least with him, she’s never disappointed. Every time she replays his scenes, reads the fanfics, imagines their future together—it's like a high she can never quite shake. She knows it's all just a mindfuck, but she’s never felt more alive.
Bayverse donnie x Reader dating head-canons please? Have a good day!
ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ BAYVERSE!DONNIE DATING HCS
ᯓ★ lots of fluff, reader pronouns is not brought up!
How he even got you to date him was a miracle itself because to him you were like this beautiful untouchable dream in his eyes.
So the moment you said yes to his confession he couldn't stop smiling like a dork. It was adorable to see how his mood for the next few days were more lifted.
He'd hum songs happily as he worked his tech stuff, even do a little twirl and dance moves when getting food from the kitchen. It was amusing for the rest of the brothers to see, especially for splinter.
Now let's talk relationship wise, everybody knows his love language is gifting but not a lot of people knows that he's the type to worry constantly as well.
So if you'd let him, he would like to place a tracker on your phone to make sure you're safe at all times BUT if you're opposed to that idea. No worries! He'll plant an emergency button feature on your phone so that if you were in trouble, your location would be sent to him and he'd already be on his way.
Since after nearly losing Splinter, he wouldn't risk taking any chances with you.
If you happen to be in college, he would be so down to teach you things you're struggling to learn. He is literally all you need to listen to instead of those terrible professors.
That's why you'd tease him by calling him Dr. D and he'd fight so hard to bite back that cocky smile of his.
Like let that man be proud of his accomplishments for coming this far!
Whenever you're talking to him, basically yapping about your next hyperfixation, he can't help but sometimes zone out and end up just admiring this glow in your eyes.
How bringing up such a topic even if you're feeling low can literally lift your moods up.
Its incredible.
That's why he doesn't mind having a few figurines or merchandise of your favourite franchises around his lair. In a way it feels like you're living together like a married couple.
100% has a star wars lego set on his desk.
He's more of a receiver than a giver when it comes to cuddling.
Now let me explain.
After a whole day of trial and error with his experiments and not to mention the night out patrols. He'd definitely be too tired and end up forgetting sometimes if you happen to be over to sleep together.
Obviously its not that he doesn't like to be big spoon, its more like the crazy dosage of caffeine and sugary food has hit him to completely pass out on his bed the moment he makes contact with it.
He definitely enjoys resting his head on your shoulder or chest whenever you guys are cuddling together.
He's like a cat in a way.
But when it comes to kisses he's a giver.
He just loveslovesloves showering you with kisses.
Once he hears that its you making it down to the lair, he's dropping everything to give you welcoming kisses.
The goodbye kisses are never ending.
He always says "last one I promise" but that was half an hour ago 😭
You are never leaving by the time the sun is up.
Would die to have matching anything with you.
In this case, bracelets.
Given the size of his wrist being bigger than the average person. You'd end up making custom ones by buying a kit online.
Honestly it turned out better than you realised. His would have your initials and you'd have his. Both being purple, naturally.
When you surprised him with the gift.
He was LOSING it from the inside.
Heartbeat abnormal and melting inside.
Didn't even waste a second letting you put it on him.
"Oh my god, this is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me" He'd smile, his eyes never leaving the bracelet as he inspects the way it dangles around his wrist.
Whenever he's out on risky missions, it'd take every braincell and muscle in him to be careful to not break the bracelet.
Sometimes he's so protective of it that he doesn't even let the criminals lay a hand on him and rather has already knocked them down within seconds.
Leo doesn't mind this new improvement, he'd honestly end up thanking you for making patrols easier for them.
Jealousy? Nope, he's not a crazy jealous person.
Like maybe some guy could be talking to you or making you laugh.
So? It doesn't even matter. You're his in the end and seeing you happy makes him happy.
But the moment you ask anyone besides him for help?
Oh ho ho ho, you messed up.
He'd walk back and forth in his lab wondering why out of EVERYONE you knew. You asked some random guy to help fix your TV? You said it's just the landlord's idea but still. Why?
Maybe this is a trick of yours? Or did he perhaps done something to piss you off.
Because why why why WHY would you not ask HIM to do it for you?
It's literally one of his specialties!
You're literally hurting his heart!
He only accepts forgiveness in head pats and kisses.
... or juice boxes if you have any.
Fun fact, he built a tiny robot companion to keep around your apartment. Its during cases like maybe you'll be busy and away for a while, he'd use that as a way to stay close to you.
Just imagine the little robot moving around the table as you did your assignments, the sound of donnie humming as he plays with the rubik's cube for the 100th time.
His favourite thing to do with it is to rearrange the things in your house.
Just imagine you're on the sofa and you can hear this faint giggling of his as he tries to hide your computer mouse thinking it's the funniest prank known to mankind.
You honestly find it adorable how he giggles like a kid being up to no good.
If you happen to wear glasses, you'd surprise him by having a bit of purple on it or rather if you want the whole thing to be purple. Just be creative with it.
He likes it honestly. Sometimes when you put the glasses aside, he'd pick it up and run his fingers across it like it's an ancient artifact.
Raph definitely jokes about how there's now two of Donnie because of this 😭
You can imagine the amount of your stuff that is in his room, at this point it's not even his room anymore but yours as well.
Plushies, products, books, whatever it is, it's there.
Definitely the best efing boyfriend you can ever ask for.
ᯓ★ lots of fluff, reader goes by she/her pronouns! (This is late and short— sorry—)
He confessed first.
It came as a shocker to everyone since nobody thought he'd be the type to.
But again he's the type to be like 'If she rejects me then she rejects me'
So imagine his surprise when you said yes. He had a whole script ready for when you said no so he was just stumbling over his words like a mess when you did accept his feelings.
Speaking of, you're the only person in his life he has a hard time of saying no to. Its like you bring out this carefreeness inside him people rarely gets to see.
You once asked him to glitter bomb Raph's punching bag so that everytime he swings at it glitter explodes out of nowhere.
Obviously Leo gave you that stern "No" but next thing you know he's reminding Raph to train.
Completely walking him into the trap you've set up.
You guys enjoy sharing your food... or more like you eating his food since he eats like an IG model.
He always passes you the soda cans when he's done drinking from it and its like he only took a few sips from it.
He has a strict diet.
So yes he cares about his greens.
And yes he cares about your health.
Voluntarily helps you workout. It doesn't have to be intense (unless you suggest so), he just wants you to be in good health.
He'd hate to see you get sick.
You once got a fever and he literally dropped out of everything (even patrols) to take care of you. Because of that the fever only lasted for a few days rather than a week.
You love being carried and he doesn't mind it at all.
He actually enjoys how giddy it makes you feel.
Would spin you around like a Disney princess if you'd let him.
Has definitely caught you playing with his katana before.
He doesn't say anything, just leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded as he watches you attempt to open your snacks with the katana because you couldn't find any scissors.
So you know the blue ribbon that hangs from his katana?
That would become your signature look.
Either its used to tie your ponytail, shoes, skirts, its whatever.
It was like a discreet way to say you were his.
And he loves it. He goes crazy over it but you wouldn't know because he always manages to keep his composure.
That doesn't mean he won't kiss you and say how beautiful you are.
Loves to smell the heck out of you.
If you're ever passing by, either to get something or talk to someone, he will always wrap his arms around from the back before he buries his face into the crook of your neck.
Your smell is just so addictive to him.
The only way he can put it into words is how the smell of you just calms him down entirely.
Out of everybody, he feels he can drop his strong leader demeanor and be his stupid self when he's around you.
Is very cheeky when its just the two of you.
He loves tickling you when you least expect it and then finds it amusing having to watch you try to fight your way out of it.
Its not like he can help it.
That pouty angry look of yours just encourages him even more.
He definitely calls you baby. Clichés is best after all.
"I've missed you baby" He'd say before lifting you by the chin to kiss you.
Yes he's a huge kisser. There is not a day that goes where he doesn't kiss you.
Either its quick kiss on the cheek or a long passionate one.
However, his love language is basically words of affirmation.
There's nothing better than voicing your love for someone. Well that's what he thinks.
You do call him cheesy for some of the things he said but he just shuts you up with kisses so that you both end up sounding like laughing fools.
Talks about you all the time... especially when he's with the others.
Always mentioning how you would love these flowers, how you would love the bright moon and whatever else it is that you'd love. He always feels the need to bring you up.
Woke up and saw a new bayverse writer and got super excited! Welcome, we sit in the dark corner with snacks, pillows, and the occasional person that passes by and looks at us crazy 😬🤏
Thought I'd come by and just say hello! And also ask if you'd be willing to give some relationship headcanons for Mikey and/or Raph? If that hasn't been requested yet. Thanks!
ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ BAYVERSE!RAPHAEL DATING HCS
ᯓ★ lots of fluff, jealousy things (angst maybe), reader goes by she/her pronouns! (This is so late— im sorry—)
Is the definition of mean to the world but sweetest to his girl
The most common scenario is this: He could be talking to Casey and just be saying a bunch of mean shit to him but the moment you approach him to ask him something, he softens his tone and looks at you, narrowed brows with a concerned look as if you're the most fragile thing in the world.
He actually thinks you'll break if he raises his voice at you.
Casey has made fun of him many times for this but drops it each time Raph threatens to hit him.
He calls you babe. That's it.
Sometimes baby girl if he's feeling brave.
You happen to picked up the habit of stealing his things. Or in your words 'borrowing'.
"Uhhh babe... Where's my glasses?"
He's not complaining since it's been the norm for you to wear his glasses out in the open when you go to work or such.
He likes to think its a way of you having a part of him everytime you're away.
But theres no denying that the two of you guys argue every now and then.
Its not that you want to but he just jumps to conclusions very fast. He does try to control it but sometimes his heart speculates faster than his mind thinks.
Like the time he dropped you off at your place and because of how exhausted you were, you failed to notice him leaning in to give you a goodbye kiss when you walked off.
That ruined his self-esteem for sure.
He really thought you didn't love him anymore and he was too afraid to ask you about it.
It was when you noticed him sulking that you finally confronted him.
He's definitely a physical touch kind of man.
He CANNOT keep his hands off of you. NO. NA-DA.
You need the whole world to pry his hands off of you.
His favourite thing to do is to have you in bed where he just wraps his arms around your waist while he rests his head on your stomach. It makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
He has jealousy problems.
He doesn't mind if you're close with his brothers because technically you're part of the family but with Casey or Vern?
Yeah no.
I mean there are boundaries to things.
Casey is smart enough to know not to try anything (in front of Raph) but Vern never gets the hint.
Has tried to get you to go on 'exclusive dinners' but you always said no because you knew how weird the guy was.
Nearly got beaten to shits by Raph if Leo wasn't there to stop him.
Has definitely done the bicep ribbon trend with you. How you were in awe from the way the ribbon elegantly untied itself around his bicep when he flexed his muscles made him feel all prideful of himself.
Never slacks off when working out.
He does enjoy kisses but he gets all awfully shy when you do it in public.
Like if you ever do kiss him in front of his brothers, even a simple peck on the cheek, he would not be able to face them for a moment.
He blushes hard and needs time to calm down.
He loves it soooooooo much when you dress up.
It doesn't matter what your style is because everytime you put in the effort to get all dressed up for date nights. He goes absolutely berserk.
Compliments your looks on a daily basis.
Doesn't matter if its your lazy day where you look a mess.
You're still irresistible to him.
Loves to keep the little things you leave in his room.
Either its your lip gloss or hair tie. He keeps it safe in his drawers just so it doesn't go missing or that you may need it later.
Yes he does sniff your hair tie.
It's only instinct since your hair smells so good.
Yes, the foot clan has kidnapped you a few times and it's ridiculous how many times it has happened. You fell for the homeless person trick AND the stray cat strategy.
All this effort just to ask you to spill any inside information to them.
Like just imagine you tied to a chair as Karai threatens to kill you but you're just wondering how long is it gonna take this time for the brothers to track you down.
Being thrown into this lifestyle is not for the weak.
But eventually you get saved all the time. Just imagine Raph removing the restraints around your arms with a regretful look.
"Sorry baby, I should've protected you better. I promise to keep you safe"
Parenting never comes easy to anyone. This includes four mutant turtles who have to deal with the trials and tribulations of their children growing up.
content: 2012!turtles // hurt & comfort // implied biological children but no mention of pregnancy
LEONARDO
“Leo, you’re going to have to let go of her now.”
“It’s okay, she barely weighs anything.”
“I’m not worried about you, I’m worried about her.” You chide, crossing your arms in an attempt to be firm. However, much like how Leo is weak to the little girl in his arms, you’re weak to him, too. “If you pick her up every time she asks, she wouldn’t want to move around at all. Just yesterday, she refused to walk from her room to the kitchen.”
“She’s fine.” Leo dismisses, though the twinge of guilt in his expression betrays him—he knows you’re making a valid point. He adjusts his grip on the toddler who has dozed off against his shoulder, keeping a steady hand on her back. You narrow your eyes at him in warning, and he holds out for a sparing few seconds before relenting, slumping in defeat.
“Okay, when she wakes up, I’ll let her walk the rest of the way.” Leo sighs. You relax at his admission, satisfied as you lean up to affectionately peck his cheek.
“Thank you for your noble sacrifice.” You tease, looping your arm around him. “What’s up with you lately? You seem upset.”
Leo’s gaze averts to the concrete path behind him, lips pressed tightly together. Over the years you two have been together, you can recognise when he’s deep in thought.
“... She’s a little heavier now.”
This gives you pause, your brows furrowing as you tilt your head lightly in confusion.
“I thought you said she barely weighs anything?”
“She doesn’t,” Leo hastily agrees, his eyes darting between you and his daughter. “But still, she’s getting bigger.”
You almost remark with “Well, children tend to do that” until you catch the faraway gleam in his eyes. Suddenly, it dawns on you what this is about, a sharp prick stabbing in your heart when you glance at your child’s innocent, slumbering face. You remember her being so tiny when she was born, attributed to her turtle genes. Yet, within the blink of an eye, she can now heave herself up the steps of the dojo to reach her dad. With a pit in your stomach, you think of the day you and Leo will set her down, and not pick her up again.
“... I want to carry her when we’re heading back.” You quietly add, snuggling closer to Leo’s side. He responds by gently knocking his head against yours, not saying a word.
RAPHAEL
Despite all the anxieties Raph had about being a father, there is one thing he took pride in—his ability to bond with his daughter over anything. She wanted to have princess-themed tea parties? Raph felt no shame in rocking a frilly skirt and tiara. She wanted to play with monster trucks and action figures? Raph will set up an elaborate cityscape with building blocks just for her to terrorise it as Godzilla. With his sprawling list of interests, spending time with his daughter would never be an issue.
He was proven wrong one faithful Valentine's Day when he found her in her room scribbling on a pink-coloured card. When he crouched down to ask who it was for, you think he went a shade pale in green.
“Who is Blake?” He questions through gritted teeth as he pulls you aside, out of your daughter’s hearing range, as she continues to doodle on her piece of paper.
“Raph, you’ve met him.” You scold lightly, frowning. “He’s one of the kids the Mutanimals recently took in. The little mutant bear cub?”
Recognition flickers in his eyes as he finally remembers who you’re talking about, but immediately his features contort into something severe, and you can already wager a guess what he’s about to say.
“Not a word. He’s a sweet kid,” You chide, slapping a hand over his mouth. “I think it’s a good thing she’s making friends, and her crush on him is adorable.”
Raph looks as if he wants to argue, but deflates, knowing you’re right. Even though sentiments toward mutants have improved over the years, your daughter is still deprived of the typical social interactions that children her age should have. You know he’d put her happiness over anything, even if it meant braving through this unfamiliar and uncomfortable territory.
“Dad, dad!” She raises her head as she lies on her belly, looking at him inquisitively. “Can you help me draw? You make it prettier.”
“Don’t worry, she still needs her dad around.” You coo teasingly, nudging him towards her. He shoots you a wry glance, though the corner of his lips is quirked up as he strides over to his little girl.
“So what do you want on here?” He asks, sitting cross-legged beside her. He listens carefully as she starts giving directions on her artistic vision. You smile fondly at the scene, at least up until the moment you hear Raph instruct her on how to bite boys if they are mean to her.
“Raphael!”
DONATELLO
You had worried that there would be a very real risk of Donnie being a permissive parent when your child was born. Your fear wasn’t completely unfounded—in the early years of getting to know him, he’d bend over backwards to appease your whims, despite your initial discomfort. After a lot of time and progress, he eventually learned how to treat you as an equal rather than put you on a pedestal, being both a loving partner while playfully bantering with you.
So, when your baby arrived in the world, you were overwhelmed with nerves about having to play the role of the kill-joy parent while Donnie did whatever he could to stay on their good side.
You were proven wrong in the worst way possible—because your child is the kind of kid who needed at least two buzzkill parents. Apparently, not only did they inherit Donnie’s starry-eyed curiosity, but much like a younger Donnie, they didn’t quite understand where their limits ended.
You had been in the middle of breakfast when you heard an ear-rupturing boom sound from outside. You jump to your feet instantly while Donnie nearly tips over his cup of coffee, racing to the source of the sound. The shed—which also happens to be your child’s makeshift lab—comes into view, but before Donnie can force it open, the door swings ajar as your kid staggers out, coughing into a closed fist.
“Too much black powder.” They wheeze, waving their hand over their face, their face caked with soot.
“Are you okay?” Donnie frets, yanking them closer to him as he inspects them for any visible injuries, while your eyes dart between the smoky shed and your child. When Donnie manages to confirm that they are fine, his expression twists from wide-eyed worry to frustration. “What did I tell you about messing around without supervision?!”
“But I’m totally fine!” They argue back, frowning. “See, the shed is still standing.”
“You could have caused a huge explosion!” Donnie reprimands, pointing from the shed to you. “Not only could you have been seriously hurt, but so could the rest of your family!”
Their face crumbles at the reminder, appearing remorseful as their round brown eyes flicker to you. Your heart clenches at the sight, but you force yourself to remain straight-faced.
“Sorry…” They mumble, and much like you, Donnie’s tense expression eases at their evident regret. Yet, this is not his first rodeo, and likely won’t be his last as he sighs heavily, pinching the space between his eyes.
“Grounded for a week, and you’re cleaning up the shed.” He mutters. Their lips press into a firm line, but otherwise they don’t argue, walking back inside the house with a little more force in their steps than usual. As the door shuts behind them, Donnie slumps in on himself.
“I almost gave in.” He admits quietly to you as you reach over to rub his shoulder comfortingly.
“I know, me too. They’re getting a little too good at the puppy-dog eyes.” You agree. “I think we’ll have to cut Mikey’s babysitting hours next month.”
MICHELANGELO
“Michelangelo.”
When he hears your voice flood from the speaker of his phone, he audibly gulps. He stifles a cough into his closed fist, fixing himself upright before he responds.
“Hey, doll.” He plasters on a nervous grin, despite knowing you can’t see him. “What’re you—”
“I know you picked our son up from school five hours early, Mikey!” You snap without greeting, your pitch high enough to cause the audio to crackle. “How come our fifteen-year-old is responsible enough to tell me but not you?”
Mikey knows his priority should be to descalate and calm you down. However, he can’t help but feel a wave of bitterness wash over him when you talk to him as if he were some sort of idiot. Quickly taking his phone off speaker, he glances in the direction of the restroom where his son had excused himself, just to make sure he isn’t around to hear this.
“We’re just grabbing food.” Mikey defends, and despite his hushed tone, he’s unable to hide the sharpness in his intonation. “Relax, okay? He never skips school.”
“Yes, Mikey, he doesn’t skip school because I’m the one responsible for making sure he gets there on time.” You seethe through gritted teeth, slamming your hand on the horn when a car is too slow to move at a green light. “I only asked you to start picking him up because I have to stay later at work, but only a week in and you’re pulling him out of class just for fun?”
His fingers drum against the slightly sticky table, his eyes flickering to the scenery outside. Something tugs at his heartstrings when he sees a young father and a son pass by, with the young boy animatedly chatting with his dad as he hops over the concrete lines in the pavement.
“... We’re getting old.” He abruptly states, his void of any irritation or mirth. The silence from your end is deafening. “My knees hurt when shredding rad moves on my board, I get sick going on super fast rollercoasters, and I can barely last two hours on rooftop runs. I’m too old to be his dad.”
There is an enduring pause, though when you speak, your voice wobbles.
“Mikey, we couldn’t have had him at a more perfect time.” You assert. “You and I wanted to figure out our lives before we settled for anything serious. If we had had him any earlier, we couldn’t have given him everything he needed. Plus, he isn’t the type of kid who likes going to skateparks or rollercoasters.”
“He should be. It’s like he popped out thirty years old.” Mikey lets out a wet chuckle, and he hears a quivering laugh from you as well. His voice drops as he hears a door creak open, realising his time with you is short before his son reaches the table. “Sorry, I know I screw up.”
“... Next weekend, let’s take a road trip somewhere far. We’ll rent an RV and everything. You can even go bungee jumping to convince us all you’ve still got it.” You suggest, and Mikey feels his chest lighten at the prospect.
“I love you.” He declares soulfully, bordering on dramatic, and he hears you giggle from the other line.
“Love you too. Enjoy your lunch.”
Mikey pockets his phone in time for his son to arrive, settling himself down in the seat opposite him. He quickly unearths a bottle of hand sanitiser from his backpack, grimacing as he applies a generous amount to the palms of his hands.
“The bathrooms are disgusting.” He explains, before Mikey can ask. He peers over the other tables, lips curling to a frown. “Wait, didn’t that family come after us? What kind of service is this? I’m going to go complain at the counter.”
Mikey has never leapt up from his seat to stop someone so fast before.
Donnie’s initial attempts at flirting might just sound like his usual sarcastic commentary, leaving you wondering if he’s insulting you or hitting on you.
But when he does decide to ask you out, expect something needlessly complex. Maybe a holographic presentation detailing the benefits of a romantic partnership, or a custom-built gadget meant to deliver the message that backfires spectacularly.
His hyper-focus, occasional arrogance (masking insecurity), and social awkwardness require understanding. You’ll need to learn to read between the lines of his sarcasm.
Since direct emotional expression isn’t his forte, you’ll become an expert at reading his micro-expressions, the specific type of sarcastic comment he uses when he’s secretly pleased, or the way he fidgets with his goggles when nervous.
Over time, you might notice moments where a genuine, non-sarcastic compliment slips out before he can catch it. He’ll likely blush, stammer, and immediately try to cover it with more sarcasm, but you heard it.
If you’re upset, his instinct isn’t always a hug (though he might learn). It’s to solve the problem. You’ll need to gently explain that sometimes you just need empathy.
Donnie’s love language is acts of service. He’ll build you custom gadgets to solve your problems, upgrade your tech, etc. Need something specific? He can probably build it.
Verbal affection, on the other hand, is … awkward. Compliments might come out sounding like technical assessments. Genuine, heartfelt words are rare. He might stutter or get flustered trying to express them.
Donnie isn’t always the most physically demonstrative of affection, partly due to his focus and often his touch aversion. Initiating small gestures and seeing how he reacts is best. Once comfortable, he might surprise you with possessive hand-holding or leaning into your space.
He doesn’t display overt PDA. But maybe him resting his hand possessively on the back of your chair, angling himself between you and perceived ‘threats’ (like overly friendly strangers), or using custom tech (like a paired communication device) that subtly marks you as connected to him.
After a huge success (a battle won, an invention perfected, etc.), he might be so overcome with adrenaline and relief that he actually initiates a brief, possibly clumsy hug or leans against you. Don’t make a big deal out of it; just accept the rare physical vulnerability.
When he seems extra arrogant or dismissive, it sometimes masks insecurity. He might fish for compliments by presenting an invention and asking for your ‘objective analysis,’ secretly hoping you’ll just say it’s amazing.
Praise is his kryptonite. He thrives on validation, especially regarding his intellect and inventions. Genuinely praising his work or intelligence will make him puff up with pride.
When he excitedly explains the intricacies of quantum physics or the schematics for his latest battle shell upgrade for twenty minutes straight, he’s sharing his passion with you. A big sign of trust and affection on his part.
If you’re passionate about something, he might suddenly become an expert on it overnight after intense research. He might not share the passion, but he’ll understand its mechanics and history, which is his way of connecting.
Prepare for dates involving beta-testing his latest invention, competitive video game marathons (he will gloat), trips to the junkyard for components, or maybe even falling down rabbit holes on weird corners of the internet together.
Though a significant portion of your quality time together will likely be spent in his lab. Sometimes you’ll be helping (handing him tools, being a sounding board, etc.). Other times you’ll just be chilling amidst the controlled chaos while he hyper-focuses. Oh—and bring snacks. He forgets to eat.
Eventually, you’ll get your own lab space. It might just be a small, meticulously organized corner of his lab initially, but he’ll later designate a space for your stuff or for you to comfortably hang out.
Once you’re his person, he’s incredibly protective. He’ll use his tech and intellect to keep you safe, even if his methods are … unconventional.
If you’re ever in genuine danger, the sarcastic, dramatic Donnie vanishes. He becomes ruthlessly efficient, calculating, and terrifyingly focused on neutralizing the threat and getting you to safety. His tech becomes lethal, his plans precise.
One of the best signs he’s truly comfortable is when he can just exist in the same space as you, both doing your own things (him tinkering, you reading/scrolling/etc.), without needing constant interaction.
He secretly loves being taken care of. When he’s truly exhausted or sick (which he’ll deny until he collapses), having you bring him soup, enforce rest, or just quietly sit with him means more than he’ll admit.
It takes immense trust for him to let you see his experiments blow up (literally or figuratively) without him getting overly defensive or dramatic. If he can sigh, complain about the variables, and start cleaning up with you there, you’re truly integrated into his process.
For Donnie, acknowledging the validity and soundness of your reasoning, especially during a discussion or debate, is one of the highest forms of respect and affection he can offer. It means he sees you as an intellectual equal.
I just recently found your blog and to say I absolutely love your writing is definitely an understatement.
I really love your post about Dating rise Donnie headcanons, and was wondering if you could do a version of it for rise Leo? Of course, if this has already been requested or you can’t or don’t want to write it for any reason, no hard feelings!
Remember to take breaks and drink water!
A/N: Wow, thank you so much for the kind words! It truly means a lot! 😊 I can totally do a version of dating headcanons for Rise Leo! I haven’t had that specific request until now, so here they are 💖
(And I appreciate the reminder about breaks and hydration; I need to remember more often!)
Dating Rise Leo (SFW)
💙 ROTTMNT Leonardo/Gender Neutral Reader 💙
CWs: None. All characters are aged-up.
Leo is always trying to look cool to impress you. Expect unnecessary flips to grab something, leaning against walls/doorframes, etc. This is almost always accompanied by a smirk that’s trying its absolute hardest to be charming, and probably a wink or two.
He’ll find excuses to sling an arm over your shoulder, playfully nudge you, or ‘accidentally’ brush hands when reaching for the same thing. It’s his way of breaking the touch barrier under the guise of casual confidence.
Leo frames asking you out as a challenge: “Bet you can’t beat me at [video game/contest here]. If I win, you gotta go on a date with me. If you win …” He’ll pause and smirk. “… you still gotta go out on a date with me. ‘Cause winning is awesome and you should celebrate with someone equally as awesome—like me.” Then he’ll wink, hoping the bravado masks the nervousness.
Get ready for a barrage of cheesy pickup lines, usually delivered with finger guns and a hopeful smirk. “Are you a portal? ‘Cause I feel like I could just fall right into you.” or “Did it hurt? When you fell from … that moderately high ledge I just portaled you away from?” He thinks they’re hilarious and peak romance.
Playful teasing is Leo’s primary love language. He’ll gently poke fun at your quirks, engage in witty banter (or what he considers witty), and try to get a rise out of you. If you can dish it back, he’s absolutely thrilled. It becomes a friendly verbal sparring match he finds incredibly engaging.
He bestows upon you a series of increasingly ridiculous (and often pun-based) nicknames. He uses them frequently, testing them out to see which ones make you laugh, groan, or blush. It’s his way of creating an intimate inside joke between you two.
Leo will turn almost anything into a playful challenge, enjoying the lighthearted competition with you. He’s genuinely happy even if you win, though he’ll demand a rematch.
He’s not shy about showing affection. He’ll sling an arm around your shoulder, casually grab your hand, maybe even attempt a dramatic dip-kiss when the mood strikes. He wants everyone to know you’re his awesome partner.
Forget your jacket? Want snacks from the place across town? He’ll use his portal powers for you (and he definitely also uses them to make dramatic entrances when portalling to meet up with you.)
For dates, there will be rooftop picnics with breathtaking city views, some urban exploration, maybe a visit to the Coney Island Boardwalk. Back at the lair, prepare for extensive viewings of the Jupiter Jim franchise, complete with his commentary.
His gifts are … eclectic. Expect things like:
1. A t-shirt with a terrible pun: I Fell For You (Through a Portal) or You’ve Stolen a Pizza My Heart.
2. A coupon book for redeemable ‘Leo Services’: One free portal ride (destination may vary), One epic training montage soundtrack, or One distraction from boring chores.
3. Occasionally, he’ll nail it with something surprisingly thoughtful he overheard you mentioning weeks ago.
Got a big test, presentation, or event? Leo becomes your hype-man. He might leave encouraging (and pun-filled) notes via portal or send ridiculous motivational voice messages. He believes you’re amazing and wants you to succeed, even if his methods are extra.
While he loves being the center of attention, he also loves seeing you shine. If you achieve something cool or demonstrate a skill, he’s your loudest cheerleader. He’ll brag about you to his brothers and anyone else who’ll listen.
He thinks you’re the coolest person ever (besides himself, naturally) and he’ll hype up your interests, even if he doesn’t fully understand them. If you’re passionate about something, he’ll ask questions and encourage you enthusiastically.
If you’re upset or stressed, Leo’s go-to move is distraction. Feeling down? Suddenly, you’re sharing a pizza on top of the Chrysler Building and he’s cracking jokes to help you feel better. He might not always know the right words, but he excels at trying to make you laugh your worries away, even if just for a little while.
He also quickly learns your go-to comfort foods. He might not know exactly what to say, but he’ll appear with your favorite takeout, a specific type of candy, etc. Whatever you like. It’s his tangible way of trying to make things better.
The smirk drops fast if you’re in danger. One second he’s cracking a joke, the next his katanas are out, and he’s placing himself squarely between you and whatever threat dares approach. He might play it cool afterwards, but the fierce protectiveness in his eyes is unmistakable.
He’s not immune to jealousy. If someone else is clearly hitting on you, he won’t make a big scene. Instead, he subtly reasserts his presence with louder jokes, an arm over your shoulder, or suggesting you two leave for some place ‘way cooler.’
He picks up on your specific slang, your favorite obscure references, the particular way you phrase things. He’ll weave them into his own banter, just to see you smile or playfully roll your eyes. It’s his way of showing he listens and wants to connect on your level.
Just as you learn to read his moods beneath the jokes, he becomes surprisingly adept at reading yours. He notices the slight shift in your tone, the way you hold your shoulders when stressed, or the specific sigh that means you’re overwhelmed. He might not always react perfectly, but he sees it, and his attempts to cheer you up become more targeted.
While he projects effortless cool, you catch glimpses of the weight he feels as leader. He might get contemplative after a mission that didn’t go perfectly or seek your opinion on a tactical decision he’s mulling over. He values your perspective, even if he doesn’t always admit it directly.
Beneath the bravado, there are moments when the façade drops. Maybe after a tough mission or when he’s messed something up. He’ll get quieter, rest his head on your shoulder, and implicitly seek reassurance. He might not say he’s feeling insecure or scared, but you learn to read the signs, and being there for him in those moments deepens your connection immensely.
Leo’s gratitude often comes in quieter moments: a sincere “Thanks for putting up with me,” a hand squeeze after you’ve helped him through a moment of insecurity, or just a soft, genuine smile directed only at you. These subtle moments mean more from him than all the jokes and puns.
1/2 I wanted to make a request but I have zero ideas so I want to ask if you could do some headcanons for dating Leonardo, either 2003 or Bayverse. I’ll appreciate if you started from the pining stage before the relationship and then when he is actually in the relationship! Thank you so much!💙
A/N: I decided to go with 2003 Leo for this one 😊
Dating 2003 Leo (SFW)
💙 2003 Leonardo/Gender Neutral Reader 💙
CWs: None. All characters are aged-up.
You’re close to the turtles, maybe a friend of April’s or someone who’s helped the team before. But every time you stop by the lair, Leo’s chest tightens in a way he doesn’t know how to control.
He doesn’t flirt; he studies you. He shows his affection through a quiet, analytical intensity, memorizing your every mannerism, from your laugh to the way you tuck your hair behind your ear.
He notices patterns: the small gifts you bring the team, the lingering glances you give him. He tries to convince himself it’s his imagination because he can’t afford to hope. But the feeling takes root, anyway.
You can sense his inner struggle when you find him meditating. He allows you to approach, his gaze a mixture of longing and turmoil. His silence is heavy with the questions he can’t yet answer: Is it right to love you? Is it safe?
He invites you to train as an excuse to be close. “Your form is improving,” he’ll say formally. But his gentle hands, his proximity, and a patience he never shows his brothers betray his true feelings.
He leaves thoughtful things for you: a book you mentioned, a hot compress for your sore neck. He never takes credit, wanting only to improve your life. It’s his non-verbal way of saying, “I care about you.”
A significant shift for Leo is when he asks about your day. He’ll pretend to watch TV with you just to ask, “How was work?” or “Did your studies go well?” He genuinely wants to understand your world, so different from his, and he commits every detail to memory.
You’re one of the few people who can make Leo flustered. When you flirt unexpectedly, he’ll stammer and avoid your gaze before recovering his composure with a smirk and a sharp comeback.
He plans his confession like a mission, arranging a private rooftop meeting. His delivery is endearingly formal and honest: “I have developed feelings for you that extend beyond friendship. I would be honored if you would consider allowing me to court you.” Despite his stoic posture, the slight tremor in his hands betrays just how much is at stake for him emotionally.
Your dates are quiet and meaningful. An ideal evening is watching a Kurosawa film with his arm around you, explaining the historical context of a fighting style or a character’s motivation. He finds his greatest joy in sharing his passions and seeing you interested.
He overthinks gift-giving to an extreme. Instead of just buying flowers, he’ll research the Victorian language of flowers to ensure the bouquet conveys the exact right message of respect and admiration. He presents it stiffly with a rehearsed explanation, but the immense effort behind the gesture is what’s truly endearing.
Leo is not one for PDA, limiting himself to a quick hand squeeze or a proud glance in front of his family and others. In private, however, he is incredibly tactile and always seeking contact: tracing patterns on your arm or holding you close as he meditates. Your touch is what grounds him.
He considers your safety his personal responsibility. He gives you a Shell Cell with his number on speed dial and requests you to text if you’re running late. It’s not that he doesn’t trust you; he doesn’t trust the world’s ability to be kind to the person he loves most. While he knows you can handle yourself, the worry is constant.
You teach him how to truly relax, a concept foreign to his life of discipline. You coax him into simply watching the stars instead of the streets, and he’s surprised by the quiet joy he finds in your hobbies. Eliciting a genuine, unburdened laugh from him feels like a monumental victory.
The moment he sees you injured, something in him snaps. He kneels beside you in a rush, hands hovering but not touching until you say, “I’m okay.” Then he touches your cheek, just for a second, as if reassuring himself that you’re real and still breathing.
He blames himself for any injury you receive. You’ll find him brooding in the dojo hours later, replaying what he could have done differently. When you wrap your arms around him from behind, he exhales a breath he’s been holding all night. “You’re allowed to not be perfect,” you remind him. He doesn’t answer, but leans back into your hold, accepting the comfort.
When someone gets too friendly with you, Leo’s entire demeanor shifts. His posture straightens, his gaze sharpens, and a silent conversation happens across the room. You’ll catch him watching and silently ask, Really? He’ll roll his eyes but approach, casually placing a hand on your lower back. The topic won’t come up again until you’re alone.
He is fiercely proud of you. For any accomplishment, big or small, he’ll give you a soft smile as his eyes gleam with undisguised admiration. Later, he’ll boast about it to his family, his quiet pride making it clear he thinks you are the most impressive person in the world.
He opens up slowly, but you are the only one he allows to see the cracks in his armor. On tough nights when he questions his leadership, he’ll let you hold him without words, because your presence alone is his peace.
Leo struggles to show when he’s overwhelmed, but you recognize the signs in his unusual quietness. When you gently tell him, “You don’t always have to be okay in front of me,” he eventually leans into your touch and whispers, “I’m just tired of pretending I’m fine when I’m not.”
On nights he’s plagued by self-doubt, he doesn’t seek answers. He just seeks you. When you hold him, he melts into your embrace, finding all the reassurance he needs in your silent comfort.
When he says, “I love you,” it’s calm, steady, and sure. It’s as if he’s said it a thousand times in his head, leaving you with no doubt that he means it with his whole heart.
The thought of a future with you is both terrifying and exciting for him. He’ll ask subtle questions about your life goals, trying to see if his hidden, dangerous life can coexist with the bright future you deserve. He would never ask you to sacrifice your world, so he obsesses over how to bridge the gap.
He relaxes with you in a way he can’t with anyone else, reserving his rare, soft smiles and gentle laughs for you alone. You are his sanctuary from a life of chaos; to be loved by Leo is to be the calm harbor his warrior soul has always been searching for.
2/2 I wanted to make a request but I have zero ideas so I want to ask if you could do some headcanons for dating Raphael, either 2003 or Bayverse. I’ll appreciate if you started from the pining stage before the relationship and then when he is actually in the relationship! Thank you so much!❤️
A/N: I went with 2003 Raph for this 😊
Dating 2003 Raph (SFW)
❤️ 2003 Raphael/Gender Neutral Reader ❤️
CWs: There’s maybe one headcanon that is sliightly suggestive. All characters are aged-up.
Raph doesn’t realize his feelings at first, writing off his sudden protectiveness as just “looking out for you.” Though you’re just a civilian caught in their world, the more you’re around, the more his tough-guy guard flinches.
You make him laugh in short, surprised bursts. He normally tries to hide it behind a smirk or a snort, but around you, he forgets to hold it back.
He shows his interest through protective rage. If someone gives you a hard time, he doesn’t offer comfort; he clenches his fists and snarls, “Give me their name.” You constantly have to talk him down from retaliation, though you know it’s his way of saying, “No one is allowed to make you unhappy.”
He’s sometimes gruff with you. Not out of anger, but because he’s scared by how much he’s starting to care. Raph isn’t used to wanting someone so much it physically aches.
He watches you with feigned indifference until someone flirts with you, then the tension is palpable. He’ll ask casually, “Who was that guy?” When you reply, “Just someone I met,” he’ll scoff, “Yeah. Whatever.” His sharp tone can’t hide the jealousy in his eyes.
The confession is an accident, bursting out when you confront him about his hot-and-cold behavior. Cornered, his defenses crumble into a frustrated yell: “BECAUSE I LIKE YOU, ALRIGHT?! HAPPY NOW?!” He immediately looks horrified, turning away to hide his sudden vulnerability, and the silence that follows is the most terrifying thing he’s ever faced.
He shares his interests by challenging you. He’ll shove a controller in your hand and say, “Bet you can’t even last one round,” but he doesn’t actually care if you win. It’s just an excuse to be near you. After you lose, his smug grin is immediately followed by, “Alright, two outta three,” just to keep you by his side.
He gives you a gift, and it’s the most Raph-like gift imaginable. It’s not flowers or jewelry. It’s something practical and protective. Maybe it’s a can of pepper spray, a portable flashlight for your keychain, or an enforced lock for your door. He presses it into your hand, muttering, “Here. Don’t be an idiot and actually use it.” It’s his way of trying to keep you safe when he can’t be there.
Raph’s idea of romance is adrenaline-fueled. His idea of a perfect date isn’t a candlelit dinner but speeding through empty city streets on his motorcycle or sitting on a ledge of a rooftop. He loves sharing the thrill of being alive and being on the edge with you.
He insists on teaching you self-defense. “Harder,” he’ll grunt as you practice, not because he’s a harsh teacher, but because his worst nightmare is you being unable to defend yourself. Seeing you grow stronger under his guidance makes him incredibly proud.
He doesn’t call you “babe” or “sweetheart.” He calls you by your name, or some gruff nickname like “trouble” or “smartass” with surprising affection. But when he slips out a quiet, “Hey, baby,” it melts you.
You roast him constantly, and he lives for it. Call him a meathead and he grins. Call him a softie and he rolls his eyes—then pulls you into his lap and purrs, “I dare you to say it again.”
Physical touch is his love language. He is always seeking contact: a hand on your waist or pulling you into his lap. He’ll let you trace his scars, a history of his life that he only trusts you to touch. Your hand in his is his anchor.
He picks you up just because he can. It’s playful. You could be walking through the lair, and suddenly you’re over his shoulder. “Put me down!” you say. His reply, with a teasing smirk: “Say please.”
He introduces you to his version of a “spa day.” It involves the two of you working on the Shell Cycle. He’ll hand you a wrench and give you simple tasks, explaining what each part does. There’s grease, the smell of oil, and classic rock blasting from a speaker. It’s loud and messy, but it’s his happy place, and he’s letting you in.
Raph hates feeling jealous. When someone flirts with you, he goes quiet and broody. Then he pulls you closer, glaring daggers, making it crystal clear you’re taken. He doesn’t admit it right away, but it’s fear—because he’s scared someone else will come along, someone “normal.” Someone who doesn’t live in a sewer or fight Foot ninjas. You have to remind him: He’s it for you.
Seeing you hurt unleashes his worst fears. “What the hell happened?” he’ll demand, his voice all panic. He’ll hover over you, his hands trembling as he scolds you through a cracked voice, “I told you to stay behind me.” Even when you say, “I’m okay, Raph,” his fear remains: “You could’ve not been.” That night, he barely lets you leave his side. He sleeps on the floor next to the couch just to be near you. When you wake up, you find his hand still wrapped loosely around yours.
You are the only person he is truly soft with. He lets his guard down for you, sharing fears and thoughts that he even hides from his brothers, especially after a tough night.
He hides his pain by shutting down or relentlessly punching the training dummy, but you know the signs. You approach gently, promising, “You don’t have to talk, but I’m not going anywhere.” That’s all it takes for his shoulders to drop. He’ll sit beside you and finally admit, “I hate how much I feel sometimes. But you make it better.”
He only lets out his verbal affection at night. When his guard is down, he’ll pull you close and whisper, “I ain’t ever felt like this before. You get that, right?” He’ll wait for your nod before kissing your head and confessing, “Good. ‘Cause I don’t wanna feel it with anyone else.”
He gets into fights for you, but only in secret. If he overhears someone catcall you, he’ll circle back after you’re gone. That person might later find themselves hanging from a fire escape with a gruff warning to be more respectful and to stay away. You just notice that, after a while, creeps on your block give you a wide berth.
You become his reason. On the worst nights, when a mission goes wrong, and he’s beaten and bruised, thinking of you is what gets him back on his feet. He fights harder, pushes himself further, because he has to make it home. You are not his weakness; you are a source of strength. To be loved by Raph is to be the calm center of his personal hurricane, the one person who makes the fight worth it.
Dating Raph feels like standing in a storm with someone who holds lightning in his hands but shields you from every bolt. He’s intense. Protective. Loyal to a fault. And once he’s yours, he’s all in.
He may not say “I love you” often, but he shows it in his actions, like dropping everything to fix your car or listening to you vent with a simmering rage on your behalf. To be loved by Raph is to have a hot-headed, devoted warrior who would take on the world for you without hesitation. You are his to protect, cherish, and fight for. Always.
A/N: I thought it was time I start posting some headcanons outside of requests. So for this, I’ll be writing mini-scenarios for each turtle. Enjoy! 😊
CWs: Mostly fluff, pregnancy, pregnancy reveal scenarios/announcements, medical content (drawing blood, needles, discussion of biology), and anxiety/fear. All characters are aged-up.
LEO
Normally, the quiet of the dojo brings comfort. But today, it feels like a heavy weight pressing in on you. Leo kneels in the center of the room, back straight, eyes closed in meditation. You hold the small plastic stick in your hand, the two pink lines on it an undeniable truth.
You take a deep, shaky breath. “Leo?”
His eyes snap open, instantly alert. He doesn’t move from his position, but his entire focus is on you. You can see the concern etching lines around his eyes as he takes in your pale face and trembling hands. “What is it? Are you hurt?”
You shake your head, unable to form the words. You simply walk forward and kneel in front of him, placing the positive pregnancy test on the mat between you. He looks down at it—and for a long, terrifying moment, he is perfectly still.
His face is an unreadable mask of stone. Your heart plummets. You fear you’ve broken something, that this is a complication he can’t strategize his way out of, a burden he doesn’t want. Then, he lifts his gaze from the test to your face.
His expression softens, the hard lines melting away to reveal a profound awe mixed with a flicker of fear. Not fear of you, or of the baby, but fear for you both.
“Are you … are you okay?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper.
You nod, a tear finally escaping and tracing a path down your cheek.
Carefully, Leo reaches out to gently cup your jaw, using his thumb to brush the tear away. He closes his eyes for a second, as if centering himself against a wave of overwhelming emotion. He opens them again, his eyes filled with fierce, unwavering resolve.
Then he pulls you into his arms, holding you securely against him. He holds you as if you are the most precious, fragile thing in the world. And to him, you are. “I will keep you safe,” he murmurs into your hair. “Both of you. I swear it.”
He finally pulls back, though his hands remain on your shoulders, grounding you, his leader-mind already working. “First,” he says, his voice steady, “we need to tell Splinter. He needs to know.” He looks you in the eye, seeking your agreement. When you nod, a fraction of tension leaves his body. “Then, my brothers. We’re a team. They need to be part of this. They’ll help protect you.”
He leads you from the dojo, his hand never leaving the small of your back. It’s a subtle but constant reminder: I am here. I am with you.
As you walk towards Splinter’s room, he speaks in a low tone, already forming plans. “Donnie will need to monitor your health. I’ll have him set up a medical station. We’ll need to reinforce the lair’s security. We’ll need more supplies. Also, a safe room, just in case …”
He stops before the door to his father’s room and turns to you, cupping your face in his hands. “I know this is a lot,” he says, his gaze searching yours. “But you are not in this alone. You will never be alone again. This baby … this family … it’s my new mission. My most important one.”
He takes your hand, his grip firm and reassuring, and leads you to Splinter’s room. Your future father-in-law sits on a meditation mat with a cup of steaming tea in front of him. He opens his eyes, his gaze knowing and kind, as if he were already expecting you.
“My son,” he greets.
Leo bows his head respectfully. “Master Splinter,” he begins, his voice formal. “We’ve come to you with news of great importance. Our family … is about to grow.”
He looks at you. You step forward, your heart pounding, as Leo places a steadying hand on your shoulder. Splinter’s whiskers twitch. He looks from his son’s face to yours, a slow smile spreading across his features.
“Ah,” he says, the single word conveying acceptance and deep, paternal joy. “This is wonderful news. A new branch on our family tree.” He gestures for you to sit. “You have brought great happiness to this house. And you, Leonardo,” he says, turning to his son, “have found a purpose beyond that of a warrior. You are going to be a father. It is a title that carries more weight than any weapon.”
Later, Leo calls a formal meeting in the dojo. Raph, Donnie, and Mikey file in. You stand beside him, his arm securely around you.
“Our mission parameters have changed,” Leo starts, his voice leaving no room for jokes. “Our top priority, above all else, is the safety of our family.” He places his hand on your stomach. “We’re going to have a child.”
The reaction is a wave of stunned silence, followed by a chorus of overlapping questions and exclamations. Leo holds up a hand, calling for order.
“Donnie, I want you running full-time medical surveillance. You are in charge of their health. Raph, you and I will re-evaluate security. Mikey … you’re on morale.” He looks at each of his brothers. “This is not a game. This is our future. We protect it together.”
In the weeks that follow, the lair subtly transforms. Your life becomes a carefully managed operation. Leo tries not to crowd you, but his presence is constant and watchful.
One evening, you find him in the living room, not watching TV, but surrounded by a stack of books: What to Expect When You’re Expecting, The Partner’s Guide to Pregnancy, Holistic Nutrition for Fetal Development.
He looks up as you enter. “Good timing,” he says, his tone serious, as if beginning a mission briefing. “I’ve cross-referenced three sources. Starting tomorrow, we’re increasing your intake of folic acid and iron. I’ve made a list. Donnie approved it.” He slides it across the table.
You smile, picking it up. “You don’t have to do all this, Leo.”
“Yes, I do,” he replies, his blue eyes unwavering. “This is my responsibility now.” He closes the book he was reading, gets up, and comes over to you. He gently places a hand on your stomach, his thumb stroking back and forth.
“I can’t fight this for you,” he says, his voice low and laced with a vulnerability he rarely shows. “I can’t take the discomfort or the risks. All I can do is prepare. All I can do is be ready for anything.” He leans down and presses his forehead against yours. “So let me. Please. Let me do what I’m good at, so you can do what only you can.”
The first time you get morning sickness, Leo is there in an instant.
You’re kneeling in front of the toilet, and you feel his large, cool hand on your back, rubbing gentle circles. He doesn’t say a word, just holds your hair back and waits with you until the wave passes. When you’re done, he hands you a damp cloth for your face and a glass of water.
“Donnie said ginger can help,” he says. “I’ll go get some.”
Later, you find him in the dojo.
But he’s not training. Instead, he’s sitting on the floor, painstakingly attempting to knit with a pair of thick needles and bright blue yarn. He’s clumsy with the delicate task, and he fumbles the stitches repeatedly, a frown of intense concentration on his face.
You lean against the doorframe, watching him. “What are you doing?” you ask softly.
He looks up, a bit startled. “It’s … for the baby,” he admits, holding up the misshapen lump of yarn. “I read that creating something for them helps with paternal bonding. I thought … a blanket.” He looks down at the tangled mess in his hands with a sigh of frustration. “It’s more difficult than wielding dual katanas.”
You walk over and sit beside him. You take the needles from his hands and show him how to loop the yarn, guiding his larger fingers with your own. He watches, focusing intently on your impromptu lesson.
Leo is not just a leader or a warrior. He is a man preparing to build a family—one awkward and perfectly loving stitch at a time.
RAPH
Raph is working out his aggression, his massive shoulders and arms slick with sweat as he pummels the worn leather of his punching bag. You stand by the doorway, the test clutched in your fist. You’ve been trying to find the right words for an hour, but there are none.
“Raph,” you say, your voice coming out meeker than you intended.
He grunts in response, not stopping his assault on the bag. “What’s up?”
“Can you … stop for a second?”
With a last punch, he stills. He turns to you, panting, and wipes his brow with the back of his wrist. “I’m kinda busy right now. What do you need?” His tone is gruff, impatient, and your courage almost fails you.
So, before you lose your nerve, you open your hand and show him the test.
He squints, his eyes trying to make out the object. Stepping closer, his gaze falls on the two pink lines. He freezes, his whole body going rigid. A storm brews behind his green eyes: confusion, shock, and something that looks like anger.
“You’re kidding me,” he growls. He turns away from you, running a hand over his head. “How? How could we be so stupid?”
His words are a punch to the gut. But you know him; his anger is often a shield for his fear. He paces for a moment, then slams his fist into the wall beside him. Then, he leans his forehead against it, shaking slightly.
“Raph,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “It’s not … you’re not mad at me, are you?”
He turns around slowly, and the anger is gone—and in its place there is a raw terror. His eyes are wide and glossy with unshed tears. In two long strides, he’s in front of you, dropping to his knees. He gently, hesitantly, places his hand on your stomach.
“Mad at you? No,” he chokes out, his voice thick with emotion. He rests his head against your abdomen, a shudder wracking his body. “I’m terrified. How am I supposed to protect a kid in this world? How am I supposed to be a dad?” He looks up at you, his tough-guy facade completely shattered. “I’m gonna screw it up.”
You run your fingers over his head, your own tears falling. “No, you won’t.”
He shakes his head, then a new look crosses his face: determination. The fear is still there, but it’s now forged into a protective fire. He gets to his feet, pulling you into a hug.
“No one,” he says, his voice a fierce vow against your ear. “No one is ever going to hurt you. Or this baby. Ever.”
He finally pulls you away from his plastron, holding you at arm’s length. His eyes, still wide with a mix of fear and wonder, scan you from head to toe as if checking for injuries.
“You okay? You need to sit down?” he asks. Before you can answer, he’s guiding you over to an old armchair he keeps in the corner. “Don’t lift anything heavy,” he instructs, pointing a thick finger at you. “Don’t even lift anything medium. Or light. Just … let me get things for you.”
He paces again. He looks around, his eyes landing seemingly on every object, as if he’s assessing each individual threat level. “We gotta baby-proof the whole damn lair.”
He kneels in front of you again, placing his hand gently on your knee. He looks so big and powerful, yet so vulnerable. “I don’t know the first thing about being a dad,” he admits, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “I’m probably gonna be terrible at it. But I swear, I will break anyone or anything that even thinks about hurting you.”
Leaning forward, he rests his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. He stays on his knees for another moment before pushing himself to his feet, a man possessed by a new, singular focus. He looks around his room and now sees only a deathtrap.
“This ain’t gonna work,” he grumbles, stalking over to his dresser. He starts sweeping things into a box with loud crashing sounds. “Too many sharp edges.”
“Raph, it’s okay,” you say, standing up. “The baby isn’t coming tomorrow.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he growls, not looking at you. “Gotta start now.” He’s not angry anymore; he’s channeling his fear into protective action.
The loud noise draws his brothers’ attention. Leo appears in the doorway, frowning. “Raph, what are you doing?”
Raph looks at him, his face set in a mask of determination. “Stay back. You’re tracking sewer filth all over the place.”
“What are you talking about?” Donnie asks, peering around Leo.
Raph gestures with his head toward you. “They’re pregnant. And none of you clumsy morons are getting near them until I’ve sanitized this whole sewer.”
Leo’s eyes widen in understanding as Donnie’s jaw drops. Mikey, peeking from the back, lets out a gasp of delight. Raph ignores them all, turning his attention back to cleaning up his room.
“And you,” he says, pointing at you again, his voice suddenly softer. “Go sit on the couch. Where it’s soft.”
Raph has taken his ‘baby-proofing’ mission to an extreme.
Soft foam padding is zip-tied to every sharp corner of every table in the lair. A bright yellow safety gate—clearly stolen from a construction site—now blocks the entrance to the dojo. Any object smaller than a pizza box has been deemed a ‘choking hazard’ and secured in a locked footlocker.
“Seriously, dude? You padded the remote?” Mikey complains, holding up the foam-covered device.
“It’s got sharp corners!” Raph barks back, not looking up from what he’s occupied with in the kitchen. It’s a disaster. He’s trying to make you and the baby a nutrient-rich smoothie. But the blender’s powerful setting could pulverize concrete, and questionably colored sludge is splattered across the kitchen wall.
He gives up with a frustrated growl, shoving a bowl of dry cereal at you instead. “Here. It’s safe.”
Later that night, when the lair is quiet, he finds you on the couch. He sits on the floor beside you, not saying a word. After a long moment, he hesitantly leans over and rests his head against your stomach.
“What are you doing, Raph?” you ask.
“Listenin’,” he mumbles into your shirt. “Just … checkin’ on the little guy. Or gal. Makin’ sure everything’s okay in there.” He stays like that for a long time, listening for a heartbeat he knows he can’t hear yet, guarding the most fragile thing he has ever loved.
Your first real craving hits you like a freight train at two in the morning.
You wake up with a desperate, all-consuming need for pickles and strawberry ice cream. You pad into the kitchen to find Raph asleep in the armchair he’s dragged into the living room. The creaking fridge door wakes him instantly, despite your trying to be quiet.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, his eyes snapping open. “You hurt?”
“No,” you mumble, embarrassed. “I just … really need pickles.”
He stares at you for a second, then he’s on his feet. “Pickles. Got it.”
He rummages through the fridge and produces a jar. Then he watches as you scoop a huge spoonful of ice cream into a bowl. Before he can say a word, you drop three pickle spears right on top of it. His face scrunches up in disgust.
“You’re … gonna eat that?”
You take a huge bite, and a wave of pure bliss washes over you. “It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” you say with your mouth full.
Raph watches you, his expression a mixture of revulsion and utter fascination. He shakes his head, but a crooked smile spreads across his face. “You’re weird,” he says, his voice full of affection.
He sits across from you at the table, just watching you eat your monstrous creation. He doesn’t understand it, not even a little bit. But you needed it.
And for Raph right now, that’s all that matters.
DONNIE
You find Donnie exactly where you expect him to be: in his lab. He’s muttering to himself as he’s soldering some new device he’s come up with for the team for missions, his custom-made goggles down while he works.
“Donnie?”
“Hm? One second. This has been giving me some anomalous readings on recent tests, and I need to make sure it’s ready for …” He trails off as he turns and sees the look on your face. He immediately puts the iron down. “What’s wrong? You’re exhibiting signs of acute emotional distress. Heart rate elevated, pupils dilated … are you ill?”
You offer a weak smile. “Something like that.” You walk over and place the pregnancy test on his workbench.
He picks it up, his analytical gaze scanning the object. “A home pregnancy test. It’s indicating a positive result.” He looks from the test to you, a frown of concentration on his face. “Fascinating. The statistical probability of successful inter-species conception between a human and a—”
“Donnie,” you cut him off gently. “It’s real.”
He pushes his goggles up to his forehead. “Data requires verification,” he says, but his voice is a little shaky as he gestures to one of his chairs. “If you’ll permit me? A simple blood test will confirm the presence of human chorionic gonadotropin.”
You sit, allowing him to draw a small vial of blood. He moves with practiced ease, but you notice a slight tremor in his hands. He puts the sample into his centrifuge, his eyes glued to the monitor as lines of data scroll past. Then, a graph appears on the main screen with a bright, clear spike.
Confirmation.
Donnie stares at it, his mouth agape. The brilliant scientist is gone, replaced by a wide-eyed turtle completely overwhelmed by the reality of the data he cannot deny. Still, an uncontainable smile spreads across his face. And it’s the happiest you have ever seen him.
“It’s … it’s true,” he breathes, looking at you with pure wonder. “It’s a biological miracle! The genetic implications are astounding! We’ll have to monitor your health constantly. I can build a nursery with a self-regulating atmosphere! And a mobile that projects the constellations! And I’ll need to develop hypoallergenic diaper cream!”
He’s rambling, grabbing a tablet and already sketching out plans, his initial shock transforming into joyous, frantic preparation. Then he looks at you, his eyes shining. “We’re having a baby. Scientifically, this is the most amazing thing that has ever happened.”
His joyful rambling doesn’t stop; it snowballs.
He pulls you over to his main console, his arm wrapped securely around your waist. “Look, look!” he says, pointing to a screen filled with complex biological diagrams. “Based on your hormonal levels, you’re approximately six weeks along. The embryo is developing its primary neural pathways! It’s … perfect.”
He says the word ‘perfect’ with a kind of reverence you’ve only ever heard him use for a perfectly executed thermodynamic cycle or an impeccably synthesized chemical compound. He brings up another window, already titled ‘Project Progeny: Developmental Plan.’ It’s a color-coded timeline with projected milestones, nutritional requirements, and even a list of potential educational stimuli.
“I can synthesize a prenatal vitamin with a 100% bioavailability rating,” he continues, typing furiously with one hand. “We’ll need to do regular ultrasounds. I can modify my medical scanner to produce holographic 4D images that will allow us to watch the baby grow in real time!”
The sheer joy radiating from him is almost overwhelming.
He stops typing and turns to you, his excitement softening. He gently takes your hand and places it on the monitor, over a glowing diagram of something no bigger than a poppy seed. “Our baby,” he says, his voice thick with emotion as he covers your hand with his own. “Our beautiful, impossible, statistically miraculous baby.”
Drawn by the commotion, his brothers arrive.
“Donnie, what broke now?” Raph asks, walking in with Leo and Mikey behind him.
“On the contrary!” Donnie exclaims with a grin so wide it looks almost manic. “Gentlemen, observe!”
With a flourish, he projects the holographic 4D image into the center of the room. A tiny, glowing, tadpole-like shape floats in the air, a minuscule light pulsing within it.
“What is that, a space blob?” Mikey asks, poking a finger through the hologram.
“That,” Donnie says, his voice brimming with pride as he wraps an arm around your shoulders, “is my child.”
His brothers stand in dumbfounded silence. Raph squints at the image, then at you, his expression unreadable. Mikey’s jaw hangs open.
Leo takes a step forward, his leader-facade melting away into astonishment. “Donnie … is this real?”
“The data is unequivocal!” Donnie beams. He pulls up the ‘Project Progeny’ timeline on another screen. “According to my projections, the gestational period should be approximately forty weeks, though inter-species variables may apply. I’ve already outlined a complete nutritional regimen. For instance, pizza will now require a topping of steamed, iron-rich spinach and a strict reduction in high-sodium pepperoni.”
Mikey lets out a horrified gasp. “No pepperoni? Dude, that’s child abuse!”
Donnie just smiles, his focus entirely on you. He gently places his hand over yours on your stomach, his scientific mind completely captivated by the one miracle he could never have invented. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure everything is perfect.”
Your life is now governed by data.
The first thing Donnie did was craft a sleek silver bracelet for you to wear. It’s not jewelry; it’s a non-invasive biometric monitoring device. It tracks your heart rate, blood pressure, sleep cycles, and nutritional intake, feeding a constant stream of information to his main server.
You find him in his lab, staring intently at a series of brightly colored charts on his monitor. “Excellent!” he declares as you approach. “Your blood oxygen levels are optimal, and your caloric absorption is up by 12.3% since we implemented the new dietary protocols.”
He sounds more like a proud scientist than a partner, but then he turns his chair to face you, and his expression softens. The inventor recedes, and the loving father-to-be takes his place.
“I know this is a lot,” he says, gesturing to the screens of data that represent you. “The monitoring, the supplements, the constant questions. It’s just … my mind needs problems to solve. And this is the most wonderful, complex, beautiful problem I have ever encountered.”
He wheels his chair closer and gently takes your hand, his thumb stroking the bracelet he made. “But I know this isn’t just data.” He places his other hand on your stomach, his touch reverent. “This is a person. Our person.” He looks up at you, his intelligent hazel eyes full of profound love. “And I want to ensure both of you are safe and well.”
You’re in the lab, watching Donnie calibrate a new sensor. He’s explaining the intricacies of it when you suddenly feel it: a tiny, unmistakable flutter deep inside you. You gasp and press your hand to your abdomen.
Donnie stops mid-sentence. “What is it? My readings are all stable.”
“No, it isn’t me,” you say, your eyes wide with wonder. “The baby. I think … I think they just moved.”
His composure shatters. His eyes go wide, and he scrambles out of his chair, nearly tripping over his own feet. He kneels in front of you, his hands hovering over your stomach, afraid to touch. “For real? The first instance of fetal quickening?” His voice is a breathless mix of clinical terminology and awe.
“Put your hand here,” you say, guiding his hand to the spot.
You both wait in silence, barely breathing, his intense gaze fixed on your stomach. For a long minute, there’s nothing. Then, you both feel it: a tiny, distinct tap against his palm.
Donnie lets out a choked sound. He looks up at you, his eyes shining with tears. “Hello,” he whispers to your stomach, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m your father.” He rests his forehead against you, his glasses pressing into your shirt. “And I already think you are the most brilliant discovery in the history of the world.”
MIKEY
In the lair’s living room, Mikey is button-mashing his way through a fighting game. You sit beside him, a small gift-wrapped box in your lap. Your heart thunders against your ribs as you wait for him to finish his match.
He whoops as ‘PLAYER 1 WINS’ flashes across the screen, and he looks at you, grinning. “Did you see that finishing move?!”
“It was amazing, Mikey,” you say, smiling. “I, uh, have something for you.”
His eyes light up like a kid on Christmas morning. “For me? Awesome!” He takes the box from you and rips the wrapping paper off with zero patience, tossing it aside. He lifts the lid and pulls out the contents: a single, tiny baby bootie, small enough to fit on his finger.
He stares at it with a look of complete confusion on his face before slipping it onto his thumb. “Aww, it’s like a little sock for my thumb! Is this a new kind of controller cozy? It’s super cute, but what’s it for?”
You take a deep breath. “Read the card at the bottom of the box.”
He fumbles for the small card and reads it aloud. “‘Get ready for a player three, dude.’” He looks from the card to the bootie on his thumb, then to your face, his brow furrowing. The cogs are turning. Slowly. Then his eyes widen to the size of dinner plates.
“Wait. A … a player three?” he whispers, his voice filled with disbelief.
You nod, biting your lip to keep from crying. To your relief, his face breaks out into the biggest, most joyful smile you have ever witnessed.
A loud, ecstatic “WHOA!” erupts from him. In one fluid movement, he scoops you up off the couch, spinning you around in a hug that lifts you off your feet before he remembers to be gentle and sets you down carefully.
“ARE YOU SERIOUS?!” he shouts, his voice echoing through the lair. Tears are streaming down his face, mixing with his laughter. “A baby! Our baby! DUDE! This is the best thing ever! We’re gonna have a kid! I’m gonna teach them how to skateboard and make the perfect pizza, and we’ll have a family game night every night!”
He drops to his knees in front of you and presses his ear to your stomach. “Hello in there! It’s your dad! Get ready for the most fun you’re ever gonna have!” He looks up at you, his face a perfect picture of pure happiness and love. “We’re gonna be a family.”
He doesn’t let go of you, instead keeping you in a gentle, warm hug as he beams down at your stomach. “A baby! A real-life baby!” He laughs, a joyful sound that bounces off the walls. Suddenly, he lets go, his eyes wide with a new sense of urgency. “We gotta tell everyone!”
Before you can even protest or suggest a calmer approach, he’s on his feet. “LEO! RAPH! DONNIE! GET IN HERE! IT’S AN EMERGENCY! A SUPER-AWESOME, NON-DANGEROUS EMERGENCY!”
You hear the telltale sounds of his brothers scrambling, expecting an attack.
Leo slides into the room first, katanas drawn. Raph is right behind him, sais in hand, followed by Donnie, holding a wrench like a weapon. They freeze when they see you, safe on the couch, while Mikey is bouncing on the balls of his feet like he’s about to explode.
“What is it, Mikey? Are we under attack?” Leo demands, scanning the room.
Mikey just points at you, his grin wider than you’ve ever seen it. “Even better! We’re having a baby!”
There’s a beat of stunned silence. Leo’s swords lower slightly. Raph’s jaw goes slack while Donnie drops his wrench with a loud clatter.
Mikey runs back to your side, dropping to his knees and wrapping his arms around your legs in a hug. He looks up at you, his bright blue eyes shining with happy tears. “I’m gonna be a dad,” he whispers, as if just now truly understanding the words. “I’m gonna be the funnest dad in the universe.”
Raph breaks the stunned silence in the room. “You knocked them up?!” he blurts out, half-accusatory, half-impressed.
Mikey rises to his feet. “Isn’t it the best news ever?!” He looks at his brothers, expecting them to join his celebration.
Leo sheathes his swords, the tension draining out of him, replaced by a slow smile. “Mikey … congratulations.”
Donnie is already in motion, grabbing a scanner from his belt. “Fascinating. I’ll need to run a full diagnostic.”
Mikey waves him off. “Later! Now is for celebrating!” He turns to you, his excitement a tangible force in the room. “We gotta think of names! What about Casey if it’s a boy? Or April if it’s a girl? Ooh! Or what about—”
He rambles off a bunch of names, then grabs his boombox and turns it on. He dances around the living room, pulling you up to join him, though his movements are now much gentler and more careful. He spins you softly, his hands holding yours as if they were made of glass.
He stops dancing and pulls you into another hug, resting his chin on your head. His brothers watch, their initial shock eventually giving way to shared happiness.
“I’m gonna build the coolest crib,” he whispers into your hair, his voice suddenly serious beneath the fun. “And I’ll be there for you. For everything. I promise.” He pulls back, his eyes sparkling with love and laughter. “Our little one is gonna have the best life. I’ll make sure of it.”
Since the initial news, Mikey’s excitement has not dimmed.
In fact, he’s found several creative outlets. The corner of the living room that was once a chaotic pile of video games and comic books is now officially the ‘Baby Zone.’ He has started on a mural, the base coat a cheerful, sunny yellow. He’s already sketched out a design featuring four turtle tots learning to skateboard on a rainbow.
He insists on sharing everything with his future child. When he eats a slice of pizza, he holds it near your belly first. “You gotta get used to the good stuff early!” When he watches his favorite cartoons, he turns up the volume so “the baby can hear the theme song.”
This afternoon, he’s sitting with his legs crossed, holding a pair of headphones to your stomach. The muffled, energetic beat of his favorite band leaks out.
“Mikey, are you sure that’s good for them?” you ask with a laugh.
“Totally!” he says with absolute certainty. “It’s about rhythm! And energy!” He removes the headphones and grins, tapping your stomach gently with his finger. “You hear that? That’s your dad’s favorite band. You’re gonna love ‘em.”
He looks up at you, and for a moment, the playful joking fades from his eyes, replaced by a surprising seriousness. “I wanna be their first friend,” he says quietly.He leans forward and talks to your belly again, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. “But seriously, get ready for fun. Your dad’s got it all planned out.”
Later, Mikey is reading to the baby. He’s sitting on the floor with his back against the couch, holding a colorful comic book up to your belly. He’s doing all the voices, his tone rising and falling dramatically with the action on the page.
“… and then, with a mighty KABOOM, the hero saved the city! The end!” he finishes. He sets the book down and pats your stomach gently. “Wasn’t that awesome? That’s what we do. We’re the good guys.”
He leans his head against you, getting comfortable. “You know,” he says, his voice quieter now, more thoughtful. “My brothers … Your uncles. They’re all gonna teach you cool stuff. Leo will teach you how to be a leader. Donnie will teach you how to be a genius. Raph will teach you how to be strong.” He pauses, and for a moment, a flicker of insecurity crosses his face.
“Me? I’m gonna teach you how to be happy,” he says softly. “I’ll teach you how to laugh when things are scary, and how to find the fun in everything. I’ll teach you it’s okay to be silly and dance and do whatever your heart wants.”
He looks up at you, his eyes earnest and full of a love so pure it takes your breath away.
“That’s my job. I’m gonna be the fun dad.” He grins, his usual sunny confidence returning. “And we’re gonna be the best team ever. You, me, and our little half-shell hero.”
If you’re still doing requests I got a random idea of the 2003 turtles reacting to reader dying her hair the color of their masks. You could even do the hair dye in different styles (one streak in the front, ombré, highlights, etc)
A/N: I wrote everyone a little flirty. Hope that’s okay! 😊
A Splash of Them (fluff)
💚 2003 Turtles/Female Reader 💚
CWs: Fluff, hair dyeing, and pre-relationship vibes (all turtles) with light flirting. All characters are aged-up.
You spend the entire afternoon in your bathroom, dye bottles scattered across the counter like paint palettes, gloved hands working carefully. You’ve mapped it all out in your head: each turtle’s signature mask color, represented in a different part of your hair.
You don’t tell them you’re doing it.
When you’re done, you study yourself in the mirror. Your natural color still dominates, but the additions stand out just enough.
The blue highlights shimmer through the underside layers, visible when you tilt your head or move a certain way. A single purple streak frames your face on the left side, almost hidden. The red ombré tips burn at the ends of your hair like smoldering coals. And tucked underneath it all, mostly invisible until your hair is up, are peekaboo layers of orange.
It’s like carrying a piece of each of them with you.
And now comes the fun part.
You climb down the ladder into the lair like any other night, pretending your heart isn’t hammering just a little harder than usual. You’re not sure if it was genius or insanity that inspired you to dye your hair in their colors.
But now that it’s done, there’s no turning back.
Your boots hit the floor and you stroll in like you didn’t just spend the better part of a day turning your head into a living color wheel. The second you step into the common area, Leo’s the first to notice.
He’s mid-kata, sweat gleaming on his skin, when his gaze flickers toward you and his stance falters. His eyes narrow; not in disapproval, but curiosity. He says nothing at first, just watches as you slowly cross the room. His expression is hard to read.
“That’s new,” he finally says, his voice steady but lower than usual.
You act casual, brushing your hair off your shoulder, letting the blue shimmer in the light. “Just felt like mixing things up. Figured it was time for a change.”
There are a few beats of silence.
His lips quirk up, not quite a smile, but something more restrained. “You picked blue.”
“Not just blue,” you say, and step a little closer.
His gaze sweeps over your hair more thoroughly now, noting the shifts in color. “Right,” he murmurs, almost smiling. “It looks good. Really good. It suits you.”
“Thanks,” you say.
Before you can respond, a blur of orange crashes into your peripheral vision, launching over the couch.
“Whoaaa!” Mikey stops dead in his tracks, skidding to a stop beside you. His wide eyes scan you from head to toe, then zoom in on the orange peeking through. “Is that what I think it is?!”
You smirk and pull your hair up into a ponytail, revealing the vivid orange beneath.
His jaw drops like you just told him he’s won a lifetime supply of pizza. “DUUUUDE!” he cries, then lunges for you in a hugging attempt—stopping just short when Leo clears his throat. “Oh. Right. Boundaries.” Mikey grins sheepishly. “You look like a walking mural of awesome.”
You laugh. “That’s one way to describe it.”
Mikey squints at your head. “Wait. There’s more? Are those blue highlights? Is that red at the bottom? And is that a streak of purple?!”
You barely dodge being dragged into a spontaneous photoshoot when Donnie appears, mug in hand. He stops cold as his eyes lock on the streak of purple, tilting his head like he’s analyzing it under a microscope.
“Huh,” he says softly, his brow lifting in curiosity.
You tuck the strand behind your ear and glance at him. “Too much?”
“No. Not at all. Actually …” He steps closer, peering intently. “That shade’s unique. You custom-mixed it?”
“Guilty,” you say, trying not to grin at his keen observation.
“You placed it right at your temple,” he says. “Like it’s part of your identity, but only if someone’s paying attention.”
“You always pay attention,” you murmur, barely audible.
He clears his throat and shifts awkwardly. “Yeah, guess I do.”
The moment is cut short by a low scoff that drifts from the corner. It’s Raph, who’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed and expression unreadable. His gaze lingers at your hair’s ends.
“You serious with this?” he asks, nodding at your hair.
You meet his stare. “What, don’t like it?”
He doesn’t answer right away, but pushes off the wall and walks toward you. He doesn’t stop until he’s close—too close—tilting his head just slightly to get a better look at the color.
“I didn’t say that,” he mutters, then nods toward your tips. “That’s my red.”
“Guess it is.”
A pause, then, “Looks … good on you.”
You raise a brow. “Just good?”
He huffs out a breath. “Fine. Hot. You happy now?”
“Very.”
He smirks. “Yeah, you would be.”
Raph takes a half-step back, as if to re-establish his personal bubble. But his eyes still flick down to the smoldering red at your tips before returning to meet yours.
Before you can think of a witty comeback, Mikey is practically vibrating beside you again. “Okay, okay, but for real, though! Can I? Just, like, gently pat the orange? To scientifically measure its level of awesomeness?” He wiggles his fingers, his eyes wide and pleading.
Leo lets out a soft chuckle. “Easy, Mikey. Give her some air.” But even he is looking at you with an openly appreciative gaze now, the initial focused curiosity replaced by a kind of pleased warmth. “It was a bold choice,” he says to you. “But a good one.”
“He’s not wrong,” Donnie chimes in. “The deliberate placement of each color—it’s rather insightful. Was that level of symbolism intentional, or primarily an aesthetic decision?”
You feel a warmth creep up your neck. “A little of both, I guess,” you admit, shrugging slightly as you meet his gaze. You glance around at the others, their faces a mixture of amusement, interest, and genuine appreciation. “I just … wanted to try something new. And you guys are, well, you’re important to me, so …” You trail off, feeling a touch shy under their combined scrutiny, even though it’s overwhelmingly positive.
Raph scoffs again, but there’s no real bite to it this time. His stance is less confrontational now, more relaxed. “Sentimental mush,” he mutters, but you catch the way his gaze softens almost imperceptibly when it lands on you for a fleeting second.
“It’s not mush, Raph!” Mikey declares, puffing out his chest slightly as if defending a sacred principle. “It’s an artistic expression of friendship! And super-duper cool hair!” He turns back to you, his eyes sparkling with undiminished enthusiasm. “So, about that pat? For science? And friendship?”
You can’t help but laugh, the sound lighter now that the initial wave of reactions has passed and settled into something comfortable. “Alright, Mikey. Gently.”
His face lights up as he reaches out with surprising delicacy, his fingers barely brushing against the strands you’ve pulled up to show the orange.
Meanwhile, Leo shakes his head, a genuine smile finally gracing his lips as he watches Mikey’s antics. He catches your eye, his own crinkling at the corners. “You’ve certainly made an impression tonight.”
“I hope it’s a good one,” you say, your voice a little softer than intended, meeting his gaze.
“It is,” Leo confirms, his voice steady and sincere. “It shows you put thought into it. That you care. And,” he adds, a slight teasing note entering his voice as his eyes flick to the blue highlights, “you clearly have excellent taste in your primary accent colors.”
Donnie nods thoughtfully from beside him. “Indeed. The precision of the highlights and the evenness of the ombré are also commendable. Did you manage all of that yourself? It requires a steady hand and a rather sophisticated understanding of mirror angulation.”
“All me,” you confirm, a small surge of pride warming you. “Took pretty much the entire afternoon, if I’m being honest.”
“Time well invested, from an aesthetic and, dare I say, emotional standpoint,” Donnie concludes, offering you a small but pleased smile.
Raph just grunts, but you see him glance at the fiery red tips of your hair one more time before walking towards the kitchen area. “Anyone else suddenly starving?” he calls back, his voice gruff as ever. “All this color commentary is making me hungry.” It’s his classic deflection, but you know him well enough to see the underlying approval.
Mikey, who had reluctantly pulled his hand away from your hair, gasps dramatically. “Pizza! Does this mean pizza to celebrate the official unveiling of her totally tubular, multi-colored mane of glory?” He looks between you and his brothers, his face alight with hope.
Leo sighs, but the smile doesn’t leave his face. “I think that can be arranged, Mikey.” He looks back at you, an inviting warmth in his eyes. “You in?”
You don’t even hesitate. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
Mikey lets out a whoop, pumping his fist in the air. “Yesss! Color party pizza night is officially ON!”
The rest of the evening unfolds in a blur.
Mikey tries to convince you to dye your eyebrows to match the hair (you decline), Donnie starts brainstorming color-safe hair care formulas (“for science”), Leo watches you quietly, as if committing every hue to memory, and Raph? Raph keeps finding reasons to walk past you. And glance. And smirk.
And with every appreciative glance, you know your colorful gamble hadn’t been insanity at all. It was a brilliant stroke of belonging—
So I've recently read your 'Drawn to you' 2014/2016 Raph and I LOVED IT. So I was hoping I could ask you could write something for me.
So recently I got sick, nothing to bad just a stomach bug, but it was right before I started my period. Which cause some of the worse period experiences I've ever had. To the point where even though I had taken pain meds, the extreme pain woke me up. And even my usual methods of taking a hot shower didn't work, in fact I rain out of hot water.
So I was wondering if you could write about how the turtles, particularly ❤Raph❤ and Mikey, would take care of their partner when their having horrible period pains. Like would they wash them, massage them, hold them, wipe their tears, and so on.
I know it may seem odd but I wished I had someone to at the very least get me, my heating pad.
Thank you in advance and seriously I love your work!!!
A/N: It makes me really happy you love my work! And I’m so sorry about the period pain; I get very ill during mine because I have a reproductive disorder. And being sick with something else on top of that is torture 😓
For this, I decided to do headcanons with all four of the Bayverse turts. I hope you like it! 😊 (And PS: I hope you feel better!)
Bay!Turts & Their SO’s Period Pain
💚 Bayverse Turtles/AFAB Reader 💚
CWs: Descriptions of period pain and everything that it entails. But nothing too graphic; only mild details. All characters are aged-up.
LEO
Leo approaches your pain like a mission that needs a strategy. He’s the one who keeps track of your cycle on a private calendar—with your permission, of course—so he’s often prepared before you are.
He notices the subtle signs of your period approaching before you do: the slight irritability, the fatigue behind your eyes. He won’t point it out, but he’ll start steering you toward calmer activities, suggesting a movie night instead of a late-night patrol or taking over dinner duties so you can rest. When he sees you slowing down, he’s already there with a glass of water and painkillers.
He’s the one who ensures the lair stays quiet. He’ll give his brothers a single, stern look that silences any impending arguments or loud video game sessions. Your comfort is his top priority.
He isn’t a naturally touchy-feely person, but that changes when you’re in pain. He’ll sit behind you on the couch, letting you lean your full weight against his plastron as he gently wraps his arms around you. His hands come to rest over your abdomen, providing a steady, comforting pressure.
He draws a warm bath for you, ensuring the water is just right. He washes your back carefully, letting you lean against his chest if you’re too tired to sit upright. You melt into his hold as he cradles you, his hands soothing the ache across your abdomen and back.
If you cry from the sheer exhaustion and agony of it all, he remains silent and steady. Using the pad of his thumb, he gently wipes the tears from your cheeks. He won’t offer platitudes; his presence alone says, “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
RAPH
Raph hates seeing you in pain and feels utterly powerless to punch it into submission. So, he channels that protective frustration into physical, grounding care.
He’s your fierce guardian, a protector through and through. Though always a second away from snapping at anyone who even thinks about upsetting you, his anger falters the moment your tears fall. He isn’t good with soft things—but for you, he tries. He pulls you close and presses his forehead to yours, breathing slowly and steadily, as if trying to calm you with his own rhythm.
He is your living weighted blanket. When the cramps are so bad you can’t move, he’ll gently lift and carry you to bed—his or yours—and settle you against him. He drapes an arm over your middle, his size and warmth becoming a comforting anchor in the storm of pain.
He gives you massages. He’ll have you lie on your stomach, using the heels of his hands to press deep into your lower back and work out the aching tension with focused intensity. Though he might grumble under his breath about “stupid biology,” his touch is nothing but careful.
He will help you to the bath. If you’re too weak to stand for long, he’ll sit on a stool beside the tub and wash your hair for you. With slow, deliberate movements, his fingers gently scrub your scalp and make sure you feel clean.
He’s the one who will look you dead in the eye when you feel at your lowest and say, “You’re a damn warrior for goin’ through this.” He genuinely admires your strength, and hearing it from him, the toughest person you know, makes you believe it, too.
DONNIE
Donnie’s approach to your pain is both scientific and practical. Having researched the biological processes extensively, he comes armed with data-driven solutions to ensure your comfort.
He has a complete system in place. He not only tracks your cycle (with permission) but also keeps a dedicated supply bag stocked with your preferred pads/tampons, painkillers, and specialized teas. His research is so thorough that he has even determined the precise water temperature required to soothe your cramps.
He is the master of remedies. Knowing exactly which herbal teas have anti-inflammatory properties, he will brew you a cup while explaining the benefits as you sip. He also ensures you’re taking the most effective, non-drowsy pain relief, precisely tailored to your specific symptoms.
He has engineered the perfect heating pad. Dismissing store-bought models as crude and inefficient, he custom-built a device that contours perfectly to your abdomen and lower back. It maintains a precise, optimal temperature, all of which he can monitor and adjust when needed.
He’ll hold you in a way that is mechanically perfect for pain relief. He positions each pillow for optimal spinal support, then arranges his own limbs to apply warmth and pressure exactly where it’s needed most. All the while, he’ll murmur facts about how pressure points can ease uterine contractions.
When you cry, he gently cups your face, his thumbs wiping away your tears. “I wish I could take the pain instead of you,” he murmurs. His quiet sincerity eases the weight on your chest, a reminder that while he cannot fix this, you are not carrying the burden alone.
MIKEY
Mikey’s goal is to soothe your pain with comfort, distraction, and a whole lot of love. He’s the most emotionally intuitive of his brothers and knows that sometimes, you just need to be coddled.
He builds you the ultimate “pain nest”: a mountain of every soft blanket and pillow he can find in the lair, all piled high in front of the main screen. He then tucks you in, fussing over the arrangement until you’re perfectly snug.
He becomes your personal entertainment and snack courier. He’ll queue up a marathon of your favorite comfort movies or shows and deliver a steady supply of your favorite snacks. Ice cream, chips, chocolate, pizza—whatever you crave, he will hunt it down for you, no questions asked.
He’s completely unfazed by the messier aspects of a period. If you need help changing or cleaning up, he’s there in a heartbeat with fresh sweatpants and a warm, damp cloth. He treats it all with such gentle normalcy that there is simply no room for embarrassment.
When a vicious cramp makes you cry out, he’s there, holding your hand and letting you squeeze as hard as you need. He presses his forehead to yours, whispering, “I’m right here. Just breathe with me. You got this.” He anchors you, helping you ride the wave of pain instead of drowning in it.
When you cry, he lies down facing you, wiping away your tears while making goofy faces, until a small smile finally breaks through. He’ll then rest his head near your stomach, humming softly or telling a rambling, silly story meant purely for distraction. His warmth and relentless affection are a powerful medicine all on their own.
When They Realize They’re in Love With You (Bay ver.)
💚 Bayverse Turtles/Gender Neutral Reader 💚
A/N: Here is a little collection of headcanons exploring the exact split-second the guys realize their feelings for you are completely undeniable.
Enjoy! 😊
CWs: Implied self-deprecating thoughts/internalized monster complex, mild anxiety, suppression of feelings, and minor stress & overwhelm. All characters are aged-up.
LEO
For Leo, love is inextricably tied to responsibility and protection. He likely tries to fight his feelings at first, viewing you as a distraction or a vulnerability he can’t afford.
You’re hanging out in the lair, helping him organize or just talking, and you casually mention a plan for the future—something six months or a year down the line—and you naturally include him in it. (e.g., “Next winter we should totally try that ramen place near my apartment.”)
It hits him like a punch to the chest.
Leo looks at you and realizes he isn’t just looking at a friend he’s sworn to protect; he’s looking at his future. He notices the way your hair catches the light, how small your hand looks near his huge three-fingered one, and the sheer trust you place in him.
He goes completely silent, his blue eyes softening into something incredibly intense. He’ll suddenly excuse himself to “go meditate.” But in reality, he’s in his room staring at the wall, chest tight, realizing his stoic, leader-first heart is no longer entirely his own.
RAPH
Raph’s entire identity is built on being tough, unyielding, and angry at a world that doesn’t accept him. He thinks he’s a monster; he thinks he’s too big, too loud, and too violent for anything gentle.
You’re sitting on the couch in the lair after a long day. You’re completely exhausted. Without thinking, you lean over and rest your head against his shoulder. You sigh, close your eyes, and instantly relax against him.
He completely freezes.
Raph holds his breath, terrified that if he moves even an inch, his size will break you or scare you away. He looks down at your face, so peaceful and safe, and a warmth floods his chest that terrifies him. You aren’t afraid of him. You trust him to hold you.
He swallows hard, a rare, completely genuine smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. He gently, almost imperceptibly, tilts his head down so his forehead rests lightly against your hair, silently vowing to obliterate anything—or anyone—that ever tries to hurt you.
DONNIE
Donnie processes the world through logic and data. He can calculate the trajectory of a kunai in his sleep. But emotions are a messy, unpredictable variable he usually prefers to avoid.
He’s deep in a hyper-fixation spiral in his lab. He’s stressed, frustrated, and muttering to himself. You quietly walk in, don’t interrupt his flow, and just place a fresh cup of coffee (exactly how he likes it) and a snack next to his keyboard, giving his shoulder a supportive squeeze before turning to leave.
He stops typing.
Donnie stares at the mug, then looks up at your retreating back. Suddenly, his brain isn’t processing the code on his screens anymore. He starts doing the mental math on how much his heart rate spikes when you walk into the room, how his dopamine levels surge at the sound of your laugh, and how his protective instincts defy all his logic.
He stammers a quiet, “Uh, thanks!” to the empty doorway, tapping his fingers frantically on his desk, his brilliant mind utterly overwhelmed by the beautiful, unscientific reality that he is hopelessly in love.
MIKEY
Mikey is the easiest to read, always laughing, flirting, and being a goofball. But because he jokes around so much, people often miss the depth of his feelings.
You’re in the lair kitchen cooking pizza or some snack together. Music is blasting, and you’re dancing around like a total idiot, mimicking his ridiculous moves without a single shred of judgment. You turn to him, covered in flour or sauce, laughing so hard you can barely breathe. And you look at him with total, unfiltered joy.
He goes completely quiet for a second.
Mikey looks at you and realizes you aren’t just a cool human to hang out with; you’re his favorite person in the entire universe. You see past his mutation, past the scales and the shell, and you just see him. The playful smirk fades from his face, replaced by a soft, incredibly tender look.
He doesn’t tackle you or make a loud joke. Instead, he steps in close, loops his arms around your waist, and pulls you into a giant, lifting hug, burying his face in your neck. When you ask him what that was for, he just beams, his eyes shining, and says, “Nothing. Just glad you’re here, babe.”
turtles pat each other’s faces when courting each other so just imagine tmnts doing that to their crush
as a side note: red eared sliders sometimes instead gently stroke their intended mates face! leo is 1000% touchy and holds ur cheeks when he kisses you.
michaelangelo probably pats your cheeks to the beat of his favorite song.
donnie, on the other hand, either pokes your face like he’s trying to test the squishiness of your cheeks or drumming his fingers softly over them, especially when he’s boredly waiting for something to load.
raph is gentle and quick, just pat-pat-pat! all over your face, a gentle reminder youre his. he gives you a closed eye smile and turns back to his training.
Bayverse!TMNT and the sacrifices for their human girlfriend
Leonardo:
If his girlfriend's life is on the line, Leo will completely shatter the ninja code of secrecy. He would march out into the middle of Times Square in broad daylight if that is what it took to save her, fully exposing the existence of mutants to the world without a second thought.
He would willingly disobey a direct order from Master Splinter. If Splinter told him that rescuing her was a tactical trap that endangered the brothers, Leo would hand over his twin katanas, step down as leader, and walk out of the lair alone. He would rather become a rogue ninja and lose his title than lose her.
Raphael:
Raph would drop his pride entirely. If an enemy had her cornered and the only way to save her was to surrender, the angriest, most aggressive brawler in New York would literally drop his sai and fall to his knees. He would beg. For Raph to look an enemy in the eye and say, "Take me, let her go," is the ultimate destruction of his tough-guy ego.
On the flip side, if an enemy hurt her, Raph would break the "honorable combat" rule. He wouldn't fight fair. He wouldn't care about the ninja code of discipline. He would unleash a level of sheer, unhinged brutality that would genuinely terrify his brothers, completely abandoning his self-control.
Donatello:
Donnie would completely abandon reason. If she was caught in a situation where she only had a 0.001% chance of survival, the logical move would be to retreat and regroup. Donnie would ignore the math. He would throw himself into an entirely suicidal mission, letting pure, irrational emotion override his intellect for the first time in his life.
To keep her safe from the Foot Clan or TCRI, Donnie would break every digital law on the planet. He would hack government databases, delete her existence from public records, drain the bank accounts of anyone who threatened her, and turn city infrastructure into a weapon. He would weaponize his genius in a way that crosses every ethical line he usually upholds.
Michelangelo:
If his girlfriend is threatened, the jokes die immediately. He would stop holding back. Mikey is arguably the most naturally gifted and agile of the brothers, but he uses his nunchucks playfully. For her, he would drop the flashy tricks and become a cold, ruthlessly efficient weapon.
Mikey would be willing to permanently lose his innocence. Master Splinter taught them to incapacitate, not destroy. But if someone put their hands on the woman who made Mikey feel like he belonged in the world, he would cross the line from vigilante to executioner, sacrificing his own sunny soul so she wouldn't have to get hurt.
The first part. It is highly desirable to get acquainted.
Leonardo
Rejection
I see it coming before she even says the words. I've trained myself to read body language, to anticipate moves before they happen. The way she won't quite meet my eyes. The careful distance she puts between us. The gentle tone that people use when they're about to deliver bad news.
"Leo, I... I care about you. So much. But not... not like that."
I nod. Keep my face neutral. This is what I expected, what I knew would happen if I ever let myself be foolish enough to say something. "I understand."
"You're one of my best friends. I don't want to lose that."
"You won't." My voice is steady. Controlled. Everything a leader's voice should be. "Nothing changes."
But everything changes.
I throw myself into training harder than before. Push my brothers through drills until even Raph tells me to ease up. I meditate for hours, trying to find that center of calm that's always guided me, but it keeps slipping away. Master Splinter watches me with knowing eyes but says nothing, he's letting me work through this on my own.
The worst part is that she was right to say no. I know that. She deserves a life without complications, without having to hide, without the danger that comes with being close to us. This is the logical outcome. The right outcome.
So why does it feel like I've failed at something more important than any mission?
I see her around the lair, and I'm professional. Friendly. I make sure she never feels uncomfortable, never regrets being honest with me. But I stop lingering in conversations. Stop finding excuses to work with her alone. I build walls the way I've built them my entire life—carefully, strategically, until I'm safely behind them again.
Late at night, I stand on the rooftop and look out at the city. At all those lit windows full of normal people living normal lives. And I remind myself that this is my path. Leadership means sacrifice. It means accepting what you cannot have and moving forward anyway.
I'll be fine. I always am.
But it takes longer than I'd like to admit before I stop hoping she'll change her mind.
Reciprocation
"Leo, I—" She stops, and I can see her struggling with something. "I need to tell you something."
My heart is pounding, but I keep still. Patient. Whatever she needs to say, I'll listen.
"I think I'm falling for you. And I know that's complicated, and maybe it's crazy, but I can't keep pretending I don't feel this way."
For a moment, I forget how to breathe.
All the discipline, all the control I've spent years perfecting. It cracks. Opens, like a door I didn't know could open. I reach for her hand, and when she doesn't pull away, when her fingers lace through mine like they belong there, something in my chest unlocks.
"You're sure?" I have to ask. Need to hear her say it again. "You understand what this means? The hiding, the danger, the—"
"I'm sure." Her voice is steady, certain. "I've known what this was for a while now. I've had time to think about it. This is what I want. You're what I want."
I pull her closer, rest my forehead against hers. It's the most natural thing in the world and simultaneously the most impossible. "I never thought..." I can't finish the sentence.
"Me neither," she whispers. "But here we are."
Here we are.
I'm still the leader. Still responsible for my brothers, for the city, for keeping everyone safe. But now there's this, this lightness I didn't know I could feel. When I train, I'm sharper, more focused. When I meditate, I find that center more easily. Everything has crystallized into clarity.
My brothers notice immediately. Raph gives me shit about the smile I can't quite hide. Donnie makes awkward comments about neurochemistry and pair bonding. Mikey just cheers and asks when the wedding is.
Master Splinter simply nods, as if he knew all along. "Love does not make you weaker, my son. It gives you something worth fighting for."
He's right. When she's in danger, I fight with a ferocity I've never accessed before. But I'm also more careful, more strategic—because losing isn't an option now. I have something precious to protect. Someone who chose me, despite everything.
We steal moments together on rooftops, in the quiet corners of the lair. I learn that she likes when I read poetry to her, that she fits perfectly against my plastron, that her laugh can chase away the weight of leadership for a little while. I learn what it means to be wanted not for what I can do, but for who I am.
It's not the life I imagined. It's complicated and secret and sometimes painful when we can't be together the way normal couples can.
But when she looks at me with love in her eyes, I know with absolute certainty: she's worth every complication. Every sacrifice. Every moment of doubt I ever had about whether I could have this.
I love her. And impossibly, miraculously, she loves me back.
Raphael
Rejection
"Raph, you're amazing. You are. But I just... I don't feel that way about you."
I clench my jaw. Nod once. "Yeah. Got it."
I see the worry in her eyes, the way she's bracing for me to explode. Everyone always expects me to lose it, to get angry and break things. And yeah, there's anger, there's always anger. But this isn't the kind I can punch my way through.
"I hope we can still—"
"It's fine." I cut her off, keeping my voice level. "We're good. Don't worry about it."
I leave before she can say anything else. Before she can see that it's not fine.
I go to the surface. Find some Purple Dragons who are stupid enough to be running a weapons deal in my territory. They're probably expecting a warning, a chance to run. They don't get one. I wade in fast and brutal, letting instinct take over, letting the physical pain of the fight drown out everything else.
It doesn't help.
Back in the lair, I avoid everyone. Lock myself in my room and blast music loud enough that I don't have to think. But thinking isn't the problem—feeling is. And I can't punch my way out of feelings.
The worst part is that I get it. I look in the mirror and I see exactly what she sees: a monster. A weapon. Something that belongs in the shadows. I've always known what I am. I just let myself forget for a minute. Let myself believe that maybe someone could see past the shell and the scars and the rage.
Stupid.
I catch myself getting rougher during training. Taking unnecessary risks on patrol. Leo calls me out on it, and we get into it—actually get into it, fists and all, until Splinter separates us. I've got a cracked rib and Leo's got a black eye, and I still don't feel any better.
"You're going to get yourself killed," Leo says later, after we've both cooled down.
"Maybe that'd be easier."
The look on his face tells me I've gone too far, but I can't take it back.
Eventually, the sharp pain dulls to an ache. I see her around, and I'm... civil. Keep my distance. Build the walls back up where they should've stayed in the first place. She tries to talk to me like before, and I let her, but something's different. I'm different.
I don't blame her. How could I? She was honest. That takes guts. It's not her fault I wanted something I was never going to get.
But late at night, when I'm alone, I let myself feel it—all the anger and hurt and disappointment I keep locked down during the day. I let it burn through me until there's nothing left but ash.
And then I get up and do it all over again. Because that's what I do. I survive.
Even when I'm not sure I want to.
Reciprocation
"Raph, I need to tell you something, and I need you to just listen, okay?"
I freeze. The tone in her voice has every muscle in my body tensing up, preparing for bad news.
"I'm in love with you."
The world stops.
"You're—what?"
"I'm in love with you," she repeats, stronger this time. "I know this is complicated and weird and probably not what you expected, but I can't keep pretending I'm not. So there. I said it."
I'm staring at her like she's speaking another language. "You're serious."
"Completely serious." She steps closer, and I can see her hands shaking a little. She's nervous. Scared even. But she's not backing down. "You're stubborn and hot-headed and you drive me crazy sometimes, but you're also loyal and protective and you make me feel safe in a way no one else ever has. So yeah. I'm in love with you. If that's okay."
If that's okay. Like she's asking permission. Like I'm not already hers.
I reach for her without thinking, pull her against me—probably too rough, but she doesn't complain. Just wraps her arms around me and holds on tight. I bury my face in her hair and breathe her in, trying to make my brain catch up with what's happening.
"You're sure?" My voice comes out rough. "Because I'm not—I'm not easy, sweetheart. I've got a temper and I'm not good at the soft stuff and—"
"I know who you are." She pulls back enough to look at me, and the certainty in her eyes nearly breaks me. "I'm not asking you to be anyone else. I'm saying I want you. This you. Exactly as you are."
Something in my chest cracks wide open.
I kiss her. It's not smooth or practiced—I've got no idea what I'm doing—but she kisses me back like it doesn't matter. Like I'm enough exactly as I am.
The guys find out pretty quick. Mikey whoops and tackles us both in a hug. Donnie looks relieved, like he was worried I was going to self-destruct or something. Leo just smiles and tells me he's happy for me.
I'm different with her. Still me (still angry, still rough around the edges), but there's this softness that shows up when she's around. I'm gentler with her than I've ever been with anything. She sits in my lap while I'm working out, and I'm hyperaware of every movement, making sure I never hurt her. She falls asleep against my plastron, and I stay completely still for hours because I don't want to wake her.
I'm protective to a point that probably borders on excessive. Anyone looks at her wrong, anyone even thinks about threatening her, and I'm ready to tear them apart. She calls me her "overprotective teddy bear," which would piss me off if anyone else said it, but from her? I'll take it.
We fight sometimes. Both of us are too stubborn for our own good. But we figure it out, because walking away isn't an option. Not when I finally have something worth staying for.
I never thought I'd get this. Never thought someone would look at me and see something worth loving. But she does. Every single day, she chooses me.
And I'm going to spend the rest of my life making sure she never regrets it.
Donatello
Rejection
She's kind about it. Thoughtful, even. Exactly how I would have predicted she'd handle an uncomfortable situation.
"Donnie, you're incredible. Truly. But I think of you more as a really close friend. I'm sorry."
"No, don't—don't apologize." I adjust my glasses, a nervous habit. "I appreciate your honesty. That's... that's very logical. Practical."
I'm using clinical language because it's the only way I can get through this without falling apart.
"I hope this doesn't make things weird between us."
"Of course not." I'm already calculating exit strategies, ways to maintain appropriate distance without making it obvious. "We're still teammates. Friends. Nothing has to change."
Everything has already changed.
I retreat to my lab and don't come out for three days. Tell everyone I'm working on a critical upgrade to the security system. It's not entirely a lie. I am working. I'm always working. But mostly I'm hiding.
I run the data again. And again. And again. Trying to find where my calculations went wrong, which variables I misread. Was it the frequency of her visits? The duration of eye contact? The 23% increase in my heart rate that I was certain was reciprocated?
The scientific method has never failed me before. But apparently, it's completely useless when it comes to human emotion.
I analyze our every interaction, looking for signs I missed. Maybe she was just being polite. Maybe her interest in my work was courtesy, not genuine fascination. Maybe I built an entire hypothesis on faulty data and confirmation bias.
The worst part is that she still comes to the lab. Still asks about my projects. Still brings me coffee exactly how I like it. And I have to pretend everything is fine, that my chest doesn't ache every time I see her, that I haven't mentally catalogued every moment we've shared and filed it under "evidence of my own stupidity."
"You're being harder on yourself than the situation warrants," Splinter tells me one evening.
"I made an incorrect assessment based on insufficient data. That's a fundamental scientific error."
"She is not an equation to be solved, Donatello. And you are not a failure for having feelings."
But that's exactly how it feels. Like I've failed at something that should have been predictable.
I start avoiding situations where we'd be alone together. Volunteer for patrol shifts when I know she's visiting. Communicate through text instead of face-to-face conversations. It's not fair to her—she did nothing wrong—but I need time to recalibrate. To rebuild the boundaries I let myself dissolve.
Eventually, I find equilibrium. Learn to be around her without the constant ache. File away the possibility of "us" into a folder marked "beautiful things that weren't meant to be" and move on with my work.
But sometimes, late at night in my lab, I'll catch her scent on a hoodie she borrowed once and never returned. And I'll let myself feel it for just a moment, the loss of something that never quite existed.
Then I get back to work. Because that's what I do. I solve problems.
Even the ones that don't have solutions.
Reciprocation
"Donnie, I've been thinking about what you said last week. About the probability calculations."
I look up from my workbench, confused. "Which calculations?"
"The ones about us. About whether this—" she gestures between us, "—could work."
My heart stops. I didn't realize I'd said that out loud. "I was just hypothesizing. I didn't mean to—"
"You got the variables wrong."
I blink. "I... what?"
She sits down next to me, close enough that I can smell her shampoo. "You were calculating based on what you think you are. A mutant turtle who lives in a sewer. Someone the world won't accept. Someone who can't give me a normal life."
"Those are objective facts."
"But you left out the most important variable." She takes my hand, and my brain short-circuits. "What I actually want. And what I want is you. The guy who explains quantum physics at three in the morning because he gets excited about particles. The guy who built me a panic button disguised as a bracelet because he worries. The guy who remembers my coffee order and leaves little inventions on my desk to make me smile. That's the calculation that matters."
I'm staring at our hands—hers so small in mine—trying to process what she's saying. "But the social implications, the biological incompatibilities, the—"
"Donnie." She squeezes my hand. "I love you. Does that compute?"
Does that—
Oh.
"You're... you're serious." My voice comes out as barely a whisper.
"Completely serious." She smiles, and it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. "I know you've been running probability models. So let me give you some new data: probability that I've thought about this carefully? One hundred percent. Probability that I know exactly what I'm signing up for? One hundred percent. Probability that I want to be with you anyway? One hundred percent."
I pull her into a kiss before I can overthink it, which is probably the least analytical thing I've ever done. But she kisses me back, and suddenly every equation I've ever solved seems trivial compared to this.
When we finally break apart, I'm grinning like an idiot. "I need to recalculate everything."
She laughs. "Of course you do."
My brothers are predictably chaotic about the news. Mikey creates a banner that says "DONNIE HAS A GIRLFRIEND" and hangs it in the lair. Raph makes exactly one joke about "nerds finding other nerds" before giving me an approving nod. Leo seems genuinely happy for me, which somehow makes it more real.
I build things for her constantly now. Not out of anxiety or the need to be useful, but because I love seeing her face light up when I solve a problem she didn't even know she had. A phone charger that works anywhere. A miniature heating pad that fits in her pocket. A holographic projection system so we can stargaze from the lair.
She falls asleep in my lab most nights, curled up in the chair I modified specifically for her comfort. I work quietly, hyperaware of her presence, occasionally stopping just to watch her breathe. It's inefficient. It's illogical.
It's perfect.
She asks questions about my projects, and I learn to explain things without drowning her in jargon. She teaches me that not everything needs to be optimized or improved—that sometimes just being together is enough. That I don't have to earn affection through usefulness; I'm wanted simply for existing.
"You know what's funny?" she says one night, her head resting on my shoulder as I show her a new program I've been developing.
"What?"
"You spent all that time calculating whether this could work. But you forgot the most important scientific principle."
"Which is?"
"Sometimes you just have to run the experiment." She kisses my cheek. "And lucky for both of us, the results are pretty conclusive."
I pull her closer, marveling at the fact that this brilliant, beautiful person looked at all the variables, all the complications and impossibilities, and chose me anyway.
The data doesn't lie. And according to the data, I'm the luckiest turtle in New York.
Michelangelo
Rejection
"Mikey, you're one of my favorite people in the world. But I love you like a brother. I'm sorry."
I keep the smile on my face. It's what I do, right? Keep things light, keep everyone happy. "No worries, dudette! Totally cool. We're still friends, yeah?"
"Of course! Always."
"Awesome! Hey, wanna watch that new comedy that just came out? I heard it's hilarious."
I redirect the conversation, crack some jokes, act like everything's normal. She relaxes, relieved that I'm not making it weird. And I'm not—not on the outside. On the outside, I'm the same old Mikey. Fun, goofy, never taking anything too seriously.
On the inside, I'm breaking into a million pieces.
I wait until she leaves. Wait until everyone's asleep. Then I go to my room, close the door, and finally let the smile drop.
It hurts. Like, really hurts. I didn't know feelings could actually hurt like this—not just in your head, but in your whole body. My chest feels tight, my stomach feels sick, and there's this lump in my throat that won't go away no matter how many times I swallow.
I look at all my movie posters, my comic books, all the stuff that usually makes me happy. And I think about all those stories where the funny guy gets the girl. Where being yourself and staying positive and making people laugh is enough.
Guess real life doesn't work like that.
The next few days are hard. I keep up the act, maybe even amp it up a little. Extra jokes, extra energy, extra Mikey. Because if I slow down, if I let the mask slip even for a second, everyone will see. And I can't let them see. They depend on me to be the happy one, the one who keeps morale up when things get dark.
Besides, it's not her fault. She was honest with me. That's good, right? Better than leading me on or pretending she felt something she didn't. I should be grateful for that.
But it doesn't make it hurt less.
I catch myself still doing things for her—saving her the best slice of pizza, queuing up movies I think she'd like, making jokes just to hear her laugh. Because even if she doesn't love me the way I love her, I still love her. That doesn't just go away.
"You okay, little brother?" Raph catches me one night when I'm sitting alone in the lair, pretending to watch TV.
"Yeah, man! Just zoning out. You know me."
He looks at me for a long moment, and I think he's going to call me out. But he just pats my shell and walks away. Maybe he knows. Maybe they all know.
The worst part is the hope. Even though she said no, even though I know better, there's this stupid part of me that keeps thinking "maybe someday." Maybe if I'm funnier, or cooler, or more serious when I need to be. Maybe if I prove myself enough.
But that's not how it works. You can't make someone feel something they don't feel.
So I do what I always do: I put on a smile, I crack a joke, I keep everyone's spirits up. I watch romantic comedies alone in my room and pretend the endings don't make me sad. I tell myself that having her as a friend is enough, and most days, I almost believe it.
But sometimes—like when she hugs me goodbye, or when she laughs at one of my jokes, or when she falls asleep during movie night—I let myself feel it for just a second. The love that doesn't have anywhere to go.
And then I shake it off and get back to being Mikey. Because that's who everyone needs me to be.
Even if it's not who I want to be anymore.
Reciprocation
"Mikey, I... I need to tell you something."
"What's up, angel cakes?" I'm trying to keep it light, but something in her tone makes my heart start racing.
"I'm in love with you."
I laugh. Because obviously she's joking, right? "Good one! You almost had me there for a—"
"I'm serious." She grabs my hand, and her voice is shaking a little. "I'm in love with you, Mikey. Like, really truly in love with you. And I know that's probably crazy, and maybe you don't feel the same way, but I couldn't keep it in anymore, so... yeah. That's it. That's what I needed to say."
I'm staring at her like she just told me Santa Claus is real. "You're... wait, what?"
"I love you. Your laugh, your optimism, the way you make everything fun even when things are scary. The way you care about everyone even when they don't deserve it. The way you see the good in everything. I love all of it. I love you."
"You love me?" I repeat it because I need to hear it again, need to make sure this is actually happening.
"Yes, you goofball. I love you."
And then I'm kissing her. Just going for it, because I've wanted this for so long and I can't believe it's real and if this is a dream I don't ever want to wake up. She kisses me back, and it's better than any movie kiss I've ever seen because it's real and it's happening to me.
When we break apart, I'm pretty sure I'm crying a little. Happy crying, but still. "Dude. I mean—babe. I mean—I love you too. So much. Like, SO much."
She laughs, and it's the best sound in the entire world. "I know. I kind of figured."
"Was I that obvious?"
"Completely."
"Awesome."
Everyone's reactions are perfect. Donnie gives me this proud smile and pats my shell. Raph pretends to be annoyed but I catch him grinning when he thinks I'm not looking. Leo actually congratulates me like I just won something important, which... I guess I kind of did.
Master Splinter just says "I am happy for you, my son" in that way that makes me know he really means it.
Everything's different now, but in the best way. Movie nights are better because she's snuggled up against me and I can kiss her during the boring parts. Pizza tastes better because she steals bites off my plate and I pretend to be annoyed but I actually think it's adorable. Patrol is better because I know I'm coming home to her.
I write her notes and hide them in her bag. Draw her little doodles. Learn her favorite songs so I can sing them to her (badly, but she doesn't seem to care). I'm still the goofball, still the one cracking jokes and keeping things light, but now there's this whole other layer to me—this serious, protective, deeply in love side that only comes out when it's just us.
She tells me I don't have to always be "on" around her. That it's okay to have bad days, to be sad or scared or whatever. And slowly, I learn to let her see those parts too. The parts that aren't always smiling.
But mostly? Mostly I'm just happy. Like, the kind of happy I thought only existed in movies. The kind where you wake up and can't believe this is your actual life.
"You know what's crazy?" I tell her one night when we're on the roof, looking at the stars.
"What?"
"I used to watch all these romantic comedies and think 'man, that must be nice.' And now I'm living in one. Except it's even better because it's real. Because it's you."
She kisses me, soft and sweet. "You're such a dork."
"Yeah, but I'm your dork."
"Damn right you are."
I pull her close and think about how all those stories got it right after all. The funny guy does get the girl sometimes. Not because he changes who he is or because he becomes someone different.
But because the right person sees who he really is, and loves him for it.
