galaxy dusk

Your ankles ached.

Each step up the narrow fire escape sent a dull protest through your legs. The metal groaned softly beneath your weight as you climbed higher and higher, the cold railing biting against your palms. You'd long since lost count of how many flights you'd climbed. Six? Seven? (I had to) Twelve? At this point, every rusty landing looked exactly the same.

A puff of breath escaped your lips as you hauled yourself up another ladder.

Leonardo had a habit of choosing the most random places to spend time together.

Sure, they were convenient for him.

Easy.

Natural.

But every now and then, he seemed to forget that you weren't a six-foot-tall mutant ninja capable of scaling buildings like it was nothing more than a casual stroll.

You were human.

Painfully human.

And climbing to the top of an apartment building before the sun had even risen was not what you'd envisioned when he asked you to meet him.

The request had come the night before.

Simple.

Brief.

Typical Leonardo.

"Can you meet me tomorrow morning?"

"Tomorrow morning?"

"Before sunrise."

"Leo, that's not a morning. That's a crime."

His laugh had crackled softly through the phone.

"Trust me.."

And that had been the problem.

You did. Always blindly trusting him.

The city around you remained wrapped in darkness. Not complete darkness. The kind that comes just before dawn. The kind that feels soft around the edges.

Streetlights cast warm pools of amber onto empty sidewalks far below. Traffic was sparse. The distant sounds of New York had been reduced to a quiet hum that drifted through the cool air. The sky overhead was beginning to change. The stars were fading.

Black melted into navy blue. Navy blue into violet. Violet into the faintest hints of gold lingering at the edge of the horizon.

You finally reached the top.

With a relieved groan, you swung yourself over the final railing and stumbled onto the rooftop.

Your shoes scraped against the gravel-coated surface.

For a moment, you simply stood there, bent forward with your hands braced against your knees as you tried to catch your breath.

You were never letting him live this down.

"Took you long enough."

The familiar voice nearly made you jump out of your skin. You whipped around so quickly you almost lost your balance.

There he was.

Leonardo stood near the rooftop access structure, arms folded across his plastron.

You had absolutely no idea how long he'd been standing there.

The shadows seemed to cling to him naturally, blending him into the darkness until he chose to be seen.

The faint blue of his mask tails fluttered gently in the breeze.

"Oh, very funny."

You straightened with a groan, one hand immediately pressing against your lower back as if you'd aged forty years during the climb. Every muscle in your legs protested the movement. Your calves burned. Your ankles throbbed. You were fairly certain your lungs had filed a formal complaint somewhere around the sixth landing.

"Do you enjoy taking years off my life?"

Leonardo's eyes gleamed with amusement.

The corner of his mouth twitched upward first, the smile growing slowly as he watched you struggle to recover from what was, to him, a perfectly reasonable climb.

"A little.."

You gasped. Then pointed at him accusingly and dramatically.

"Oh, I knew it."

His smile widened. The bastard wasn't even trying to deny it.

"You just enjoy my suffering."

"Whoa, I wouldn't go that far."

A quiet laugh escaped him. Not one of those rare, full laughs that shook his entire frame. But, Just a low chuckle that rumbled in his chest. The kind that always seemed to sneak up on you. Those were the ones you liked far more than you should have.

"Come on, You only climbed a few flights of stairs."

"A few?"

You stared at him in disbelief. For a moment, you were too stunned to form a response. You knew he was messing with you at this point. but, played around in the bit.

"A few flights of stairs?" you repeated.

Your voice rose slightly with every word.

"Leonardo, I think I passed through three separate zip codes on my way up here."

His shoulders shook with another laugh. You watched as he ducked his head slightly, clearly trying—and failing—to hide how amused he was..

"Alright, what did you want to show me?"

You finally got to the point. The question had been sitting on the tip of your tongue ever since you'd started climbing.

Your curiosity had only grown with every flight of stairs, every cryptic response, every smug look Leonardo had thrown your way.

Now that you were finally standing on the rooftop, exhaustion forgotten, you found yourself almost bouncing with anticipation.

Leonardo's smile softened.

Instead of answering, he simply turned and started walking toward the far side of the building.

You followed immediately.

The rooftop was quiet.

Only the occasional hum of distant traffic drifted upward from the streets below. The city was still waking up. Still stretching itself awake.

The two of you crossed the weathered concrete in silence until you reached the edge. And then you understood..

The sun was just beginning to pull itself over the horizon.

Golden light spilled between the towering skyscrapers, flooding the city in waves of orange and amber. The clouds overhead seemed to catch fire, their undersides glowing with shades of gold, pink, and soft violet.

The skyline stood silhouetted against the growing light. For a moment, the entire city looked painted. Like something that couldn't possibly be real.

Your breath caught in you throat.

"Whoa."

The word escaped before you could stop it.

Beside you, Leonardo smiled.

"Right?"

There was a quiet pride in his voice.

Not pride in himself. Pride in the view.

Like he'd discovered something precious years ago and had finally decided to share it. He stepped forward until he reached the ledge.

Without hesitation, he lowered himself onto the concrete edge and swung his legs over the side.

The drop below should have looked terrifying. For Leonardo, it looked natural. Comfortable. Like this was a place he'd visited a hundred times before. Maybe more.

His shoulders relaxed as he settled in. The tension he carried every day seemed lighter here.

The responsibilities. The expectations. The endless pressure of leadership.

All of it seemed to fade beneath the warmth of the rising sun. For the first time that morning, he looked completely at peace. Then he glanced over his shoulder at you.

You were still standing a few feet behind him, completely captivated by the skyline. A small smile tugged at his lips. Wordlessly, he patted the space beside him.

An invitation.

You didn't need to be asked twice.

Without taking your eyes off the horizon, you carefully lowered yourself onto the ledge beside him.

The concrete felt cool beneath your hands. The wind brushed gently against your skin. And from here, the city stretched endlessly in every direction.

The river glittered like liquid gold. Windows reflected the sunrise in flashes of light. Countless rooftops disappeared into the distance.

It was unlike anything you'd ever seen before.

A hidden piece of New York.

A side of the city most people would never get the chance to witness.

"Wow."

You laughed softly, shaking your head in disbelief.

"It's beautiful."

Beside you, Leonardo's gaze shifted. Away from the skyline. Away from the sunrise. Away from the city he'd spent years protecting.

His eyes found you instead.

The golden morning light wrapped itself around your features. The breeze played gently with your hair. Wonder danced across your face as you stared out at the horizon, completely unaware of the way he was looking at you.

And God..

You looked beautiful.

More beautiful than the sunrise.

More beautiful than the city.

More beautiful than anything he'd brought you up here to see.

A warmth settled in his chest. The kind he never quite knew what to do with.

"Yeah," he said quietly, more to himself then you.

"It sure is."

The words left his mouth before he could stop them. Before he could realize he wasn't talking about the view anymore.

You turned toward him. Slowly. Curiosity flickering across your face. And immediately Leonardo realized his mistake. Because suddenly your eyes weren't on the skyline.

They were on him. His breath caught. For a split second, neither of you moved.

The early morning seemed to freeze around you.

The city below. The rising sun. The wind. Everything faded into the background.

All Leonardo could focus on were your eyes.vAnd the terrifying realization that you'd caught him staring.vHeat crept up the back of his neck.

He looked away almost immediately. Far too quickly.

His gaze snapping back toward the horizon as though the sunrise had suddenly become the most interesting thing in the world.

Beside him, he could practically feel your smile growing.

And somehow, that only made his heart beat harder.

"So..."

Your voice broke the silence.

Soft. Casual. Almost thoughtful.

You didn't look at him as you spoke. Your eyes remained fixed on the sunrise stretching across the horizon, watching the golden light slowly consume the city below.

Leonardo's stomach immediately tightened.

His mind jumped to the worst possible conclusion.

'She noticed.'

'Of course she noticed.'

He'd been staring. Not glancing. Not looking.

But hardcore Staring.

Like an idiot.

Like someone who had completely forgotten how to act normal. His grip tightened slightly against the concrete ledge. Beside him, you shifted.

"--you take all your dates here?"

The question slipped out so naturally that it took a second for you to process your own words.

And then your stomach dropped.

'Dates??'

You nearly winced. Of all the ways you could have phrased that question, that was what your brain had chosen?

You kept your eyes glued stubbornly to the skyline. As if looking anywhere else would somehow undo the fact that you'd just called this a date. Heat immediately crept into your face.

"It's not—that's not..."

You laughed awkwardly.

"I mean, not dates."

'Great,'

'Now you sounded worse.'

"I just meant..."

You groaned quietly.

"Oh my God."

The sunrise suddenly became fascinating. The buildings. The clouds. The birds. Anything but Leonardo..

"I meant people," you corrected quickly. "D-Do you bring people up here?"

The words came out rushed.

A desperate attempt to save yourself.

"Sometimes, Friends. Family. Anybody."

You risked a glance toward him. Only to discover he was already looking at you. His expression unreadable. Which somehow made everything ten times worse.

Your face burned.

"Sorry, I wasn't assuming this was a date."

A long awkward pause.

"Unless..it is?"

Your eyes widened. Immediately.

"Gpd, What is wrong with me?"

You buried your face in your hands. The mortification was instant. Complete. Absolute.

Beside you, Leonardo froze.

Every single thought in his head seemed to come to a screeching halt. Because somehow, impossibly, the conversation had become even more dangerous than being caught staring.

And for perhaps the first time all morning, the fearless leader of the turtles found himself completely speechless.

Leonardo prayed his feelings for you were still safely hidden.

Prayed..

Because if there was ever a moment for them to reveal themselves, it would be now.

Not when he'd spent years carefully keeping them tucked away behind friendship and teamwork.

Not after all the effort he'd put into convincing himself that he could live with simply being your friend.

Not now.

The silence stretched between you.

The sunrise continued to climb higher into the sky.

Golden light spilled across the rooftops, painting everything in warm amber hues.

Leonardo stared out at the horizon, forcing himself to look anywhere but you.

His pulse hammered against his chest.

You'd called it a date.

Maybe accidentally.

Maybe not..

And now his mind was running circles around itself trying to figure out what you meant. Part of him wanted to pretend he hadn't heard it. The safer part. The smarter part. The leader.

The part of him that spent every day calculating risks and consequences.

But another part of him—a much louder part this morning—kept asking the same question.

'What's the worst that could happen?'

He faced impossible odds every day.

He fought aliens. Criminals. Mutants. Entire armies.

Surely he could survive a conversation.

Surely, he could survive talking to you.

Leonardo took a slow breath.

Straightened his posture slightly.

And tried to summon the confidence he wore so naturally everywhere else.

The confidence his brothers always assumed came effortlessly.

The confidence that felt strangely absent whenever you were involved.

"You could say that."

The words left his mouth smoother than he expected.

His gaze remained fixed on the horizon. As though his heart wasn't threatening to beat its way out of his chest.

You blinked. Slowly turning toward him. One brow lifting.

"You could?"

There was amusement in your voice now.

Dangerous amusement.

The kind that made him feel like you were about to start picking apart every word he said.

Leonardo swallowed.

"Yeah."

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"This is usually where I bring people I like."

The second the sentence left his mouth, he realized it hadn't helped his case at all.

Not even a little.

Because now there was a different kind of silence.

A heavier one.

The kind that settled directly between two people.

You stared at him.

He kept his eyes on the skyline.

Coward.

And he knew it.

A nervous laugh escaped you.

"People you like?"

"Mm."

The smile on your face grew.

"You know, most people would just say friends."

Finally, Leonardo glanced at you.

His eyes met yours.

And for a moment, neither of you looked away.

The sunrise reflected in your eyes.

Gold.

Warm.

Beautiful.

His carefully constructed confidence began cracking almost immediately.

Because this wasn't a battlefield.

There was no strategy.

No training.

No plan.

Just you.

Looking at him.

You looked down.

At his hand.

It rested on the concrete between the two of you, close enough that if you shifted even slightly your fingers would brush against his.

Your stomach immediately twisted itself into knots.

Don't.

Your brain was quick to intervene.

Absolutely not.

Terrible idea.

Do not hold his hand.

Your eyes remained fixed on it anyway.

The sunrise stretched across the city below, flooding the skyline with shades of gold and amber, but suddenly all of your attention had narrowed to the few inches separating your hand from his.

You swallowed.

Maybe he wouldn't mind.

Maybe he would.

Maybe you were completely misreading everything.

The staring.

The rooftop.

The way he'd looked at you moments ago.

The way your heart practically stopped every time he smiled.

God.

If this went wrong, you'd never recover.

You'd have to move.

Change your name.

Possibly leave the country.

Your fingers twitched against the ledge.

‘Don't do it.’

‘Seriously.’

‘What are you thinking??’

But despite every warning your brain threw at you, you couldn't quite bring yourself to pull your hand away either.

And while you sat there internally fighting for your life, Leonardo was having a crisis of his own.

Because he had noticed. Of course he had.

He'd noticed your hand the second you'd sat down beside him.

Noticed how close it was.

Noticed the way your fingers occasionally flexed against the concrete. Noticed everything.

His pulse hammered against his chest. He should leave it alone. That would be the smart thing to do.

The safe thing..

The reasonable thing.

Unfortunately, reason had been steadily abandoning him since the moment you'd climbed onto this rooftop.

Before he could overthink it any further, he made a decision.

A small one.

Barely a decision at all.

His fingers shifted.

Just enough to brush lightly against the back of your hand. The contact lasted less than a second. Yet it felt like lightning.

Every nerve in your body immediately became aware of it. Your breath caught.

The world seemed to narrow. The city disappeared. The sunrise disappeared.

Everything disappeared.

Leaving only the feeling of his fingertips grazing your skin.

Neither of you moved.

Neither of you spoke.

The silence stretched. Long and harsh.

Your heart pounded so hard you were convinced he could hear it.

Slowly, cautiously, you glanced toward him from the corner of your eye.

Leonardo remained focused on the horizon.

Or at least he was pretending to be.

You could see the tension in his shoulders.

The slight stiffness in his posture.

The way his jaw had tightened.

He was nervous.

The realization sent warmth blooming through your chest.

Because if Leonardo was nervous, then maybe you weren't imagining this after all. Gathering every ounce of courage you possessed, you slowly turned your hand.

Palm upward.

An invitation.

A silent question.

The movement was small.

Subtle.

But Leonardo noticed immediately. His breath hitched.

For a moment, he simply stared. Then his hand moved. Carefully.

Almost reverently.

His fingertips brushed across your palm. Tracing the natural lines there.

Following each crease with an attention that made your entire body shiver. The touch was gentle. As though he was afraid you'd disappear if he pressed too hard.

The roughness of his calloused fingers contrasted against your skin.

Your pulse jumped every time he moved.

'God.'

'He was probably being unbearably cute right now.'

'Probably blushing.'

Probably trying and failing to act calm.

But you couldn't bring yourself to look directly at him.

You were far too aware of every place his skin touched yours.

Meanwhile, Leonardo couldn't stop thinking about how soft your hand felt.

How perfectly it fit beneath his. How long he'd imagined this. How many times he'd wondered what it would be like.

The sunrise painted your joined hands gold. For a few precious seconds, neither of you spoke. Neither of you needed to.

Then, finally, you closed your fingers around his.

Holding him there. Holding his hand.

A warmth exploded through Leonardo's chest so suddenly it nearly stole his breath. Fireworks. Best way to describe his feelings right now is fireworks.

His thumb brushed softly against yours.

And for the first time all morning, neither of you looked away.

Far below, New York continued to wake. The city buzzed with life. The sun climbed higher. And somewhere in the back of Leonardo's mind, he knew he should probably be heading home soon.

The daylight was growing stronger by the minute. The risk of being seen was increasing. Soon he'd have responsibilities waiting for him again.

But as he sat there with your hand in his, the morning sunlight spilling across the two of you, none of that seemed particularly important.

Because for this moment, you were here.

Holding his hand..

And somehow, that made everything worth it..

A/N: Sorry for not posting any fics in a bit. I’ve been reallllly busy.

Leonardo was furious. He almost never was.

For years, he and his brothers had protected New York from the shadows. They had stopped robberies, rescued civilians, dismantled Foot clan operations, and fought battles the city would never even know had happened. They asked for nothing in return—not recognition, not medals, not even a simple thank you.

They had long accepted that they would never be heroes in the public eye.

But what happened tonight still stung.

It had been an accident,

A group of construction workers had been caught in the middle of a Foot Clan ambush, taken hostage simply because they had stayed late on the job. Leo and his brothers had stepped in without hesitation. They fought the soldiers, shielded the civilians, and made sure every last worker escaped unharmed.

Not one of them had bothered to say thank you. Instead...

They screamed..

Some had frozen in place, eyes wide with terror. Others stumbled over themselves trying to get away, looking at the turtles as though they were just another threat. A few couldn't even bear to look at them, their faces twisted in fear and disgust.

'Monster.'

'Freak.'

'Abomination.'

None of those words had been spoken aloud. They didn't have to be.

Leonardo could see them in every horrified expression. He stormed through the lair, striking the concrete hard enough to echo down the tunnels. His jaw was clenched so tightly it ached, and every muscle in his body remained wound with the adrenaline of the fight.

It wasn't that he was angry because he was a turtle. He never wished to be human.

He loved his family. He loved who he was, and he would choose this life a thousand times over if it meant growing up beside his brothers.

But tonight had reminded him of something he could never escape. To the rest of the world... He wasn't Leonardo.

He wasn't a son, He wasn't a brother, He wasn't a protector, He was just another mutant,

But a freak of nature. Something unnatural..

Something people looked at with fear before they ever had the chance to see who he was beneath his shell.

And after years of risking his life for a city that didn't even know his name...

Leonardo was tired..

Tonight, you had been waiting for him.

It had become something of a routine. On nights when patrol ran late, you'd stay in the lair until they returned, always catching the small window of downtime before everyone scattered off to bed. More often than not, you'd end up half-asleep on the worn, makeshift couch, wrapped in a blanket while the television played quietly in the background.

Tonight was no different.

Your eyes were heavy when you heard the familiar sound of footsteps echoing through the tunnels. The turtles had finally made it home.

One by one, they filtered into the lair.

Mikey was the first to complain, dramatically throwing his hands into the air as he recounted every inconvenience from the night's patrol. Donnie wasn't listening, already muttering to himself about repairing a cracked piece of equipment. Raphael looked just as irritated, grumbling under his breath as he peeled off his gear.

Normally, Leonardo would've had a sarcastic remark ready for Raphael or a tired chuckle at one of Mikey's jokes. He would've reminded his brothers to keep their voices down before they woke Splinter.

Tonight, he walked straight past without saying a word.

Without so much as a glance in your direction, he walked straight past the living area. His shoulders were rigid. His jaw was tight.

Even from across the room, you could feel the tension rolling off him. The dojo doors slid open with more force than necessary before closing behind him with a dull thud.

You frowned. Something was wrong.

You had known Leonardo for years. Long enough to recognize the subtle changes no one else seemed to notice—the way he carried himself when something weighed heavily on his mind, the quietness that replaced his usual calm, the way he shut everyone out when he was trying to shoulder the burden alone.

Your feelings for him had only grown stronger over the years.

You'd never told him. Of course not.

Maybe because you were afraid of ruining the friendship you cherished so much. Maybe because what the two of you already had felt too precious to risk. But seeing him disappear into the dojo without a word... You couldn't ignore it.

After a brief glance toward the hallway to make sure no one needed you, you quietly pushed yourself off the couch and followed after him.

The dojo doors were still slightly ajar when you slipped inside.

Leonardo stood at the far end of the room with his back (or shell ig lol) to you, shoulders rising and falling with slow, measured breaths. His hands rested on his hips, the tension in his body obvious even in the dim light.

His eyes weren't focused on the weapons lining the walls.

Instead, they were fixed on the shallow engravings carved into the wooden beams years ago. Small scratches. Crooked initials. Little marks that had no business surviving this long.

The four brothers had carved them there when they were children, long before patrols, leadership, and the weight of protecting an entire city had settled onto Leonardo's shoulders. Splinter had scolded them endlessly for it.

For a long moment, you simply watched him. He looked... lost.

"Leo?"

Your voice barely rose above a whisper, careful not to shatter the silence.

"Are you okay?" His shoulders stiffened. A sharp breath caught in his throat before he slowly exhaled, the sound carrying more exhaustion than anger.

Only then did he turn to face you.

The frustration that had been written across his face moments ago softened the instant his eyes met yours.

It was subtle.

Anyone else would have missed it. But you knew him too well.

The hard lines in his expression eased, and when he finally spoke, his voice carried that quiet gentleness reserved only for you—the one hidden beneath the commander's confidence, the leader's authority, and the eldest brother's constant responsibility.

A side of Leonardo that almost no one else ever got to see.

A side of Leonardo that almost no one else ever got to see.

Leonardo trusted you with anything.

His life. His family. His heart.

"...Just a long night," he murmured, unable to meet your eyes.

You weren't buying it.

You knew Leonardo too well.

You knew the subtle shift in his posture when something weighed on him. The way his shoulders became rigid whenever he convinced himself he had to carry everything alone. The quiet sighs he thought no one noticed. The way he'd smile just enough to reassure everyone else while convincing himself he was fine.

He was always looking after everyone.

Very rarely did anyone look after him.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," you said gently. "I just... I've known you long enough to know when something's eating at you."

A tired breath escaped him.

"God, I hate that you can read me so easily."

Leonardo turned back toward the wooden beam, absentmindedly tracing one of the faded initials carved there decades ago.

"When we were kids," he said quietly, "I thought if we trained hard enough... if I became strong enough... then one day everything would make sense."

His thumb lingered over the old carving.

"I thought protecting people would be enough."

You stayed silent, letting him find the words.

"I've spent my whole life trying to become someone worthy of leading my family."

He hesitated. "And sometimes I wonder.."

His voice was almost too quiet to hear. "...if it even matters."

Your brow furrowed.

"What do you mean?"

He let out a holllow laugh.

"No matter how much good we do..." He shook his head. "No matter how many lives we protect, no matter how many times we risk everything..."

He looked down at his worn three fingered hands.

"...we're still just mutants."

His fingers curled slowly into his palms. There wasn't shame in his voice. Only exhaustion.

"I've never wanted to be human."

He looked up at you for the first time since you'd entered the dojo.

"But sometimes..."

His expression softened into something heartbreakingly vulnerable.

"...I wish people could look at me and see more than what I am."

The words hung between you.

"I wish..." he admitted, "...someone could look at me and just see... me."

Silence settled over the room once again. You took a slow step toward him. Then another. Until there was barely any space left between you.

You reached for his hand. He didn't pull away.

Instead, his fingers closed around yours almost instinctively, like they had been searching for your touch long before you ever offered it. His grip was warm, firm, but careful—like he was afraid that if he held on too tightly, he might break something he wasn’t meant to keep.

Your thumb brushed slowly over the back of his hand. You hesitated for the briefest moment, your eyes lowering.

Three fingers.

Thick, strong, not human in the way most people would define it.

But familiar. Then you looked back up at him.

"I see you," you said quietly.

His breath caught—so subtle you almost would’ve missed it if you didn’t already know him that well.

A flicker of something passed through his expression. Surprise. Uncertainty. Something softer beneath it that he rarely allowed himself to show.

You smiled gently, never breaking eye contact.

"I don't see a mutant,"

"I don't see a monster,"

"I don't even see the leader everyone depends on,"

Your fingers gave his hand a small, grounding squeeze.

"I see the kindest soul I've ever known."

"I see someone who's spent his whole life carrying everyone else's burdens."

"I see someone who's so afraid of failing the people he loves that he'd rather break himself than let them down."

Your voice softened even further, almost lost in the quiet of the dojo.

"And I see Leonardo...."

For a moment, he didn’t move. Didn’t even seem to breathe properly. His gaze stayed locked on yours, as if he were trying to understand whether you were real—or if this was something his mind had finally given him in place of everything he’d been missing for too long.

His throat worked slightly, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the shape of it. When he finally exhaled, it came out shaky.

And his grip tightened just a fraction around your hand—not enough to hurt, just enough to prove he was still there.

Still holding on. Still being seen.

For perhaps the first time in his life…

Leonardo believed someone truly did..

A/N: I keep starting new fics instead of finishing the ones sitting in my drafts...

Also, if you think ts is corny:

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

Imagine,

Leo and his brothers were out on patrol, perched atop a weathered rooftop overlooking the city below. The skyline glittered beneath them, the streets alive with distant headlights and muffled sirens. Leonardo had made it a habit to keep his phone tucked away during patrols—sometimes he'd even leave it back at the lair entirely. Tonight, though, it sat in one of the pouches on his belt.

It buzzed. He ignored it. Then again. And again. Eventually, he spared it the quickest glance.

You: I miss youuu.

A minute later,

You: Come over, pleaseeee?

The corners of his mouth threatened to lift. He locked the screen without replying.

Duty first. Always.

Another vibration followed not long after..

Then another. Raphael shot him a sideways look.

"Your phone gonna quit buzzin' anytime soon?"

"It's nothing."

Leonardo slipped the phone back into his belt, trying to focus on the streets below. It buzzed again.

This time...

It was a photo..

His thumb hovered over the notification before he finally gave in.

The picture filled his screen almost instantly.

You were curled up on your bed, the heavy white duvet barely covering your body. Just enough to show Leonardo that you weren't wearing anything..

The text that followed read:

You: your spot's getting cold...

Leo exhaled slowly through his nose. Why must you tease him like this?

He quickly shoved his phone back into his pocket before any of his brothers saw the erotic display on his screen.

You: Can't finish without my favourite turtle:(

Leonardo closed his eyes for a brief moment, pinching the bridge of his nose as the smallest smile escaped him.

Raphael caught it immediately. giving him a stern side eye.

"He's smiling," Mikey teased, pointing accusingly.

Leo closed his eyes for a brief moment before letting out a weary sigh.

"...Cover my route for twenty minutes. I'll be back soon."

Raphael barked out a laugh.

"Twenty? That's it?"

Donnie adjusted his goggles. Looking at Leo for his reply.

Leonardo's face warmed just slightly beneath his mask.

"...Thirty."

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

Leonardo was never typically one for PDA. He loved you, you loved him– publicity wasn’t exactly either of your fortes, for that matter. 

Gripping each other’s hands, big hugs that everyone could see, minute-long kisses– eh. He was iffy about it. If you tagged along for a patrol, fine! You were in private. He was perfectly okay with it. 

But after the turtles became publicly recognized figures, it all went a little downhill. Was he supposed to be doing this with you in public? With people watching? He preferred privacy, where he could prove to you with his own genuine actions that he loves you. Where he could show you how he loves you. Anything else felt performative.

Maybe it was the “human” aspect of it all. Was that something that everyone did? Made a huge deal out of their lover in public? He found other things much more appealing compared to those huge, unnecessary actions. Not that it was wrong.

He likes quiet affection.

Leo prefers to hug you from behind. Rest his chin gently along your shoulder. Move the inner side of his face towards your neck. Nuzzling, as his own personal research had called it. 

He’ll softly kiss the outside of your neck. Not too much, he saves the excessiveness for personal moments. Leo likes to see the soft smile appear on your face if his breath just happens to brush too close; tickling your skin. He’d stop if you ask him to, but that man is a tease.

When he’s tired or overstimulated, he presses the side of his face into your neck. Maybe one or two kisses this time. Lingering.

It’s the closest he’ll get to resting on top of you. He’s far too heavy. If he can just stay there, forever; he’s content. 

When you two are in private, he conforms a bit more to his turtle instincts. 

He bites. 

Only a little, teensy tiny bit, though. 

It’s not aggressive. Never is he aggressive. He does it when he’s feeling playful or wanting your attention. The latter, more often.

Like his nuzzling, he likes seeing your reaction. A little laugh, a small gasp, a flinch. It’s only a gateway for him to be able to tease you more.

When he’s feeling particularly bold in private, he’ll gently bite along your jawline or collarbone while keeping his lips close to your face. Leo likes watching you, that’s all. 

His hands wander. Only occasionally. You’d swat them away– he’ll roll his eyes playfully, but accept defeat.

The biting is definitely a more suggestive one-shot or story I'll lean more into someday, trust 🤞

Aside from all of those shenanigans, he likes tracing shapes on your skin with his fingers, mimicking the brush strokes he’s been practicing in shodō with Splinter.

He treats you as if you were his own personal canvas. 

Leo finds his calm in teaching you the meanings of what he’s tracing: Peace. Sunlight. Heart. 

His personal favorite: purpose. He’d trace that one on you because he saw you as his “reason for being.”

“You’re the first time I’ve been able to draw these for an actual reason,” he’d mumble, voice muffled as he was once again shoved straight up against your backside to cuddle. Drawing these japanese calligraphy symbols had always felt like a significant part of Leo’s character; they were really only found on their masks or shells, really!

Splinter was the one to teach Leo how to illustrate the symbols. Ink to canvas. Pen to paper. They were full of significance and meaning; all condensed into a few tiny characters.

He likes the soft feeling of your skin against his colder, three-fingered hand as he traced.

Leonardo could do this forever, if you’d let him.

Comfort had always come first when it came to what you wore.

Oh, how loyal you were to those baggy sweatpants of yours. And sweatshirt. The white hoodie you once possessed has long been forgotten; it’s once pure fabric now stained a charcoal grey, with how often you’ve sported it.

You wore other things too, of course— but the comfy clothing was your go-to. The hoodie was just the quickest thing to grab. You weren’t unhygienic with it— quite the opposite, actually. Very clean!! You always wore your signature scent, cleansing yourself practically nightly. But, you did prefer clothing that masked your figure, for a variety of reasons. Nobody ever asked. Nobody necessarily cared. Comfort was your thing; it made you happy.

But one day, some issues arose. A date, of some sort? It knocked you straight out of your comfort zone.

“That’s life,” your peers would always remind you. You’d groan in annoyance. You glared at the once white hoodie, the new color of it having finally registered in your head.

Maybe it is time for a change.

(turtles not in order 😞)

Donnie

At 2:00 sharp, you had an interview. A new (and well-paying) company had offered you a spot, and if you wanted the job; you had to make one last effort.

That stupid, in-person interview and presentation of your skills.

So, you decided to ask for some help.

Standing in Donnie’s lab, it feels no different than it has before. Purple lighting, whirring from broken electronics, a slight warm draft from his overheating machines yet still present is the feeling of the cool tile on your feet… it felt like home. You could still feel the butterflies in your stomach from anxiety.

Business attire is… awkward on you. Unfamiliar, for the most part. The fabric is much, MUCH more tight fitting and defining compared to your baggy sweatpants you’ve stained. You keep tugging at the sleeves, resisting the urge to pull them down over your hands even though they stop short, exposing your wrists. Your shoes feel, somehow, too adult? Hell, is this what it feels like?

Yuck. At least you smell like yourself. Clean and absolutely doused in your favorite perfume.

Donnie said he’d help you prep.

It was with the basics: interview questions, presentation pacing, eye contact. Lots of things that made you nervous, even with him.

He’s sitting at his desk when you walk in, multitasking between his computer monitors and a half-dismantled device he’d been messing with for the past week or so. “Hi, love,” he says without looking up, welcoming you in– voice already slipping into a more gentle-toned lecture mode. “How are you feeling about your inter–?”

He finally looks up. And stops.

“…Hi,” he says, quieter than usual.

You frown. “Hi?”

Donnie exhales, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Sorry. You just surprised me. Brain went blank for a minute. You look… wow. You look amazing,” he murmured, swiveling his chair toward you fully, resting his elbows on his knees. He analyzed your outfit, clearly approving of what you had chosen to wear for the day. A light blush caressed your face; you didn’t turn away, not now. If you were already turning away and playing shy at his words of affection, how easily would you turn away with the hiring managers?

“Thank you. I don’t really know how I feel about it… it’s not, uh, me.” You stifle out a laugh– clearly not a real one. He noticed, but didn’t pry.

“Yeah, I’ll give you that. Doesn’t take away from how good you look, though.” You shot him a look. “Aren’t you supposed to be helping me with interview questions?” The combat came quickly from your lips; Donnie laughed and spun around again, grabbing a piece of paper. He motioned for you to sit. You did so.

After a long while of answering questions, you do feel prepared—more than you expected to, at least. The anxiety doesn’t vanish completely, but it dulls, settling into feelings that are manageable instead of overwhelming. Donnie walks you through everything one last time, correcting you gently when you rush, reminding you to breathe when you forget to. Which was, to be fair, quite frequently.

The clock ticks over to 1:20. You should leave soon if you want to get there by 1:45—earlier, even, if you want time to practice.

You hesitate. “I am… so terrified, right now, Don. What if I mess it up?”

“You won’t.” he says immediately, no pause. “And even if you do, I promise it doesn’t define you as a person, as much as you think it does.” He pulls you into his arms for one last hug, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before letting you go. “Besides,” he says, tone light again, “I am working on a flamethrower… if you decide you want to dramatically destroy the outfit afterward. As much as I like it, I have a feeling you want it gone.”

You glance up. “Really?”

He smiles, small and fond. “No. Wish I was,” he chuckles. “But you do have some extra clothes in the back.”

You snickered. “That’s why you’re my favorite.”

“That’s why you’re dating me, thank you.” He sarcastically corrects. You roll your eyes and grab your keys.

Raph

Somehow, by a minor miracle of persistence and sheer luck, you had managed to find a pool that was actually open. Not just open, but entirely deserted. It was situated outside, perched precariously on the very top floor of a high-rise hotel; a shimmering, slightly dirty rectangle of blue in the dark night. Even a hot tub was placed nearby, the rainbow LED’s left on and shining from the last person who used it. No one else was around—no loud families, no splashing children, no lifeguards. Just you, and your boyfriend, finally able to carve out some time for a proper date. Or, at least, what you could assemble of one with severely limited resources and the time of day– he still had patrol.

The air was sharp and cold, compared to the pool water. The night itself was silent. The only light came from the pale moon, the many stars, and the yellowish glow of the distant streetlamps on the major avenues below. The hotel's pool lights were a soft, submerged turquoise, making rippling patterns on the stained white mosaic tiles.

The only sounds disturbing the quiet were the gentle slosh of the water and your own steady breathing. You quickly dipped and withdrew your toes from the pool. "Yeah, I might just stick to the hot tub," you decided. Raphael mirrored your action, wincing at the cold. For a turtle, he was remarkably particular about the temperature of the water.

Taking a breath, you took off the giant shirt that Raph had lent you for the hike there. It was stained. Messy. Not like you cared, it was what you wore half of the time, anyway. Underneath the giant shirt was a dark scarlet red bathing suit; one you’d specifically bought because it matched his signature color. You noticed he would stare more, when you did that. Wore red.

Raph didn’t move right away. He stayed where he was, feet planted against the cold concrete, arms crossed, eyes fixed on you like he was trying to convince himself he was seeing this correctly. I mean, he was aware he was going to see you in a bathing suit, he’s seen you in less- but this was… fuck. The neon from the hot tub caught the water on your skin, reflected in soft pinks and reds, and his jaw tightened.

“…Jesus,” he muttered under his breath. He was warm himself.

“You okay?” You ask, dipping into the hot tub. You sat on the ledge in the tub, tilting your head back onto the concrete where the ground was at. “Love, get in. This feels amazing.”

“Yeah,” he said, finally. “I’m comin’.”

He pushed off the railing and moved towards you, his gear set aside and his bandana kept on. Even here, even now, he checked the perimeter without thinking, eyes flicking to the stairwell door and the dark edges of the rooftop before he stepped closer. Old habits– you didn’t try to break him out of it.

He eased down into the hot tub beside you, shoulders sinking under the water. The heat hit him and he visibly relaxed, head tipping back for half a second. Raphael’s muscles relaxed; something he doesn’t do often. “Okay,” he muttered. “Yeah. That’s… that’s better.” He glanced at you again, slower, making sure you knew damn well that he was staring. One arm stretched along the edge of the tub behind you.

As his eyes trickled down your form, Raph started rambling again. “The red ain’t fair, sweetheart.” He said, messing with the hem of the suit.

You shifted closer without thinking, the water sloshing gently between you. “Oh, fair?” You chuckled. “There’s rules now?”

“Yeah, well,” he said, voice low, arm firm along the tub behind you as your knee brushed his, “you’re makin’ it real difficult to care about patrol after this.” The turtle sank deeper into the hot tub, bringing you with him but catering you to the top of his plastron to keep you above the water. “Water feels too nice. And you too, I guess.”

You smirked, letting him have the tease. Raph’s eyes flicked to the skyline, then back to you, jaw tight but softened at the edges.

“It’s worth it.” He groaned, letting his head rest on the inner dip of your neck.

Leo

When Leo opened the door and found you standing there in a dress, his first reaction was silence.

He had been expecting nothing more than a brief exchange. Your brownie container returned, a quick smile, maybe a comment about the formal fundraiser you had mentioned earlier in passing. Instead, he was faced with something he somehow hadn’t prepared himself for: you, presented in a state of pure professionalism and put-togetherness (?) he rarely saw. Not that he minded; he loved you for you. Your dress wasn’t extravagant, nor was it too flashy or unique. It moved with you naturally, the fabric following the line of your posture rather than concealing it. Whereas your usual baggy clothes softened your presence, your dress clarified it. It defined you. And by God, did Leo love it. He took a controlled breath before speaking.

“You look beautiful,” he emphasized, clearing his throat and fixing his posture to stand a little straighter.

You smiled, small and self-conscious, already shifting your weight. You told him you were only there to retrieve what you’d forgotten, that you didn’t have time to linger. The fundraiser for work was waiting. Responsibility was still there. You didn’t want to leave, but there was truly no choice; time was of the essence.

He stepped aside to let you in, but when you moved to take the container and leave just as quickly, he gently stopped you. Leo placed a hand on your back and tilted his head a little to murmur a proposition.

“I don’t want to leave your coworkers waiting. I know you have somewhere to be. I just…” He paused, choosing his words with care. “Can I keep you here, for a few, if that’s alright? Nothing more than that. A few minutes,” he requested, running his hands up and down the fabric of the dress. Giving in, you nodded. You picked up some fabric to the dress, too— scrunching it in your hand.

“I wasn’t sure about it,” you admitted, glancing down at the outfit. You smoothed the fabric absentmindedly, fingers catching on the seam the way he had just traced it. “I wanted to wear something that was a little more loose-fitting, but there was some dress-code my office provided that said I had to follow certain circumstances if I wanted to wear something specific, and blah-blah-blah.” You groan. “So, I settled for this. Really the only thing I had that fit all the criteria in my closet.”

Leo listened without interrupting, his attention fully on you now rather than the dress itself. Your words earned a soft huff of amusement. Leo shook his head, appreciating what you had on either way.

“Criteria or not, you… you look gorgeous. Like I said. Better than I imagined.” He ran a thumb over the edge of the fabric near your waist.

“What, you imagined this? Me? In a high-school-formal-looking dress?” A chuckle came from your lips as you shrugged your shoulders lightly, teasing him with a light poke. The whole ensemble was slightly similar to a prom dress, but only much more… mature. You picked a dress that was actually cute compared to the monstrosity you chose to wear a few years ago.

“Can’t say I haven’t,” Leo looks you up and down, then up at the ceiling as a faux deterrent. “I don’t want to rush you out the door. Let me see you like this for a minute… just a few minutes? Please? Not often I get to see you like this at all,” he pleaded, holding you tight so you couldn’t escape if you tried. His blue eyes bore into yours as he looked down, his lips curled into a smirk– practically ensuring your response before you could even reply.

“Uh-huh, just a few?” you teased, eyebrow raised.

“Just a few,” he said with a quiet grin. “Please?”

You eased down onto the couch edge, settling in. His eyes were glued permanently on you for the rest of the night.

Mikey

You paused before the full-length mirror, adjusting the delicate, shimmering straps of your "costume" for the holiday. The fabric was a stark contrast to your everyday wardrobe: fitted in unfamiliar ways, with sleek lines and some very revealing choices. The jeans clung far too tight—nothing like the oversized hoodies and loose pants you usually hid in. Yet, your top, which was practically a bra, fit you undeniably well. Halloween offered a lame excuse to try something new, even if it meant risking looking silly. Still, a familiar warmth of worry pooled in your stomach, and you shook your head.

Your friends had invited you to a club—a genuinely thrilling, loud, and slightly intimidating proposition. You weren’t really a partygoer; your ideal Friday night involved a soft blanket and sleeping. With your beloved orange boyfriend. And video games. And ingesting an unhealthy, catastrophic amount of calories. There were no loud noises, no large groups of people.

… But it was Halloween! New York, since you’ve moved, has been an absolute hell of a time when it comes to parties. Why not step into that scenery, for a change? Why not, for one night, be the person in the cute, instagram-post worthy outfit for one time in your life?

There was one tiny, almost comical problem. It was themed: y2k. A theme you hadn’t really been familiar with beyond vague mentions on social media. You’d spent the better part of the afternoon poring over Pinterest boards—low-rise everything, butterfly clips, pastel metallics. You’d seen some people your age dress with the style, but you were never really interested enough to try it.

What better time than the present?

"Mikey," you call softly, your voice barely reaching across the small bedroom. "Can you… come here for a second?"

He looks up instantly from where he’s been strategically positioned on the bed, pretending not to stare—a performance that fooled absolutely no one. A very common thing from him, really. The moment he fakes his eyes to land on you, he stills completely, his jaw and head moving to prove a clear point. All the casual tension leaves his shoulders. The smile that forms on his face is absolutely begging to drown you in words of encouragement. While he was the complete opposite of you surrounding your social habits, you still lived for his praise.

“...Angel,” he says, the single word exhaling from him quietly.

You glance at him through the mirror, catching your own anxious reflection. "Is that a good 'angel' or a bad one?"

He pushes himself off the bed and steps closer, stopping just behind you. He is careful not to touch yet, sensing your fragility. “Is that a serious question, babes?”

You exhale, the breath shaky, and feel your shoulders relax just a little—a fraction of the tension easing its grip. "It’s not too much? I know I don’t usually dress like this. I just didn't want to look… out of place. Like I tried too hard, or not hard enough."

Mikey shakes his head immediately, a firm, non-negotiable movement. “No! Absolutely not, you look incredible! Has this outfit been in your closet this entire time, gorgeous??” His hands finally settle at your waist, his touch comforting you successfully through the tight fabric. His thumbs gently rub small circles on your hips. “You look pretty, all dressed up. So what if you don’t end up liking it later, it’s cute? Just think of it as a Halloween costume. I love it. Now turn around and show me the full thing,” Mikey sticks his tongue out, spinning you around as if the two of you were dancers. He stopped, picking you up and swinging you into his arms. You screamed hysterically in surprise for a half-second.

“If it gets loud, or weird, or you decide you hate it after twenty minutes—or some guy tries to hit on you that’s not, you know, yours truly—text me. I’ll come get you. Nooo questions asked,” Mikey clicked his tongue.

You giggle, shaking your head. “Whatever.” You tilt your head back. “It’s just a club. I’ll be fine. Go do your annual sewer‑stalking of the Halloween parade, you weirdo.”

“And you go be hot and mysterious, angelcakes. Get some free drinks from men—I consent. Just delete their stupid numbers. I want my girl to have a good time!” He places you down, holding his hands up in fake defeat.

DC ☆

jason todd x gn reader, red hood's mandatory day off.

jason todd x gn reader, doing his makeup.

bruce wayne x gn reader, holding him while he cries..then making him cum.

valentines day

jason todd x power bottom gn reader, body worship

SONIC ☆

shadow the hedgehog x gn reader, shadow experiencing instincts.

shadow the hedgehog x fem reader, make out session turned heated.

shadow the hedgehog x gn reader, circling, hedgehog flirting

valentines day

instincts, group

shadow the hedgehog x gn reader, sonic interrupting your cuddling.

shadow the hedgehog x gn reader, hot days

shadow the hedgehog x gn reader, nest

rouge the bat x fem reader, heist

dancing together

sonic the hedgehog x reader, tails opening up to sonics partner

knuckles the echidna x reader, migraine comfort

sonic the hedgehog x male!reader, childhood friends to lovers

ANIME ☆

reigen arataka x fem reader, childhood friends to lovers.

kageyama shigeo x fem delinquent reader, confession.

mob psycho, painting their nails, group

one punch man characters x reader, reverse comfort, part 2

reigen arataka x reader, reacting to reader pole dancing

SQUID GAME ☆

cho hyun-ju x fem reader, her fingering you.

cho hyun-ju x gn reader, sleeping with her.

cho hyun-ju x male reader, testing out her new body.

cho hyun-ju,x fem reader, size difference .

cho hyun-ju x gn reader with sleep apnea.

cho hyun-ju x gn reader, playing in the snow.

kim jun-hee x male guard reader, helping her through her pregnancy.

in-ho x gn reader, protective

cho hyun-ju comforting reader after someone dies

cho hyun-ju brat taming f!reader

OBEY ME ☆

reverse comfort, all brothers

surprise kiss, all brothers

GENSHIN IMPACT ☆

picking them up, kaveh, childe, neuvillette, wriothesley and itto.

crushing heads, kaveh, childe, neuvillette, itto and kaeya

itto x reader, kiss attack

ftm!kaeya x ftm!chubby!husband reader

kaeya & diluc x reader, platonic and romantic, snowball fight

kaeya x reader, comforting reader about their looks

capitano x gn!chubby!reader, comfort after a mission.

COD ☆

simon "ghost" riley x gn!reader, reverse comfort

afab simon "ghost" riley x dom gn reader

SLASHERS ☆

sleeping next to them

billy loomis & stu macher x reader, pure fluff

TMNT ☆

2003 leo to 2023 leo x gn!reader, little moments in the relationship with them

SERIES/MOVIES ☆

gregory house x gn reader, domestic fluff and riding house.

house md group x gn reader, reverse comfort after a patient died

house md group x gn reader, domestic bliss

house md group x gn reader, make out at the hospital

MORNING RITUALS

The first few times you stayed over in the lair, you’d awaken to the sound of his breathing—deep, measured, rhythmic—and realize, not without a flutter in your chest, that he was already up, already dressed, already kneeling on the mat across the room with his swords resting beside him. It used to make you self-conscious, the way he’d train before sunrise while you were still tangled in sheets and dreams. But then you realized that he wasn’t trying to be impressive or distant; it was just his way. His version of peace.

Eventually, you started joining him, not to train—though he always offered to teach you—but to sit beside him on the tatami mat, wrapped in a hoodie you kept in the lair, sipping slowly from the cup of tea he’d always have waiting for you. He never said anything during those moments, didn’t need to. Just leaned a little closer, let his shoulder press against yours. It became a ritual: his morning meditation, and yours—quiet, mutual grounding before the world started asking things of you again.

---

AFTER-MISSION CARE

There’s a specific look Leo gets after a rough mission, a tightness around his mouth, a flicker of guilt in his eyes even when no one got hurt. You learned to spot it early in your relationship, even before he admitted how heavily failure—or even perceived failure—weighed on him. He never really spoke about it. Not directly. Not unless you pried.

So you stopped prying.

Instead, when he came back with a split lip or knuckles scraped raw, you’d reach for the first-aid kit without asking, sit him down, and tend to him in silence. You learned the way he winced, not from pain but from being seen, from being vulnerable. You learned the small, silent language of his guilt—the way he wouldn’t meet your eyes when you cleaned the cut across his collarbone, or how he’d clench his jaw when you dabbed at a bruise on his temple. You’d talk softly about mundane things—what you made for dinner, what Mikey said that made you laugh—and eventually, the tension in his shoulders would melt just a little.

The first time he let out a shaky breath and leaned into your touch instead of away from it, you didn’t say a word. Just kissed his knuckles, right over the bruises, and felt the way his fingers threaded through yours in response.

---

WHEN HE CAN’T SLEEP

You woke up to the sound of his footsteps, soft but unmistakable, pacing. At first, you thought it was part of a dream. But when you cracked open your eyes and saw the empty space beside you, the faint light of the hallway casting long shadows across the floor, you knew.

You found him in the training room, of course. Sword in hand. Sweat darkening the edge of his bandana. You didn’t say anything right away—just leaned against the doorway and watched as he moved, fluid and sharp. But there was something off about it. A hesitation in the swing. A falter in the stance.

“Nightmare?” you asked quietly.

He stopped mid-strike and let the tip of his katana dip toward the floor. Didn’t look at you. Just nodded once.

You walked over and took the sword from him gently, like it was a weight he’d been holding too long, and set it aside. You didn’t ask what it was about. You knew he’d tell you if he needed to. Instead, you reached up and cradled his face between your palms, feeling the faint tremble in his jaw.

“I’ve got you,” you whispered.

And he just folded into you, arms wrapping tight around your waist, forehead pressed to your shoulder, and stayed there like your heartbeat was the only thing anchoring him to the present.

---

QUIET CONFESSIONS

Sometimes, the deepest things he said came when he wasn’t trying to be poetic at all—when he was halfway between exhaustion and honesty, staring up at the ceiling from the makeshift couch-bed in your apartment while your fingers idly traced the curve of his plastron.

“I don’t always know how to be… just a person,” he murmured once, the words falling like water in a quiet room. “Not a leader. Not a warrior. Just… someone.”

You had looked at him then, surprised but not startled, and slid your fingers up to touch his cheek.

“You don’t have to figure that out alone,” you said simply. “You’re someone to me.”

His eyes had gone soft, distant. “I know,” he said, voice barely above a breath. “That’s the scariest part.”

And you understood, somehow—how terrifying it must be to be seen so completely. But he let you see him, over and over. Let you love him, despite the edges.

---

DUMB DOMESTIC STUFF

There was one afternoon when you walked in on him trying to fix the sink.

He had the most determined expression on his face, wielding a wrench like it was a second katana, muttering under his breath while Donnie hovered in the background, clearly amused but not interfering. You leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, biting back laughter.

“Should I be worried?”

He didn’t look up. “I’ve got it under control.”

“You say that like you didn’t once accidentally decapitate a vacuum cleaner.”

“That was one time.”

“That was last month.”

He paused, gave you a flat look, then—when the pipe under the sink gave an ominous creak—sighed and set the wrench down.

“…Okay, I might need help.”

Donnie burst out laughing. You just smiled and walked over to kiss his cheek.

“I’ll go get the towels.”

---

LITTLE TOUCHES

He’s not very physically affectionate in public. Not in the way Mikey is, with his constant hugs and leaning. But in private, in the soft quiet of shared space, he touches you constantly. Not clingy, not needy, but present—a hand on your back when you’re cooking, his knee brushing yours when you sit beside each other, his fingers brushing your wrist as he passes by.

You started keeping count once, just for fun, of how many times he touched you in a day—twenty-seven before dinner. Thirty-eight by bedtime. Each one said something different: I see you. I’m here. I need you. I love you. He never said the words often, not out loud, but they were in every gesture.

And the nights when he did say it—usually quiet, soft, spoken like a prayer against your skin—you felt it in your bones.

---

WHEN HE LETS GO

There are rare, sacred nights when Leonardo actually lets himself laugh. Not the polite little chuckle he gives when Mikey’s on a roll, or the amused exhale when Raph gets caught in his own sarcasm—but a real laugh, warm and unguarded, the kind that shakes through his whole body and makes you feel like the universe just cracked open and let the sun in.

One night, it was because you were trying to do a yoga pose he’d shown you, and you lost your balance and flopped onto his lap in the most undignified way possible. For a second, you were horrified. But then he looked down at you, eyes wide with disbelief, and burst out laughing—full-on, head-tilted-back laughter that made your embarrassment melt away completely.

“You—” he gasped between laughs, “—you looked like a falling turtle.”

“Wow. I feel so loved right now.”

He pulled you up into his lap, kissed the top of your head, still grinning.

“You are,” he said, and his voice was so full of affection you couldn’t even pretend to be mad.

---

FUTURE TALK

It doesn’t happen often, but sometimes, late at night when everything is quiet and you’re wrapped in blankets with the hum of the city in the distance, he talks about the future. It always surprises you, how gentle his dreams are.

“I think about a place,” he said once, voice barely more than a murmur against your shoulder. “Not a battlefield. Just… somewhere quiet. Green. A garden, maybe. Somewhere I could still train. Somewhere you’d feel safe. Somewhere… we could be.”

You reached back to thread your fingers through his.

“We could make that,” you said.

He was quiet for a long moment.

“I want to,” he whispered.

And you knew he meant it. Knew he could, if you stayed beside him.

---

THE MOMENT THAT STAYS

There’s one moment that lives in your mind more than any other.

You were standing on the rooftop one evening, watching the sunset bleed into the horizon, his hand warm and solid in yours. No words. No plans. Just the two of you breathing in the same sky.

And without looking, he said:

“I used to think peace was something I had to fight for. But with you… it’s just there.”

You squeezed his hand.

And in the hush of that moment, with the world spinning soft and slow beneath your feet, you believed him.

The distance didn’t kill your love, but it did stretch it thin across time zones and lonely nights, and it made his return less like a reunion and more like learning how to hold him all over again—learning that the Leo who came back from the jungle wasn’t the same one who left. He was broader now, more serious than ever, and sometimes got lost in his own silence like it was the only thing he trusted. But he looked at you the same way, touched you the same way—tentatively, reverently, like every part of you was a prayer answered.

---

THE RETURN

You still remembered the way his arms wrapped around you the first time he came back to the lair—not in some movie-perfect spin-and-dip hug, but something tighter, fiercer, almost desperate. He didn’t say much, barely got out a “Hey,” before his arms were locked around you and your face was buried in his neck. You could feel the roughness of travel in the folds of his bandana, smell the damp earth and jungle still clinging to his skin, hear the tremble in his breath as he exhaled like he’d been holding it for seven months.

You had whispered, “You came home,” and he’d replied, voice cracked with something brittle, “I had to.”

---

THE NIGHTMARES

He didn’t talk about what happened while he was away—not at first. There were too many ghosts in his silence, too many things he hadn’t processed yet. But the nightmares gave him away. You’d wake to find him sitting at the edge of your shared bed, elbows on his knees, head in his hands, breathing like he was still running through the jungle.

You didn’t ask what he saw. You just touched his shoulder, climbed onto his back like a child needing reassurance, wrapped your arms around his chest and pressed your cheek to the curve between his shoulder and neck. “You’re not there anymore,” you’d murmur. “You’re here. You’re home. You’re with me.”

And every time, he’d cover your hand with his and hold it like it was the only solid thing in the world.

---

DOMESTIC STILLNESS

The lair was quieter since his return. He wasn’t loud to begin with, but something about the way he moved now was even more subdued—gentle footsteps, careful glances, as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to take up space anymore. But you found ways to fill the quiet together. Long evenings reading on the couch, your legs tossed lazily over his lap while he traced slow patterns into your shin with a calloused finger. Sometimes he’d fall asleep like that, upright and still, head bowed slightly, your warmth the only thing anchoring him to the present.

You learned to cook simple things together—soups, stir-fries, quiet meals shared shoulder-to-shoulder in the kitchen while the city buzzed beyond the sewers. He once smiled halfway through chopping carrots and said, “I missed this.”

---

WHEN YOU FOUGHT

It wasn’t frequent, but when you fought, it was like a dam cracking. His voice rarely rose, but his words could cut sharp when he was afraid—“You don’t understand what’s at stake,” or “I have responsibilities you’ll never have to carry.”

And sometimes, it felt like he was still more committed to his duty than he was to you.

But when the silence settled afterward, when the adrenaline was gone and his shoulders dropped under the weight of regret, he always came to you. Not with grand apologies, but with his heart in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he’d whisper, kneeling in front of you, fingers tangling in your own. “I’m trying to unlearn the part of me that thinks I have to do it all alone.”

And each time, you’d remind him—gently, sometimes with your own tears held at bay—that love wasn’t another mission to complete. It was allowed to be messy. To be shared. To be leaned into, not carried like armor.

---

HIS UNGUARDED MOMENTS

There was one rainy evening when you caught him dancing in the kitchen—not good dancing, not graceful or poised—but pure, genuine awkward foot-tapping and hand-flailing while some old soul record played through the static of the lair’s ancient radio. He hadn’t seen you come in, and when he finally turned and saw you, he froze mid-step, one hand still raised like a deer caught in the act.

You laughed so hard you nearly cried.

He groaned, turned around, tried to play it off—but you ran to him and threw your arms around his neck and kissed him right there, half-bent in laughter, rain thudding overhead and the smell of cinnamon from the tea still steeping.

“You’re ridiculous,” you giggled into his skin.

His arms tightened around you, his voice low and happy. “I know. But only for you.”

---

WHEN HE’S SICK

He is the worst patient.

Absolutely the worst.

He tries to train through fevers, insists he’s fine even while coughing into his arm, and refuses to rest until you threaten to sedate him. You have to wrestle him onto the couch and pile blankets on him like you’re trapping a wild animal.

“You’ll overheat me,” he grumbled once, flushed and pouty under two comforters and a quilt.

“You’re a reptile,” you replied, adjusting his position.

He gave you a look that was mostly amusement and slight betrayal. You kissed his forehead before he could argue again, and he melted instantly, limbs going soft under your touch.

“Okay. I’ll rest,” he mumbled.

And he did. Because if nothing else, Leo always listened when you asked him gently.

---

HIS LOVE LANGUAGE

Leo was quiet with affection, but he showed it in the way he memorized everything about you—the way you liked your tea, the angle you curled into when you were cold, how you always tilted your head when trying to decide something. He’d hand you your favorite mug before you asked, pull a blanket over you without a word, step into the space behind you and wrap his arms around your waist like it was second nature.

When you were stressed, he’d set up a bath for you, light candles (awkwardly, because Raph always teased him for it), and sit nearby while you soaked, reading out loud from whatever book you were working through, voice calm and low.

When you were sad, he didn’t try to fix it. He’d just hold you—sometimes in silence, sometimes whispering little truths against your temple: “You’re not alone.” “I love you.” “I’m here.”

And somehow, that made everything bearable.

---

THE MOMENT THAT STAYS

There was one late night—city asleep, lair humming soft with the sound of distant subway cars—where you both lay tangled in a nest of pillows and leftover warmth, your head on his chest, his fingers trailing up and down your back with thoughtless devotion.

And he whispered, like it hurt to say, “Sometimes I don’t know if I deserve this.”

You didn’t move. Just rested your hand over his heart and whispered back, “But you have it. Every part of it. Every part of me.”

And he pulled you in like that answer was the only thing keeping him whole.

---

THE PATH FORWARD

He still struggled, sometimes. With balancing duty and love, with forgiving himself, with remembering he didn’t always have to be perfect to be worthy. But you stayed. Through every stumble, every silence, every moment where he thought he had to carry it all alone—you stayed.

And every time he looked at you, you could see it.

The peace.

The gratitude.

The quiet, relentless love that built itself up in the spaces between missions and memories, in every little moment you made together.

THE FIRST TIME HE REALIZED YOU WERE IT

It wasn’t even a grand moment. No sweeping music or slow-motion realization. Just you, one late afternoon, sitting cross-legged on the floor of the lair, a bowl of popcorn on your lap, humming some dumb song he didn’t even recognize while watching a show he didn’t really care for. Your hair was a little messy. Your shirt was one of his, worn and soft. Your fingers flicked popcorn into your mouth between laughs.

He was supposed to be training. Supposed to be focused. But something in his chest squeezed—slow, gentle, like his heart was blinking. And he knew, then and there, watching you in the glow of the TV, feet wiggling in time to the opening theme, that this was it. You were his person. His future. His home.

He’d said nothing. Just walked over, sat behind you, and rested his chin on your shoulder. Quiet. Heavy with feeling. You didn’t say anything either—just reached up and threaded your fingers through his.

---

MOVIE NIGHTS GONE WRONG

He always picked the cheesiest, most dramatic action flicks. You made fun of him relentlessly for it.

“Leo, why do they keep flipping over cars? There’s no reason for this car to flip. It’s a normal road.”

“They’re setting up tension!”

“That guy just caught a grenade with his teeth.”

“Okay, but it was symbolic.”

You spent the entire runtime with your legs tossed over his lap, throwing popcorn at the screen while Leo tried to defend the plot like he wrote it personally. At some point, your arguing always dissolved into giggles, and by the end of the night, you were curled up against him, his arm around your waist, your head tucked under his chin.

He always said, “Next time, we’re watching something serious.”

And then picked another action flick every single time.

---

THE TIME YOU TOOK CARE OF HIM WHEN HE WAS HURT

Leo wasn’t scared of getting hurt. He was a trained ninja. He knew pain. What he wasn’t good at? Accepting help.

“Leo, sit down.”

“I’m fine.”

“Leo, your side is literally bleeding onto the floor.”

“I’ve had worse.”

You had to push him—gently but firmly—onto the couch, your fingers tugging off his gear while he hissed and tried to pretend it didn’t hurt. You cleaned the gash slowly, carefully, your brows furrowed, mouth pressed into a flat line of worry.

He watched you, quiet. Noticing the way your hands trembled just a little. The way your lip wobbled like you were trying not to cry. And it hit him then, hard and sudden, how much you cared.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured.

“Because you’re hurt, idiot.”

He reached up, brushing your cheek with a knuckle. “I’m okay. Because you’re here.”

You sniffled and swatted his hand. “Don’t flirt while you’re bleeding.”

He grinned anyway. Blood loss and all.

---

TRAINING TOGETHER

Leo was a surprisingly patient teacher—meticulous, focused, and always watching you with this tiny smile that said he was proud even when you were just learning how to punch.

He always caught you when you fell. Always adjusted your stance with careful hands, never too tight, just the right amount of touch to send a jolt down your spine.

When you finally knocked him on his shell (with some help, but you never had to know that), you stood over him panting, beaming, triumphant.

“Did you let me win?” you demanded.

He grunted, winded. “I plead the Fifth.”

You flopped down on him, laughing, sweat-slick and breathless.

“Next time, I’m going for Mikey.”

“Good luck,” he wheezed.

---

THE TIME YOU WORE HIS GEAR

You’d been cold. That was the only reason. His chest strap was nearby, and you’d slung it on over your hoodie just for warmth—but then Leo had walked in mid-strut and stopped dead in the doorway.

He stared at you like you’d grown a second head. Or sprouted wings. Or maybe both.

“What?”

“…Nothing.”

“You’re blushing.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

He walked up slowly, eyes locked on you like you were something sacred.

“You can’t wear that,” he said, almost breathless.

“Why not?”

“Because—because I can’t focus when you do.”

You raised an eyebrow, smug. “Oh?”

He tore it off you in two seconds and kissed you up against the wall like it was the last thing he’d ever do.

You wore it again the next day.

---

RAINY DAYS

You curled up in his bed while thunder rolled overhead, legs tangled together under too many blankets, both of you sleepy and warm and tangled in that lazy affection that only came when the weather outside demanded stillness.

Leo read out loud. A book you’d been working through together, his voice low and slow and a little rough from how relaxed he was. You had your head on his chest, listening more to the sound of him than the story.

He paused mid-sentence and kissed your hair without thinking.

You mumbled, “That’s not in the book.”

“Should be.”

---

THE ARGUMENT

It was over something dumb. Pizza, or missed training, or him not letting you follow during a mission. But it exploded, like everything you’d both been bottling up came out in one go.

“You don’t trust me.”

“I’m trying to protect you!”

“And I’m not just something you can shelve when things get hard!”

Silence.

He stared at you, breathing hard. “I know,” he said finally. “I know. I’m sorry.”

You sat down hard on the couch, all your anger gone in one breath.

He joined you a second later. Quiet. Small.

“You mean everything to me,” he said. “It’s hard to let you be in danger. Even when I know you can handle it.”

You rested your forehead against his.

“Next time, let me decide what I can handle.”

He nodded. “I will.”

And he did.

---

WHEN HE MISSED YOU

He once went away for a training retreat with Splinter. Only a week. But it felt longer than that.

he called when he could. Left you little notes in your hoodie pocket. Texted you every morning:

Morning, Sunshine.

Stay warm today.

Eat something real today, no cookies for breakfast.

I miss you.

When he came back, he held you like the world was ending. His face buried in your neck. His arms iron-tight around your waist. You didn’t speak for a long time. Just held each other, breathing each other in, until the ache of absence finally faded.

Later that night, curled up in bed, he whispered against your cheek, “I love you more every day.”

You whispered back, “I never stopped missing you.”

---

WHEN YOU GOT HURT

He panicked. Like, really panicked.

There was blood. A sprain. You were limping. And Leo was at your side instantly, eyes wild, hands trembling, trying to touch you everywhere at once—your face, your arms, your legs—checking.

“Are you okay? Talk to me. Where does it hurt?”

You tried to laugh it off. “It’s not that bad—”

“You’re hurt.”

His voice cracked on the word.

He carried you home. Didn’t let go once. And when you were bandaged up and resting, he just sat beside you, head bowed, hands clasped.

“I can’t lose you,” he said quietly.

“You won’t,” you promised.

And he didn’t.

---

A PEACEFUL FUTURE

There was one evening where nothing hurt. No fights. No stress. Just the two of you on the rooftop, watching the stars through the hazy New York night. You were sitting between his legs, his arms around you, your fingers laced with his.

He murmured, “Ever think about the future?”

You tilted your head. “All the time.”

“What do you see?”

You leaned back against him. “You. Somewhere quiet. Maybe a cabin. A garden. Peace.”

He was quiet for a long time.

Then he whispered, “I want that. With you.”

And you sat there, under the stars, wrapped in warmth and the promise of a someday that felt more real than any mission ever had.

WHEN YOU REALIZED DATING LEO MEANT NEVER BEING BORED AGAIN

It started with a text.

leo: meet me on the roof. urgent.

You panicked. Sprinting up the stairs, heart racing, imagining blood, tears, a krang invasion, a missile falling from space. Only to find him dramatically lying on the floor like he was in a Renaissance painting, hand over his forehead, face contorted in pretend agony.

“What happened?!”

He blinked open one eye. “They... they ate the last pizza roll.”

“…Leo.”

“I was SAVING it. It had my name on it. I wrote it in Sharpie. In cursive.”

You groaned so loud it echoed, but then he sat up and gave you the most ridiculous puppy eyes in existence.

“Only your love can fill the pizza-roll-shaped hole in my heart.”

You still kissed him. Because of course you did.

---

THE TIME HE TRIED TO MAKE YOU A ROMANTIC DINNER AND ALMOST SET THE LAIR ON FIRE

He insisted. “I can cook. I watched a whole two-minute tutorial. I am a culinary legend.”

You should’ve known something was wrong when you smelled smoke before you even got to the kitchen.

You burst in to find him frantically trying to teleport flames off the stove and onto random plates, his apron reading “Kiss the Chef (Or Else),” flour on his face, and one noodle dangling from his bandana like it had tried to flee and died in the attempt.

“I can fix this,” he said, wild-eyed.

“Leo.”

“You love me, right?”

“…unfortunately.”

He ended up ordering pizza. You both ate it on the floor, legs tangled together, sauce on your faces, laughing so hard your stomachs hurt. You never let him cook again.

---

WHEN YOU WERE SAD AND HE TRIED (HIS VERSION OF) COMFORTING YOU

He didn’t always know what to say when you were quiet. When your eyes didn’t sparkle like they usually did, when your words got shorter, sadder, when you started holding your breath more than speaking.

But he knew what to do.

He appeared in your room wearing a blanket cape and a handmade crown (don’t ask where the glitter came from), holding a glittery scepter made of a spoon and duct tape.

“I hereby declare today A No Sad Days Zone,” he announced. “By royal decree, you are required to be adored, pampered, and held like the precious creature you are.”

You blinked at him.

Then you burst into tears.

He panicked—panicked—but then you just clung to him and buried your face in his plastron, sobbing and laughing all at once, and he just held you.

He held you until the tears stopped. He kept the crown on the entire time.

---

COUCH CUDDLES, AKA HIS FAVORITE PASTIME

Leo would always pull you into his lap the second you even glanced at the couch. Movie night? His lap. Game night? His lap. Nap time? Guess what.

He called it “his throne,” and you were “the crown jewel.”

His arms were always wrapped tight around your waist, chin perched on your shoulder, legs tangled beneath you. He radiated body heat like a furnace and always hummed random songs in your ear—off-key, sometimes on purpose.

And if anyone dared interrupt?

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize you were trying to DIE today.”

---

WHEN HE GOT JEALOUS

He wasn’t mean about it. But he was dramatic.

Someone flirted with you at the hidden city market once and Leo stared them down with the intensity of a thousand suns.

“Hey,” you whispered, nudging him. “Be nice.”

“I am being nice,” he said, arm tightening around your waist. “I haven’t banished them to another dimension. That’s restraint, baby.”

You rolled your eyes, but he leaned down and kissed your cheek in front of them, whispering, “Mine,” into your skin.

You never saw the stranger again. You assumed it was a coincidence. Probably.

---

THE TIME YOU GOT HURT

Leo tried to laugh it off.

At first.

“You’ve had worse papercuts than this,” you groaned, clutching your arm.

“Yeah,” he said, voice too high. “Totally. Totally fine. Not freaking out. Nope.”

He teleported you to Donnie so fast you almost threw up, and then paced like a caged tiger while Donnie worked.

When Donnie said you’d be okay, Leo collapsed onto the floor in a heap of relief. “Sweet merciful pizza gods,” he moaned.

You stared at him. “You good?”

He reached for your hand from the floor. “You’re not allowed to die. That’s, like, the one rule.”

“I just sprained my wrist.”

“The ONE RULE!”

You had to climb down to kiss him where he’d melted. He didn’t move, just sighed dramatically. “Your love resurrects me.”

---

PILLOW FIGHTS TURNED WAR ZONES

It started innocent. A little bop to the head while you were both making the bed. He smirked. You smirked.

Then he jumped behind you like a villain and whacked you square in the back with a pillow so hard you went flying onto the mattress.

“You DARE challenge the champion?!” he cackled.

“YOU’RE A COWARD.”

War was declared. Pillows were shredded. A plush turtle went flying and broke a lamp. Mikey walked by once and got caught in the crossfire. Raph had to confiscate your pillows for a week.

But your laughter echoed through the lair long after the feathers settled.

---

LATE NIGHT CONFESSIONS

It was 3 a.m.

You couldn’t sleep. And Leo… well, Leo never really slept unless he had to.

You were lying on the rooftop, side by side, the city humming beneath you, stars barely visible through the glow.

“I don’t get it,” you murmured. “Why me?”

He turned to you slowly.

“What?”

“You could have anyone. You’re Leo. You’re cool, and funny, and handsome—”

“Go on,” he said, waggling his brows.(or..the bones..that were there..)

You laughed, but looked away. “Seriously. You’re you. Why’d you pick me?”

He was quiet. Then:

“Because I’ve never met someone who looked at me like I was more than the jokes. Like I could be something... real. And you make me feel like I’m not pretending all the time.”

You turned back. His eyes were so soft.

“I love you,” you whispered.

“I know,” he said. “I love you more.”

And then he kissed you slow, under the stars, like the city was just background noise.

---

THOSE TINY, SILENT MOMENTS THAT MEANT EVERYTHING

Like when he always waited for you to walk through portals first, just to make sure you’d land okay.

Or how he’d draw little doodles on your arm with his fingers when you sat beside him, absentminded and sweet.

The way he’d steal your snacks and then pretend he saved them from “spoiling.”

How his hand always found yours—without even thinking, like muscle memory.

The way he looked at you when you laughed too hard. Like the world had just started spinning again. Like you were gravity.

---

THE MOMENT HE KNEW IT WAS FOREVER

He had been scared. Of being serious. Of committing. Not because he didn’t love you—he did, deeply, wildly—but because sometimes he felt like a spotlight with nothing under it. All flash, no foundation.

But you believed in him. Always.

And one morning, you were curled up on the couch, your head on his lap, hair tangled, sleep-warm and safe, and you looked up and mumbled, “I want this forever.”

And Leo, for once, didn’t crack a joke. Didn’t tease.

He just smiled. Soft. Wide.

“Me too.”

THE FIRST TIME YOU REALIZED HOW HARD HE TRIES TO IMPRESS YOU

It wasn’t loud. Not like most things with Leo. Not like his chaotic flips through the living room or his exaggerated battle cries or the way he used to dramatically flop over the furniture anytime he got a scratch and yell, “Tell my story…”

No, it was subtle—like the way he started fixing his bandana every time you walked into the room, smoothing it out in the reflection of the toaster oven or tugging at his elbow pads like they were fancy suit cuffs. Like the way he stood a little straighter when you were around, or the soft flush that crept up his cheeks when you caught him staring too long. You hadn’t realized it before—how much he wanted to impress you, how every quip, every gesture, every over-exaggerated pose was him holding out his heart in his hands, not quite sure what to do with it, but hoping you’d take it anyway.

And when you finally told him, just barely above a whisper, “You don’t have to try so hard. I already love you,” he froze. Blinked once. Twice.

Then smiled—small and bright, the kind of smile that made your ribs ache with how tender it was.

“Okay,” he said, voice cracking just a little. “But I’m still gonna keep trying.”

---

WHEN YOU FOUND OUT HOW PHYSICALLY CLINGY HE IS

Leo was a limpet.

If he was within three feet of you, odds were high he was touching you—elbow against yours while you sat at the table, knee bumping yours when you stood still, arm slung around your shoulder like he was your personal weighted blanket.

But his favorite thing? Cuddling. Not just cute, little snuggle-in-bed cuddling. Full body clinging. He’d sprawl across you like a blanket that talked too much, his chin resting on your chest, arms wrapped tightly around your waist, legs tangled with yours like you’d both get blown away in a storm if he let go.

You couldn’t move. Not without hearing a soft little whine and feeling him grip you tighter like a sleepy octopus. “Don’t gooo,” he’d murmur into your shirt, voice muffled. “You’re my favorite pillow.”

Even if you peeled yourself away, you’d find him crawling after you five minutes later like a needy little cat. “Come baaaack, I miss you already,” he’d say, despite you having only gone to grab water.

You stopped fighting it after a while. Not just because it was cute (though it was disgustingly cute), but because the way he sighed when you let him hold you—like all his tension dissolved the second he had you in his arms—made something melt in your chest.

---

THE DAY HE BROUGHT YOU FLOWERS AND GOT PUNCHED (KINDA)

He’d been planning it for days.

You knew something was up. He’d been suspiciously sneaky, whispering with Mikey and giggling in corners, acting like he was pulling off a heist every time he left the lair. Then, one day, he came into your room holding a messy, chaotic bouquet that looked like it had survived a battle with a weedwhacker—but he was beaming, blue eyes wide and bright, petals in his teeth, leaves sticking out of his bandana.

“For you,” he said proudly, thrusting the bouquet toward you like it was Excalibur and you were royalty.

You stepped forward to take it—and promptly got smacked in the face by a thorny stem sticking out at an unholy angle.

“OH MY GOSH—I’M SO SORRY—I SWEAR I—MIKEY SAID IT WAS A ROSE—IS THIS POISON IVY—ARE YOU BLEEDING—SHOULD I GO GET DONNIE—IS THIS HOW I LOSE YOU—”

You were laughing so hard you couldn’t breathe.

He looked so distressed, cradling your face and inspecting the barely-there scratch like you were on your deathbed. “I just wanted to be romantic,” he sniffled.

You kissed him on the cheek and said, “You are. You’re the most romantic person I know.”

He carried that bouquet around for the rest of the day like it was sacred. Accidentally hit Raph with it. Refused to apologize.

---

WHEN HE GOT NERVOUS ABOUT SAYING “I LOVE YOU” AND BLURTED SOMETHING ELSE INSTEAD

You knew he loved you.

It was obvious—in the way he always remembered your drink order from that one place, in how he’d travel across five boroughs to bring you your favorite snack, in how he always instinctively stood between you and danger with his arm held out like a shield. But saying it? That was another story.

One night, curled up in a hammock, swinging slowly with the sound of the city murmuring through the lair vents, he was holding you close—closer than usual, his hand rubbing gentle circles into your back, his voice quieter than normal. You looked up, about to speak, when he blurted:

“I really like your face.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I mean—not just your face, I like—you. All of you. I just—you know—your face is—really great—and—uh—”

You stared.

He panicked.

“I LOVE YOUR FACE, OKAY?”

You were laughing before you could stop yourself. You grabbed his cheeks, squishing them until his words stopped fumbling out in a rush, and said, “Leo. It’s okay. I love your face, too.”

His whole body melted.

Later, when it was darker and softer and sleep was starting to curl into the edges of your mind, you heard him whisper it. So quiet it barely existed.

“I love you.”

You squeezed his hand and whispered it back.

---

THE FIRST TIME HE SAW YOU CRY

He didn’t know what to do at first.

You weren’t loud. You didn’t scream or sob or throw things. You just... shut down. Went quiet. Your hands shook when you tried to hold your cup. Your breath hitched like your chest was breaking under invisible weight.

And Leo—Leo, who could attempt to talk his way out of any situation, who could joke through danger and chaos and fear—suddenly had no words.

He sat beside you. Not too close at first. Let you curl inward, pull your sleeves over your hands. He waited until you looked up at him, until your walls cracked just enough to let him in.

Then he opened his arms.

You collapsed into him without hesitation, and he held you like you were something breakable and precious, rubbing your back in slow, even strokes, murmuring nonsense—little sweet words, things like “you’re safe” and “I’ve got you” and “let me carry some of it, please.”

And when you finally fell asleep against his chest, his hand in your hair, he whispered, “You don’t have to be okay for me to love you. I love you anyway.”

---

WHEN YOU GOT HURT AND HE WENT FERAL

He doesn’t remember half of it.

One second you were fine, laughing beside him during a fight, trading jokes and ducking lasers, and the next—someone knocked you to the ground. Hard.

He saw red.

He was not the biggest, not the strongest—not like Raph—but Leo was fast. And when he was angry, when something precious was threatened, he moved like a knife through air.

By the time the others caught up, the attacker was down—hard—and Leo was at your side, shaking, his hands hovering over you like he didn’t know where to touch, afraid anything might hurt you more.

You were okay. Just a bump. Maybe a scrape.

But he held your face in his hands and whispered, “I need you to be okay. I can’t—please—just—stay with me—”

You kissed him. Right there. Right in the middle of the battlefield.

“I’m okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

He didn’t let go of your hand for hours.

---

SILLY MOMENTS THAT HAPPENED WHEN NO ONE WAS LOOKING

Like when he tried to do one of those “cool lean-in” kisses and headbutted you by accident. You both had matching bruises for a week. You still call him "horny turtle" when you want to make him blush.

Or the time he accidentally turned on romantic music during patrol and started spinning you around like a ballroom dancer in the middle of a dark alley. “For ambiance,” he claimed.

When you were brushing your teeth and he peeked around the corner to rap battle with your mouth full of toothpaste. You lost.

Or how sometimes, when he thinks you’re asleep, he whispers little things into your hair like, “You’re my favorite part of the day,” and “I think I want forever with you.”

---

WHEN HE KNEW HE WANTED YOU TO BE HIS FOREVER

He didn’t know how to say it. Not really. Not yet. But he knew.

It was a quiet night. You were sitting beside him on the fire escape, legs dangling, your head resting on his shoulder, the stars barely flickering against the smog. He looked at you—just looked—and felt that ache in his chest that wasn’t painful, just big. Too big to contain.

You turned and smiled at him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like you knew he was in love without him saying it. And you kissed his cheek and said, “I’m happy.”

And Leo?

He held your hand and whispered, “Me too.”

But what he really meant was: