"All yours.." 愛
TMNT BAY! Leonardo x fem! reader smutˎˊ˗
Warnings: Mentions of fingering, Penetration (P in V), Oral sex (female receiving), Mentions of blood and wounds, Past tense descriptions of fighting, Mild physical restraint, Sensual and explicit language, and Emotional intensity and vulnerability.
Prestory: In the midst of a fight involving the turtles against the foot clan, you impulsively inserted yourself, hoping to help. However, your intervention only complicated the situation, causing unexpected trouble. This led to a certain blue wearing turtle intervening to save you and now he is holding a quiet grudge against you. Now, as the tension from the fight settles, you decide to approach him personally, seeking to apologize and make amends.
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About half an hour had slipped by since it happened.
Long enough for the adrenaline to slowly fade away. Long enough for the silence to settle heavily in your chest, making everything feel weightier than before.
And long enough for a sharp realization—
He was right.
You shouldn’t have rushed in. Not without a plan. Not when they already had things under control.
You exhaled slowly, standing in front of his door.
Then—
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Your knuckles tapped gently on the wood, the sound amplified by the quiet hallway.
For a fleeting moment, you thought about turning away.
Giving him space. Letting the tension cool further.
…but that felt wrong.
“Come in.”
His voice came, calm and steady from the other side—controlled, neutral. Neither sharp nor soft.
You took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
Uncertainty fluttered inside you.
Inside, Leonardo sat cross-legged on the floor. One leg bent, the other stretched out slightly.
Across his lap lay his katanas, and a cloth in one hand moved slowly, meticulously tracing the blades. His focus was absolute, as if the task at hand was a shield against everything else.
You stepped quietly inside, closing the door with a soft click—sealing the room from the rest of the lair.
Just the two of you.
“Hey,” you started, voice softer than intended, hesitant.
He flicked his eyes up briefly in your direction.
A quick glance. Then back down to the blade.
A low, almost inaudible hum escaped him—his way of acknowledging you.
Your chest tightened.
You shifted your weight, fingers twitching at your sides before you forced them still.
“Listen… I just wanted to say—” you swallowed, “I’m sorry. For jumping in like that.”
The words felt heavier spoken aloud.
Real.
You watched him closely, bracing for a sharp response, a lecture—
But silence.
And somehow, that felt worse.
“In the moment, I thought I was helping,” you continued, quieter now, more vulnerable. “I didn’t mean to mess things up, I just—”
You stopped, exhaling softly.
“I didn’t think.”
That provoked a subtle reaction.
His hand paused briefly against the blade, then resumed, slower this time.
“I saw what was happening and acted,” you said, eyes dropping to the floor. “I didn’t consider the plan… or how it would affect you.”
A pause.
You lifted your gaze back to him.
“I get why you were angry.”
Still, he didn’t respond.
But his shoulders had relaxed a little.
His grip on the cloth loosened.
“I know I got in the way,” you whispered, voice thin. “And I’m sorry.”
The silence lingered again—less sharp now, more weighty.
You watched him move, the soft scrape of cloth against steel filling the quiet. His eyes fixed on the blade, as if avoiding looking at you.
Your gaze drifted down his arm, tracing the taut muscles flexing with each motion—
And then you saw it.
A cut.
Not large, but deep enough to matter. Fresh, the edges reddened, a thin line of blood trailing toward his wrist.
You froze.
For a moment, you said nothing. Just stared, your mind connecting the dots—
The way he moved in the fight.
The moment he reached you.
The lack of hesitation.
Your chest tightened.
Part of you wanted to leave. Give him the space he seemed to want. Pretend you didn’t notice.
But you couldn’t.
“You’re hurt,” you said softly, lifting your hand toward his forearm.
His movements didn’t falter.
“It’s nothing.” Leonardo replied, as if dismissing it, as if it didn’t matter.
Your brows knitted. “Leo.”
No response.
Just the same slow, steady motion of cloth on steel.
You stepped closer regardless.
“That’s not 'nothing,'” you said firmly. “Please, you’re bleeding.”
He exhaled quietly through his nose, lacking energy to argue yet unwilling to relent.
“I’ve had worse.”
“I don’t care.”
That made him pause.
Just for a heartbeat.
The cloth stilled. His grip tightened slightly.
Your voice softened, gentle now.
“Let me see.”
No answer.
No movement.
For a moment, you feared he’d shut you out again—brush you off, keep the distance like before.
Then—
A quiet breath.
Slowly, he set the katanas aside.
Without looking at you, he shifted his arm toward you.
It wasn’t much.
But it was enough.
An opening.
You lowered yourself in front of him, close enough to see the full cut. Up close, it looked harsher—angrier than from afar.
Your fingers hovered before touching him, light and cautious.
He tensed instantly.
A sharp inhale slipped from his lips.
“Sorry,” you murmured, though your touch barely grazed his skin.
“It’s fine,” he answered quickly, almost too quickly.
You didn’t argue.
Instead, you reached for the med kit on a nearby shelf, pulling it closer with quiet determination. Your hands moved steadily, but your mind raced.
Because now that you saw it clearly—
You knew.
“You got this when you came for me,” you said softly, eyes on the wound as you cleaned it.
Not a question.
A statement.
He didn’t respond immediately.
But didn’t deny it either.
“…Yeah,” he admitted, voice hushed.
Your hands slowed.
Suddenly, everything earlier felt heavier.
Clearer.
You swallowed, pressing the cloth gently to the cut.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
He finally met your gaze.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I did.”
The words settled heavily in your chest.
You swallowed hard, focusing on his arm, on the slow bloodline you wiped away—anything to avoid the tightening in your throat.
“I’m sorry… I’m really sorry,” you murmured, voice soft, uneven.
Eyes down, hands steady—yet the harder you tried to focus, the more your vision blurred. A sting behind your eyes grew despite blinking it away.
You weren’t even sure what you were sorry for anymore.
The mission.
The fight.
The way he got hurt because of you.
All of it.
Your hand faltered.
His fingers wrapped gently around your wrist.
Not forceful.
Not pulling—just enough to stop you.
You froze.
Slowly, you looked up.
Leonardo’s eyes met yours, softer than all night. The tension in his face had melted into something quieter—something that made your chest ache.
“I’m sorry, Leo,” you whispered.
For a moment, no reply.
His thumb shifted against your wrist, grounding.
Then he exhaled, gaze flickering between your eyes as if reading the words you couldn’t speak.
“You don’t have to keep saying that,” he said quietly.
No bite.
No frustration.
Just honesty.
His grip softened, but he didn’t let go.
“You scared me,” he admitted slowly. “That’s why I got like that.”
A pause.
“When you jumped in… I couldn’t think.”
Your breath caught.
“I’m supposed to be in control,” he said softly, voice steady. “Watching everything. Making calls.”
His eyes dropped to where your hand rested in his.
“But when it’s you…”
Another pause.
“…it’s just... different.”
That word lingered.
Different.
His gaze lifted, more open.
“I don’t care about getting hurt,” he added quietly.
“I care about you getting hurt.”
That hit harder than anything before.
Your chest tightened, fingers curling where he held you.
“I didn’t think about that,” you admitted softly. “Not like that.”
“I know.”
And he did.
That made your eyes sting.
A quiet moment passed.
Then he gently released your wrist—but only so you could move, not to pull away.
“Finish it, please.” he murmured, nodding to his arm.
You hesitated, then nodded.
This time, your hands were steadier.
Leaning in a bit—
He didn’t pull away.
You were close. Closer than all night. Warmth radiated from him. His steady breathing filled the space.
When you looked up—
He was watching you.
Not guarded.
Not tense.
Just watching.
Your breath caught, hand resting lightly on his arm.
No words were needed.
His gaze flicked to your lips, then back, hesitant.
Offering you the choice.
Your heart skipped.
Before doubt could creep in, you leaned forward.
Not rushed.
Not desperate.
Soft.
Careful.
Your lips brushed his—barely at first—testing the moment, seeking permission.
He stilled for a moment.
Then melted into it.
One hand rose slowly to cup your cheek, warm and grounding as he kissed back—gentle, unsure at first.
When you didn’t pull away—
He deepened the kiss, still soft and controlled, but with a new intensity. Something that made your chest ache in the best way.
Relief.
Care.
Everything left unsaid.
You shifted closer, hand gripping the front of his plastron.
He exhaled softly against your lips, thumb brushing your cheek.
When you pulled back, it was only a little.
Foreheads rested together, his hand still cupping your face. Just breathing the same air.
“I’m not mad at you,” he murmured.
You exhaled, eyes softening. “Okay...”
A pause.
“…Still sorry, though.”
A faint smile touched his lips.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “I know.”
And this time—
When he leaned in again—
There was no hesitation.
Your hands found his neck, fingers curling gently, pulling him closer.
He responded instantly.
Hands slid down to your waist, steady and warm, holding you like you might vanish.
The kiss deepened, still soft, careful, but more certain. No doubt. No distance.
Just you and him.
You shifted closer, body fitting naturally against his. His grip tightened just a little—protective, grounding.
His hands slid lower, resting beneath your thighs, careful and steady.
You gasped softly, grip tightening on his neck as he lifted you effortlessly.
“Leo—” you started, voice barely a whisper.
No reply.
Just that focused, gentle look in his eyes as he carried you a few steps, lowering you onto his bed like fragile treasure.
The mattress dipped beneath you.
For a moment, the world stilled.
He hovered, hands resting lightly, reluctant to pull away—always making sure.
His rough, calloused fingers slipped beneath your shirt hem, fingertips tracing your skin lightly.
The contrast made you inhale softly.
He didn’t rush.
Didn’t push.
His touch stayed slow, careful—tracing your stomach as if anchoring himself, checking you were okay before going further.
You felt the hesitation.
The restraint.
Like he was giving you every chance to stop him.
You broke the kiss gently, breath uneven, forehead resting against his.
Neither moved.
He watched you closely.
Not tense. Not frustrated.
Focused. Intent.
There was something deeper in his gaze now—warmer, heavier—but still careful. Always careful with you.
Your heart fluttered.
“Leo…” your voice was softer than expected. “I don’t know if we should…”
The words hung between you.
He didn’t pull away, but you felt the subtle shift.
You studied him.
The softness in his eyes.
The way he hadn’t moved closer since your hesitation.
His hand still perfectly still.
Waiting.
Always waiting for you.
“I—I don’t even know if we could… because…” you trailed off, gesturing toward him, with cheeks warming.
He followed your motion, then looked back with no offense, no frustration.
Just understanding.
“I can be gentle,” he said quietly, voice low and steady. Not pressure. Just offering.
You searched his face.
No rush. No pressure. Just patience.
Whatever you chose, he’d accept.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Just waited.
Your heart fluttered.
“Promise?” you asked softly.
“Promise,” he answered quietly.
A breath left you, tension easing.
You studied him, then leaned up, pressing a slow kiss to his lips.
Softer than before.
More certain. Still careful.
He matched every gentle movement, his touch a silent promise of care and tenderness.
Slowly, deliberately, he reached down to your zipper, fingers working with unhurried grace to unfasten it.
You broke the kiss, breath catching, sliding your pants off your legs, kicking them aside with a mix of urgency and anticipation.
His fingers trailed delicately along your legs, reverent strokes sending shivers through you, reigniting the connection with quiet intensity.
You reached for his arms, careful not to brush the bandage wrapped around his forearm.
You guided him between your thighs, every movement deliberate and electric. His fingers traced softly over you through thin fabric. The subtle pressure made you catch your breath, a soft gasp escaping your parted lips.
Then suddenly, he stopped—the teasing touch vanished as he broke away from your kiss.
Your cheeks flushed deep pink. You looked up into his eyes, searching for an answer.
“Why’d you stop?” you whispered, voice trembling with curiosity and longing. Heart pounding.
He slowly brought his finger to your lips.
“Open…” he whispered, pressing gently.
Leo usually barked orders, asserting his role as leader.
Normally, you found it annoying. But in this moment, surrounded by softness and intensity, you savored his command.
You parted your lips willingly, letting him slide his finger inside. Your tongue swirled around it, tasting and teasing.
He watched intently, eyes never leaving your face, captivated by every subtle expression.
Slowly, he withdrew the finger, then brought it down again—between your legs. Tenderly, he pushed your underwear aside, granting closer access. The softness of his touch sent fresh waves of sensation through you.
He slid his one large finger inside slowly, eyes locked on your face as your hips buckled in response.
“Leo…” you breathed, his name a whispered prayer filled with longing.
His lips found your neck, kissing and gently sucking, leaving warmth in their wake.
He slid his finger out, tracing the delicate outline of your folds, edging you carefully.
“Please… just do it already,” you pouted.
Soon, he slipped the finger back inside, pumping it steadily, deepening the fire within you.
Your hands pressed instinctively against his plastron, seeking grounding amid rising intensity.
“Are you… my good girl?” he murmured, breath warm against your ear, sending shivers down your spine.
“Y-yes…” you replied, voice trembling with pleasure and vulnerability as moans escaped.
His finger curled inside you, eliciting louder moans than you expected.
Leo leaned down to your neck, planting soft kisses along your jaw, lips warm and reassuring.
He slowed, savoring the moment before sliding his finger out once more.
Sitting up, he paused, admiring the mess you’d made, quiet admiration in his eyes.
Without warning, he tugged at your shirt hem, pulling it over your head in one smooth motion.
You looked up at him, lying there in just your bra and panties, skin flushed under his gaze.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, forehead resting against yours.
“So… so beautiful,” he breathed, voice thick with desire as he began lowering his head down your body.
You watched as he kissed your soft skin, making his way down to between your thighs.
His teeth caught the waistband of your panties, tugging them down slowly, eyes meeting yours silently, asking permission.
“Look how wet you are,” he said, eyes dark and hungry, sending shivers racing through you.
You tried not to look, embarrassed and flustered by your bodies response, but your gaze kept returning to him.
He lowered himself to your warmth. You watched with growing anticipation as he opened his mouth wide and slid out his tongue.
He swiped upward in one large stroke, savoring your juices.
You shuddered, bucking your hips toward him to soak in every bit of affection.
At your response, Leo pulled back just enough to look up at you.
His eyes roamed over your flushed cheeks, your hair tousled and wild from the intensity of the moment. There was an unspoken admiration in his gaze filled with something deeper than desire.
Slowly, he brought his arms up, cradling your thighs with careful strength.
His hands slid gently to your waist, holding you firmly against the mattress, halting any further movement. The weight of his touch grounded you, steady and sure, a silent promise that he was fully present.
Once he was certain you were secure and still, he lowered his head again.
His tongue came alive, dancing delicately along your folds, tracing soft, swirling patterns that felt like whispered prayers.
He moved with slow, deliberate grace, as if mapping every inch of you, savoring the warmth and softness beneath his touch.
For what felt like hours, he traced his name onto your skin with his tongue—a tender, intimate tattoo written in wet, heated strokes.
The sweet, breathless sounds that escaped your lips filled the room, each one a melody he treasured.
His every movement was a silent vow, an unspoken confession of care and devotion, wrapping around you like a warm, endless embrace.
He wrestled gently but firmly against your waist, anchoring you to the mattress as you trembled beneath him, your body buckling with desperate need.
“Fuck, le-leo. I’m about to… wait—”
You gasped, your hands, which had been clutching the mattress for dear life, now reaching up to the back of his head, pulling him as close as you could.
Leo knew you were close. Even if you hadn’t said a word, he would’ve known by the changing tone of your moans—the way they grew desperate, pleading with him in sound alone.
In response, he only buried his face deeper, taking his time with the same rhythmic, teasing loops around your heat, savoring every moment.
You felt like every muscle in your body was crying out for him, every fiber begging to be claimed.
Leonardo loved nothing more than being in control—especially the control over when you reached your peak, or when you didn’t.
The power of that restraint, that shared tension between you, made every touch, every breath, every whispered sound electric.
As you reached your peak, he buried himself deeper, slowing his movements just enough to help you ride through the waves of your high.
Your body strained against the sensations, lewd sounds slipping from your lips, raw and unfiltered.
When you finally finished riding out your high, he gently raised his head and turned his gaze to your face.
He admired the way you looked—exhausted, breathless, utterly undone—all because of him.
Slowly, he began to tug at his buckle and zipper, lowering his tattered cargo's far enough to free his thick, hardened member.
He stood up from the bed, positioning himself at its edge.
His hands grasped your ankles, pulling your legs off the mattress just enough to bring you closer together, aligning your bodies perfectly.
He studied you—the way your chest rose and fell with each ragged breath, the delicate curve of your small frame beneath his larger one. He shadowed over you, a solid presence.
You met his gaze with pleading eyes, still trembling, still recovering from the intensity of your release.
his face lowered toward yours, his breath warm against your skin as he whispered,
“May I?”
His words pointed to the thick length poised at your entrance.
“Please,” you breathed, nodding eagerly.
You reached up, gripping his broad shoulders to steady yourself.
With slow, deliberate care, you guided him inside.
“God…” you moaned, throwing your head back against the mattress, every inch of your body alive with sensation.
He started slow, pumping in and out cautiously, careful not to hurt you.
He restrained his own urges, fearful of causing you pain.
You opened your eyes and caught sight of his face—a mask of concentration.
Soft gasps spilled from your lips, now words.
“Leo, please, harder.”
That was all he needed to hear.
Still cautious, he began to move faster, pumping in and out with growing urgency.
He tried to hold back any lewd sounds but failed miserably, overwhelmed by the sight of you unfolding beneath him and the warmth enveloping him.
He closed his eyes, releasing soft, rough moans of pleasure.
To you, they were music—an intimate symphony.
Never had you imagined being here with Leonardo, yet here you were, lost in this moment.
He continued to thrust into you as long as he could before his knees began to buckle.
He knew the end was near but wasn’t sure how it would unfold.
“(Y/N),” he started, looking down at you mid-thrust.
“Where?” he breathed. You understood his question without words.
“Please, inside. That’s all I want,” you begged.
You felt your nails dig into his shoulders, gripping him tightly.
He fought to hold back, trying not to think about how incredible you felt.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
In—
Before he unraveled.
“Fuck…” he barked, squeezing your hips so tightly bruises were inevitable.
You felt him fill you completely.
You held onto him as tightly as you could, helping him ride out his pleasure.
He buried his face deep in the crook of your neck.
Unsure of what to do next, flustered by the intensity and closeness.
Too shy to meet your eyes.
But then he did.
You both panted, wrapped in each other’s arms.
He rested for a moment before slowly rising to his full height and pulling himself out of you.
“(Y/N)?” he uttered, eyes searching your flushed face.
“Mhm?” you murmured.
“I’m all yours.”
A/N: hii! this was my first ever attempt at writing smut! I fear it may have been a little too 'wordy' but let me know what you think! :)
