It had started, as far as he can remember, with a sound. A bump, followed by a little yelp, and when he'd turned to look at you it had been clear what had happened. He remembers watching as you rubbed at the sore spot on your side, as you glared at the table you'd bumped into, how you'd lifted your shirt, just a little, to see if it was already bruising. He remembers thinking about it later, wondering if he could get you to yelp like that again if he pressed into that spot hard enough.
That's where it started, anyway.
Now he notices things... differently. Like how big his hands are, compared to yours. All humans are smaller than them, it isn't anything new, but it's something about... you. Something that makes him pay attention to the difference. More than pay attention - it makes him think about it. About just how easily his hand would engulf both of yours, cover the expanse of your throat, fill you up-
(Stop.)
He makes sure to keep his distance. To hold his fists resolutely at his side and keep his eyes respectful when you're around. He never lets himself linger, despite the hungry maw in his chest that roars when you come close. Never lets himself relax around you for fear of what he might do. You've noticed, he's sure. You've joked with him about how he doesn't have to worry so much. How you won't bite.
...He would, though.
(Leo is a terrible person.)
Tonight, you'd asked to be taken home. And you'd insisted, in your inebriated state, that Leo be the one to take you. Now, holding you in his arms as he navigates the roofs, all he can focus on is how unbelievably warm you are. And he's not sure why that does something to him. He's not sure why it gets him thinking about that noise you made, the one that started everything, and what other noises he could pull from you.
(Stop.)
When he gets you to your apartment, he tries to let go of you. He really tries. But you... you need help. Getting ready for bed. Pathetic, he thinks, to lie to himself and not even believe it.
Face washed, in comfortable clothes, and tucked gently into bed, you thank him softly. Leo smiles back. He thinks of bruises in the shapes of his hands, and blood on his tongue that tastes like you, and warmth and warmth and warmth. And he says, "Sleep well."
Leo, sinking his cock as deep inside of you as he can, and keeping it there. Leo, holding a vibrator to your clit and seeing how long he can hold out with you writhing and moaning and bucking and whining and clenching around him, wetter and wetter by the second, before he finally lets himself move. Leo, in perfect control until he isn't, and then there's no control at all.
in regards to a dom yandere Bayverse Leo but you think this man knows about pressure points?
those little spots of bundled up and tense nerves, that with juuuuuust enough of a firm enough touch has you momentarily stunned, knees giving out to where our “hero” in blue has to sweep you into his suspiciously already waiting arms to rescue you?
because obviously you can’t take care of yourself if you get so stressed that your nerves are this tight.
looks like he’ll just have have to take care of you
and if he has to use a little underhanded means to go about doing that? well that just between him and your now peacefully resting body
I'm so here for him acting innocent. Like, oh, you must be really out of it today, you better take it easy. It's not healthy for you to collapse like that. Have you been sleeping enough? You look exhausted. Here, my sheets are freshly washed, you can rest in my room. I'll make sure no one bothers you, don't worry. Maybe a massage will help? Just relax, okay? I've got you. This might feel a little strange, but that's okay. Ease into it. That's good. Breathe.
Leo stumbles into your room with his head bowed. His eyes are haunted and wide, his movements oddly stilted.
Something is wrong.
As far as you know, all the boys were supposed to do tonight was help the NYPD bust into a Purple Dragon storage house. You don't know what could possibly have him acting so... off. You don't see any injuries. If one of his brothers was hurt, he would be with them, not with you. If the storage house was a bust, he would be complaining about wasted time and energy, so that can't be it, either.
You want to ask. But at the same time, you really, really don't.
You watch him slowly shed his armor and gear with shaky hands. As soon as he's done, you reach for him. He pauses, studying you for a long moment before crawling into bed and pulling you close. You can feel him trembling, his fingers clutching at the fabric of your shirt like a lifeline.
"Can I stay with you tonight?"
The sound of his voice, small and pleading, makes your throat tight. He should never sound like that. Never.
"Of course," you whisper. "Always. You don't even have to ask, you know that."
He doesn't reply. You try to soothe him a bit, to get him to relax. Swiping gentle hands over his muscles. Scratching little symbols over his shell. Pressing kisses onto scale and keratin. It still feels as though he might shake apart in your arms, but he doesn't ask you to stop. You like to think it's helping. At least a little.
"I love you," he chokes out. He sounds... desperate. Afraid. "I love you so much."
"I love you, too, Leo."
His arms tighten around you again. "You're being careful, right? When- when I'm not there to keep an eye on you?"
"Yes, love, I'm being careful. I'm being safe. I promise."
"...Okay."
You try to stay awake, but the pull of sleep is too strong. You can feel it dragging you under, and the last thing you register before you slip away is Leo's voice.
Someone is here, in this godforsaken room with you. Crouching over you, huge and imposing - but that doesn't even matter. What matters is that someone is here. Silhouetted by the light spilling in from the hallway like an honest to God angel. They're here, pushing your greasy hair away from your eyes, speaking to you in a low tone that sounds like rushing water in your ears.
It's nice. The water. Soothing in a way you haven't felt in a long, long time. Much better than the ringing silence that you're used to. It feels... familiar, too. Like an echo from a dream, or a memory of a memory.
You want to see who it is, but everything is blurry. The light is too bright, as well. Even with this person blocking most of it, it's too much. You'd missed the light, wanted so badly to have it before now, but... it hurts.
You squeeze your eyes shut, focusing instead on the water. Wait, not water. A voice. A voice that, suddenly, you remember.
"Leo?"
You haven't spoken in so long, it's almost jarring to do so again. The rushing water quiets, and you feel him gingerly cup your jaw with his hand, the pad of his thumb brushing across your cheek. It feels... warm.
That's strange. It never felt warm before, did it? No. No, he was always oddly cool. Right?
"Yeah." His voice splits down the middle. Rasps in a way you've never heard before. But you can at least make out the words now. No more rushing, just the ringing. Still dark, but this time it's your choice. The same, but different. "Yeah, it's me. I've got you, okay? I'm taking you home."
Home?
"That's right," he whispers. Another split down the middle, like the crack in the cement that you sometimes run your fingers along, feather-light, back and forth, to keep yourself occupied. To feel something other than the cold. Your fingers twitch now, spreading along the ground. Reaching, searching for that crack. Before you find it, too-warm hands shift beneath you, and then you're being lifted.
"Leo," you whimper, still reaching. It's important. Isn't it? The crack. There's a reason that it's... important... You can't remember. Why does that scare you? Why weren't you scared before? Panic sparks, an undercurrent running just below the exhausted confusion that covers you like a blanket. Throat tight, tasting ash and copper, you try again. "Leo-"
"Shhhh, come here." He presses his forehead to yours, holding you a bit closer. "It's okay. I've got you."
That's not- not what you were- but it's... so, so nice. Being held. Feeling the warmth seep into your skin where the two of you touch. You falter, whatever goal you'd been trying to achieve lost like smoke in the wind. Your fingers reach for his plastron now, seeking the little indents there, and something about the way his breath hitches makes you want to apologize.
He moves, then. Rhythmic and fast and careful all at once. There's more rushing water, but you're...
Smoke in the wind. Floating under the current. It's... nice.
You’re almost finished getting ready when you hear someone clear their throat behind you. Whirling around, momentary panic makes your pulse spike before you recognize Leo standing in the doorway to your bedroom.
You laugh, partly at yourself for startling so easily and partly in relief that it’s him, before rushing over to him, shoving (ineffectually) at his plastron for good measure. In your defense, he hadn’t said he was going to escort you. Not that you’re complaining; seeing your boyfriend always makes you smile, even when he’s being a sneaky asshole.
“You scared me, you big jerk!”
This is the part where he smiles. Apologizes. Pulls you into his arms and makes some smartass remark about how you should really pay more attention to your surroundings.
“...Sorry.”
He’s not smiling. Why isn’t he smiling?
“I was just about to head to the lair. I’m not late, am I?” You check the time on your phone, but- but no. Even if you spent another 15 minutes fussing with your hair, you’d still have enough time to leave and make it to the lair on time for movie night. You look back up at Leo, waiting for an explanation, but he just stares at you. Silent.
“You okay, Blue?” You search his face, but you can’t read him like you normally can. His expression is something you’ve never seen; something steely. Distant. “Leo? What’s-”
“I’m breaking up with you.”
The words don’t register for a long, long moment. When they do, you wait for- you don’t know what. For him to say he’s kidding? For your alarm to go off, waking you up from a weirdly vivid nightmare? You don’t know. You don’t know anything, apparently. You thought he was happy.
You certainly were.
“What?”
His answer is immediate, just as firm as the first time. “This is over. You’re no longer welcome at the lair. Donnie has already deleted our numbers and any past conversations from your phone. We need to maintain our anonymity, so please don’t try to contact us again.”
Seconds stretch into little eternities as you try to push past the vice that’s abruptly closed around your throat, as you try to untangle the fishing line that seems to have wrapped itself around your lungs. A million conflicting thoughts ricochet around in your mind. This can’t be real. This was inevitable. This can’t be real, he would never do this. Why did you ever think he would stay with someone like you? He said he was in this for life. What did you do? What changed? How could he do this? How could you possibly blame him when it’s you? You’ve ruined this, somehow, and you want to ask him why, but - does it even matter? Of course it does. Of course it doesn’t. It’s you, you’re the problem. It’s always been you.
You unlock your phone, navigating with numb fingers. It’s true. Their contacts are gone. Over a year’s worth of messages, too. Gone. Like they never happened. You think back, trying to remember - too late, it’s too late, now - realizing it’s been a few days since you heard from any of them. It’s not like you talk every day, but- but you were busy with work, you didn’t- you didn’t even realize. No one has messaged you in days. You’d be able to catch up on movie night. On movie night, just like every other Friday, just like always, you’d thought. You’d thought.
How could you be so stupid?
A mess of emotions you can’t name. Heavy. Sharp. You can’t breathe. You’ve felt heartbreak before - was it always this painful? Has it been so long that you forgot how much it hurts? The floor is firm beneath your feet, but surely you’ve been sucked into the darkness of the Earth. Surely. But no, you’re still here. Your apartment hasn’t changed at all, the city still stands; it just feels like the world is ending. You’re fine. It’s fine. You shouldn’t have gotten so comfortable. What did you expect? It’s you. It’s always been you.
You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. You look back up at him, but his form quickly blurs along with the rest of your bedroom. He always hated seeing you cry, but when you blink the tears away his expression hasn’t changed at all. Was that a lie? You don’t know.
All the while he just stares at you. Patient, and silent, and clinical. Shouldn’t he be upset, too? At least a little? How long has he been planning this? It’s been days since any of them reached out, you remember. How long have their contacts been missing? Is it because you didn’t reach out?
“Leo.” Breathe. Breathe. “Whatever I did, I’m sorry-”
“You didn’t do anything. I’m just not in love with you,” he says evenly. Like he’s pointing out a fact. The sky is blue. You’re running low on detergent. I don’t love you. I never did. “I don’t want to waste your time, and, frankly, I don’t want to waste mine, either. I’m sorry, I know this is difficult, but I think it’s best if we just end it now before we get too attached.”
Too attached? Is that what you are? It must be. It must be.
He doesn’t sound sorry.
You manage to nod, wiping at your eyes. You’re not sure why you bother; the tears just keep coming. Another little eternity, and then he’s turning to go. Of course. He’s a busy guy. Why would he stay? Why would he waste his time watching you fall apart over something that obviously isn’t a big deal? Too attached. You must be. It’s you. It’s always been you.
He’s turning to go, and you- you’ll never see him again. Is this what burning alive feels like? You can’t breathe past the fishing line. Stop him. No, don’t be pathetic. He was very clear. You should respect his wishes. Stop him.
You watch him open the window. Watch him grip the windowsill, about to disappear for the last time.
“I would’ve married you,” you whisper.
He halts in his movement. A little eternity. His hands are still gripping the windowsill. “I know.”
Then he’s gone. And you’re alone again.
-
He makes it no farther than the third rooftop before Raph appears, shoving him hard enough to make him stumble.
“I knew you were a dumbass, Leo, but I didn’t know you were this stupid! What the hell is wrong with you?”
Leo rights himself, glaring. God damn it, Donnie. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Go back in there and tell her the truth.”
“I did. Besides, this isn’t your concern. Don shouldn’t have even told you, it’s my business.”
Raph huffs a humorless laugh, shaking his head and pacing. “You’re so goddamn stupid,” he mutters before facing Leo again, gesturing broadly as he speaks. “And a liar. You’re in love with that girl, and by some fucking miracle she’s also in love with you. You’re throwing that away? For what?!”
“I told you: this isn’t. Your. Concern. Go home, Raph. That’s a direct order.”
He expects Raph to bristle at that, but… he doesn’t. The fight visibly drains from him instead, and when he speaks again his words are sharp in a different way. “He wouldn’t have wanted this. You know that.”
“Don’t.”
“Master Splinter was happy that you were happy. He loved her. And if he knew what you just did? How cruel you just were to that poor girl? He’d be-”
“Shut up, Raph,” Leo snarls, the careful composure falling away. Chipping paint. “You don’t speak for him, and you certainly don’t have the right to comment on my relationships.”
Again, Leo expects yelling, or a fist sent his way - he’s ready for it, welcomes it, even - but Raph just sighs. His voice is too quiet, Leo thinks, when he responds. “We miss him, too, Leo.”
Leo closes his eyes, trying to ignore the gaping maw in his chest, to breathe past the ache. It doesn’t work. It hasn’t worked. Not once.
When he opens his eyes again, Raph is still looking at him like he’s some fragile thing. He’s not. He’s not.
“Go home.” Leo doesn’t wait for a response, turning on his heel and running.
Haha okay but like what if Bay!Leo sits on your couch and makes you ride him, holding eye contact the entire time and waiting for you to tire yourself out so much that you can't even lift yourself up anymore before he takes over and holds you close to his plastron, both arms wrapped around you, rutting up into you until you're just a drooling, whining mess who is incapable of saying anything other than his name, "please," and "thank you"
