#tmnt reader

[limerami]

Some random interactions with Raphael ^^ I was too lazy to add details to the human or color these overall shdjd

Sorry for the watermarks. Had to slap something on top

(and also characters are adults. Just putting this out there too just in case)

Oh yea, the carrying one on bottom left is referenced from Sylus' Lost Oasis memory from love and deepspace

Check out some expressions from prev post

^^

[applepie972]

Hellooo, I digitized one of my favorite Mikey drawings I'm new to drawing on a cell phone, I accept criticism 💕🙏👾

I hope you like it💃💕

[thepinkpanther83]

The Feral Harmony (Pt.3 Dissonance and Desire)

Story Prompt: “Turtle Song”

Bayverse Raphael x Fem!Reader - Soulmate AU - Action/Romance

Masterlist

Find me on AO3.

Read this story on AO3.

Find the full series on AO3.

Previous Chapter: Chapter Two: “Reverb of Fate and Fire” Next Chapter: Chapter Four: “The Savage Interval”

Click "Keep Reading" below the cut to read. 😘

Chapter Three: “Dissonance and Desire”

The city seemed asleep, but the shadows knew better.

Raph crouched on the edge of the old transit bridge, steam rising around him from a busted utility pipe, wind teasing the tips of his red bandana. The hum was still there. Subtle. Coiled beneath his ribs like a sleeping serpent. But the closer he got to the textile district, the more it stirred.

His muscles were already screaming from his earlier patrol, but his body didn’t care. Every joint was locked in. Every breath, measured. He wasn’t hunting- he was being pulled.

And God help him, he liked it.

The Foot compound came into view like a ghost. Hidden in plain sight. A defunct textile mill converted into a fortified base, hemmed in by rusted fencing and stacks of crumbling pallets, easy to overlook if you weren’t trained to see.

Raph saw it all.

The broken surveillance cam hanging just-so on the west wall. The scorch marks near the power junction where a secondary sensor would’ve been rewired. Someone had been careless, or cocky.

Either way, he was already scaling the side of the mill with practiced efficiency, fingers biting into brick. His breath came low and steady as he crested the rooftop and dropped into the shadows. Quiet. Efficient. Nothing but wind and heartbeat.

Inside, the pull sharpened. Like a tuning fork hit against the inside of his skull.

He moved like a wraith, weaving through corridors where the light bulbs flickered in irregular rhythm. He took down one patrol silently- arm around the neck, wrist twisted, body dropped without a sound. Another went out with a pressure point jab and a careful slide of their comm into his belt.

He shouldn’t be doing this.

Every alarm bell in his head screamed it: this was insane. No exit strategy. No Donnie in his ear. No Mikey watching the cams. No Leo’s voice warning him back.

Just instinct. Just her.

The song twisted behind his ribs, slow and steady, like it was leading him. Turning right where logic said left. Ducking before he saw the laser tripwire. Slipping into a hidden hallway that felt familiar even though he’d never been there before.

What the hell is this?

It wasn’t just adrenaline anymore. Something in his chest had synced with that low hum- like his blood had tuned to it. Every step echoed like a beat from the same drum.

He stopped at a door.

Unmarked. Steel. Old-fashioned locking mechanism. Looked out of use- wrong side of the base for living quarters.

But she was in there.

He knew it.

He stared at the panel like it might burst open just from the heat of his stare. His fingers twitched.

The hum pulsed… one sharp flicker of recognition.

Raph’s breath hitched.

He pushed the door open.

You’d only meant to close your eyes for a few minutes.

But exhaustion had stolen more time than you’d planned.

Now, you’re awake- fully, sharply, and your knife is back in your hand.

The room’s dim, lit by a flickering desk lamp and the orange glow bleeding through half-shuttered blinds. Your cot’s against the wall, supplies stacked neatly at your feet: first aid, rations, a tablet flickering with old schematics. You sit on the edge, elbow braced on your knee, blade in your grip, a whetstone running smoothly along its edge. Slow. Deliberate. You need the repetition. The control. You need something real.

Your shoulder twinges. The fresh bandages tug when you move. The stitches itch. That bastard had gotten through your guard- twice. You remember the feel of his hands, the heat of his weight pinning you down.

But worse… You remember not hating it.

You curse under your breath and set the blade down. Reach for the salve instead. Peel back the gauze with careful fingers. The wound’s clean, no sign of infection- but it’s not the pain that makes your skin prickle.

It’s that feeling again.

Low. Strange. Like pressure behind your ears. Like a sound with no source.

A vibration in your bones.

You freeze, halfway through applying the salve.

It’s stronger this time.

You clench your jaw and shake your head. No. You’re sleep-deprived. Dehydrated. Traumatized. Your brain is misfiring, making ghosts out of static.

Then something crashes.

Muffled. Dull. Far end of the corridor.

Not imagination.

Thud.

You’re on your feet before the echo fades. Knife back in hand. Blood singing.

You know that sound. That rhythm. A body hitting the ground.

And not by accident.

You press your back to the cold wall, breathing shallow. Heart pounding. The air’s shifted. Charged. Like lightning itching beneath your skin.

They wouldn’t be stupid enough to send someone this deep without backup. Would they?

Or maybe they would. Maybe someone came for you. Maybe he did.

You tighten your grip on the hilt. You’re not defenseless. Not broken. You still have teeth, and claws, and the will to draw blood if you have to.

But still…

The hum is louder now.

Not in your ears. Not exactly.

In you.

That strange, magnetic pull. Not fear. Not quite. Not even adrenaline.

Recall.

Another thud- closer this time. You duck back, breath caught in your throat.

Then stillness.

Too much of it.

You take three silent steps back across the room, drawing your other blade from beneath the cot. Eyes on the door.

And just before you speak- just before you shout for ID or raise the alarm… You feel him.

The song crackles inside you like static electricity.

You blink. You don’t breathe.

The door opens.

Light spills in.

And everything stops.

You don’t blink.

You don’t speak.

Because he’s real.

There, in the doorway- filling the frame like some myth dragged from the storm, is him.

That thing from the rooftops. That monster. That man.

The red mask. The broad shoulders. The eyes like twin green embers in the dark. His chest rises and falls in deep, steady rhythm, like he’d just run through a damn army to get here… and maybe he had. There’s blood on his knuckles. Dust on his shell. A fresh gash at his jawline.

And he’s looking at you like you’re the final piece of a puzzle he never meant to solve.

You inhale slowly. Every cell in your body says move, but you stay rooted. You’ve been hunted before. Cornered. Caught.

This isn’t the same.

This is… different. Wrong. Yet familiar.

His eyes flick down- your blades, your stance, then back up.

He steps in.

Just one step.

Your breath catches. The air shifts again, tighter now. The hum inside you sharpens to a keen edge. Every nerve alight.

You fling a blade- fast, high, meant to distract more than hit.

He catches it.

Mid-air.

Bare fingers.

Your mouth tightens. You grab the second blade and roll, forcing distance, but he’s already moving. Smooth. Intentional. Not like before- not trying to kill.

But not backing down either.

You spin. He blocks. You twist around, kick high- he ducks. Grabs your ankle. You almost go down, but flip out of it, bracing against the cot. You slash low- he parries with a forearm.

It's not a brawl.

It’s a conversation with muscle and breath.

It’s foreplay between predators.

Then he’s in your space again.

Faster than you expect.

The blade’s knocked from your hand. You reach for the backup, but he grabs your wrist- twists, not hard enough to break, just to stop you, and suddenly your back’s against the wall.

Pinned.

His weight cages you in, forearm across your shoulder, knee braced between your thighs. Hot breath brushes your cheek. His face inches from yours.

You could bite him.

You might.

But your hands tremble, and not from fear.

Your heart slams in your ribs, like it knows something you don’t.

The hum is deafening now. Vibrating beneath your skin, pounding in your blood.

He stares down at you, jaw clenched. Searching. Hurting, maybe.

And you do something unwise.

You meet his gaze.

Hold it.

Unflinching.

You don’t scream. You don’t struggle. You just breathe through the firestorm building between you and say, low and sharp:

“What the hell are you doing here?”

It hits him like a punch to the gut.

His grip slackens. Just a fraction. His pupils dilate. His breath falters.

Then he leans in. Not to kiss. Just close enough to feel your heat.

“Don’t know,” he growls. Voice rough like gravel. “Could ask you the same.”

The tension coils tighter. Hotter.

Something ancient unspools between you. Recognition. Resistance.

Need.

You could shove him off.

You should.

But instead, you tilt your chin up- defiant.

And for one heartbeat, neither of you moves.

Not toward violence.

Not toward mercy.

Just… poised on the edge of something that can’t be named.

Not yet.

Not with words.

You don’t break eye contact.

Not even when his fingers twitch against your wrist. Not even when his knee presses firmer between your thighs, pinning you like a predator might pin its prey- with restraint.

He hasn’t hurt you. Not once.

You can’t say the same.

And that alone is enough to set something dangerous twisting in your chest.

Your breath hitches- sharper than you want it to be. Your voice finds its way between clenched teeth:

“You tracked me.”

It’s not a question.

It’s an accusation.

A trap you’re daring him to walk into.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. Just looks at you- so open, it borders on obscene. Like you’ve already cracked him open and he didn’t notice ‘til the light hit.

“…Yeah.”

Just that. Quiet. Unapologetic.

Yeah.

Your stomach flips. You feel it again- that tug, that vibration crawling down your spine like a memory you didn’t live through but somehow still remember.

Your gaze flickers, just for a second.

Down to his mouth. Up to his eyes.

So stupid. So very stupid.

You shove against his chest.

He lets you. Let's you shove him back a step- barely. His hand still curls around your wrist like he doesn’t trust the air between you to hold.

You snatch your arm away.

“Why?” you rasp, low and bitter. “You could’ve killed me. Twice.”

He doesn’t rise to the bait. Just breathes hard through his nose, hands flexing once at his sides. His posture doesn’t scream aggression.

It screams conflict.

Inside. Deep.

“Didn’t want to.”

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

You saw what he was capable of. Felt it. The power. The size. The fucking skill. He should’ve snapped your neck.

But he didn’t.

Twice.

And now... Now he’s standing here, bleeding for it.

Your throat tightens. You turn, pretending it’s to gain distance, but it’s a retreat.

Doesn’t work. The hum follows.

That wonderful, awful- aching song beneath your skin.

And his voice finds you before your thoughts do.

“I couldn’t stop hearing it,” he says behind you, voice cracked open and rough with truth. “You. That… song.”

The words split something in you.

You freeze.

Then turn, slowly. A careful pivot.

His eyes are on you, unreadable- but not empty.

You swallow hard. Your tongue is thick. Something sharp stabs just beneath your breastbone.

You know what he means.

God help you, you know.

But you won’t say it.

Not here. Not now. Not while the lines are still drawn in blood and enemy insignias.

So you lie.

Or try to.

You shake your head- once, sharp.

“I don't know what you're talking about. You're imagining things.”

His jaw ticks.

Your arms fold across your chest like armor.

He steps forward anyway.

Not to strike.

To test you.

And your heart stutters like it already knows what’s coming next.

The silence between you isn’t silent anymore.

It’s a scream wrapped in skin.

Your heart is slamming so hard you think he can hear it. Hell, you know he can- he hasn’t taken his eyes off your chest since the moment you dared to breathe faster. He’s watching like he’s memorizing your patterns, syncing up with it.

This is that split-second between a storm warning and the lightning strike. That breath held too long before it turns into a gasp. Two apex predators circling, pulled in by instinct and something far more ancient.

He scoffs.

It’s soft, but sharp. Cuts you right under the ribs.

“You know,” he says, voice gravel and gasoline, “last time we met, you promised somethin’.”

You stiffen.

He shifts a half-step closer- shoulders loose, thighs loaded, mouth twitching like he knows he’s being a menace.

“Said maybe next time we'd sing that song again… naked.”

Your pulse jolts. Your fist flies.

It hits square in his plastron- not enough to damage, but enough to snap. A spark lights in his eyes so fast it’s incandescent.

He catches your wrist.

Fast. Fluid.

Too easy.

And he doesn’t let go.

You grit your teeth, eyes blazing.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

His hand tightens- just slightly. Testing. Daring.

“Yeah, well,” he breathes, dipping his head closer, his forehead nearly brushing yours, “I am.”

Your other hand rises in a flash- aimed at his throat, maybe his face, maybe nothing at all, but he catches that too.

He’s holding both your wrists now, wide and tight, like he’s weighing his next move right there in the line of your breath.

You hiss, low and sharp, “Stop looking at me like that.”

His voice drops into the pit of your belly.

“Can’t.”

The word lands like a punch.

And something in your chest gives.

Not from fear. Not from weakness.

From recognition. From a pull.

The song is howling now- not distant, not subtle. It’s a damn war cry. A hunting horn. A primal thing, pulling teeth-first through your blood and his, threading you together like the old stories no one dares to write down.

You twist in his grip- not to break free.

But to see what he’ll do.

His muscles bunch.

Then, just like you hoped-

He shoves.

Hard.

Your back slams into the wall with a force that’s almost sweet as he pins you with his body. Not brutal, but demanding. Deliberate.

You snarl.

And then…

Your legs lock around his waist like you’re staking a claim.

They crash together like a war already lost.

There’s no preamble, no hesitation, no soft-bellied pause. Just teeth and tongue and tension breaking open like a dam. His mouth claims yours with a growl- low, deep, shuddering through his chest and into yours. You don’t just kiss him back. You devour him.

Your hand tangles behind his neck, fingers digging into the thick corded muscle just above his shell. You feel him shudder against you like it does something to him- like you do. His breath punches into your mouth in a stifled groan, his body crowding you so fully you forget the room has corners.

His other hand- massive, tridactyl, capable, slides low, testing the hem of your shirt, dragging along your skin in maddening degrees of pressure. It’s not impatient.

It’s possessive.

Your hips roll against his without meaning to- without needing to, and that’s when it turns. That’s when something tears.

You don’t know whose clothes shift first- his belt, your shirt, the strap across your thigh, but something gives under rough fingers and a sharper sound breaks loose between your teeth. A curse. A command. A dare. He answers it with a snarl and a grip that leaves your spine singing.

It’s not tender.

There’s no illusion of safety here- only surrender. Instinct. Fingers dragging over your ribs. Your thighs squeezing tighter around his hips like he’s a fix you’re not ready to come down from. His weight cages you in completely- stone and heat and power, but his hands, gods, his hands…

He could break you.

But he doesn’t.

He treats your body like a weapon he doesn’t want to disarm.

You brace against his chest again- not to stop him, but to brace yourself as he bites the line of your jaw. Your moan sounds dangerous. Too close to pleasure for someone who’s supposed to hate him. Too close to honesty.

“This doesn’t mean I trust you,” you pant, your voice gravel and venom and want.

He pauses, just long enough to lock eyes with you, his nose brushing yours as he breathes.

“Good. Don’t.”

Then his mouth crashes into yours again, and it’s like the song inside you both screams.

It’s not in your ears- it’s in your spine. In your lungs. In the frantic thud of both your hearts beating in some impossible rhythm that didn’t exist until now. Until him. Until this.

Your breath catches- and so does his.

His brow presses to yours for a fleeting second, eyes wide, startled- like maybe he feels it too. That the chaos between you isn’t just lust or fury or fate. It’s something stranger. Wilder. Terrifying.

Your next inhale comes at the same time as his.

You exhale together, too.

It’s not conscious.

It’s not controllable.

It just is.

And then his body shifts.

A tremor moves down his spine as his hips press forward and low, and you feel it- him… thick, hot, huge, emerging from the slit beneath his shell at the base of his tail. Not hesitant. Not unsure. But aching. Eager. Heavy against your thigh as he grinds into the cradle of your hips like he was made to fit there.

His growl is ragged, near feral, as he buries his face in your neck.

“Fuck-” he gasps, voice torn and trembling, but not from fear. From need.

This is new to him. You know it is. He moves like a soldier who’s trained for everything but this. And still- there’s no hesitation. No awkward stutter. No apologies.

Just hunger.

He wants you like he’s been dreaming about it for years. Like he’s fantasized about this moment in some deep part of himself he didn’t know existed until you put your hands on him and dared him to want more.

Your legs wrap tighter around his hips.

He presses in deeper, tail flexing between you to stabilize the push as his hips roll with slow, aching intensity. The ridged texture of his cock drags against your slick heat and his head drops back with a low, pained groan- like the sensation burns in all the best ways.

“You good?” he rasps, looking down at you, his massive body braced like he’s holding back a goddamn earthquake.

You answer with your hips.

And then it’s on.

He slides inside with a hiss and a pulse and a stretch that makes your vision flicker at the edges. He’s thick. Hot. Formed for something stronger than softness- and still, his hand finds yours.

Not because it’s sweet.

Because it’s grounding.

Because he needs to feel you when he finally drives in deep enough to make you arch against him, your nails digging into the flesh of his shoulder, your mouth open in a soundless gasp.

His rhythm starts slow, controlled- but the pressure behind it is anything but. Like he’s holding back a storm. Like he’s trying not to lose himself but knows he will. You feel his body shake as he buries himself again and again, hips slamming into yours with just enough restraint to keep from bruising- but not enough to hide how badly he wants to.

“Say somethin’,” he growls against your throat. “Tell me I ain’t just imaginin’ this. Tell me you feel it too.”

You can’t.

You’re already too far gone.

And it’s just getting started.

His thrusts pick up- rougher now, less restrained.

The restraint was never going to last, not with the way you’re writhing against him, nails dragging trails down his massive arms, your breath hitching every time his hips snap forward, slamming you into the wall like the gods built it just for this moment. For you to be his.

You cling tighter, thighs flexing around his waist like steel traps, pulling him deeper, harder. Every move he makes is pure muscle memory now- except it’s not memory. Not for this. It’s instinct. Raw and relentless and new.

He’s new to this. You’re sure now. You can feel it in the way his body stutters and adjusts- learning you. Memorizing how to make you shiver, how to pull the prettiest sounds from your throat. And he’s greedy for them.

“There…” he growls, the word low and hot against your skin as he grinds just right, just once- and your mouth falls open in a sound he swallows with his own. “That’s it. That’s what I wanted.”

The ridges along his length drag with maddening friction, every thrust deep and devastating, and your body answers in kind- clenching, fluttering, pulsing around him like it knows this is the only place you’re meant to be.

It’s not soft.

It’s not sweet.

It’s not romantic- it’s visceral.

It’s war and worship. Fire and claim.

Two feral forces who were never meant to be tamed.

And still... there’s the music.

Not real. Not external. But it’s there. Writhing between your bones like it’s alive. The soulmate tether screaming now- no longer a hum, no longer a whisper. It’s singing.

Louder than reason.

Louder than breath.

Louder than the choked sounds slipping from both of you as the pleasure builds- too fast, too sharp, like the fuse is burning down too quickly and neither of you cares. Let it burn. Let it detonate.

He slams forward one last time- deep enough to make your head fall back and your voice break.

And he shudders.

His arms tighten around you, every muscle locked as he spills inside you with a low, cursed moan like your body broke his damn soul. You don’t even remember learning his name, but you somehow say it. Over and over again. Like a litany. Like a need. Like a fucking confession.

Your own climax crashes over you, electric and overwhelming, white-hot and terrible in its intensity. You clutch at him like you’re drowning. Like if he lets go now, you’ll disappear into the static between worlds.

You both go still.

Breathless.

Bodies fused.

The storm is quiet now.

But the song… It’s never been louder.

The crash leaves silence in its wake.

Not peace- no, nothing that gentle. Just the kind of stillness that only exists after a hurricane has ripped through everything you thought was solid. A calm soaked in sweat and breath and the low, golden hum of a bond neither of you dares name aloud.

You’re still wrapped around him, your breath syncing up with his like it was always meant to- slow, ragged, shared.

Raph’s head is bowed, face buried in your neck like he needs to catch up with himself. His arms stay tight around your waist, one massive hand splayed across your back like he’s still bracing for another wave. Like letting go might unmake him.

“…Shit,” he mutters into your skin, voice hoarse and shaken. Not regretful. Just overwhelmed.

You don’t answer right away. You’re listening. To the blood in your ears. To the song in your bones. To him.

You tilt your head to look at him. He lifts his, eyes catching yours, and for a breath too long- you both stay. Just look. No quip. No threat. No plan.

Just the bare, broken truth of ‘what the hell did we just do’ shining on your faces.

But then-

Something clicks.

Metal on stone. A shift. A voice. Footsteps.

Your expression tightens. His eyes narrow.

The air changes.

The song doesn’t fade, but it twists- tightens like a violin string drawn to its snapping point. Something’s coming.

Your lips part to speak- but too late.

Chaos is about to kick the damn door in.

The moment ruptures with a shrill alarm.

Blinding red pulses flare overhead- klaxon lights spinning like the damn world’s on fire, and maybe it is.

You both jolt like struck wires, still breathless, still entangled, the high of what just happened colliding with cold, slicing reality.

Raph’s arms tighten around you, a growl in his throat as he instinctively shields you with his body. “Shit,” he hisses, low and feral.

You don’t ask what it is. You know.

The backup he should’ve expected.

The guards he should’ve finished off.

They’d woken. Alerted the compound. And now the Foot was on full lockdown, sweeping corridors in black-clad waves, zeroing in on this room like bloodhounds with a scent.

Adrenaline hits hard- raw and fast. You wrench away from him, not out of fear, but focus, heat still licking under your skin even as your voice cuts like a blade: “Get dressed. Now.”

Raph’s already moving, snatching up his gear in near-silent fury, one leg into his pants while you’re dragging open a concealed wall panel to reveal a narrow maintenance crawlspace behind.

“That leads to the south alley. If you’re fast, you’ll hit the canal runoff. They won’t track you through water.”

“I’m not leavin’ you here.” His voice is a snarl now, more threat than statement. “Not after that.”

You glare at him, pulse pounding, forcing your hands to stop shaking. “You’ll get killed, Raphael.”

“Then come with me.”

That damn look in his eyes again. Like you were the only thing left standing between him and extinction. Like he meant it. You’re stunned for half a second too long.

You shake your head- “I can’t. Not yet. Just go.”

And even though it rips your insides raw to say it- you mean it.

You step back toward the door, palm flying to a small panel on the wall. You slam your fist into the override, and a smoke bomb system triggers hissing to life, starting the countdown.

“You’ve got fifteen seconds.” Your voice doesn’t tremble. Not now.

He stares at you- those emerald-green eyes burning like he might never get this close again.

“This ain’t over.”

“It's just the beginning.” You agreed.

He slips into the crawlspace just as the smoke hits. You slam the panel shut, cutting off the view, cutting off his heat, cutting off the part of you that wanted to go with him.

Outside the door, voices shout. Boots thunder. The red lights wash everything in warning.

You throw on a long shirt.

You grab your blade.

You turn to face the door.

And you pray they didn’t see what they really interrupted.

Because if they did?

You’re already a traitor.

The second she vanished from his sight behind the panel, the air turned violent.

Shouts- dozens, echoed through the corridor. Steel-toed boots pounded in from both ends. Flash grenades dropped like hail.

Raph snarled, dropping into a crouch as the hallway lit up red.

They’d come in waves. Smart. Coordinated. Blades and electrified tonfas. Stun rounds and smoke. He was already half-dressed and bleeding, still tasting her on his tongue when the first set of goons dropped in from the ceiling.

He moved like a storm. No finesse. No mercy. Just fury.

The first one didn’t even get a chance to scream- Raph slammed him into the wall so hard the plaster cracked like an eggshell. Another swung in behind him with a high kick, but he caught the leg mid-air and twisted- bone gave with a wet crunch.

But there were too many.

He ducked a baton swipe and caught a blade to the arm. Gritted his teeth. Grabbed the guy’s face and threw him into two more coming from the left. Rolled through smoke. Grabbed a fire extinguisher off the wall and smashed it over someone’s head. Kicked another one through a door.

The red emergency lights painted everything like a bloodbath.

He made it to the stairwell just as another squad came tearing up it.

“COME ON THEN!” he roared, blood in his mouth and murder in his chest.

They hesitated.

Bad call.

He charged.

It was chaos. Fists. Sparks. Screams. A tangle of limbs and weapons and cracked helmets. He should’ve gone down- anyone else would’ve. But Raph was running on instinct and need. Every second between him and the sewers was one more she was alone.

One more second someone might question her cover.

One more second they might take her from him.

A baton cracked across his jaw. A stun round lit up his thigh. He went down for a second- just a second, but it was enough. He kicked out hard, knocking three off their feet, grabbed the railing, and vaulted over it to the next landing.

He could see the emergency chute up ahead. Locked. Reinforced.

He barreled into it like a freight train and smashed through.

Metal screamed. Bolts popped. Smoke exploded from the emergency release valve- triggered by her remote signal, no doubt. A final gift.

His breath sawed in his chest.

Every inch of him hurt.

The smoke was thick, biting.

Raph burst out into the night like a shot from a cannon- chest heaving, heart still pounding with the ghost of her touch, the echo of her voice, the heat of what they’d just done still crawling across his skin like fire ants under his shell.

He didn’t look back.

He couldn’t.

Water. Metal. Cold air.

The canal system swallowed him up. He took a route so old it still smelled like rust and rat piss, his feet slick on algae as he moved half-blind, instinct and desperation leading the way.

Every cut on him stung sharper now. He wasn’t bleeding too badly, but it was enough to remind him he wasn’t untouchable.

He stumbled in after 4 AM- drenched, scraped, smoke-bitten, and haunted.

Mikey’s curled up on the couch with a controller still in his hand, half-asleep with an empty energy drink on his chest. Leo’s sitting at the table, sharpening one of his twin katanas like he never really sleeps.

They both look up at the same time.

Mikey squints. “Whoa, bro, did the whole building fight back or what?”

Raph doesn’t answer.

He limps past them, eyes dark, jaw locked, dripping city water and smoke stink across the concrete.

Leo watches him like a hawk. Quiet. Calculating.

“Didn’t take your comm,” he says, low and deliberate.

“Didn’t need it,” Raph grits out, heading toward the hall.

“You’re bleeding,” Leo calls after him.

Raph doesn’t stop walking.

“Dude,” Mikey calls gently. “Are you okay?”

He pauses.

Just long enough for them both to see the answer all over him.

But all he mutters is: “Fine.”

Then disappears down the corridor.

The med kit thumped down on the table before Raph even made it to his room.

He turned, growling, already halfway to snapping. “I said I’m fine-”

“Yeah?” Leo stood there, arms crossed, voice low and tight. “You sure? ‘Cause you look like someone tried to feed you to a wood chipper.”

Raph shot him a glare. “Back off.”

Behind him, Mikey padded into the room shirtless in sleep pants, rubbing one eye with the heel of his palm. “Okay, but also you’re bleeding on the floor and scowling like you got punched repeatedly in the mouth. Sooo... spill, Big Red.”

“I ain’t gotta explain myself to you two.”

“No,” said Leo coolly, “but you’re going to.”

Footsteps echoed in from the hallway- measured, light, and annoyingly curious.

Donnie.

He strolled in with a tablet under one arm and a protein bar in the other, chewing thoughtfully. “Did someone say ‘bleeding’? Raph, are you hemorrhaging internally, or just soul-deep brooding again?”

“Not now, Donnie,” Raph snarled, muscles tense as a tripwire.

Donnie raised a brow ridge and took another bite. “Oh, it’s definitely internal bleeding then.”

“Guys,” Mikey said, voice gentle as he gestured toward Raph’s bruised arms and smoky scent, “something happened.”

Raph’s jaw clenched.

The room held its breath.

He didn’t sit. Couldn’t. He paced- one end of the table to the other like a damn caged panther, tail twitching with every heartbeat.

Finally, he exhaled sharply through his nose, turning back toward them.

“Remember those stupid stories Master Splinter used to tell? About… the Turtle Songs?”

Leo narrowed his eyes.

Mikey tilted his head. “You mean the 'Mate Bait' bedtime stories?”

Donnie slowly stopped chewing.

Raph nodded, voice gravelly. “Yeah. Those. The ones we all thought were just some weirdo mystic crap he made up to keep us from thinking we'd die alone.”

“I didn’t think they were weird,” Mikey muttered. “Kinda sweet, honestly.”

“Raph…” Leo stepped forward cautiously. “Are you saying…?”

“I heard it,” he said, voice rough and raw. “Hell, I felt it. And now? I can’t unfeel it.”

Donnie set his tablet down slowly. “So...”

Raph met his gaze.

Donnie didn’t blink.

“He's not joking guys,” Don said quietly.

“No,” Raph replied. “And you know what’s worse? I know she hears it too.”

Leo straightened, one brow cocking. “She who exactly?”

Raph hesitated- but only for a second. The lie wasn’t worth it anymore.

“The Foot soldier,” he muttered.

Leo's whole body went still.

“The one I sent you to dispose of?” Leo asked, voice low and lethal.

Mikey’s face lit up like someone dropped the plot twist of a telenovela. “Whaaaaat?”

Raph didn’t flinch. “I let her go.”

“You told me it was handled.”

“Yeah. I lied.”

Donnie ran a hand down his face, muttering under his breath, “Oh no no no, that’s not good-”

“You lied to me?!” Leo’s voice cracked out like a whip. “You had orders, Raph. She was a threat. A spy. An enemy asset. And you- what… just let her go?!”

“She wasn’t a threat,” Raph growled. “Not to us. She was bleeding out. Barely conscious. Not a damn weapon on her.”

“You didn’t think maybe I should've known the soldier was a woman?” Leo snapped. “That you were letting her go for a reason that had nothing to do with strategy and everything to do with- what? Instinct?!”

“I didn’t know what it was at the time!” Raph’s voice was raw now. “I just- felt it. Something. I thought maybe it was stress, or adrenaline, or some crap I couldn’t shake. But I knew I had to let her go.”

Leo looked like he was trying very hard not to punch something. Or someone. “You made that call alone.”

“I had to.”

“No,” Leo said, stepping forward. “You chose to. You chose her over us. You chose her over protocol.”

Mikey made a low “ooooohhh” sound and then quickly covered his mouth, eyes darting when Leo glared at him.

Donnie held up a hand again, stepping between them. “Okay, okay, okay. Everyone take a breath. We are barely keeping our heads above water here, and you two are about to rip each other’s throats out.”

Leo’s jaw was locked. “Tell me this wasn’t just because 'she’s hot' or something stupid like that.”

“She tried to kill me,” Raph snapped. “Does that sound like I had some romantic fantasy about her? It wasn’t about that. It was more. It is more. And if you'd felt it- really felt it, you’d know why I couldn’t finish the job.”

Donnie quietly added, “He’s not exaggerating.”

“And you’re just okay with this?” Leo demanded.

Donnie half shrugged, “I didn’t say that. I’m saying I understand it.”

Leo stepped back like the air in the room had shifted. His arms crossed, slower this time, more defensive. But the damage was done. His eyes held a new calculation. Less leader. More brother. And a brother who’d just been blindsided.

Leo leaned against the edge of the table, arms still crossed, expression unreadable- but his silence screamed suspicion.

Mikey looked between them, hands half-raised like he was ready to call bullshit or start planning a wedding. “Wait… wait, wait. Donnie, you’re saying it’s all real? Like, you’ve… you’ve heard it too?”

Donnie didn’t blink. “I have.”

“Bro,” Mikey breathed, spinning in a slow circle before pointing at Raph. “So this isn’t just Raph being, like, horny and dramatic?”

Raph growled, “Watch it.”

Mikey winced, “Sorry. Bad phrasing. But c’mon… this is huge! You’re telling me the mystical love song soul-bond thing actually exists?!”

Don nodded once, methodically. “It’s not just myth. It’s rare. Exceptionally rare. But it’s real. When I first started working with her,” -he gestured vaguely toward the lair’s direction of his lab, where his mate, and Assistant Systems Analyst, likely still had a cot and three monitors lit up- “I heard something… unfamiliar. Resonant. It wasn’t music, per se. It was like- like data arranged in a harmony my nervous system recognized.”

“Bro,” Mikey whispered, stunned. “You got soulmate-coded by your lab partner?! That’s so on brand!”

“Focus,” Leo snapped. His eyes were still on Raph. “You really think this woman- this Foot soldier, is your mate?”

“I don’t think,” Raph growled. “I know.”

Leo stepped forward again. “You went into enemy territory tonight- alone, because of a feeling?”

“It wasn’t just a feeling,” Raph barked back. “It was a call. I felt her. I knew where she was. And I knew she felt me comin’ too.”

Leo looked to Donnie, but Don raised a hand preemptively. “Don’t ask me to explain it, Leo. I’ve tried. I’ve run simulations, resonance scans, and even mapped patterns of bioacoustic interaction. Nothing explains it. It’s biological, but also- metaphysical. It’s not about logic. It’s instinct. Recognition on a level we don’t fully understand.”

Leo’s lips thinned. “That’s not good enough.”

“It’s all we’ve got,” Donnie replied. “And if Raph felt the same pull I did? It’s already too late.”

The room went quiet.

Mikey dropped into a beanbag chair like he needed it for moral support. “So like… we’re fated to fall in love now? Is that how this works? Some weird musical mating bond?! Does that mean I’m next?? I mean- what if mine’s, like, a bassoonist? Or a barista who sings in the shower?”

Donnie snorted. “It’s not a dating app, Mikey.”

“I kinda wish it was!” Mikey threw up his arms. “I want my magical soul-concert!”

Raph just stood there, heavy-breathing like the weight of it all had finally begun to settle across his shell.

“It’s not sweet,” he muttered. “It’s not romantic. It’s messed up. Confusing. I nearly got her killed... And myself. I don’t even know what this is.”

“But you still went,” Don said softly. “You knew the risk, and you still went.”

Raph looked away.

Leo inhaled deeply, voice low. “So what now?”

Raph shrugged, but his voice was hoarse. “I dunno. But it ain’t over.”

The smoke hadn’t cleared when the door crashed inward.

Your blade was in your hand before you could think, stance squared, eyes stinging- but it wasn’t Raph you faced now.

It was them.

The first strike came from behind. A staff to the ribs. You staggered but didn’t fall.

A second to the hip. A third to the shoulder. You dropped your blade, eyes locked on the blank, masked faces as they circled you like carrion birds. Not a word exchanged. No questions.

They already assumed you guilty.

Your punishment for failing the ambush assignment- Donatello’s mate's escape, had been delayed until your next mission, as if they’d hoped you’d redeem yourself faster.

You hadn’t.

But this time… you weren’t sure you wanted to.

A sharp blow to the back of your knee sent you to the ground. Another landed across your back, cracking like a whip of steel.

They didn’t bother breaking bones. This wasn’t meant to maim. This was control.

This was fear.

This was a warning dressed as pain.

And you took it. Breathed through it. Didn’t cry out.

Because if you cried out, it might sound too much like his name.

Later…

You sat alone in the steel-tiled washroom, the fluorescent lights overhead buzzing like flies.

The shirt you’d thrown on earlier lay crumpled in a bloody heap beside you. Your thighs bore hand-shaped bruises- not from the Foot, but from your time with Raph. The kind that made your thighs tremble still. Not from fear. Not from regret.

But from memory.

You wiped your mouth, your shoulder, your side. Your breath shuddered in your chest.

Steam fogged the mirror. You raised your eyes slowly.

A cut still split your bottom lip. A fresh welt blossomed across your cheekbone.

You’d looked worse.

But it wasn’t the damage that unnerved you.

It was what you wanted.

Under your breath, so soft it almost vanished beneath the hum of the overhead lights, you began to hum.

That song.

Their song.

It was still in you. Louder now. Clearer. Like it had sunk into your bones and bloomed.

You touched the mirror. Closed your eyes.

Your ribs ached.

But the place between them- where something strange and tethered now lived, that felt unshakable.

The bruises had mostly faded by the seventh day.

The cracked lip was healed. The ache in your ribs dulled to a memory, tender only when you breathed too deeply- or laughed. Not that you did much of either lately.

Not since you let him go.

Not since you felt his breath ghost across your neck while the building exploded into chaos around you, and he still hesitated like he’d rather die before turning his back on you.

"This ain’t over."

Damn straight it wasn’t.

You moved quieter now. Sharper. Colder around the others. You answered questions before they were asked. Cleaned your weapons twice a day. Slept with your boots on.

Your handlers- the Watchers, as you'd started calling them in your head, had loosened their grip. Not entirely. But enough. The punishments had stopped, but the suspicion hadn’t. You could feel the eyes on you, lurking just past the edge of the camera sweeps, just beyond the end of the hallway.

Waiting for you to crack.

You didn’t.

Instead, you planned.

It started with a knife. Not yours. His.

You'd tucked it into your boot the second you found it wedged behind a pipe after the chaos. A utility blade, worn and scratched, the hilt wrapped in cloth.

Not your kind of weapon.

But it felt like him.

And holding it again, when no one was watching, you hummed a low, dangerous note. It slid out of your chest like smoke- that melody. The one that started as an echo and now lived in your chest.

You didn’t need to ask what it meant anymore.

You already knew.

It was theirs. His. Yours. And you were going to prove it.

You left that night.

No lights. No alarm. No footsteps behind you.

Just the quiet click of the panel in the East Wing slipping shut behind you. Just the knife in your boot. Just the buzz of New York far above.

And the sound inside you, pulling.

It wasn’t just a song anymore.

It was a compass.

When you dropped down into the lower maintenance hatch beneath the Lower East Side transit hub, the air got colder. Still. Wet.

You moved slowly- not like you were sneaking.

Like you belonged here.

The whisper of water echoed in the distance.

Another turn. Another tunnel. Then…

You stopped.

There was a shadow in front of you, crouched- massive, unmoving, and watching.

You didn’t flinch. You let him look.

“You came back,” Raph said, his voice rough as ever. But not angry. Not surprised.

“I had to,” you murmured. “I couldn’t… stay away.”

He took a step forward, arms tense, unreadable.

“You didn’t get followed?”

“I’d be dead already if I had.”

“…So what’re you doin’ here?”

You reached into your coat, slowly.

Pulled out a single folded piece of paper. Laid it on a rusted pipe beside you.

“I want in.”

His brow rose.

“In?”

“Double agent. Feed you intel. Help where I can. I’m not stupid enough to think your brothers are gonna trust me. But I trust you.”

He stared at you for a long time. The kind of look that stripped people bare.

And then-

“Leo’s gonna lose his shit.”

You smirked. “I’m counting on it.”

Raph kept close as you walked through the tunnels.

Not in a possessive way. Not quite. It was more like… protection. Like if anything so much as looked at you funny, he’d crush it into the wall.

You didn’t ask questions. He didn’t offer answers.

He led you down rusted stairwells and long, winding ducts slick with years of grime and secrecy, until finally- you stepped through a broken doorframe into a space you couldn’t have imagined in a thousand guesses had you not already seen it before.

The lair.

Warm light. Concrete patched with color. Blankets tossed on couches, mugs left on counters, tech humming on standby from the next room.

And the moment you crossed the threshold?

Every head turned.

Leo stood first. Predictably.

His hand moved to his back- toward the swords strapped there. You noticed the twitch in his jaw, the narrowing of his eyes.

“Raph,” he said slowly, “what the hell is this?”

You kept your chin lifted. If you were gonna burn, you’d do it standing up.

Raph didn’t even blink.

“She’s with me,” he said, voice low but steady. “She’s the one I told you about.”

Mikey leaned sideways off the couch, chewing on something gummy and neon-colored. “Wait… this is her? Damn, bro, you didn’t say she looked like that.”

You couldn’t help it- you snorted.

Leo did not find it funny.

“She’s a Foot Soldier.”

Leo’s words dropped like a blade between you all.

You didn’t flinch. You met his gaze head-on, stilling the instinct to reach for a weapon yourself.

Raph stepped forward, not aggressive- but enough to put himself halfway between you and his brother. A barrier, a statement. His tone was firm.

“She was.”

Leo’s brow lifted. “Was?”

“I’ve seen what she’s risked. She could’ve let me die. Could’ve turned me in. She didn’t.” Raph looked over his shoulder at you, his voice quieting but somehow gaining weight. “She got me out. She’s here ‘cause she wants to help.”

You added, calm and clear, “I know things. I’ve been inside. I know their rotations, their habits, and their strategies. If I wanted to hurt him- or any of you, I already would’ve. You think I don’t know where this place is?”

Leo’s hand didn’t move from his sword. “You could be a plant.”

“I could be dead,” you snapped back. “I gave them nothing. Took my punishment. Lied through my teeth to protect your brother. So if this is a trap, I’m doing a real shit job of setting it.”

Donnie’s voice cut in- level, neutral, precise. “She’s not lying. She has a minor fracture in her fifth rib, untreated for at least seven days. Still healing. Same with the bruising near her hip, low-grade scarring forming. That’s not the kind of damage you fake for a cover story.”

You blinked, startled. “You scanned me?”

Don gave a sheepish little shrug. “I’m thorough.”

Leo’s gaze slid to Donnie, jaw tightening. “And you’re vouching for her?”

“I’m vouching for the injuries, and for the fact that Raph clearly believes her.” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his snout. “And you know what Splinter said about the songs, Leo. We’ve heard the stories. I’ve lived the stories.”

Mikey bounced to his feet and crossed the room with a grin, sticking out a hand like none of the tension had happened at all.

“I’m Mikey. Resident chaos gremlin, pizza ambassador, and occasional voice of optimism. You and broody back there got a whole ‘forbidden romance’ vibe goin’ on, and honestly?” He waggled his brow ridges. “I ship it.”

You actually laughed.

Leo did not.

He exhaled, then finally dropped his hand from the hilt of his blade.

“I still don’t trust her.”

“You don’t have to,” you said simply. “Use me. I’ll feed you intel. You don’t even have to speak to me outside mission briefings. But since the Foot’s got plans- big ones, you’re gonna want eyes inside.”

Leo looked at you for a long, heavy moment.

Then at Raph.

Something unsaid passed between them.

“…Fine,” Leo muttered, turning back toward the dojo. “But one wrong move, and you’ll regret stepping foot in this place.”

“Understood,” you said, not blinking.

“Dramatic,” Mikey muttered, biting into another gummy worm.

Donnie shook his head, already tapping something into a tablet. “I’ll work out a secure system for data relays. We’ll keep your identity off-grid, cloak your visits, mask your energy signature. If you’re in, you’re all in.”

Raph looked at you again. That look. The one that said he still wasn’t over what happened between you- and probably never would be.

“What do I call you?” he asked.

You didn’t hesitate in giving him your name.

He repeated it, low and reverent, like a secret spoken for the first time.

His lips twitched at the corner. “Fits you.”

And in that moment, despite the weight of eyes and judgment and danger looming ahead, you felt it again.

The pull.

Not a hum anymore.

A call.

But this time... you weren’t gonna fight it.

Next Chapter: Chapter Four: “The Savage Interval”

Who loves TMNT, show of hands! 😂 Let me know if you want to be added to my tag list!

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Masterlist

[fromtheshadowsnyc2]

Interlude I

[Green Divider is credited to @firefly-graphics]

Another late night in Chinatown, busy as ever. While most of New York might be pretending to sleep, at the least, there are still some shops and restaurants that remain open to the public. Or at least, to certain customers.

Mrs. Liu has been running her midnight teahouse for the past fifty years, ever since she snatched up her own children and left China—as well as her dreadful first husband—for a life she’d hoped would be much better. So it goes without saying that she’s seen her fair share of crazy shit. After all, this isn’t just New York, it’s Chinatown. All kinds of things happen on this side of the city—much like in other places.

So, honestly, the two customers currently sitting in one of her booths barely make her flinch. 

But still, an old woman can’t help but be curious about the hushed conversation taking place over two steaming cups of tea. After all, they’re in her restaurant. She has every right to eavesdrop.

“…So, listen. About Halloween—”

“No.”

“You didn’t even let me finish!”

“I don’t have to. This is the same conversation we’ve all been having for two years now.”

“Yeah, with the key phrase being ‘two years’. It’s been long enough, hasn’t it?”

His mouth twists, somehow making his solemn frown deeper. Then he’s shaking his head, before taking a gentle sip from his cup of tea.

“Still too risky. Halloween is already a busy night to begin with. Trick ‘r treating, the parties, the damn parade—and that doesn’t even cover the worst of it: Initiation Night.”

“Trust me, you don’t need to remind me about Initiation Night. I’ve been tracking that with my cameras for years now. But that just drives my point home. There’s only so much we can do from the shadows. What better way to catch gang initiates than among the people?”

“…Mikey really sold you on that idea, huh.”

“He wants to attend this party on South Street Seaport. Supposed to be in this warehouse by the water.”

“South Street…? That’s near Purple Dragon territory. Right on the border.”

“Yep.”

“And you agreed, because…?”

Pause. Then they both lean forward, whispering like the wind against trees.

“…There’s been some talk. Rumors about this new drug the dragons want to try out.”

His hand clenches against the table as he growls.

“And they want to test it out on the populace.”

“Not just that—we’re talking teenagers, kids just like us. Kids that the cops will overlook because of one reason or another when they disappear. And by the time they will give a shit? It might be too late. We can’t sit back and risk this happening.” 

“...”

“Leo…” 

“I know. Yeah, I know.” Sigh. “I don’t like it, but you have a point. But we’ll need to be careful. If this turns into a fight, it’ll be the first big fight we’ve had since what went down in Stockman’s lab. And we’re down to three now, remember that.”

“…I know. It won’t be easy. Hell, it hasn’t been easy since—”

He doesn’t continue. Just lets his words hang unsaid in the air…because, truthfully, it isn’t necessary to speak it out loud. They both already know. They’ve both talked about it so many times at this point, it’s pointless to hash it out again. What would change? 

Nothing…because he would still be gone.

They can only move forward. For now, at least.

After taking his last sip of tea, he firmly places the ceramic cup back on the table with a sense of finality. His brother does the same.

“Well, that’s settled then. Let’s get going. Sensei will be waiting for us…and we need to have a talk with Mikey.”

“…Right.”

With all that said and done, the two of them slowly get up from their seats and head to the back to take their exit. Before they do, the one in blue—with his swords sheathed behind him—turns around to give her a polite smile. The one in purple leans on his bo to do the same.

“Thanks for the tea, Mrs. Liu! Was perfect as always.”

Mrs. Liu pauses in cleaning the counter, her mouth spreading into a smile.

“Anytime, dear! Give your father my regards, both of you.” 

“Of course!”

“Will do, Mrs. Liu!”

And with the opening of a window and the whisper of the autumn breeze, both brothers are gone.

Mrs. Liu stares at the spot they were standing in for quite a while, blinking slowly. Then she glances over at the table they were sitting in. And then, after humming in thought, she walks to the back of her teahouse and opens a special cabinet—from which she pulls out a bottle of her finest and most potent wine.

They’re good boys and all, she thinks while pouring into her glass. But seeing them sometimes makes me want to retire. 

After all, once you’ve seen them, you’ve officially seen everything in this city.

[wdxghosty]

2012 Ophie<3

after a whole year since finnishing tmnt 2012, i have finnaly decied on a design for the 2012 version of ophelia! And i've also decied to switch up their umbrellas through every differnt version. Rise Ophie's sword is a katana, but this Ophelia's sword is a rapier. It was originally gonna be a mix with a katana, but I'm gonna change it moving forward.

[eminardo]

💜💙🧡❤️

Should I make more of these 👁️👁️

[fuckyoubitch-99]

character ai destroyed my future

_________________

update:it jumpscares me everytime when I'm searching something with reader😭😭😭

[mrabubu]

Karaoke nights at resistance's base be like:

[atomicdaydream]

The Worst Part is Not Knowing

A TMNT Short

LeoXFem!Reader

Click clack clack click

You wrapped your arms around yourself, staring out at the rain. It was coming down in heavy sheets, obscuring the street below. You sighed, wondering when it would finally let up. You were tired of the gray hazy days and long cold nights. You were so ready for the sun! To feel it on  your face, your arms, your shoulders. Silently, you pressed your hand to the window, saying a silent prayer for your beloved. Nights like these made you nervous for him and his brothers. The rain made it easier for bad men to hide in the shadows. Leaving your extended family vulnerable. 

You glanced at the clock on the small nightstand next to your bed. 1:00 a.m.. He was late. He normally stopped by around midnight. Your apartment was conveniently on his route back towards the lair. The cup of tea that you made him sat chilled by the window, steam no longer rising from its center. Your heart skipped a beat as you tried to shove away the hundreds of negative thoughts that threatened to pull you under. You refused to believe that something had happened to him. To any of them. He must have got caught up with something. Maybe a robbery? A mugging?

You smirked to yourself, remembering how you met him, once upon a time finding yourself in an alley at the end of a gun. You remembered how calm and collected he had been when he rescued you and so very sweet. The fact that he was a 6 foot mutant turtle absolutely meant nothing to you. He was taken aback by your nonchalant attitude. So much so that he felt comfortable enough to introduce himself to you. 

“My name is Leonardo.” His brilliant blue eyes sparkled as he looked you over. “But you can call me Leo.” He smirked.

Leo. The most beautiful name in the world.

Slowly, his brothers introduced themselves as well. 

That was five years ago. 

How time flies! Especially when you finally find where you belong. Over the course of those five years, you found yourself down in the sewers more than you ever thought possible. Leo wanted you to move in with him, but you just weren't ready. Now, staring out the window, you regretted that choice. What if something did happen? You quickly glanced at your cell. Should you call? What if he’s in the middle of a fight? Would it distract him? Making something inadvertently happen to him? Your gut twisted and squirmed. Now was the time when you really hated that Splinter didn’t have a cell phone. 

Your mind whirled. Who could you call? Casey? You looked at the clock again. Would he even answer? You licked your lips, walking over to your phone. You slid your finger over Casey’s name, your breath hitching as you waited for him to answer. 

“Y/N?” His sleepy voice came over the line. 

“I’m sorry, Casey. I’m having a bit of a hard time.” You explained. 

“What’s going on?” He asked, more alert. 

“It’s Leo. He’s late. He’s never late!” Your emotions began spiraling out of control. 

“Hey, Y/N! Calm down, hun! I’m sure he’s ok! I haven’t heard anything from the guys. I’m sure they’d call if he wasn’t ok.” He said, his words soothing your mind.  “I’d call you if that ever happened.”

Tears stung your eyes. “I didn’t think about that.” You said softly.

“Tell you what. Let me give Raph a call and I’ll call you back. Ok?” He said. 

You nodded. “Yeah. Ok. Thank you, Casey.”

“Sure thing! Be right back!” He hung up, a buzzing sound filling your mind as you pulled the phone away from your ear. 

Seconds felt like hours as you stared down at your phone, your eyes fixed on the time. 1:30am.. You squeezed your eyes shut, intense dread filling your gut. “Please be ok!” You whispered harshly. You were definitely going to insist that you at least be able to text him while they were out on patrol from now on! There’s no way your heart could handle another night like this! Your hand absentmindedly squeezed your phone as you sat down on the edge of your bed. “Come on, Casey!” 

“Hey.” Leo’s voice suddenly drifted across your bedroom.

You instantly stood, your phone falling to the floor as you locked eyes with him. “Leo.” You whispered. 

He took a few steps toward you, the base of his shell dripping as he left wet footprints on your carpet. “I’m sorry I’m late, Y/N.” 

You thought you’d be angrier at him, that you’d sling a few biting remarks, but the truth was, you were just glad he was there and most importantly that he was OK! You shook your head slightly, a few tears falling down your cheeks. Without another word you ran to him. You wrapped your arms around him, your pajamas soaking up the rain from his plastron. Leo sighed, wrapping his arms around you as well as he kissed the top of your head. 

“We need to come up with a better arrangement.” You said as you pulled back to look up at him. 

“I agree. Does this mean you’ll move in with me?” He smirked. 

“Among other things.” You sighed, leaning up to kiss him. Just behind you, your phone dinged. You didn't need to look to know it was Casey texting you that Leo was in fact quite alright.

@leosgirl82 @thelaundrybitch

[yarchurr]

the call

bay leonardo x reader

summary: You’re overworked (and highly possibly underpaid) and have been closing and opening the clinic for a few weeks now. On top of that, the clinic is smack dab in the middle of unsafe territory. Things go bump in the night, but you know people that knock back.

things to note: SFW, AFAB Filipino reader with she/they pronouns

small side note: it's funny, i wrote sopas when i was still in undergrad, but now i've graduated and took the boards and waiting for my results LITERALLY TODAY. I am NERVOUS AS SHIT.

EDIT: im a licensed dentist bitch!!!!!

It’s been a couple of weeks after my first run-in with the turtles.

To be honest, it all still feels unreal to me; the brothers look like they came out of a picture book like they just jumped out of my imagination. But they were very much real; as seen right now, in this moment, with my slowly heating up phone thanks to our group chat.

Can you believe it? They’re 6-foot mutated turtles who fight crime with their ninjitsu trained by an old mutated rat, and we were currently debating over donuts.

Spicy opinions were being thrown around. Myself included. 

silversmiles: idk i just dont think jelly donuts are THAT good

It only took 5 seconds before hell descended upon the group chat. Good thing this was the group without Splinter, or else I think he’d have thrown the phone to the sewers from the sheer chaos.

themikester: u did not just say that, sweetcheeks tiramithyu9000: but the filling is the best part! hogosha: i agree hogosha: on the jelly donuts arent good train, for clarification fearless-TS: While we’re sharing unpopular opinions, I think coffee is overrated. GREENMRCLEAN: coming from the guy who likes tea GREENMRCLEAN: im shocked stacey-moans: thats why i go for energy drinks silversmiles: i’ve seen you mix your coffee with red bull, jones. don’t think yourself above us hogosha: ^ (2)

Just as I set down my phone, the door slams. “Dear assistant.” Dr. Medina’s voice was sharp, veering poisonous. My hands automatically push my phone into a cranny, far from my bitch of a boss.

“Dr. Applegate just finished his last patient and we’ve got a little meeting to get to. Be a dear and clean up the place, hm?” 

Ugh, I can’t believe I’m closing this place. Alone. Again. Was what I wanted to say. Instead, I grit my teeth into a sickly sweet grin and using an even sweeter tone. “Of course, Dr. Medina.”

Either he senses my patience unraveling like twine or he simply relishes in my suffering, a smug grin showing his veneers was plastered on his stupid old face.

It wasn’t until he was by the door that he was the last person in the building besides me when he yelled. “Oh, and you’re opening tomorrow!” He just about shut the door before I dropped my head unto the desk and let out the throatiest groan I could muster. Fuck this fucking job.

Then I was alone in this 1600-square feet prison to clean up and tidy.

I didn’t bother texting April that I was coming home late, she knows that my bosses like to torture me. I haven’t been able to go home before 6 PM for 3 weeks now.

Perhaps that was my first mistake.

You see, this clinic wasn’t set up in the safest of neighborhoods. Sure, children lived along the houses around the block, but nobody wasn’t really walking around at nighttime. When the sun is out, the streets come alive with loud music and people shouting or fights breaking out. Luckily, I’ve mastered which streets would most commonly have commotions and unpleasant individuals running amok. Not to mention I also have my small can of pepper spray and a mini taser.

So when the telltale sounds of a commotion outside started while I was fixing up one of the chairs, I didn’t pay it much mind. Second mistake.

My infallible, full-of-shit boss seemed to forget to lock the door when he left. Maybe I should have checked it when I was alone, but it’s too late now. The chime at the door sounded off and I heard feet padding in. The voices that were talking were gruff and deep. I was about to check it out when through the small sliver of the door, I saw a hand holding a crowbar.

It felt like I was electrocuted from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. As slow as I could manage, I dropped to my knees, and scurried to hide behind the chair. It was big enough to cover my cowering form, I hope.

“Anybody home?” One of the voices yelled out, snickering. “Who the hell leaves the door open. Fucking idiot.”

“It’s like they’re begging to be robbed.” Another voice replies cheekily. I hear the waiting chairs being flipped over, papers flying off and various items fall to the floor as they rummage the reception area.

Oh God. What do I do what do I do– I have to call someone, I have to get the police, I have to… These thoughts race my mind as my trembling fingers reach for my phone in my pocket– at least I wasn’t stupid enough to leave it at my desk– and scroll before my fingers pick from my contacts unconsciously.

It doesn’t take two rings before the line connects. They call out my name first, unsure. “You’ve never called me before–”

“Leonardo.” I shakily whisper, clutching the device with two hands as my eyes continue to watch the door. My hands are cold. “S-s-someone broke in the clinic while I w-was cleaning up. I’m alone.” My voice breaks at the end of my sentences. “P…Please. Leonardo. Help me.”

“We’re coming.” His voice was resolute, the awkward tone from before is replaced with one I’ve heard countless of times. “Don’t hang up. We’re on the move.” He yells orders to his brothers and I hear movement, but they don’t register in my head anymore. More things are being flipped over and upside down, before I hear their footsteps move to the hallways. They bang open the doors, and rummage at the rooms inside.

My heart has never beat this fast before. My throat was closing up and I was already breathing out loud when they were ransacking the room right next to mine. I try again at my phone. “L…Leo… Leonardo?”

All I’m met with is the sound of movement, clothes rustling, and the wind.

Then it all happened in a blur.

The door was banged open. Try as I might, I’ve curled into the smallest ball I could muster, but they still see me. It was the two men, the one holding the crowbar was the first one to see me. A sick grin splits his rugged face as he keeps his eyes trained on me. “Well, well, well. Lookie here. A witness!”

His friend, the one holding a gun, sees me too and lets out a cackle. “So you’re the one who left the door wide open. Gotta say, we gotta thank your stupid lil’ head for making our job a lot easier!” Then he points his gun at me, and everything turns into a hundred in an instant. His lips move but I can’t hear it anymore, all I can hear is the pounding of my heart. 

My whole body is frozen still, but I can still make sense of a shadow that barrels into the two and wrestles the weapons out of their hold. My breathing is so uneven, and they don’t get better when my savior finally settles into view, and I can better see their face when they’re up close.

Crystal clear blue eyes stare back at me, and they look relieved. He breathes my name with a soft sigh. I think I say his name, but I don't hear myself say “Leonardo…”

His hands steady me to pull me up before they rest on my shoulders. 

I don’t remember much from the shock, but I’m surprised to see Casey. He pulls me into a quick hug as he sits with me on the floor. I don’t see any of the other turtles, or even Leonardo (didn’t he just save me? Where did he go?). The perpetrators were knocked unconscious, and handcuffed just before us. 

Officers flood into the clinic, some detectives ask me questions, and suddenly I’m surprised to see my bosses saunter through the front door. They immediately flock to me and they hug me, yes, even Dr. Medina was holding me tight, and was there as the police inspected the place.

The next time I open my eyes, it was around 4 in the morning, and I’m at my shared apartment with April, with said reporter snuggling me on the couch, fast asleep. Casey was snoring away on the recliner. April must have sensed my abrupt awakeness, as she groggily wakes up, before readjusting and leaning on me and went back to sleep. I follow her and went back to sleep.

I’m shook awake by my phone ringing. I blindly reach for it and answer, not looking at the number nor the name. They yell my name and I had to yank it away from my ear.

It’s my boss, screeching my name through the chopped speaker of my phone. “Are you well? Are you hurt? Where are you?” Then there’s another voice that was calming him down in a more stern tone, and they keep bickering a few inches away from the phone. 

“Mr. Medina, I’m fine.” I try to sound out with a dry throat. The sandpaper on my tongue struggles to articulate with the rest of my mouth as I speak. “I’m sorry I didn’t call right away after last night. It was…”

“A terrifying experience, yes, of course.” He supplies in the blink of an eye. “We’re at the clinic right now. We’re going over the mess with some investigators and police.”

Then someone else takes the phone and addresses you with a stoic tone. “You need not be here for further investigation, as we were made aware that the authorities already had a conversation with you the night before.” Dr. Applegate says so with a patient tone. “You are to take rest for the remaining days of the week off to rest and recuperate after this whole ordeal.”

“And you will be joined by another employee for closing whenever it is your shift to do so.” Applegate says with a more careful tone. “Are we clear?”

The sandpaper smoothens and I swallow. “Yes sir. Thank you.”

It’s as if he nods. “Further details will be discussed in a memo, which will be forwarded to you sometime later in the day. Rest well.” The phone clicks and you look down at your phone.

“Looks like you finally get a rest, after going through The Horrors.” April comments from beside you. Her hand props her up against the pillows. 

A sigh leaves me as I fall back. “I’ve never felt so terrified of my life.” I admit with a blank stare at the ceiling.

The reporter pats my arm comfortingly. “It always is, the first time.” 

“The first time—”

“Good morning to you too.” Casey groggily rises from the recliner, yawning up a storm. “How’re you feelin’?”

“I had the most severe panic attack in my life and I have the week off.” I answer. “I… think I’ll be fine.”

April gets up from the couch and flips through her phone as they saunter through the kitchen for breakfast. “The guys are blowing up. You should probably respond before they break through the-”

The open window is now invaded by four familiar figures. “Too late, Hogosha. We’re already in!” Michelangelo chirps as he makes his way through the space and sits at the floor beside the couch. 

“Sweet thing, you doing alright?”

“Monitoring your phone, your heart rate spiked around minutes ago.” Donatello chimes as he fiddles with something on his glowing armband. 

“Need us to beat someone up for ya?” Raphael asks as he follows April in the kitchen to help prepare breakfast. 

“No. Just… quiet.” I respond as I try to sit up, then I meet those beautiful eyes again. He doesn’t move from his spot by the window, and he doesn’t break his stare.

“Are you feeling better?” Leonardo says.

“Y-yes. Thank you. For answering the call last night.” I stumble through my words. His lips twitch into something akin to a smile and I had to swallow. 

Before I can make a fool out of myself any further, the two on kitchen duty bustle out plates to the coffee table and we all stuff ourselves full with eggs, meat, and pancakes. I slip a look at Leonardo as I sip on coffee. The ninja has some kind of 6th sense for stares, I suppose, as he meets my stare right away as he also raises his mug of tea to his lips. He looks electrified to meet my stare and he frantically looks away, but his eyes struggle to remain away from mine.

I can only imagine how childish we look from the eyes of the others. With how April was fighting back a grin and Michelangelo wiggling his eyebrows at Casey and his brothers that were not Leo, you could only guess.

[r1k-y9]

Prolonged Communication Chapter 3

It was the day after the Kraang’s attempt at an invasion. April was watching the television, slumped on her couch, watching idly. So much had happened. The memories flashed quickly in her head, like a videotape rolling each rollercoaster of emotions and what she had experienced.

She and the turtles may have celebrated the night before but that was probably a mistake considering her body aches from running around, skidding, and being held by leather restraints. 

Today, she is feeling the physical labor and she vows to take a rest day! No madness! No hanging with the brothers! No going out! She is staying in and lazing around!

-----

Casey stumbles, accidentally bumping a shorter bright redhead (or ginger? He couldn’t tell as the girl ran off quickly.), bidding a quick apology before continuing to type on his phone, occupied with his conversation with you. 

Real&LastName

dabestboy

wth?! da hell u mean an invasion hapned????!!

tf?????!!!

Real&LastName

Ikr :pepe_shrugs:

I had no idea either 

Until

I looked out my window

And

:boom_gif:

INVASION!!

-------------------------------------

[stellaspectral]

Sorry if the request is cringy but eh anyways asking doesn't hurt 😭 so what about rise donnie with reader who's completely overwhelmed with university finals, not understanding a single topica so donnie runs to the rescue and helps them out to study so kimda study date vibes? And also your writing is just *chefs kiss* 🤌 🫶

A/N: No worries, anon; this request isn’t cringey at all.

Though I wasn’t sure if you wanted Donnie and the reader to already be together or not. But I decided to write as if they’re friends, they like each other, but haven’t quite gotten to the point where they’ve confessed yet.

And thanks for the compliment! I hope you like this 💖

Not Just a Study Thing (fluff)

💜 ROTTMNT Donatello/Gender Neutral Reader 💜

CWs: Fluff, academic stress, and anxiety/feeling overwhelmed. All characters are aged-up.

Your dorm room is a disaster zone of discarded notes, empty coffee cups, and the growing weight of panic pressing in from every corner. The text in the book before you blurs into an indecipherable soup of academic jargon. It might as well all be alien hieroglyphics, you think, as your head drops to the open page.

“I don’t get it,” you mutter into the chapter on Advanced Quantum Thermodynamics. “I don’t get any of it.”

A groan escapes your lips as you try not to cry about the fact that the only thing you’ve successfully memorized is how close you are to a breakdown.

You’ve been wearing the same hoodie for three days. Beside you, a half-eaten bag of chips lay discarded next to piles of notes where your highlighters have bled through three pages. And you’ve re-read the same paragraph from your textbook five times in the past fifteen minutes—and it still feels like it’s written in ancient Greek.

You sit up, blinking hard, as if sheer willpower might make the equations on the page finally make sense. You reach for your phone, thinking maybe a quick scroll through social media will take the edge off. But the moment your screen lights up, a notification blares across the top: It’s a text from Donnie.

D 🐢💜: You still breathing?

You stare at the screen, thumbs hesitating, before replying:

You: Barely. I think academia is trying to murder me.

He doesn’t reply immediately. You slump further into your chair, your back aching from your poor posture resulting from hours hunched over textbooks. Just as you consider tossing your phone across the room, it vibrates again.

D 🐢💜: Need a study savior?

You don’t hesitate, your fingers flying over the screen before your brain catches up.

You: Honestly? I’m dying, Donnie. HELP.

D 🐢💜: Hang tight. Study hero incoming.

Your room’s a mess, but you don’t panic about the state of it; Donnie’s probably seen worse, considering he lives with three brothers and a father who’d rather be doing anything else but acknowledging his surroundings. So you decide to crawl into your bed and take a nap.

Eventually, there’s a familiar tap on your window. You rub your eyes, groggily rising from your cocoon of tangled blankets, and shuffle to the window. You peek through the blinds, seeing Donnie standing on the fire escape, and you slide the window up.

He enters, surveying the chaos with a raised brow as you flop back onto your bed. “Wow. This place could qualify as a Level 3 Disaster Zone. Should I call FEMA or just start a controlled burn?”

You half-heartedly throw a pillow at him, which he sidesteps effortlessly. “I told you. Academia is trying to kill me.”

He sets his tablet on your desk, sweeping aside an avalanche of loose papers. “Then allow me to counterattack. Let’s dismantle this quantum nightmare one equation at a time.”

Your heart skips at the sight of him. You pretend it’s the stress. Or the overabundance of caffeine. “I seriously don’t understand half this stuff,” you admit.

He pulls up your rickety desk chair, settling into it with that calm confidence he always exudes when he’s in problem-solving mode. “That’s okay. Understanding is kind of my thing. You just need to survive. I’ll do the rest.” He sits his backpack on the floor and unzips it, pulling out your favorite snack before tossing it to you.

You barely catch it, fumbling with it for a moment, which further deepens the flush on your cheeks. “T-thank you,” you stammer, trying to force a grin to cover up your awkwardness.

Donnie gives you a smirk, the kind that makes your stomach flutter. “You’re welcome,” he says casually, like he didn’t just show up like a knight in purple armor. “Now,” he claps his hands once and cracks open the textbook you abandoned, “let’s take a deep breath and start with the basics. Quantum Thermo’s just spooky physics with a heat problem. We can handle spooky.”

You move closer to the edge of the bed, still clutching the snack he gave you. “I’ve read this chapter like a dozen times. It’s all just … my brain going ‘nope.’”

He hums thoughtfully, scanning the page like it’s a casual morning comic strip. “Your brain’s probably doing the academic version of the blue screen of death.” He meets your eyes, tilting his head with a small smirk. “We’re gonna reboot it.”

You sigh, your shoulders slumping. “Can I just throw the whole thing into the metaphorical dumpster and walk away?”

“Tempting,” he replies with a grin. “But no. Come on, scoot over.”

You blink. “What?”

He points to the spare chair in the corner of the room. “I’m not letting you spiral alone.”

Your heart beats a little faster. But you grab the chair, put it beside his, and sit. He nudges your knee gently with his, just enough to ground you in the moment.

“Alright,” he says, eyes flicking from the textbook to your overwhelmed expression. “Step one: we’re not going to panic. Step two: we’re going to make this make sense. And step three, we’re going to keep you from exploding.”

You let out a weak laugh—more of an exhale, really—but it still feels like the first real breath you’ve taken all day. “You forgot step four,” you say, voice quiet.

“What’s step four?”

You glance at him. “Not letting me fail.”

He softens—and you think there’s something unspoken in the way he looks at you. “Not a chance,” he murmurs.

He slides the textbook a little closer to the two of you, flipping to the beginning of the chapter. As he reads, he grabs a nearby pen and starts scribbling on a clean sheet of paper. His handwriting is absurdly neat, his diagrams actually helpful instead of intimidating. He talks you through a problem slowly, explaining it in the most Donnie way possible, with the strangest metaphors.

And somehow, weirdly, it helps.

“Okay,” he says, pushing the paper toward you, “now you try.”

You stare at the problem, then at him. “What if I mess it up?”

“You will,” he says simply. “That’s part of it. Just give it a shot.”

So you do. Hesitantly at first, mumbling through each step, but he doesn’t interrupt. He just watches, chin propped in one hand, the tiniest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. When you finally finish, expecting him to correct you, he just nods.

“See? You didn’t spontaneously combust. Proud of you.”

You roll your eyes, but it’s hard not to smile. “Thanks, Donnie.”

He shrugs, but his tone is soft when he replies. “You don’t have to thank me. You’re important to me. I show up for my people.”

That makes your breath catch a little. You glance down at the page again, pretending to be more interested in what’s on it than the heat rising to your cheeks. You look at him, wondering if he realizes how easily he disarms your panic just by being here.

The study session stretches on. More problems, more snacks and caffeine—and more of Donnie casually dropping little encouragements like they aren’t melting your brain in the most pleasant of ways. Every time you falter, he’s there with a nudge in the right direction. Every time you get something right, he lights up like it’s a personal victory.

At some point, your head ends up resting on his shoulder as he reads out a confusing section. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t comment. Just shifts slightly so you’re more comfortable. You close your eyes for a moment, letting yourself breathe in his smell.

At some point, he pauses mid-sentence and glances at you. “Hey.”

“Hm?”

He gives you a crooked smile. “Next time you’re drowning in finals stress, call me before you go DEFCON 1, okay?”

You hum your agreement, not trusting your voice. His shoulder is warm beneath your cheek. He shifts again, careful not to jostle you too much, and continues reading. Eventually, you sit up, blinking yourself back into focus. “Sorry,” you mumble, rubbing at your face. “Didn’t mean to drool on you.”

“Not the first time someone’s fallen asleep during my explanation on thermodynamics,” Donnie says, deadpan. “But definitely the first time someone’s done it on my shoulder, though.”

You snort a laugh. “I think I needed that,” you admit. “The nap, the help. The … you.”

“Anytime,” he says. “Also, I believe you’re understanding the material now, at least.”

“Only because you’re basically a genius tutor with the patience of a saint.”

He chuckles softly, adjusting his arm so it rests lightly around your back. “Nah. I just care. A lot.”

You tilt your head, meeting his gaze. You open your mouth to say something—maybe something brave, maybe something vulnerable—but he beats you to it.

“You’re not alone in this, okay? Finals, stress, life—you’ve got me. Always.”

Your brain fizzles as you attempt to process his words.You stare at him, and for the first time today—maybe all week—your chest doesn’t feel so tight. “Donnie …” you start, your voice embarrassingly soft.

He raises a brow. “Yeah?”

You hesitate. You don’t know how to say ‘I think I like you’ without sounding like your brain short-circuited. So you settle for something safer. “I don’t think I could’ve made it through today without you.”

He exhales a quiet laugh. “Well, good thing you don’t have to.” Then, he clears his throat, like maybe this—this closeness—is affecting him just as much. “We can keep going. Or take a break. Your call.” His gaze is steady, but there’s a softness in his eyes you’ve only glimpsed before in rare, unguarded moments.

You take a deep breath, attempting to rein in your scattered thoughts. The responsible part of you, the one that actually wants to pass this monstrous final, screams, Study! The other part, the one currently replaying, ‘You’ve got me. Always’on an endless loop, just wants to stay near him, whatever you’re doing.

“Let’s … let’s keep going,” you decide. “Just a bit more.”

“Excellent.” He taps the textbook with a pen. “Now, where were we?”

His fingers trace lines in the book, then sketch new, surprisingly clear diagrams on the notepad. As you both lean over the limited desk space, his hand brushes yours occasionally. Each accidental touch sends a little jolt through you.

“Okay,” he says, after patiently breaking down a concept so dense you’d previously thought it was written in a dead language. “Your turn. This problem here.” He points to a question that, just a few hours ago, would have made you want to curl up under your blanket and weep.

You take a deep breath, pick up the pen, and look at the problem. Then you work through it, verbalizing your thought process. Donnie listens patiently, offering encouraging nods, interjecting with ‘mhm’ and ‘Good, what’s next?’ when you pause, his gaze focused and supportive.

Eventually, you reach an answer. You stare at it, then quickly double-check your work. “Is … is this right?” you ask.

Donnie leans in, his shoulder pressing against yours as he scans your calculations before he pulls back slightly. “Not only is it right,” he declares, his voice laced with satisfaction, “it’s elegantly solved. See? I told you you could do it.”

A wave of relief, so potent it’s almost dizzying, washes over you. You can’t stop the grin on your face, feeling ridiculously light. “Only because of you.”

He smiles, then glances at his phone, then back at you. “We’ve actually made some serious headway. How are you feeling? Brain still intact?”

“Surprisingly, yes. And a lot less like it’s about to liquefy and ooze out of my ears.” You look at the textbook, then at your notes filled with his neat handwriting and your own, now slightly more confident, scrawls. Then you look at him. “Thank you, Donnie. Seriously. You didn’t just help me study; you saved my sanity.”

“Anytime,” he says again, his voice softer this time, imbued with a sincerity that makes your chest feel warm. He gathers his things slowly, packing his tablet.

You watch him, a pang of something—disappointment?—hitting you squarely in the chest as he prepares to leave. The methodical zipping of his backpack is a mournful sound in the sudden quiet of your room. A knot forms in your stomach.

You don’t want him to go.

Before you can censor yourself, the words slip out. “Are you heading out already?”

He pauses, hand still on the bag, and turns fully towards you. “That was the plan,” he says, a hint of teasing in his voice. “However, we can adjust mission parameters. Have a counter-proposal?”

Your heart gives a hopeful little leap. “Well,” you begin, feeling a blush creep up your neck, “we did just conquer quantum thermodynamics … or at least, survive it. I thought maybe … that deserves a small celebration?”

“I was gonna head out to give you time to rest, but …” The corner of his mouth twitches upwards. “What did you have in mind?”

“Just … stay. Please.”

His hand, which had been resting on the zipper of his backpack, drops to his side. That one word—please—seems to land somewhere deep in him. His tone softens again. “Okay,” he murmurs. “Yeah. I can do that.”

You go over to your bed and sit. Donnie takes the hint, settling beside you. He doesn’t lean too close—not yet—but his presence fills the small space between you with something quiet and steady. For a few moments, there’s just silence. Then you lean back slightly, your shoulder brushing his. He doesn’t move away.

Instead, he shifts, easing both of you down so that you’re both laying beside each other on the mattress. You rest your head on his plastron while his fingers trail slow patterns along the base of your spine.

“I could fall asleep like this,” you say, voice drowsy, words laced with more honesty than you usually allow yourself.

“Good,” he replies. “I was kind of hoping you would.”

You look up at him. His expression is soft, open in a way he rarely shows. His arm wraps tighter around you as you settle in again, heart beating steadily beneath your ear.

“Donnie?”

“Hmm?”

You hesitate, then, “This … isn’t just a study thing, is it?”

He doesn’t answer right away—but you feel his breath hitch. He swallows, hand stilling briefly on your back. “No,” he says, voice barely a whisper. “Not for me.”

You nod against his chest, your fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his hoodie. “Good,” you murmur. “Me neither.”

As he begins to nod off, Donnie presses his chin lightly to the top of your head. “Sweet dreams, genius,” he whispers, brushing his thumb gently against your shoulder. “I’ve got you.”

You’re too exhausted to retort.

It isn’t long before you fall asleep like this—in his arms, your breath evening out into the soft, rhythmic sound of sleep.

He watches you for a long moment, his gaze tender. The worried lines that had etched themselves onto your forehead hours ago have smoothed out, replaced by a peacefulness he finds himself ridiculously fond of. Carefully, so as not to disturb you, he adjusts his hold, nestling you a fraction closer.

Mission accomplished, he thinks, not just the studying, but this too. This quiet moment, this feeling of you, safe and resting in his arms.

His own eyelids soon feel heavy. He rests his cheek against the top of your head again, your hair soft against his skin. His thoughts, usually racing, slow. With a final, contented sigh, his own breathing deepens, mirroring yours.

A soft smile graces his features as he, too, drifts off to sleep.

[applepie972]

Another little drawing, I hope you like it😛💖

I need to buy colored pencils 😭

[nesting-dreams]

Thinking about writing some really good, too sweet, fluffs for this fandom.

[cinnabarmawar]

Bloodstained - Chapter 3: First night

Chapter: [0] [1] [2] [3]

Note: Well, this one's a little boring, Hope you guys like it. But then again, I'll be off on a longer hiatus due to uni, I need some time to write the lore this AU of mine, All of a sudden it has lores and the chapters are longer, How did it happen? I also don't know. And I'm gonna hold the Leo design reveal for later chapters, it contains scenes I wanted write but gotta watch the pacing hehehehe...

Trigger Warning: Staring at you sleeping not in a loving way (if that counts), Leo is not a good person here

Can also read it AO3

You wished it was all a nightmare but it was not. That mutant really did come last night, nearly killed you this time. To wake up in the morning is a miracle and you are grateful for that. You shoved whatever random questions you had last night and bathed in the tub for a change. 

Even so, you could not shake off the feeling of the mutant grabbing your hair at one point. You decide to cut it but you soak yourself into the water letting your long hair flow for this will be the last time you keep your hair long before cutting it short and shower afterward. You love your hair, it is not too long or too short but you need to cut it as short as you can from this day, for your own safety. You are going to miss tying your hair into a bun daily.

You cut your hair as short as you can and carefully. You are not going for a pixie cut because tomorrow you have work and that means you need to consider the reactions of your coworkers at the diner, too drastic and they will suspect you.

Sure, they will be surprised by your new hairdo, especially Cindy, bubbly and friendly to you and everyone else and above all, a nosy girl who is into gossips and beautiful men and women alike. Fortunately, you are not so close to her, but you expect that ‘incident’ at the subway would have made her ramble safety advice to your female coworkers. It is a habit she has every crime news that surfaced in the media.

If only there is advice for this situation but you could not see any other choice except obey him. That mutant is too strong and insists on keeping you alive but for how long? You answer his question, does that not mean that you are useless to him now? 

It’s pointless to think about this. Today, you just want to ease your mind. Doing chores, preparing for work tomorrow. You really need it before tonight.

______________________________________________________________

Leo had no dream. Before he slept, on his way to his hideout he stopped a thief from stealing a woman’s purse without being seen. Then, a robber attempted to burn a shop with the owner absent, he threw a nail from afar and burned the man instead. Lastly, a gang of familiar mobs in formal suits were going to shoot him on the rooftop on his way back. 

He killed them all but he should have left one of them alive to interrogate about the massacre at the subway. Despite it, he did not feel like he made a mistake, strange. No, interrogating you did not count. He just wanted to know if there is someone suspicious that stands out. 

Hooded person or mutant at the edge of the station. No, that is not a clue at all. Too vague. 

Why does he bother thinking about that? Sure a mysterious civilian at the edge of the station but it could be anyone or any mutant.

He still inspects the strange mutagen in the bullet in one hand. The other hand held Donnie and April’s notes on the mutagen that he snatched. There is a difference between the mutagen from the Kraang and artificial mutagen that even he knew. 

The colour, the luminosity. Kraang mutagen only had one outcome mutation. Artificial had one outcome, but there are several stages and many fail to replicate the Kraang’s mutagen. He reads the scientist notes that he snatched from some illegal labs that he burned down on his previous mission. 

Some see it as a revolution in medicine, that it could make humans stronger to fight against mutants and aliens. The success that these scientists or doctors were aiming for is enhancing the human cells without turning them into mutants. Unfortunately, none came close to Bishop’s result, Leo would not call that sadistic bastard a human as far as he knows. WHat is crazier is that Bishop did not even use mutagen either.

Meanwhile some other notes seem to benefit from certain failure and take it as a success all that matters is restraint for whatever dark crime activity they're going to test run it with. Good thing, Leo destroyed those labs and their results too. 

He could not link it to what Genghis Khan did to the civilians at the subway. To call it a  massacre, does not sum up. Genghis Khan only does business on the black market. He rarely does attacks like these, and this bullet, it’s not even the purple poison ooze that he normally uses, it is experimental artificial mutagen or maybe a mix of the two substances...?

He should sneak into the punk frogs or any gang gatherings for that matter, but not tonight. He needs to keep you in check for a week. At least for now. 

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You did nothing much today except doing your daily house chores and preparing for work tomorrow like it was an ordinary day. You avoid taking afternoon naps tho, afraid that it will be nighttime when you wake up.  

You even had to eat your dinner early (and a lot too), fearing that he would pin you to the floor and maybe kill you if you were not asleep on the bed. Still, why you? 

It haunts you but you rather not make up answers. It is no different since the mutant himself is coming tonight. And you have work tomorrow, that is if you wake up. You remain on your bed, making sure to turn your night light on as you try to tuck yourself to sleep but a part of you is afraid. You pray that the mutant will not come in through the window.

You had thought about blocking the window with your wardrobe but, after last night, despite the failed, stupid plan of yours, you were warned, you tested him and yet he let you live. These thoughts wander in your mind until your eyelids weigh heavy and slowly shut. The last thing you see is the curtains of your window stagnant as sleep takes you for tonight. 

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Slowly open the window, his steps careful and you are still asleep on your bed, undisturbed by his presence. Leo figured that for two nights, you would be exhausted but still, a part of him thought he would find you awake or half. 

Under the covers, your body jolted. Leo slowly walks around your bed. Trying to find your face. 

You better not be awake, You better not be awake. 

He does not want to kill you, He does not want to kill you

Your eyes are closed, your chest rises and up and down slowly. Your body turns, flat on your back, snoring. Leo looms over you, raising a knife over your face, eye but his hands start to shake. He gripped the knife even harder but it was no use when he drew his blade away from you when his hand stopped shaking. 

Why, Leonardo? Why did you hesitate? She knows too much of you, you know what you must do. 

And yet, you obeyed him. If you had told someone about the train station, the press and the police would have swarmed you by now for information however small and vague it is. And if you had told them about him, rumors would spread and the street gangs would start hunting for him, and his family, his brothers…

He takes your phone on the bedside and opens the message app. He opened and read the recent messages in your high school groupchat. He read one of your replies.

[Y/N: My work ended early, but I was feeling sick, so I just went home.Sorry for not coming to the reunion.]    

He checks the other group chats. You mentioned nothing about his experience, or about him. You kept your word, you really kept your word.

Wait, why is he relieved from killing you? 

No. Even if you did not tell anyone about the incident, he should let his small blade pierce your flesh in any way, you have seen him too many times by now. 

He sat at the corner of your room. Staring at your sleeping figure, you look peaceful, compared to the other nights, he only sees you with a look of fear for him. The look of death that he normally sees on the rest of the witnesses that he killed. But they were not innocent, you however, really are just an ordinary civilian, a victim and survivor of the city's cruelty. Seeing you finally asleep peacefully gives him some kind of relief when he should not. 

Leo remembered that dream of a pair of hands reaching out to embrace him. It was the only peaceful dream that he had since he never came back to his family. He sat in the corner for a few hours, he did not doze off, fiddling with his blade as his eyes fixed on your sleeping figure. 

A plan forms in his head in this routine of theirs. Leo will also keep his words as well. He will see how it goes for this one week. He stood up and marked your bedside table with his blade before leaving through the window.  

[tasenwrobots]

They be living with the ultimate spoiler alert frfr