every leonardo is a li shang with a flynn rider locked inside, and they constantly fight to keep him chained because they need to be “the serious leader” but every now and then flynn escapes and takes control.
except rise leonardo who is the opposite and is a flynn rider with a li shang sleeping in the depths of his mind that awakens only when necessary.
Hello dear, may I ask somethingfor Leo 2k7? I want some fluff about kisses and consent, the reader had a abusive relationship in the past, so she want give to Leonardo a oportunity but at the same time she is little scare.
I love your content <3
HELLO ANON THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST
Im finally getting to the ones in my inbox if my followers could not tell sdkjcndjc
Warnings: nothin but FLUFF!!!! remember that consent is SEXY!!!!!!!
"Hey, we don't have to do anything you're not ready for. You know that right?"
You know that, of course you know that. Leonardo has been nothing but patient, kind, understanding and every other green flag under the sun towards you ever since you started dating. Hell, even before that, when you first met he was already accommodating to you.
He could tell with one look that you had been through the wringer, the way you couldn't look anyone in the eyes for more than half a second and how you always seemed to try and make yourself smaller.
They met you through April, who took you under her wing as her protégé after you approached her at the end of a seminar she hosted. You got along splendidly well and after some time, she decided to introduce you to her friends.
Surprisingly, you took it quite well coming face to face with giant turtles and an equally as large rat, muttering a 'hello' and averting your gaze back to the ground.
Leo remembers that day clearly and sometimes it amazes him how you went from that to this; cuddling with him in his bed with his hand rubbing up and down your arm. He was propped up on his elbow, eyes soft as he takes in your nervous state.
He calls your name gently, curling a knuckle beneath your chin to lift your gaze to him.
"Talk to me."
Try as you might you can't avoid his stare, not totally. He's aware of your horrid past relationship for you had confided in him within the first week of getting together. He offered to go and hang your previous partner from the rooftops by his ankle, give him a little spook and although it did make you smile, you told him it wasn't necessary.
He was careful with you always, cautious in his movements and always always double (even triple) checking with you if what he was doing was alright. Over time you got more comfortable speaking up and he was proud of your progress.
But he knew it wasn't always linear.
"I'm scared." You admit quietly.
"Am I scaring you?"
"No, never."
"Then what is it, love?"
The million dollar question and one that she could never fully answer.
It wasn't that you haven't kissed before-- small pecks here and there and flurries against each others cheek. But this was different wasn't it? Multiple kisses in one go, a make out, even though that term didn't quite fit what Leo wanted to do currently.
"I want to kiss you-- nothing more in this moment right now. Your word means everything right now and always. Okay?"
His grip changes to cupping your cheek, smoothing his thumb just under your eye and being sure that you're looking directly at him as he speaks to you.
It makes your heart clench in the sweetest yet most nerve wracking way. You nod but he immediately shakes his head.
"You have to say it, angel."
You swallow hard and lift your hand to cover his, curling your fingers against his own and taking a moment to relish in his comforting touch.
"Yes."
"Yes...?"
"Yes, I would like to kiss you too."
Even then he still gives you time to change your mind, going slow as his lips get closer to yours. He doesn't move when he makes contact, keeping the pressure light and only continuing to brush your cheek and down the length of your arm.
It's when you actively start kissing him first that he reciprocates, moving his lips over yours and letting out a small quiet churr of happiness.
You don't know how long you kissed for. What you do know is that you want to do it again and again, memorize the texture of his lips on yours and burn the shape against your own.
And eventually, you'll learn to overcome your past ordeals and kiss Leonardo and do more to your hearts content.
Hello again! Your work is just amazing , couldn’t help throw in a second wee request I hope that’s okay!
Bayverse/ 2007/ last ronin
Leo or Raph with fem reader
Angst to comfort
Long term established relationship, have a massive argument over whatever , a very very bad argument Almost relationship ending argument , and reader storms off when the turtle says something that is so hurtful .
no contact from either party for days , then an accident happens at readers work and the turtle of choice can’t get in contact ( readers phone died) just pure panic and regret and stress from Leo/ Raph , they go to readers apartment to find it empty, que even worse stress , in the midst of the panic reader walks in with takeout or something , still upset from the argument days before and slightly confused to see how stressed and close to tears their partner is. Que to reader being swept off their feet and wherever else you deem fit! If you want a little spice in there go ahead aswell!
Thanks for reading this!!
A/N: Thank you for the sweet compliment about my writing! I went with 2007 Leo for this one since I haven’t written anything with him solo x reader. I also let it get a bit spicy at the end, but not full-on smut (though I’d be more than willing to write something more explicit with ‘07 Leo in the future 👀)
Enjoy! 💖
The Sharp Edge of a Word (angst)
💙 2007 Leonardo/Female Reader 💙
CWs: Heavy angst, verbal argument, miscommunication temporary break-up, perceived character in peril, panic attacks/anxiety spiral, hurt/comfort, and a spicy reconciliation (implied sex, but not super explicit.) All characters are aged-up.
You can’t pinpoint the exact spark that ignited this inferno, only that it’s been smoldering for weeks. A build-up of unspoken resentments and miscommunications.
And now it’s escalated with a terrifying speed.
Leo stands opposite you, his usual calm fractured, his eyes blazing with a frustration that mirrors your own. “You deliberately twist my words,” he grits out. “You make it sound like I don’t care, like you don’t matter.”
“Do I, Leo?” you shoot back, your own voice trembling with a mixture of rage and unshed tears. You clench your hands so tight that your nails dig into your palms. “Because from where I’m standing, it feels like I’m just … convenient. Someone to come home to when the world-saving is done for the day. Am I even a priority, or just part of the background scenery of your real life?”
The accusation hangs heavy, unfair perhaps. But born from a deep-seated fear that has festered in the quiet moments when he’s been distant, preoccupied.
“That’s not what I’m saying!” He throws his hands up, his voice cracking with agitation. “My family, my responsibilities as a leader, the constant threat we live under—these aren’t choices, they’re necessities! This is who I am, what I have to do to keep everyone, including you, safe!”
“And where do I fit into that grand, heroic narrative?” you cry, the tears finally breaking free, hot and stinging. “A distraction? A liability? Or an afterthought when the adrenaline wears off and you remember I exist?” You hate the shrillness in your voice, the desperate plea you hear in it.
His jaw clenches, a muscle there ticking furiously. His eyes, usually so full of warmth when they look at you, are now cold, hard. Then he delivers the blow, the words precise and devastating, striking the air from your lungs.
“Maybe you just don’t get it. Maybe you’re not capable of understanding the pressure, the stakes. My family, my duty … has to come first. It always will. If you can’t accept that—if you can’t handle what this life demands—then maybe … maybe this, us, was a mistake.”
The world tilts. Then silence. Absolute, deafening silence where your heart shatters. A mistake. Your years together, the love you’ve built, the sanctuary you thought you had in each other—is a mistake?
“A mistake?” you whisper, the fight completely draining out of you, leaving behind a gaping, icy void.
You see a flicker in his eyes—something akin to panic dawning, a horrified realization of what he’s just said. But the poison is already seeping in, the damage done.
It’s too late.
Numbly, you turn. Your hands, clumsy and shaking, sling your purse over your shoulder. “Fine,” you choke out, refusing to make eye contact with him, “if that’s how you feel.”
You don’t look back. You can’t.
The quiet click of his bedroom door as you close it behind you feels more final, more crushing than any furious slam ever could.
You leave behind the sound of his voice calling your name.
You exit the sewers and drive back to your apartment on autopilot. There, every photo of the two of you, every trinket he’s ever given you—are all fresh stabs of pain. And that night, you don’t sleep.
You lie in your bed staring at the ceiling, replaying every word, every second, every expression on Leo’s face with masochistic accuracy. The worst part isn’t the argument. It’s how easily he said it.
A mistake.
By morning, your pillow is damp, your chest hollow. You move through your apartment like a ghost, barely noticing the sun bleeding in through the blinds. There’s a message on your phone: Leo. Just your name, spoken in a tone that’s almost … pleading. You don’t listen to it, just delete it.
You call in sick to work, citing a migraine, which isn’t entirely a lie. You don’t eat and you struggle to sleep. Lying in bed, you again stare at the ceiling, replaying his words. Your phone lies face down on the kitchen counter. You simultaneously dread and pray for it to light up with his name.
The following day, you force yourself out of bed, shower, and get dressed for work. You need the distraction, the mundane routine to keep the tidal wave of sorrow at bay. You catch your reflection in the mirror—pale, with dark circles already blooming beneath your eyes—and a fresh wave of anger surges through you.
He had no right to cast aside years of love and devotion, labeling it all as nothing more than a mistake.
The anger is a welcome shield, far better than the hollow ache. You leave your phone on the counter again. If he wants to reach you, he knows where you live.
By the third day, the anger has hardened into a grim resolve. This is it. This is your life now. You can do this; you have to. You’re a whirlwind of frantic energy, answering emails, filing reports, and volunteering for the tedious tasks nobody else wants, throwing yourself into your work.
Anything to keep your mind from wandering back to the devastating finality in Leo’s eyes.
For three days, you vanish from his world. No texts, no calls, no visits.
And in those three days, Leo unravels.
He’s called. He’s texted. Left voicemails he instantly regretted, then sent others with apologies. He can’t get through to anyone at your work. The reception desk tells him you’re not answering your extension. They won’t confirm if you’re even still there. His stomach churns.
When Donnie offers to help trace your phone, Leo nearly agrees—then refuses. It feels like crossing a line.
He’s a catastrophic wreck. The initial anger from your argument had quickly given way to a gnawing guilt, then a profound regret. Those words—he hadn’t meant them. He’d been lashing out, being defensive. Stupid. He’d told himself you needed space, that he’d give it to you.
But with each passing day, the space felt less like a cooling-off period and more like an ever-widening abyss.
His brothers watch him, their concern growing. They notice the difference—how quiet he’s become, how uncharacteristically hesitant his movements are during training. Even Raph doesn’t poke at him like he usually would. Donnie offers logical explanations. Mikey leaves cookies outside his bedroom door.
But Leo just drifts.
He barely trains, barely eats. Just paces, the image of your heartbroken face seared into his memory. He replays it all too—your tears, your voice cracking, the way your hand trembled on the doorknob before you walked out.
On the fourth day, the dam of his resolve breaks.
It’s late afternoon when Mikey bursts into the dojo, holding his phone, his face pale. “Leo! Dude, you gotta see this.”
He shoves the phone into Leo’s hand. It’s a local news live stream. A fire. A commercial building downtown, smoke billowing from the upper floors. Your building. Your office.
The world narrows to the small, bright screen. The reporter’s voice is a meaningless buzz in his ears. He sees the location at the bottom of the screen, sees the fire trucks. He hones in only on phrases like “evacuation in progress” and “several minor injuries reported.”
Panic, cold and sharp, pierces through him. He’s dialing your number before he even processes the thought, his breath catching when it goes, yet again, to voicemail. His blood runs cold. Of course it goes to voicemail; you haven’t answered him in days. He tries again. And again.
“Cell towers in that area are probably overloaded,” Donnie says, his attempt at comforting. “It’s possible her phone battery died, or she left it behind in the evacuation.”
The words he spat at you echo in his mind: Maybe this was a mistake. What if those were the last words he ever said to you? He stumbles back, feeling like for a moment, he’s about to faint.
“Leo?” Raph’s voice is uncharacteristically soft, laced with alarm.
“I have to go,” Leo chokes out.
“Whoa, hold on, Fearless,” Raph says, stepping in his path. “Let’s think for a sec. We don’t know anything yet.”
“That’s the point, Raph! I don’t know!” Leo’s voice cracks, the carefully constructed shell of the leader shattering completely. “She’s not answering. I need to … I have to see.”
Raph looks at him—really looks at him—and sees the raw panic, the fear in his older brother’s eyes. So he steps aside. “Go,” he says. “We’ve got your back.”
The journey to your apartment is a blur. Jumping across rooftops, Leo’s heart pounds as he moves with desperate, reckless speed. He pictures you hurt, scared, alone in a hospital. Pictures you thinking he doesn’t care, that he meant what he said. The thought is a fresh shard of glass in his gut with every leap he takes.
He reaches your building, scaling the familiar bricks to your fire escape. He slips open the window latch he helped you rig so he could get in and out easily, then drops silently into your living room.
His world stops.
It’s empty. Your jacket’s gone. No lights. No noise. The silence wraps around him like a noose. The sight of the undisturbed quiet is a thousand times worse than walking into a scene of chaos. It’s an absence. A void where you should be.
“No,” he breathes, a knot of ice forming in his stomach, a crushing weight settling on his chest.
He checks every room, his hope dwindling with each empty space. And there, on the kitchen counter, is your phone. Face down. He was calling a phone that wasn’t even with you.
Strength draining from his limbs, he leans against the counter, his head bowed. He is too late. He let his pride, his anger, get in the way, and now you’re gone. A choked, dry sob escapes him. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to block out the image of the burning building. Of this empty, silent apartment.
He failed. Failed to protect you, failed to love you right, and the last thing you will ever know is that he thought you were a mistake.
The sound of a key turning in the lock makes his head snap up.
You’ve always known Leo feels deeply, despite the iron wall of discipline he wears like armor. You just didn’t know what it would look like when that wall cracks.
The door swings open and you step inside, juggling two large paper bags of Chinese takeout. You kick the door shut with your heel, muttering to yourself. When you finally look up, you freeze. Because there in your kitchen is Leo.
But it’s not the angry, defensive Leo from your argument. This Leo looks shattered. His face is pale, his eyes wide and bloodshot, glistening with unshed tears. He breathes hard, bracing his hands on your counter as if it’s the only thing keeping him upright.
“Leo?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper. The anger you’ve been nursing for days begins to evaporate.
He doesn’t answer with words.
His arms are around you, lifting you off your feet before you can react. You let out a small gasp as he crushes you against his plastron, his face burying in the crook of your neck. You feel a tremor run through his entire body, the shudder of a man who has been to the edge of his personal hell and back.
“I thought I’d lost you,” he rasps, his voice thick and broken against your skin. “I saw the news … the fire … you weren’t answering …”
He carries you to the couch and sinks down, still holding you tightly in his lap as if you might vanish if he lets go. His hands are in your hair, on your face, thumbs stroking your cheeks as he searches your eyes, his own brimming with a relief so profound it’s painful to witness.
“My phone’s dead,” you explain, your mind slowly catching up as you place the bags on the coffee table. “I left it here. I was … I didn’t want to talk to you.” The admission feels small and petty now. “There was a fire in the server room. We all had to evacuate.”
His arms are still around you, and he’s so close it’s like he’s trying to meld his being with yours. He’s shaking. Actually shaking. His breath stutters against your shoulder. “You weren’t answering,” he says into your neck, voice broken and raw. “I thought—God, I thought I lost you. I thought you were gone.”
You go stiff. The memory of the fight is still fresh, still sour in your chest. But the way he’s holding you? It unravels something tight and painful behind your ribs.
You pull back just enough to look at him, to see the sincerity warring with the lingering terror in his eyes. “But you said it,” you whisper, the words still sharp enough to cut. “You said we were a mistake.”
His face crumples. He lets go of you with one hand to cup your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. “No,” he says, his voice thick with self-loathing. “That’s not true. I was … I felt like you were questioning everything I am, and I said the most horrible, stupid thing I could think of to make you hurt as much as I did. The second it left my mouth, I wanted to swallow it back down. Saying that to you was the single biggest mistake of my life.”
He leans his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as another shudder wracks his frame. “These last few days, thinking I’d driven you away for good, were torture. But this last hour,” his voice breaks, “this last hour, believing you were in that building … believing I might never get to take it back … That wasn’t torture. That was the end of everything.”
His eyes open, and you see the truth of it there: Leo’s sheer, undiluted terror of a world without you in it. It shatters the last of your anger, the last of your hardened resolve, and the tears you’ve been holding back finally fall. But they’re not tears of pain anymore. They are tears of overwhelming, gut-wrenching relief.
“You’re not an afterthought,” he continues. “You’re not a distraction. You’re the place I go to breathe. You’re the reason I can face everything out there. You’re the anchor that keeps me from getting lost. Without you …” He shakes his head, unable to finish the thought.
You lift a hand, your fingers tangling in the blue fabric of his mask, pulling him closer. “Leo,” you murmur, your own voice trembling.
That’s all it takes.
His mouth finds yours. Full of apology and fear, and a love so fierce it steals your breath. You kiss him back with everything you have, your hands clutching his shoulders. He breaks the kiss only to pepper more across your jaw, your cheeks, your eyelids.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers against your temple. “I am so, so sorry.”
“I know,” you breathe, your heart aching. “I’m sorry, too. I pushed you.”
“Don’t,” he says, pulling back to look at you again. “Don’t apologize. You were right to be scared. I get so lost in my duties, I forget to show you what you mean to me. I’ll do better. I swear I’ll do better.”
Then, without another word, he slides one arm beneath your knees and the other around your back, standing and lifting you effortlessly. You let out a surprised yelp, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. He carries you out of the living room and into your room, laying you gently on your bed.
He follows you down, covering your body with his. “I’m not letting you go,” he murmurs. “Not tonight.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” you promise, your hands coming up to frame his face, your thumbs tracing the powerful line of his jaw.
He peels away the layers of your clothing and his gear until there is nothing left between you. He looks at you, his eyes dark with an emotion so powerful it makes your stomach flutter.
“You are the most important thing in my life,” he says, the words a quiet truth in the dim light of your bedroom. “You are my first priority. Always.”
Your heart melts. “Leo …”
His words are a vow, spoken into the fragile space between you, sealing the crack that had nearly split your world in two. His hands slide from your body to brace on either side of your head, caging you in. “I was so stupid,” he breathes. “To risk this. To risk you.”
He moves between your legs, nudging them apart with his knee. The feel of his skin against yours is electric, a fire starter against the kindling of your frayed nerves. “Look at me,” he says, and you obey, your tear-filled eyes locking with his. “You are my world. You feel me? This is where I belong. Right here.”
You arch your hips, causing a tremor to run through him. “Show me,” you whisper. “Show me I’m your priority.”
I was rewatching the 07 TMNT movie again and I noticed a weird quirk the script has: Age Roles(I am saying roles here as we're never given exact ages, and thus there is an argument that they just assigned the roles of bigger and littler brother) and how they are assigned to them in this iteration.
These age roles are only mentioned twice, both in the movies and prequel comics, and both times are done by the two turtles who do have a minor power struggle with each other, and neither time is it self referential.
They're both said in the context of belittlement and never in reference to or imply that Donnie even has a role or dynamic age role wise in the first place.
These roles are seemingly never stated in reference to oneself, but always given instead by the others.
"Right, and while you've been playing games, little brother this Nightwatcher character's come into the neighborhood like some kind of vigilante showboat." [Said by Leo to Mikey]
"Oh, you know something, big brother? I'd have to disagree with you on that one." [Said by Raph to Leo]
This is saying something.
Of course what that is depends on your interpretation. To me it seemingly implies that while both Raph and Leo are a lot more concerned with a perceived hierarchy compared to Mikey and Donnie.
But if you do run with that implication then you'll also have to acknowledge this puts Donnie out of this age role based hierarchy.
Which is interesting seeing as it was Donatello who was given the leadership role when Leo was away. Or implied to more accurately. It's never stated anywhere that Donnie was given such a role, with the only implication being that he has it when Leo tells April Donnie has it under control when she was trying to get Leo to come back with the argument being that his brothers where lost without him. Thus you can make the assumption he has the leader role, but it's never stated in canon.
A lot of 07's canon is implications, such as them having a Honeycutt due to them knowing the Triceratons which implies a space arc, but there's very little actual canon.
So I am working with what we got and making presumptions based on that.
Either way the implications here are that either Donnie is not really thought of in terms of age, or he's twining with Raph thus has an equal amount of social power so Raph can't use it to spite him and Donnie seemingly doesn't fight Leo, or not directly. Him following Raph and Mikey instead of just observing with Leo like they're suppose to be doing could be seen as indirect fighting.
Of course 07 Donnie overall has a coat of apathy towards the world, something we see accidently jaded down by Splinter's punishing of him and Mikey when they stopped crime in the prequel comics. So Donnie avoiding all age roles through sheer indifference, and his brothers not giving him that role seeing that it does nothing, would not be out of character.
This also got me thinking about age roles in wider TMNT canon as well.
Such as how in 2012 I remember how big brother is a role that bends and nearly breaks Leo while Mikey is constantly called little brother but I can't remember any time age roles were used in reference to either Dee or Raph.
Of course I do not know 2012 as well as 07 or 03 so feel free to counter this statement.
Meanwhile in full contest 03 has No References to age At All, not even in the Japanese dub. This continues to reinforce how the 03 family tend to take things as a group and help each other out(another reason why Leo's descent into his season 4 behavior is concerning and not the norm for his character) rather than having any power dynamics or parentification within their group. This of course goes along with 03's focus on outer group threats rather than inner group ones.
Just rewatched tmnt 2007 and what makes me cry and laugh about that movie is that Leo and Raph were apart for two years and weren't in contact, but they both still came up with the same idea to be vigilantes behind splinters back and against his orders. Like what next level soulmates shit is that! Leo you hypocrite, I say with love. Mikey and Donnie both got jobs and basically did do what Splinter said. They weren't happy about it but they managed it. Meanwhile the older brothers are both kicking ass with vigilante personas and being angsty and miserable missing each other and desperately trying to hold onto the past(more really each other). Even though they are both too stubborn to admit it. I just wish there was a scene in the movie where Raph found out about "the ghost of the jungle". I like to headcanon that the whole "jungle boy" teasing nickname was probably hinting at that(because April knew and what April knows she tell Casey and what Casey knows he will automatically tell Raph because of course he would). Also thinking about an alternate rooftop fight scene where if Raph knew he definitely bring it up( with a bit of them screaming at each other that they missed one another). I just really love little things like that. ❤️💙
They absolutely were! I feel that they both just fell back on what was comfortable- vigilante work. It's what they are used to with all three brothers but, most importantly, Leonardo leads with Raphael as his second-in-command. Whereas Donatello and Michelangelo aren't as passionate about ninjitsu and would be content exploring other interests, the older brothers just feel it's what they are best at.
I feel that Leonardo struggled with depression being alone away from the only three others of his kind, never mind his brothers that he was isolated from the rest of the world with. But absolutely when he didn't return home from the expected one year mark, Raphael resorted to the Nightwatcher persona to cope. (Sneefee "Black & Blue" does an excellent exploration into this.)
Further, some of my 2007 fics will also touch on this, such as "Snowflakes" here:
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Alternate versions of that rooftop scene are always fun for fans to explore, I've got some WIPs of my own but enjoy seeing what others come up with too.
