Schmels Corner!

“My eyes are not that yellow, you’re making me look jaundiced.” Zuko murmurs he rests his head on your shoulder. “There aren’t that many shades I can choose from…” You say back, side eyeing him slightly as he tries to backseat game. You do your best to make his Mii look lifelike but there really is only so much you can do.

“Try that one— no one lower, yeah that one.”

“Eugh no that looks worse than the first option Zuko.”

“Okay yeah go back to the first option…” He concedes, you are without a doubt the victor of this little feud.

“Do you want to be smiley or have a frown?” You ask as you move to the next section of customization “Uhhh do the neutral one, I think that’d be the best.”

“Really? Sometimes you kind smirk to yourself but okay… neutral..”

“I don’t do that, don’t spread that around. I’m a prince I have the resources to sue you.” Zuko, despite your teasing nuzzles his face into your shoulder like a cat.

“Are you wiping your boogers off on me?”

“What? Ew no, I’m being loving and kind.”

“Right, loving and kind after threatening a law suit?”

“Two things can be true at once.”

You shuffle a bit in bed, enough that Zuko worms his arm around your waist. “What’re you doing now?” He ceases his nuzzling in favor of watching the screen. “I have to draw your scar on now, there’s not an option to add one other then just like… drawing it.” Zuko smiles faintly at your efforts, watching as you pick a custom shade to try and match his marred skin. He lightly kisses your shoulder, his appreciation is apparent.

“What do you think? Good?” You ask once you’re done and fully zoomed out. “Hmmmm yeah, it looks a little cartoony though.”

“Zuko, what did you expect?”

“Kidding, kidding. It’s good I think.”

“Okay look, now I get to introduce you to everyone! This is the fun part now.” You say happily as you drag Mii Zuko across the island over to your Mii house. “Awe look at them, they’re becoming acquainted.” He murmurs, unsure of what he was really expecting. “Yeah! I think i’ll be able to get them to go out once I make them hang out enough times…”

“You can make them date?”

“Yeah you can get married too, and have babies.”

“Make sure ours do that…” Zukos hand sneakily creeps over your navel, his only saving grace is that his palm is warm.

“Look! You’re already leveled up.” You smile happily, choosing to give him an expression.

“Hello. Zuko here!”

“I was sixteen when I did that! Can’t you let it go.” He groans hearing the cute little chatter, you just laugh at his plight. If you end up with a defamation suit just know you earned it. Just kidding, he loves you too much.

dividers by @andromeda-graphics

You are running late. 

Sleeping through your usual 5:15 AM alarm was the first omen that the day should’ve been cancelled before it even started, even if you chose at that point to ignore it.

The second omen which came a mere fifteen minutes later, dumping a cup of coffee in your bed accidentally which resulted in you needing to rip your blankets and sheets and duvet off and run them downstairs, should’ve further warned you. 

Call it before it begins. Close your eyes, shut off your phone, go back to sleep. 

You’ve never been great at talking hints and now the third omen, horseman, whatever you want to call it, arrives in the form of your next door neighbor Dante’s name flashing on the screen of your phone.  It vibrates against the bathroom counter, skidding into the sink which of course drives you to sigh. 

It’s going to be one of those days if he’s calling you this early. 

“Hi, what’s up?” 

You sound like you’re in a rush.

Noting to make this quick even if he doesn’t want to, he stands in the basement four floors beneath where your apartments exist side by side. 

“Is your stuff in the dryer right now?” He asks, getting straight to the point.

Groaning in frustration, though you don’t mean it toward him necessarily, you stop your morning rituals to give the conversation your attention.

“Yes, please don’t take it out. The last time someone did, some of it was stolen,” you sigh, setting down your makeup brush, searching around for your slippers. “I’ll come down and switch it out.”

It’s odd for him to hear you sound so frazzled. You aren’t the picture of composure but generally speaking, your sense of humor tends to take over when you’re frustrated. 

He’s no opportunist but what kind of man would he be if he overlooked the chance to flex his good guy muscle? 

“You don’t have to do all that, I just want to toss a couple of shirts in there for a few minutes. I’ll even bring it upstairs for you when it’s done.”

He’s just being neighborly, even if his heart clenches upon hearing a relieved breath escape you. 

It’s not like he wants to impress you or anything. 

“Oh,” you speak and hum affirmatively, picking your brush back up, narrowing your eyes slightly trying to remember exactly what’s tumbling around in that machine. 

Sheets, pillowcases, a couple of towels. Nothing that would mortify you if he stumbled upon it. 

“That’s really sweet of you, Dante.”

He likes the way you say his name and has since you first moved in next door just over half a year ago. He pops the dryer door open after punching in your apartment number which is one digit off from his. 

There isn’t much besides one wall separating your world from his, something he thinks about often. 

Clearing his throat and subsequently his mind, he balls his button down shirts up and tosses them inside. 

“It’s the least I can do for the nice little lady who is letting me use her dryer time.”

It’s too early for his flirtation yet you find yourself smiling just the same, holding your phone between your cheek and shoulder while applying mascara.

“I’m about to head out so I’ll come by and pick it all up when I get home, if that's okay?”

Dante hums from the other end of the line, caring little about your time crunch. 

“You trust me to guard your…hmm….”

He trails off and you sigh on the other end of the phone, returning your mascara wand to the tube it calls home.

“Sheets, maybe a couple of washcloths.”

Are you onto just how much he’d love to keep you on the phone for a little bit longer?

“Oh bedding, okay. You trust me to guard your pillowcases? I’m touched,” he teases, playful and lighthearted. 

Time ticks by too quickly when it’s spent with you, no matter the circumstances. Just the sound of your breathing through a speaker fills him with emotions he hasn’t experienced in a lot longer than he’d like to admit. 

You huff out a final giggle at him, sighing, pulling the phone away from your face which causes your voice to grow distant. 

“I gotta go, I’ll see you tonight.”

That pesky, handsome, sweet neighbor of yours chuckles and raises his eyebrows. “Catch you later, young lady.”

Every time he acknowledges the difference between your ages, fifteen whole years, he secretly wishes that you grow uncomfortable enough to cut him off and demand he stop, if only to kill the meager bit of hope he has that you may be interested in him too. 

Instead, your voice grows more distant though you laugh loudly enough that your amusement is unmistakable.

“Stop calling me that, I’m in my thirties! I’ll see you after work, old man.”

Unceremoniously, the call ends but your laughter echoes through his mind. He remains standing in the laundry room, watching his two measly shirts tumble alongside your things, arms folded over his chest. 

There’s no good reason for him to dwell upon how you make him feel, even if you seem to play together very, very well. 

—-

As is customary with community laundry, what was originally 25 minutes in the dryer quickly became 40. Trudging up the stairs two at a time, he holds your laundry basket on his hip as if it’s the most natural thing he’s ever done, 

Maybe, just maybe, he could impress you even more by folding the bunch of linens right in front of him. 

His eyes widen when the culprit tumbles to the floor with a heavy thunk, cylindrical shape causing it to roll a bit as it settles onto the most flared part of the base. For a moment, he squints, uncertain of what exactly he’s stumbled upon. Then he blinks, eyes widening when he opens them. 

It’s a toy. Your toy. 

04/11/25; 06:45pm

dante sparda x fem.reader

[ minors don’t interact; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings. ]

@luneariaa ✨

a/n: i am so down bad for dante sparda (mainly the version of him in the new netflix anime)

not only is he OP, white-haired, muscular, ripped, and tall, he’s also funny, sarcastic, protective, caring, and mine

(i am not lying when i tell you i binge watched the entire season 1, 8 episodes in one sitting and it took 3.5 hours)

definitely suggestive content inside btw!

the motel room smells like cheap smoke and cheaper whiskey. the walls are paper-thin, the flickering neon light from the “VACANCY” sign outside bleeding through the curtains like a pulsing headache. you’d almost rather be back in that alley surrounded by demon guts. almost. 

dante lounges on the bed like he owns the place. boots kicked off, jacket discarded, and shirt peeled halfway up his torso, showing off a slash across his ribs that’s still bleeding. of course, the smug bastard doesn’t even flinch because he can heal himself. 

you drop the med kit on the table with a hard thunk. 

“you wanna explain why you dropped in like a dramatic ex during my mission?” you ask, tone sharp. “or do you just enjoy ruining my night?” 

he grins, slow and infuriating. “missed me, sweetheart?” 

[ This is different than what I usually post but I had to get this out of my system. The new DMC show brought back so many memories and idc what the haters say it's PEAK.

Anyway, to the DMC lovers out there, please accept this humble offering ]

Being in a relationship with Dante. | some NSFW included.

⊹— He may be the best demon hunter but in a relationship? He's the BIGGEST loser. Dante is always throwing some lame pick-up line your way and believe me when I say he will not give up until one sticks. (Spoiler warning: The fact that it actually works only makes him want to do it again)

—⊹ Dating Dante is not for the faint hearted. You have to be ready for all kinds of beyond ridiculous situations and have a godly amount of adaptability.

⊹— He will ALWAYS answer the phone for you. Literally. It doesn't matter what he's doing or where he is he will pick up the second he sees your name on the screen.

"Babe? Oh yeah! I'm totally still up for dinner! By the way, can you add those pieces of chocolate again to— *Approaching yelling in the background* Just a sec! *Crashing sounds and gunshots* Whew, okay, anyway like I was saying—"

—⊹ Oh yeah, he loooooves using pet names and silly nicknames. His personal favorites are "Babe" and "My little luck charm".

⊹— He likes to give you "traditional" dating gifts because that's what he always saw others do so when he shows up with a big ass teddy bear and a box of chocolates (which by the way he definitely ate some before giving it to you) please tell him you love it.

—⊹ Bro is so competitive. Dante is NOT letting you win in card games or any other board games because he wants to show off his skills to you. Though, if you get genuinely upset he would feel bad and invite you to play video games with him because he fails miserably at them every time.

⊹— His hands grab your ass every time you hug him. Not even in a sexual way he just can't help it and he never fails to throw a "nice ass" right after.

—⊹ Missing jewelry, hat or belt from your closet? He's the culprit. This guy will wear anything as long as he believes he looks good in it. I pray for you if you guys are a similar size because then you will have full clothing pieces missing.

⊹— He is THE hype man. Dante kisses the ground you walk on and he supports your rights and rights (because you could never do any wrong ;)).

—⊹ Dante's favorite thing is to show you off in every opportunity he gets. And if he doesn't have the opportunity then he'll just do it anyway. He is constantly yapping about how incredibly hot his partner is, how good your cooking is, how cute you look when you're focused and the way you smell so damn good all the time like, man! You're a freaking gift from the gods! (someone save poor Lady she can't bear to listen to him any more)

⊹— Please also hype him back in return! He has the worst praise kink case I've ever seen. Each time he's praised he just doesn't know what to do with himself and despite the initial cocky attitude he is easy to overwhelm if you don't stop. The first time you praised him while patting his head or scratching his chin he got a hard-on and had to rush out with a poor excuse before you noticed it.

—⊹ There is nothing romantic about sharing a bed with him. It's an absolute nightmare. First of all, this guy is physically incapable of sleeping with his clothes on. He just can't do it. Dante used to sleep butt ass naked but then you convinced him to at least wear boxers. Next on the list of problems is the snoring— Like, it's so loud you thought there was a truck engine next to you instead of your boyfriend. Not to mention the fact he takes up all space on the bed and moves around SO MUCH while he's asleep.

Please invest in separate beds before you kill him.

⊹— Absolutely hates morning. Getting him out of bed is the hardest thing to do and that's saying a lot with the life you two lead. He will keep you trapped in bed with him by wrapping his strong arms around your waist only to when you get up he sloooowly slides off the mattress and onto floor like a worm hanging to you.

—⊹ Surprisingly, or not, very insecure. This man is not controlling in any way though, he is just very worried that he won't be able to protect you if something was to happen or that you will realize you made a mistake by being with him.

⊹— His favorite thing is to make you smile. I know a lot of people paint him as stupid but I genuinely think he just acts silly as a defense mechanism. It's a mask. With you, though? He will purposely act like a dork because he knows it makes you smile.

—⊹ To add to that, Dante does everything he can to keep your spirits up; Someone hurt your feelings? No need to fret, he’s already planning their downfall. Feeling under the weather? tickle monster time! Migraine? He is closing the curtains and cuddling you until it gets better!

⊹— The filter between his brain and mouth is naturally bad but with you, who he is truly comfortable with, it's just INEXISTENT. This may range from random, useless bullshit to out of pocket comments that should definitely not be said out loud.

—⊹ Physical contact is his thing. I mean, he NEEDS it and can be very high maintenance about it. Having his hands on you is not enough for Dante he has to be as close as physically possible and you need to be giving him some kind of attention in return.

⊹— Hugging you from behind when you're cooking, snuggling while on the couch together, keeping a firm arm hooked around your waist while outside, constantly nuzzling his nose on your hair, kissing your neck at every chance he gets, pulling you into his lap as if it's his second nature ECT.

—⊹ Did I mention he adores your hair? In particular long hair because then he can fidget with it by twirling it around his finger or by being a dork and putting it between his lips and nose to make a mustache.

⊹— Your lips are like a drug to him. He will be saying "okay, okay I REALLY gotta bail now" and then stare at you for a solid two seconds then steal another kiss and another and another....oops, he's 30 minutes late already.

—⊹ Dante is a biter. God help you when you give him cuteness aggression (which is basically always) because he will chew on you like candy. Your skin is often red from teeth marks and he doesn't feel sorry about it at all.

⊹— Cannot cook to save his life but absolutely loves your food. Especially if you're good at baking! Man's scarfing down those sweet treats like it's his last meal on earth.

—⊹ He sings while he's showering and holds the bottle of shampoo to you like a microphone so you'll join him. Oh and yes, he is VERY tone-deaf.

⊹— No matter how many times he sees you naked he never gets tired of that blessed sight. He flirts with you like it's the first time he's seeing you and those naughty eyes speak for themselves.

—⊹ He has a high libido, especially in the beginning of the relationship where he's even more excitable than usual. Sex can be very clumsy and messy with him, but that's just what makes it so him.

⊹— If you're a breasty lady, he is reaaaaaally into you using your boobs to get him off. Dante also enjoys having your lips around his cock more than words could describe and a quickie in dark, tight spaces is part of the package with him.

—⊹ Bondage is a guilty pleasure of his. Dante prefers to be the one restrained and left at your mercy instead of the other way around because it's just very hot to him when you take control. You're also the only one he would trust to be this vulnerable with.

⊹— This guy is always late for EVERYTHING, but he shows up without a fail in the end. No matter how battered or tired he might be, not even if he was run over by a truck, he will definitely be there.

summary: dante is touch-starved, and he thinks the only way for him to feel something is to get punched by you

pairing: dante x afab!reader | based on the netflix version but definitely canon divergent

warnings: dry humping, unprotected p in v, creampie, degradation kink, very light choking, lots of swearing, kind of soft dom dante and light pain kink if you squint, idiots in love, friends to lovers, bit of praise, fem bodied reader

w/c: ~3.2k

a/n: this is definitely not my best work but it's a warm up ig. lol anyway i absolutely loved the dmc netflix version, and i'm considering getting the games

"Punch me."

Not a question, but an indisputable demand coming from the demon hunter, which made you do a double take, place the barrel of your M4 carbine on the table, and flat-out refuse.

"No."

He snarled, yes, snarled at you, slamming his pistol against the table with a loud bang. You looked up from your own weapon, taken aback by Dante's reaction, concern written all over your face. Was he high??

"Come on, Y/N, just do it. Just one punch, one tiny little punch. I know you want to." His cocky grin did numbers on your nerves, but you still refrained from giving him the satisfaction of hitting him. It’s been years since you met Dante, by this point you were used to his shenanigans.

Awwe thank you! Of course I'll write for Dante! Idk what it is about him, but he's been like extra good looking lately lol

Half-Devil, Full Care

Dante x Sick!Reader

Warnings: fluff, comfort, Dante being soft

You knew something was wrong the moment you woke up.

Not just tired (not the kind that fades after a few minutes) but heavy. Like your body had been runover by a semi-truck. Your limbs felt slow, your head thick and foggy, and when you swallowed, it burned.

“…Great,” you rasped, your voice rough and unfamiliar.

Even that took more effort than it should have. You pushed yourself up slightly, wincing when the room tilted in response. Your stomach churned, your vision blurring at the edges, and you immediately sank back down into the mattress with a quiet groan.

Okay. Not great.

“Hey, you alive in there or what?” you hear from somewhere outside your room.

the straw hats!!

A/N: This is the final part! I hope you guys really like it :P

I Also take requests if anyone if wants to ask!

Word count: 6013 words

Tags: @skywitchflatbaddie , @jellifishpuffs , @schmelscorner , @dejiyani , @viktorz-accent , @aws-blossom-heart , @sugaritbx

“Why didn’t April tell us she was here?”

Raph’s voice cut through the air as they moved through the tunnels, heading back to the lair. “She was back?”

His tone wasn’t just confusion.

It was something sharper.

Something building.

Leonardo didn’t answer right away.

Neither did Donnie.

But the look they shared—

that quiet, split-second glance—

said everything.

Raph saw it.

Of course he did.

And just like that, something in him snapped into place.

“Oh… what?” he let out a dry, disbelieving breath. “You knew about this?”

His voice rose, echoing slightly off the tunnel walls.

Neither of them denied it.

Didn’t even try.

“Yeah,” Donnie admitted carefully. “We found out earlier.”

Raph let out a short laugh—humorless, hollow. “Unbelievable.”

“Raph—” Leo started.

“No, don’t,” he cut him off quickly, turning to face him fully now. “Don’t do that calm, leader voice thing like this ain’t a big deal.”

Leo held his ground, steady as ever. “There was no point in opening old wounds. That was closed, Raph.”

“Closed?” Raph repeated, the word almost foreign on his tongue. “That didn’t look closed to me.”

His chest rose and fell heavier now, the image of you still burned into his mind—your voice, your face, the way you stopped him.

“You think I wouldn’t have wanted to know?” he added, quieter this time—but somehow more dangerous.

Leo’s expression softened, but he didn’t back down. “I think you would’ve gone after her.”

Raph didn’t answer.

Because that wasn’t the problem.

That was the truth.

“And I think,” Leo continued, voice measured, “that wouldn’t have been fair to either of you.”

That hit.

Raph’s jaw tightened, his gaze dropping for half a second before snapping back up.

“Yeah?” he muttered. “Well, now it don’t matter, does it?”

Because you were here.

And somehow—

It still felt like he had already lost you all over again.

Letting you go all those years ago hadn’t done what he thought it would. It didn’t set you free. It didn’t make anything easier.

If anything—

it just stretched the distance thinner, sharper, harder to ignore.

You were one of a kind. He knew that now in a way he hadn’t been able to back then. And it still didn’t make sense to him—how someone like you had ever looked at him the way you did.

Like he mattered.

Like he was more than what he saw in himself.

Not something hidden. Not something less.

Just… him.

Raph leaned back slightly, staring up at the ceiling, jaw tight.

All those years, he never really let you go.

Not once.

Photos tucked away where no one else would find them. Moments replayed so many times they stopped feeling like memories and started feeling like something he was still living in.

The way you used to laugh.

The way you used to say his name.

The way you looked at him like he was something worth loving.

Not a day had gone by where you didn’t cross his mind.

Not one.

It wasn’t occasional.

It wasn’t something that faded with time.

It was constant.

Quiet some days. Louder on others.

But always there.

Twenty-four hours.

Three hundred and sixty-five days.

Every year since you left.

And tonight—

seeing you again—

it didn’t feel like closure.

It felt like ripping something back open that never healed right in the first place.

Because he hurt you.

He knew that.

Knew it the second the words left his mouth all those years ago.

Knew it even more when he saw your face tonight.

That door?

Yeah… maybe it closed.

Maybe you made sure of that.

But sitting here now—

with your voice still echoing in his head—

Raph swallowed hard, his grip tightening slightly against his arm.

He didn’t want it to stay closed.

Didn’t care if it was selfish.

Didn’t care if it was too late.

He wanted to fix it.

Wanted one more chance to stand in front of you without lies, without pushing you away, without pretending he knew what was best for you.

Wanted—

you to look at him like that again.

Like he was yours.

And for the first time in years—

he wasn’t sure if letting you go had ever really been the right thing at all.

– - - -

“God, April—why would you put me in that situation?” you snapped the moment you stepped into her apartment, tossing your purse onto the counter.

The door hadn’t even fully shut behind you.

“Please, I didn’t know that would happen,” April rushed out, running a hand through her hair. “I thought it was just going to be Donnie.”

You let out a sharp breath, pacing a few steps before stopping near the window, staring out at the city like it had personally betrayed you.

“I’m such an idiot,” you muttered. “Why would I even come back here?”

“Come on, don’t do that,” April said, stepping closer. “Don’t act like this is all on me.”

You didn’t turn around.

“You ever think,” she continued more carefully, “that maybe leaving without saying a word to him… wasn’t the right way to handle that?”

That made you whip around.

Fast.

Your heels dug into the floor, the sound sharp against the silence.

“April,” you said, your voice tight, barely holding together, “that was eight years ago.”

Her expression didn’t change.

“I was just learning how to love,” you continued, the words coming faster now. “I didn’t know how to deal with my boyfriend—who I loved more than anything—telling me he didn’t want me anymore.”

The room fell quiet after that.

Heavy.

Because it wasn’t just anger.

It was everything underneath it.

Still there.

Still raw.

Like no matter how much time had passed—

that part of you never really moved on.

April didn’t back down.

Not this time.

“And you think that was easy for him?” she shot back, her voice sharper now, stepping closer instead of away.

You blinked, caught off guard.

“April—”

“No,” she cut in, shaking her head. “You don’t get to act like you were the only one hurting in that.”

Your jaw tightened. “He’s the one who ended it.”

“And he’s the one who regretted it five seconds later!” she snapped.

That hit harder than you expected.

You stilled.

April exhaled, but she didn’t soften—not yet.

“You think I didn’t see what he was like after you left?” she continued, her voice lowering but no less intense.

“You disappeared, (Y/N). Completely. No calls. No messages. Nothing.”

You swallowed, but didn’t respond.

“He didn’t eat right. Barely slept. He was… quiet,” she said, like the word itself didn’t feel right attached to him. “Raph doesn’t do quiet.”

Your chest tightened.

“He thought he did the right thing,” she went on. “Thought he was letting you go so you could have something better.”

A bitter laugh almost left your lips. “Yeah, well—”

“He was wrong,” April said firmly. “But he didn’t know that until you were already gone.”

Silence.

Thick.

Uncomfortable.

“You think he hasn’t been carrying that for eight years?” she added, softer now, but just as pointed. “Because I have watched him.”

That made you look at her.

Really look at her.

April’s expression had shifted—not angry anymore, just… honest.

“He never moved on,” she said quietly. “Not really.”

Your breath caught slightly.

And you hated that it did.

Because you didn’t want that to matter.

Didn’t want it to change anything.

But it did.

Even if just a little.

April studied your face, watching the shift, catching it.

“I’m not saying what he did was right,” she added. “It wasn’t. He hurt you. Badly.”

A pause.

“But you hurt him too.”

That one landed last.

And it didn’t leave.

You didn’t respond right away.

Because what was there to say to that?

The room felt smaller somehow. Quieter.

Like the truth April dropped was still settling into the space between you.

“He never moved on,” she had said.

Your fingers curled slightly at your sides.

You hated that it mattered.

Hated that it made your chest tighten in a way you couldn’t control.

April watched you carefully, like she was debating whether to say more

and then she sighed.

“Look… you didn’t know,” she muttered, almost to herself.

You frowned. “Know what?”

She hesitated.

That was your first warning.

“April,” you pressed, sharper now. “Know what?”

She ran a hand over her face. “It’s not my place—”

“April.”

A beat.

And then—

“He heard you.”

The words didn’t make sense at first.

You blinked. “What?”

April winced slightly. “That night. Before everything went down… he came by your place.”

Your stomach dropped.

“He was outside,” she continued carefully. “Fire escape. You left the window open like you always did.”

Your breath caught.

No.

No, no—

“And you were on the phone,” April said, her voice quieter now. “With your mom.”

The world tilted.

Pieces—small, scattered, forgotten pieces—started shifting into place.

“I miss you so much… I want nothing more than to come home…”

Your own voice echoed back at you.

From years ago.

You hadn’t known he was there.

You hadn’t known anyone was listening.

April’s gaze softened. “He thought… he thought you stayed for him.”

Your heart started pounding.

Harder.

Faster.

“And when he heard you say you wanted to go home…” she swallowed. “He figured he was the reason you weren’t.”

Everything stopped.

Not slowly.

All at once.

Like something inside you finally snapped into place.

“That’s why he did it,” April said quietly. “He thought he was letting you go. Thought he was helping you.”

The breakup.

The words.

I don’t want you anymore.

Your chest tightened painfully.

“That’s not—” you started, shaking your head, backing up slightly. “That’s not what I meant—”

“I know,” April said quickly. “I know that. But he didn’t.”

Silence crashed down between you.

Heavy.

Deafening.

Because suddenly—

it all made sense.

The way it came out of nowhere.

The way he couldn’t look at you.

The way it sounded forced.

Like he was trying to convince himself as much as you.

Your breathing turned uneven.

“He… heard me…” you repeated, barely above a whisper.

April nodded.

“And he got it wrong.”

That was it.

That was everything.

Eight years of heartbreak—

built on a misunderstanding.

Your knees felt weak, like the ground beneath you wasn’t as steady as it used to be.

Because all this time—

you thought he stopped loving you.

And all this time—

he thought he was setting you free.

Your hand came up to your mouth, trying to steady your breathing.

“Oh my god…” you whispered.

Everything you believed about that night—

everything you carried—

shifted.

And nothing felt the same anymore.

April didn’t say anything at first.

She just moved.

Quietly, carefully—like anything too sudden might make you pull away.

Her hand rested gently against your back, slow circles, grounding. Steady. There.

“I’ve got you,” she murmured, her voice softer now, stripped of all the sharp edges from before.

Your shoulders shook harder at that.

Because it had been so long since you let yourself fall apart like this. So long since you let anyone see it.

“I didn’t know…” you choked out, your hands still covering your face. “I didn’t know, April—I thought he just—”

Your voice broke completely.

She leaned closer, wrapping an arm around you, pulling you into her side without hesitation.

“I know,” she whispered. “I know.”

You let yourself fall into it this time.

Into the comfort.

Into the warmth of someone who had seen both sides and stayed anyway.

“I thought I wasn’t enough,” you admitted, the words slipping out like something you’d been holding in for years. “I thought… I thought he realized it and just—left.”

April’s grip tightened slightly.

“He didn’t,” she said firmly, pulling back just enough to look at you. “You need to hear me on this—he didn’t leave because you weren’t enough.”

Your eyes squeezed shut, fresh tears slipping through.

“He left because he thought he wasn’t,” she continued gently. “He thought you deserved something better than him.”

A shaky breath left you.

That sounded like him.

Too much like him.

“I should’ve—” you started, your voice cracking again. “I should’ve said something, I should’ve—stayed, or—fought, or—anything—”

“Hey,” April cut in softly, cupping the side of your arm. “No. Don’t do that.”

You shook your head, but she didn’t let you spiral.

“You were hurting too,” she said. “You don’t get to rewrite yourself as the villain just because you know more now.”

That made you pause.

Just slightly.

“You were young,” she added. “Both of you were. You didn’t have the full picture—and neither did he.”

Your breathing slowly started to steady, though the ache in your chest hadn’t gone anywhere.

It just… changed shape.

Quieter.

Heavier.

April brushed a loose curl away from your face, her expression soft, understanding.

“This wasn’t one person messing everything up,” she said gently. “It was two people who loved each other… and didn’t know how to say it the right way.”

That hit deep.

Because it felt true.

Painfully true.

You leaned into her slightly, exhausted now, emotionally wrung out in a way that left you hollow and full all at once.

“…What do I even do now?” you whispered.

April didn’t answer right away.

She just stayed with you for a moment longer, letting the question exist.

Then, softly—

“That’s up to you.”

Not pressure.

Not expectation.

Just truth.

“But,” she added, giving your hand a small squeeze, “whatever you decide… don’t let eight years of silence make the decision for you again.”

And this time—

you didn’t feel alone in it.

The silence that followed felt different.

Not empty.

Not heavy.

Just… waiting.

You wiped at your face, your breathing slowly steadying, though your chest still ached like something had been pulled wide open.

“…I need to see him,” you said quietly.

April blinked. “What?”

You looked at her—really looked at her this time.

Clearer.

Certain.

“I need to see him,” you repeated, stronger now. “I can’t just… sit on this. Not after knowing that.”

April studied your face for a moment, searching for hesitation.

There wasn’t any.

Only something steady.

Something resolved.

“…Okay,” she nodded slowly. “Okay.”

You let out a shaky breath. “Somewhere private. I don’t—I don’t want everyone there again.”

April gave a small, understanding smile. “The rooftop.”

Of course.

Your chest tightened slightly at the thought—but this time, you didn’t run from it.

You nodded.

“The rooftop.”

April reached for her phone, already dialing. “I’ll call Donnie. He’ll get the message to them.”

You sat there, hands still trembling slightly in your lap, heart beating a little too fast—but for the first time tonight, it wasn’t panic.

It was anticipation.

—

Back in the lair, the tension hadn’t settled.

Not even close.

Raph hadn’t moved much from where he’d been earlier, the weight of everything still pressing down on him, thick and unrelenting.

Donnie’s phone buzzed.

He glanced down, frowning slightly. “It’s April.”

Leo looked up. “Put it on speaker.”

Donnie answered. “April? What’s going on?”

Her voice came through, softer than before—but there was something else in it now.

Intent.

“She wants to see him.”

Raph stilled.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

“…Who?” Leo asked, though he already knew.

A small pause.

Then—

“(Y/N).”

The name hit harder this time.

Because now—

it was followed by something else.

“She wants to talk to Raph. Alone,” April continued. “On the rooftop.”

Silence.

Heavy.

Complete.

Raph’s heart slammed against his ribs.

Hard.

Fast.

Like it was trying to catch up to something he hadn’t even processed yet.

“…She asked for me?” he said, voice lower than usual. Careful. Like if he said it too loud, it might fall apart.

“Yeah,” April confirmed gently. “She did.”

Another pause.

Longer this time.

Leo glanced at him, measuring. “You don’t have to go.”

That snapped something.

Raph stood.

Immediately.

“No,” he said, already moving. “I’m goin’.”

There was no hesitation now.

No doubt.

Because this time—

you weren’t something he lost.

You were something reaching back.

And he wasn’t about to let that slip through his hands again.

–

Your makeup had long since smeared.

Mascara shadowed beneath your eyes, streaked from tears you didn’t bother to wipe away anymore. You hadn’t changed. Hadn’t washed your face. Hadn’t even thought about it.

You couldn’t wait.

Not after tonight.

Not after knowing.

You had already waited eight years without the truth—what was a few more minutes?

You climbed out onto April’s fire escape, gripping the cold metal as you carefully pulled yourself up, your heels catching dangerously with each step. It didn’t matter. None of it did.

You just needed to see him.

By the time you reached the rooftop, your breath was uneven—not just from the climb.

From everything.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, stepping forward slowly, the city stretching endlessly in front of you. Lights flickering. Cars moving. Life continuing like nothing had ever happened.

Like everything hadn’t changed.

Your chest tightened.

You had memories here.

So many.

Laughter. Late nights. quiet conversations under open skies.

Him.

Your friends.

God… you didn’t even call.

The realization hit sharper now, layered on top of everything else.

You and Mikey used to be inseparable—and you just… disappeared. Cut them all off like that part of your life didn’t exist anymore.

Your throat tightened.

“That was so shitty of me…” you whispered to yourself, your voice barely carried by the wind.

Tears welled again, blurring the skyline in front of you.

You pressed your arms tighter around yourself, trying to hold in the cold—but it seeped through anyway. It always did here.

New York had a way of doing that.

Especially now.

Especially like this.

Bare shoulders. Thin fabric. No armor left.

You tried not to think about it.

Tried not to think about anything—

Until you heard it.

The sound of someone landing behind you.

Soft.

Familiar.

Your breath caught.

You didn’t turn right away.

You didn’t need to.

You knew.

Of course you knew.

Your heart pounded in your chest, too loud, too fast, like it was trying to speak before you could.

God—you looked a mess.

Your hair, once carefully curled, now falling loose and uneven. Your makeup ruined. Your composure completely gone.

And still—

you turned.

Slowly.

Because none of that mattered anymore.

He stood there.

Alone.

And he was already looking at you.

Like he hadn’t stopped since the moment he arrived.

He didn’t move right away.

Didn’t rush toward you.

Didn’t reach.

For once—Raphael stood still.

Like he understood that this moment didn’t belong to impulse. That one wrong step could shatter whatever fragile thing had brought you both here.

The wind moved between you, quiet but cold, tugging at your dress, at his bandana—at everything neither of you had the words for yet.

His eyes didn’t leave yours.

Not once.

And when he finally spoke—

his voice was different.

Lower.

Rougher.

Like it had been sitting in his chest for years with nowhere to go.

“…I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t loud.

It wasn’t dramatic.

But it hit harder than anything else could have.

Your breath caught.

Because this wasn’t the version of him that snapped, or deflected, or hid behind anger.

This was the one he never let anyone see.

“I—” he started again, then stopped, jaw tightening as he tried to find the words. “I didn’t… I didn’t know how to do it right.”

A small, humorless breath left him.

“Still don’t.”

He shook his head slightly, like he was frustrated with himself.

“With you… with us… I just—” his voice faltered for a second before he forced it through, “I thought I was doin’ the right thing.”

Your chest tightened painfully.

“I heard you,” he admitted, finally. “That night. On the phone.”

There it was.

Out in the open.

“I wasn’t supposed to,” he added quickly, like it mattered. Like it excused anything. “I just… came by. Like I always did.”

His gaze dropped for a moment, like even looking at you now felt like something he had to earn back.

“You said you missed home,” he continued quietly. “Said you wanted to go back.”

A pause.

“And all I could think was… I was the reason you weren’t.”

Your vision blurred again.

“I thought you were stayin’ for me,” he said, his voice tightening now. “And I—” he exhaled sharply, running a hand over his head. “I couldn’t live with that. Not if it meant you were givin’ up somethin’ better.”

Another step closer.

Slow.

Careful.

Like he was still asking permission with every inch.

“So I said it,” he went on, quieter now. “Said what I knew would make you leave. What I knew would make it easier for you to go.”

I don’t want you anymore.

The words echoed between you again—but now they sounded different.

Broken.

“I hated myself for it the second it left my mouth,” he admitted, his voice rougher now, cracking at the edges. “But I figured… if you got out—if you were happy—then it was worth it.”

He finally looked back up at you fully.

And there was nothing guarded left in his expression now.

Just regret.

Just truth.

“I was wrong,” he said simply.

The wind passed between you again, quieter this time.

“I didn’t make it better,” he continued. “I didn’t fix anything. I just—” his voice dropped, barely holding steady, “I lost you.”

That word lingered.

Lost.

Not pushed away.

Not ended.

Lost.

His hands flexed slightly at his sides, like he didn’t trust himself to reach for you again.

“Every day after that… I knew I messed up,” he admitted. “Knew I should’ve told you the truth. Should’ve stayed. Should’ve fought for you instead of… decidin’ for you.”

A pause.

Long.

Heavy.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he said, quieter now. “I don’t expect anything from you.”

That hurt.

More than it should have.

“But I needed you to know,” he finished, his voice soft but certain, “I never stopped wantin’ you.”

The words didn’t settle gently.

They broke something open.

Your vision blurred almost instantly, tears welling faster than you could stop them. You turned your head away, swallowing hard, trying—failing—to steady your breathing.

You didn’t want him to see you like this.

Not again.

Not after everything.

But of course—

he stepped closer.

Careful.

Quiet.

Like even now, he didn’t want to overwhelm you.

“I’m sorry, Raph,” you said, your voice barely holding together. “I’m so sorry…”

The words trembled out of you, fragile, years too late and all at once.

“For what?” he asked softly, confusion slipping into his tone, like the idea of you apologizing didn’t sit right with him.

You shook your head, letting out a broken breath.

“For leaving,” you admitted. “For not saying anything. For just—disappearing like that.”

Your hands came up, wiping at your cheeks, but it didn’t do much. The tears kept coming anyway.

“I thought you didn’t love me anymore,” you whispered. “I thought… I thought I meant nothing to you after that.”

That landed.

Hard.

Raph’s expression shifted immediately—hurt, sharp and unmistakable.

“Hey—no,” he said quickly, closing the distance just a little more, his voice firmer now. “Don’t—don’t say that.”

You let out a quiet, shattered laugh.

“But that’s what it felt like,” you said. “You looked at me and told me you didn’t want me anymore, Raph. What was I supposed to do with that?”

He went still.

Because there wasn’t a good answer.

There never was.

“I didn’t know you heard me,” you continued, your voice cracking again. “If I did, I would’ve—God, I would’ve said something. I would’ve told you I stayed because I wanted to. Because I loved you—not because I felt stuck.”

The wind moved between you again, softer now, like it was listening.

“I never got the chance to explain,” you said, quieter now. “And you never gave me one.”

That truth sat between you.

Equal.

Balanced.

Pain on both sides.

Your eyes finally lifted back to his, tears still clinging to your lashes.

“We both messed it up,” you said gently.

And then something in you cracked.

“God, I loved you so much,” your voice broke, the softness shattering into something raw, something angry. “You were my world—every day without you was agony… why would you do that to me?”

The words came out sharper now, fueled by years of hurt you never got to release.

Your hands pushed against his plastron, then hit—once, twice—harder than you meant to, but not hard enough to do anything except echo the pain in your chest.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t stop you.

Didn’t defend himself.

He just stood there and took it.

Every hit.

Every word.

Like he believed he deserved it.

“You don’t get to decide that for me!” you cried, your voice cracking under the weight of it. “You don’t get to choose what’s better for me and then just—leave me to deal with it!”

Another hit.

Weaker this time.

Your strength was already giving out.

“I would’ve stayed anyway,” you choked. “I did stay—for you. Not because I had to—because I loved you!”

Your hands fell against him, no longer striking—just holding, gripping onto something solid as everything inside you gave way.

And then—

you collapsed into him.

Your forehead pressed against his chest, your body shaking with heavy, uncontrollable sobs.

The anger burned out as quickly as it came, leaving nothing but grief in its wake.

He froze for half a second.

Just a second.

Like he didn’t trust himself to move.

Then slowly—

carefully—

his arms came around you.

Not tight.

Not trapping.

Just… there.

Holding you like something fragile.

Like something he had already broken once and was terrified of breaking again.

“I know…” he said quietly, his voice rough, thick with emotion he wasn’t even trying to hide anymore. “I know, I screwed up—I know…”

One of his hands came up to the back of your head, resting there gently, grounding.

“I ain’t got no excuse for that,” he admitted. “I thought I was doin’ right by you, but I just… I hurt you.”

Your tears soaked into him, your breathing uneven, your fingers clutching at him like you didn’t know whether to push him away or hold him closer.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, softer this time. “For all of it.”

He didn’t try to fix it.

Your sobs slowly began to quiet.

Not gone.

Just… softer.

Like the storm had finally started to pass, leaving everything raw in its wake.

You stayed there for a moment longer, forehead pressed against his chest, your grip on him loosening—not because you wanted to let go…

but because you didn’t feel like you had to hold on so tightly anymore.

Raph didn’t move.

Didn’t rush you.

His hand still rested gently at the back of your head, the other around you, steady and warm against the cold night air.

“…I missed you,” you admitted quietly, your voice worn, fragile.

The words felt smaller than everything you meant—

but they were true.

You felt his breath hitch slightly above you.

“Yeah…” he murmured. “Yeah, I missed you too.”

A small, sad smile tugged at your lips despite everything.

You pulled back slowly, just enough to look up at him.

Really look at him.

Not through anger.

Not through heartbreak.

Just… him.

“You look older,” you said softly, almost teasing through the emotion.

He let out a quiet breath that almost resembled a laugh. “Yeah? You should see yourself.”

You huffed lightly, shaking your head. “Oh, I know. I look like a mess.”

“You don’t,” he said immediately.

No hesitation.

And the way he said it—

like it was obvious—

made your chest tighten again, but softer this time.

Different.

A pause settled between you.

But it wasn’t suffocating anymore.

It was… careful.

Hopeful.

Like both of you were standing on something fragile—but willing to try anyway.

“I don’t know what this is,” you admitted, glancing down for a moment before meeting his eyes again. “I don’t know if we can just… go back.”

Raph nodded slowly.

“We can’t,” he said honestly.

No false promises.

No pretending.

“But…” he hesitated, like the next words mattered more. “We could try somethin’ new.”

That made you still.

“Slow,” he added quickly. “No… no makin’ choices for each other. No assumin’. We talk this time.”

A faint, almost nervous smile pulled at his lips.

“Like normal people… or—y’know—whatever we are.”

That earned a small laugh from you.

Soft.

Real.

“I think we skipped that step last time,” you said.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Big time.”

Another pause.

But this one—

felt lighter.

You looked at him for a long moment.

Eight years of distance sitting between you—

and yet somehow not as impossible as it once felt.

“…Okay,” you said finally.

Just one word.

But it meant everything.

Raph’s expression softened in a way you hadn’t seen in years.

Relief.

Careful.

Quiet.

He didn’t rush forward.

Didn’t pull you back in.

He just stayed there with you.

Close enough to reach.

Far enough to respect the space you both needed.

And for the first time since that night—

it didn’t feel like the end.

It felt like something beginning again.

Not the same.

But maybe…

something better.

–

You both had been sitting there for a while, the city humming beneath you like a steady heartbeat.

At some point, without really thinking about it, you leaned your head against his shoulder.

He tensed for half a second—

then relaxed.

Careful.

Like he was letting himself have this, just for now.

You could hear his breathing, slow and grounded, feel the rise and fall of it under your cheek. It was familiar in a way that made your chest ache, but not painfully this time.

Just… quietly.

Softly.

Thank god this happened the first night.

The thought slipped in before you could stop it.

Because now—

you had time.

Time to talk. Time to fix things. Time to figure out whatever this was becoming.

Not just a rushed goodbye like before.

“…So,” he started, his voice low, slightly unsure—like he was testing the waters of something lighter.

You hummed softly in response, eyes still on the skyline.

“How was that formal thingy anyway?” he asked, nodding toward your dress.

You let out a quiet, breathy laugh.

“Terrible,” you admitted.

That earned a small huff from him—almost amused.

“Yeah? You looked like you fit right in.”

You lifted your head slightly to glance at him, raising a brow. “You think so?”

He shrugged one shoulder carefully, not wanting to jostle you too much.

“Yeah,” he said simply. “Looked… real good.”

The words were casual.

But the way he said them—

they weren’t.

You felt your cheeks warm slightly, and you looked away again, a small smile pulling at your lips.

“It was loud,” you continued. “Crowded. A lot of people pretending to care about things they don’t actually care about.”

“Sounds about right,” he muttered.

You laughed softly at that, the sound lighter than anything you’d felt all night.

“I kept thinking about leaving,” you admitted. “Didn’t feel like I belonged there.”

A pause.

Then, quieter—

“…Guess I ended up where I was supposed to be anyway.”

The words settled between you.

Gentle.

Unforced.

Raph didn’t respond right away.

But you felt the way his shoulder shifted slightly under you—just enough to lean into you a little more.

You stayed like that for a while longer.

Your head resting on his shoulder. His presence steady beside you. The city slowly brightening as the sun climbed higher, washing everything in soft gold.

It felt… unreal.

But not in the way it used to.

Not fragile.

Just quiet.

Real.

“…You still drink that awful coffee?” he asked suddenly, his voice low, a hint of something almost teasing.

You huffed out a small laugh. “It’s not awful.”

“It is,” he said immediately. “Tastes like burnt dirt.”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him with a faint smile. “You drank it all the time.”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “’Cause you liked it.”

That made you pause.

Your expression softened.

“…You still hate mornings?” you asked.

He let out a quiet breath. “Yeah. But… I stayed up for this one.”

Your chest tightened—gently.

Not painfully.

Just enough to remind you that this still meant something.

“Good,” you said softly.

A small silence followed, but it wasn’t empty.

It felt like something being rebuilt.

Piece by piece.

“So what happens now?” you asked after a moment, your voice quieter, more careful.

Raph didn’t answer right away.

For once—

he took his time.

“Now…” he started, glancing at you, then back out at the city. “We don’t do what we did before.”

You nodded slightly. “No more assuming.”

“No more deciding things for each other,” he added.

You let out a small breath. “No more running.”

He glanced back at you at that, something soft flickering in his expression.

“Yeah,” he said. “No more running.”

Another pause.

Then—

“We start over?” you asked, hesitant, like you weren’t sure if that was even possible.

Raph shook his head slightly.

“Not over,” he said.

You frowned a little. “No?”

He looked at you then.

Really looked at you.

“We start where we are,” he corrected. “Not pretendin’ none of this happened. Just… doin’ it better this time.”

That settled something in your chest.

Because that felt right.

Honest.

“…Okay,” you said quietly.

Your hand shifted slightly where it rested between you.

This time—

he didn’t hesitate.

His fingers brushed against yours.

Then gently—

carefully—

he laced them together.

Not tight.

Not claiming.

Just… holding.

You looked down at your joined hands, then back up at him, a small smile forming through everything that had happened.

“You know,” you murmured, “this is a pretty risky first date.”

He huffed out a quiet laugh. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said, squeezing his hand lightly.

“A lot of emotional baggage.”

“Speak for yourself,” he teased softly.

You smiled wider at that.

And for a moment—

it felt easy.

Not perfect.

Not fixed.

But real.

The sun rose higher, the city fully waking beneath you, but neither of you moved to leave just yet.

Because for once—

you weren’t running out of time.

You had it.

And this time—

you were going to use it right.

The End

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

Bay! Raphael X Reader

Part I

A/N: I wasn’t going to make a second part to this—I originally wanted to leave it as a one-shot. But I saw how many people really enjoyed it and wanted more, so I decided to write an additional part! I made it a lot longer, but Tumblr was not letting me post it so I will be posting them individually-which I hope is okay, but there was just a lot more I wanted to explore in this story. Thank you so much for the support

Synopsis : Eight years later, the past finds its way back—whether they’re ready or not.

Word count: 6000 words

Tags: @skywitchflatbaddie , @jellifishpuffs , @schmelscorner , @dejiyani , @viktorz-accent , @aws-blossom-heart , @sugaritbx

New York wasn’t how you left it all those years ago.

Or maybe…

you just weren’t the same person anymore.

You still remembered the mix of emotions that sat heavy in your chest the day you decided to leave—how it felt like you were tearing yourself in two, one half staying behind while the other forced itself to move forward.

When you left, you didn’t look back.

Not really.

You couldn’t.

And for a long time, you never came back.

Not to the city.

Not to the memories.

Not to him.

Until now.

Eight years later, you’ve grown into someone entirely different—someone stronger, steadier, someone who learned how to live without the life you once thought you’d never leave behind.

That version of you?

You left her here.

Somewhere between the rooftops and quiet nights, between laughter that echoed through hidden rooms and a love that ended before it ever had the chance to last.

And now—

standing in the same city that once felt like home—

you weren’t sure if you were revisiting the past…

or finally facing it.

You knew, deep down, you never wanted to come back.

The mix of emotions sitting in your chest was enough to make you feel sick if you let yourself think about it for too long.

But business didn’t care about feelings.

And it brought you right back to New York.

Just for a couple of weeks.

That’s what you told yourself.

Just a couple of weeks.

You tightened your grip on your luggage as you walked through the narrow airport corridors, the hum of voices and rolling suitcases echoing around you. Everything felt too loud, too close—like the city was already pressing in on you before you’d even stepped outside.

Step by step, you made your way toward the exit.

Toward it all.

You slowed as you passed a large window, your eyes drifting outward almost instinctively.

The skyline stretched across the horizon—familiar, towering, unchanged.

Your breath caught slightly.

Eight years.

And it still looked the same.

But you didn’t feel the same.

Not even close.

For a moment, you just stood there, staring—like if you looked long enough, you might recognize the version of yourself you left behind in those streets.

But she wasn’t there anymore.

And neither was the life you once had.

Or at least…

That’s what you tried to believe.

Your work had offered to arrange an escort to your hotel, something simple and professional—but you had politely declined.

There was someone you’d much rather see.

You continued your descent through the terminal, the crowd thinning as you approached the exit.

And then—

a flash of bright yellow caught your eye.

Familiar.

Unmistakable.

April.

She stood just past the doors, waving you down with both hands, her signature yellow leather jacket practically glowing in the crowd.

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

It had been a while.

A long while.

New York wasn’t exactly a quick trip, and while you’d both tried to keep in touch—texts, calls, the occasional message on social media—it was never quite the same.

Not like this.

Not like seeing her in person.

“Hey!” she called out, already making her way toward you.

You barely had time to react before she pulled you into a tight hug.

And just like that—

for a brief moment—

the city didn’t feel so heavy anymore.

She let out a deep sigh as she held you tighter.

 “God, I missed you so much!” she laughed, pulling back slightly. 

You smiled, softer this time. April had always been a bridge between two worlds you once lived in—a world you chose to leave behind. 

The turtles. 

The thought alone made something in your chest tighten, but you pushed it down just as quickly. You knew she still kept in touch with them, of course she did, but she also knew what happened.

 What he said. What he did. And after that night, you never really went back. Not to them. Not to that part of your life. You told yourself it was easier that way, cleaner. 

You let it go. Or at least… you tried to. You never asked April what happened after you left—never asked if they talked about you, if he did.

 Never asked if Raphael ever regretted it, or if he even cared. Because some questions, you weren’t sure you wanted the answers to.

Your work had offered to pay for a top-of-the-line hotel, but you decided to stay with April instead. It felt easier—familiar. You followed her out, letting her grab your bags despite your protests, and walked toward a truck that looked all too familiar.

Vern.

Of course.

“There she is!” Vern called, arms already spread wide like he was greeting a celebrity.

“Hey, Vern,” you said, stepping in for a quick, polite hug.

“Thought you deserved a ride from none other than the Falcon,” he grinned, pointing proudly at his truck.

You couldn’t help but laugh a little.

Vern—the self-proclaimed hero of New York. The man who had taken credit for the turtles’ fight against the Shredder all those years ago. Sure, some people knew the truth now… but most of the city still saw him as the one who saved the day.

“Wow,” you said lightly, glancing over at April as she shoved your suitcases into the back. “I’m such a lucky girl.”

April shot you a look, already smirking.

And just like that, for a moment, things almost felt normal again. You hopped into the back seat, April taking the passenger while Vern pulled out into traffic. The streets were just as busy as you remembered—one thing you definitely didn’t miss about living in New York. Having to leave three hours early just to get anywhere on time. “So, how’s life been?” Vern asked, glancing at you through the rearview mirror as the traffic ahead slowed to a crawl. He said it like he wasn’t the same guy who randomly liked your Instagram posts at midnight, clearly keeping up with everything you’d been doing. “Life’s good. Busy,” you said with a small laugh, resting your head back against the seat. “(Y/N)’s staying with me,” April added, turning slightly to smile at you. “We’re gonna have some girly time.” “Oh—girly time,” Vern repeated, looking between the two of you. “So that doesn’t include me, or…?” You couldn’t help but laugh at that, the sound coming easier than you expected. 

“You can see her later. We have a lot of catching up to do,” April said, shooting Vern a look, clearly unamused.

 “God, it’s been so long since I’ve been here,” you added, glancing out the window at the crowds of people and towering buildings covered in advertisements. 

“You’re staying for a few weeks—by the time you’re ready to go, you’ll be all New Yorked out—” April started, only to be cut off by the loud, obnoxious ringing of her phone.

 She unzipped her jacket and pulled it out, and you saw it immediately—the way her expression dropped when she read the caller ID. Then she glanced over at Vern. 

You didn’t need her to say it. You already knew. One of them. You weren’t sure which, but you knew.

 “You gonna answer?” Vern asked, looking between the two of you. 

“Oh—it’s just Donnie,” April said, but the name alone was enough. 

Familiar. Heavy. She looked back at you, hesitant, like she wasn’t sure what to do.

 You understood why. It wasn’t all of them—you weren’t on bad terms with all of them. Just… one. “Hey, April,” you said gently, giving her a small nod. 

“I really don’t mind. You can pick up.” you said, offering her a reassuring smile. 

“Thank you. I’ll be quick.” With that, she swiped to answer, leaning back into her seat.

 “Hey, Don, what’s up?” she said casually. You tried not to eavesdrop—but it was kind of impossible when you were all stuck in the same car. 

“No, not tonight. I don’t think I mentioned it, but (Y/N)’s in town. She came in for a visit, so I’m spending the day with her.” The second the words left her mouth, your stomach dropped. 

Great. Now they knew you were here. 

You shifted slightly in your seat, trying not to let it show on your face. It wasn’t April’s fault—of course she wasn’t going to lie to them—but still… hearing it out loud made everything feel a little too real. “Okay, talk to you later. Bye,” she said, hanging up and lowering her phone.

April lowered her phone slowly, like she was bracing for something.

For a second, no one said anything.

The car filled with a quiet that wasn’t there before.

“…So,” Vern started, glancing between the two of you through the mirror, clearly sensing the shift. “That sounded… normal.”

April shot him a look. “Vern.”

“What?” he shrugged. “I’m just saying—nobody screamed, nobody panicked. That’s a win.”

You let out a small breath through your nose, leaning your head back against the seat again.

“They were gonna find out eventually,” you said quietly.

April turned slightly in her seat, watching you more carefully now. “I didn’t mean to just… drop it like that.”

“I know,” you replied, giving her a small smile. “It’s fine.”

And it was.

Or at least—

you were trying to convince yourself it was.

Because now they knew.

Which meant—

he knew.

Your fingers tightened slightly around the strap of your bag, your gaze drifting back out the window as the city passed by in a blur.

Eight years.

And somehow, it still had a way of pulling everything back to the surface.

April hesitated for a moment before speaking again, softer this time. “If you don’t want to see them… you don’t have to.”

You swallowed.

“I’m not here for them,” you said simply.

Not a lie.

But not the full truth either.

Vern hummed lightly under his breath, clearly choosing not to push it further for once as the truck rolled forward through traffic.

And just like that—

the city felt a little smaller.

Like no matter where you went…

you couldn’t really avoid the past anymore.

—

“What did April say, Donnie?” Leonardo asked, sitting across from him at the table.

“She can’t tonight,” Donnie replied, then glanced over his shoulder, making sure they were alone. “She said (Y/N)’s in New York. Staying with her for a few weeks.”

Your name hadn’t been said much since you left.

Not out loud, anyway.

They all knew what happened. Why you left. Why you never came back.

Leo’s expression shifted instantly—subtle, but telling.

They all had mixed feelings when it came to you. You had been close with all of them once—family, even—but after everything with Raph… you disappeared from their lives just as quickly as you entered it.

Leo leaned back slightly, thinking.

Because this?

This changed things.

He already knew you weren’t here for them. You weren’t going to come looking. And if you had wanted to see them—you would’ve reached out.

So what was the point of telling Raph?

What good would it do besides stir something that had never really settled?

“Donnie,” Leo said after a moment, voice quieter now, “maybe keep that between us.”

Donnie looked at him for a second, then gave a small nod.

“Yeah… I was thinking the same thing.”

Because they both knew—

Raphael wouldn’t handle it well.

You were the one that got away.

Even if he was the reason you did.

–

The rest of the drive passed quicker than you expected.

Maybe it was the conversation, or maybe it was the way your mind kept drifting somewhere you didn’t want it to go.

Either way, before you knew it, Vern was pulling up to a familiar building.

Your chest tightened slightly.

April’s place.

Some things really hadn’t changed.

“Home sweet home,” Vern said, putting the truck in park.

April was already unbuckling her seatbelt. “C’mon, I’ll help you with your bags.”

You stepped out onto the sidewalk, the city air hitting you instantly—louder, heavier, more alive than anywhere else you’d been in years.

It felt the same.

Too much the same.

You grabbed your suitcase as April pulled the rest from the back, the two of you making your way toward the entrance.

Each step felt… familiar.

Automatic.

Like your body remembered this place even if you tried not to.

“You good?” April asked, glancing over at you as she held the door open.

“Yeah,” you said quickly, offering a small smile. “Just… weird being back.”

She nodded like she understood.

Because she did.

The elevator ride was quiet, save for the soft hum as it climbed. You watched the numbers change, your reflection staring back at you in the metal doors.

Different.

Older.

But not untouched.

When the doors finally opened, April led the way down the hall, stopping in front of her apartment.

For a second—

just a second—

you hesitated.

Because the last time you were somewhere like this…

everything changed.

“You gonna stand there all day?” April teased lightly, already unlocking the door.

You let out a small breath, shaking off the thought.

“Right.”

And then you stepped inside—

back into a life you swore you left behind.

April’s apartment hadn’t changed much. 

Still decorated the same, the same pictures on the walls, the same dishes, even the same sofa. You couldn’t help but let your gaze drift toward the fire escape, noting how many times you’d been here when a certain turtle would drop in unannounced, like he belonged there just as much as you did.

 “So,” April started, pulling a glass from the cupboard and filling it with water, “I don’t think I mentioned it on the ride here…” You glanced over at her, already suspicious. “But Vern has this thing tonight. It’s more like an anniversary of him ‘saving’ the city,” she added, making air quotes with her fingers. 

You snorted at that. Vern really took the whole hero thing seriously, despite doing absolutely nothing. 

“Go on,” you said, amused. “Anyway, it’s a formal dinner, and I thought maybe we could dress up and pop in,” she shrugged casually.

 You blinked. “April, I only brought a couple blouses for work. I don’t have anything formal,” you said, pointing toward your worn suitcase, still covered in old luggage tags. 

“Come on, I have something you can wear. Don’t let me down,” she insisted, stepping closer and gently grabbing your shoulders, giving you a small shake. 

“Pretty, pretty, pretty please. I already told Vern you were coming…” Her voice trailed off at the end. You narrowed your eyes. “What? April.” “Come on, it’ll be fun. They have an open baaar,” she dragged out the last word, trying to sell it.

 You paused, thinking it over for a moment longer than you should have. Then you sighed.

“…Fine.”

—

You looked at yourself in the mirror as April took her time, carefully applying soft makeup and curling your hair to perfection. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d gotten dressed up like this.

“So, what kind of dress do you have for me?” you asked, smiling at her through the mirror.

“Oh my God, you’ll love it—it’s beautiful,” she said eagerly before rushing out of the bathroom toward her closet. You watched her jog off, shaking your head slightly.

Your eyes drifted back to your reflection.

Wow.

It had been a while since you’d looked like this.

You reached for her lip liner on the counter, carefully tracing your lips, adding just a little more definition.

“Ta-da!” April announced, popping back into the room, holding up a long red gown.

It shimmered under the light, covered in delicate jewels that caught every movement.

Your eyes widened. “Whoa… if that’s what I’m wearing, what are you wearing?” you laughed.

“I may or may not have a pretty cute black dress waiting for its moment,” she teased.

You let out a small laugh, but your gaze lingered on the dress.

Red.

Bold.

Not exactly something you would’ve picked for yourself.

But still…

you couldn’t deny—

it was stunning.

For a second, you just stared at it.

And then—

it hit you.

A memory, sharp and uninvited.

You in a different mirror. Different night. Same color.

His hands had hovered awkwardly near his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them, trying very hard not to stare—but failing anyway.

“Damn…” he had muttered under his breath before he could stop himself.

You had turned, caught him looking.

“What?”

He’d cleared his throat, suddenly very interested in absolutely anything else in the room. “Nothin’. Just… didn’t think red was your color.”

You had raised a brow. “And yet?”

And yet he’d looked at you again.

Longer that time.

Softer.

Like he’d just realized something he wasn’t ready to say out loud.

The memory snapped back just as quickly as it came.

You blinked, fingers still lightly holding the edge of the dress fabric in front of you.

“…You okay?” April’s voice broke through gently.

You swallowed, forcing yourself back into the present.

“Yeah,” you said quickly. “Just spaced out for a second.”

April didn’t push.

But her eyes lingered on you a moment too long to miss.

You cleared your throat, letting the moment pass. “It’s really pretty.”

–

The drive there felt longer than it should’ve.

Not because of distance—but because of everything in your head that refused to quiet down.

By the time April’s car pulled up to the venue, the city lights had already changed into something sharper. Brighter. Too polished. Too loud in a different way.

The building stood tall ahead of you—glass, gold accents, cameras near the entrance. People dressed like they belonged in another world.

You exhaled slowly.

“Okay,” April said, glancing over at you as she parked. “Just a quick appearance. Smile, nod, grab a drink, we leave whenever you want.”

“Sounds easy enough,” you replied, though your fingers lightly adjusted the edge of your dress without thinking.

She gave you a look. “You good?”

You hesitated for half a second.

Then nodded. “Yeah. Just… haven’t done this in a while.”

April smiled softly. “You’ll be fine. You look amazing, by the way.”

That got a small laugh out of you. “You too.”

The two of you stepped out of the car.

The air outside was cooler than you expected.

Too crisp.

Too real.

Inside, everything changed immediately.

Music. Glasses clinking. Cameras flashing. Voices layered over each other in a constant hum of celebration. The kind of event where everyone pretended they belonged in the same room, even if they didn’t.

Vern spotted you almost instantly.

“There she is!” he called, far too loud, already making his way over like he was hosting the whole place himself.

You smiled automatically, falling into polite greetings, small talk, familiar faces that felt slightly distant.

But even as you laughed—

even as you played along—

you felt it.

That shift.

Like the air had tightened just a little too much.

Her posture shifted slightly beside you.

Her smile stayed on—but it softened at the edges.

-–

The night moved painfully slow.

You did your best to be polite, to smile, to engage in conversation with April and Vern’s acquaintances, but it all blurred together after a while. The tight red dress that hugged your figure now started to dig into your skin in places you couldn’t ignore.

You regretted agreeing to come.

But you also knew April wouldn’t have come without you. And she wanted this time with you.

So you stayed.

Now you sat alone at the table, watching guests mingle and laugh about things that didn’t concern you, your fingers loosely wrapped around a glass of wine you barely touched.

April noticed.

Of course she did.

She made her way over and slid into the seat beside you.

“Hey,” she said softly. “You just about ready to leave?”

“Yeah,” you admitted with a small, tired smile. “Sorry, April. It’s been a long day of traveling. It’s starting to catch up with me.”

“It’s okay,” she said quickly. “We can head back, watch a movie, do nothing. Whatever you want.”

Before you could respond, her phone rang again.

She sighed, already pulling it out of her purse. “Geez, Donnie’s been trying to call for hours now. Must be important.”

She answered.

You tried not to listen.

Tried.

“What—now?” April said into the phone, her tone shifting immediately.

A pause.

“Can’t this wait till tomorrow? I mean yeah, I have it with me, but I’m at Vern’s event right now.”

Another pause.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll be there in a second.”

She ended the call and looked at you with a slight wince.

“Look, sorry. I have to drop something off to Donnie real quick. You don’t have to come, I promise. He just needs it now.”

Honestly, the idea of sitting there alone in a room full of strangers while April went off to meet a mutant turtle sounded worse.

“No, no,” you said, already grabbing your purse. “I’ll come with you.”

April blinked. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” you said, forcing a small smile. “It’ll be nice to see Donnie.”

That part wasn’t even a lie.

April hesitated for half a second longer, then nodded.

“Okay. It’ll be quick, I swear.”

And with that—

you both made your way toward the exit.

–

“How long’s she gonna be, Donnie?” Leonardo asked, standing patiently in the alley behind the venue.

Patience, though, was only on the surface.

His brothers lingered around him, each of them pretending to be busy in their own way, all of them waiting for the same thing.

The same arrival.

“She’s coming now,” Donnie said quietly, eyes flicking down to his device.

“Dude, is April gonna be all dressed up?” Mikey asked, eyes widening slightly.

“Well, she ain’t going to a formal in jeans,” Raph muttered, lightly knocking him upside the head.

Donnie adjusted something on his watch, the glow of it briefly lighting his face. “Can we focus, guys? April’s gonna be here any second.”

A pause.

Then—

“Hey, guys. What’s so important I needed to come here?”

April’s voice cut through the alley like a shift in gravity.

She stepped into view.

And for a moment, all of them straightened.

“Oh… you’re all here?” she said, slowing slightly. “I thought it would’ve been just you, Donnie.”

Her gaze flicked briefly behind her.

Like she already knew what was coming.

“Sorry, April,” Leo said, stepping forward. “We just stopped by on our way to the lair. We’ll be quick.”

Mikey brightened immediately. “Hey! You look good, babycakes.”

April let out a small laugh. “Thanks, Mikey.”

“You couldn’t have waited two seconds for me, girl—”

Your voice cut in as you rounded the corner.

And just like that—

the air changed.

Your steps slowed.

Because you saw them.

All of them.

Not just Donnie.

Not just April.

All of them.

Your heart dropped so fast it almost hurt.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Leo’s expression shifted instantly—shock, then something carefully contained, like he was trying to hold the moment together before it shattered.

Raph didn’t move at all.

Not at first.

It was like the world had forgotten how to breathe.

And then—

his eyes found you.

And everything stopped.

Eight years didn’t exist in that moment.

There was no city.

No noise.

No time.

Just him.

Frozen.

Like your name had caught in his throat and never left.

Because there you were.

Still you.

Still the one he let go.

And now—

standing right in front of him again.

“(Y/N)?” Raphael said, pushing past Mikey to get a closer look at you.

Your name sounded different in his voice now.

Older.

Heavier.

Like it had been waiting years to be spoken again.

You froze.

Because it shouldn’t have been possible.

Not here. Not now. Not him.

But it was.

And he was real.

Raphael stood in front of you like time had simply… bent around him and brought him back unchanged in all the ways that mattered.

Still him.

But not.

More scars traced across him now, like history written into skin and bone. More definition in his face, like life had carved him sharper instead of softer. He looked like something that had survived you leaving him.

Or maybe—

something that never did.

He came closer slowly.

Carefully.

Like you were something fragile enough to break again just by breathing too hard.

Like you might vanish if he reached too quickly.

And instinct—stupid, ancient instinct—made you step back.

Just one step.

But it was enough.

The space between you didn’t just grow.

It spoke.

Everyone else disappeared in it.

The alley, the night, the world beyond this moment—all of it dulled into silence except for the weight of his stare.

Like he was trying to memorize you again before you slipped out of existence.

“Hi…” you said at last.

Soft.

Careful.

Barely there.

And it hit him like something physical.

Because hearing your voice wasn’t just hearing you—

it was remembering everything at once.

Every laugh he shouldn’t have let himself love.

Every silence he still carried like a bruise.

Every rooftop moment he thought he was saving you from him…

only to realize he had been losing you instead.

You couldn’t stop looking at him.

Couldn’t stop feeling him.

Like time hadn’t erased anything at all.

Like eight years had only stretched the wound thinner, not healed it.

You saw it in him too.

The way his eyes moved over you—slow, disbelieving.

Not just seeing you.

Taking you in.

The way your hair fell now, soft where it used to be hurried. The way the red dress caught the dim light like something too bold for the distance you’d both endured. The way you weren’t the girl who left him anymore…

and still somehow were.

And Raphael just stood there—

like the world had finally given him something back it had no right to take in the first place.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” he said, lifting his hand slowly toward your face.

You didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Didn’t stop him.

His palm hovered for the briefest second—like even now, even after everything, he was still asking permission without words. Then he touched you.

Careful.

Reverent.

Like you were something he was afraid to wake up from.

His thumb brushed lightly against your cheek, slow and unsteady, like he was memorizing the reality of you through touch alone. He had always been gentle like that. Even when everything else about him was rough edges and fire, his hands had never been cruel.

You stood there, frozen in the space between then and now.

Still trying to understand how he was here.

Still trying to hold all the hurt that came rushing back the second you saw him.

Words gathered in your throat and refused to come out.

Because what were you supposed to say to that?

To him?

To eight years of silence suddenly standing inches away from you, looking at you like you were something lost and found all at once.

Your eyes flickered over his face instead, searching it like it might explain something words couldn’t.

“I… apologize to break this up. But can we focus, please?” Leo said, carefully grounding the moment before it could spiral further.

The spell broke—just slightly.

You blinked, like you’d been pulled back into your body all at once, and finally looked around at the familiar faces standing in the alley.

Mikey, still bright as ever, was the first to break the silence.

“Wow, this must be sooooo awkward for you guys,” he said, completely unfiltered. Then he grinned, like nothing in the world had ever been heavy for long. “Also—hey! Nice to see you again!”

It was so him.

So unchanged.

And for a second, it almost made you smile.

Almost.

But the air was still thick with everything unsaid, everything suspended between you and Raphael, like even breathing too deeply might shift something irreversible.

And Raphael still hadn’t stepped away.

Still hadn’t let go.

Like he didn’t know how.

Donatello began speaking quietly with April, gesturing toward whatever urgent reason had pulled them all into this moment. April shot you a look—concerned, hesitant—but she didn’t interrupt. Didn’t step in.

None of them did.

Like they understood, in some unspoken way, that this wasn’t theirs to break.

They were giving you space.

Letting it exist.

Letting it happen.

Raphael’s attention didn’t leave you.

“I just… thought I lost you,” he said softly, a faint, almost disbelieving smile touching his mouth as he stepped closer again, like he couldn’t help himself.

Like distance had never really been a concept he accepted when it came to you.

His hand lifted toward your face once more.

But this time—

you moved.

Not away.

Just enough.

Your fingers gently closed around his wrist, stopping him before he could reach you again.

Careful.

Not harsh.

But certain.

The contact made something flicker in his expression—confusion first, then something quieter. Something that settled deeper.

You were both younger then.

Younger in a way that didn’t just mean time—it meant understanding. Learning how to hold someone without breaking them. Learning how to let yourself be held without fear.

Back when love had felt like something you could figure out as you went.

Before it became this.

Before it became memory.

“You did…” you said softly.

And the words landed heavier than anything else in the alley.

You saw it happen in him—right there, unmistakable. The exact moment your voice stopped being something he could reach for, and became something he had already lost. Not suddenly. Not violently. Just… finally.

Like the truth had been sitting between you for years, and only now decided to settle.

“Okay, let’s move,” Leo said, breaking the stillness.

He pulled himself up onto the fire escape without hesitation, already shifting back into motion like he could outrun the weight of what just happened. Donnie followed, quick and precise. Mikey went after them a second later, glancing back once with a softer expression than before.

And just like that—

they were gone upward into the city.

One by one.

Leaving the alley a little emptier.

A little too exposed.

Raphael didn’t move right away.

He stayed where he was, eyes still locked on you like distance had become something physical he couldn’t accept. Like if he looked away, you might become unreal again.

A ghost.

A mistake his mind had learned to regret too vividly.

He hesitated.

You saw it.

The way his shoulders tightened, like something in him wanted to stay—wanted to say something more, something that had been sitting in him for eight years with nowhere to go.

But then—

he moved.

Slowly, like pulling himself out of gravity.

He turned away from you, climbing after them without another word.

Still not looking away.

Not until the last possible second.

And even then—

it felt like he never really stopped.

If you're interested in next part..

Chapter III

Bayverse! Raphael X Reader

Author's note: Mmm TMNT angst..

Summary: Raphael believed letting her go was the right thing to do. When he overheard her missing her old life, he decided for her and pushed her away, thinking it would hurt less than staying.

Word count: 4140 words

He wasn’t supposed to hear that phone call.

“I know, Mom,” you started softly, curled into the corner of your couch, your phone pressed to your ear.

“I miss you so much. I—” Your voice caught, and you swallowed hard. “I want nothing more than to come home, but there’s… a lot for me in New York.”

Outside your window, Raphael froze.

He had come by like he always did—quiet, unannounced, a small smile already tugging at his lips at the thought of surprising you. You always left the window cracked open for him. Said it made things easier. Said it made him feel closer.

Now he wasn’t sure he’d ever hated that open window more.

He stayed on the fire escape, unmoving, the city noise below fading into nothing as your voice filled the space instead.

“I do love it here,” you continued, quieter now. “I really do.”

A pause.

“But it’s hard, Mom. Harder than I thought it would be.”

Raph’s chest tightened.

His hand curled into a fist against the cold metal railing.

He knew you missed them. Of course you did. You weren’t from here—you had a life before this, before him. A family. A home that didn’t involve hiding in the shadows or jumping at every unfamiliar noise.

And still… you stayed.

For him.

Raph swallowed hard, his chest tightening in a way he couldn’t fight off.

He never thought love was something meant for him—never thought it was even an option—until you came crashing into his life and proved him wrong.

He knew he wasn’t the ideal boyfriend. Hell, he wasn’t even close.

He couldn’t take you to the movies, couldn’t walk beside you down busy streets, couldn’t sit across from you in some fancy restaurant without worrying who might see him.

His world was shadows. Danger. Secrecy.

And yet… you chose it anyway.

You chose him.

You always told him how much you loved it—loved his world, loved them, loved the chaos and the quiet moments in between.

But now—

Now all he could hear was the crack in your voice.

The hesitation.

The way you said you missed home.

And suddenly, all those words you’d told him didn’t feel as solid as they used to.

Because what if loving him meant losing everything else?

And what kind of person would he be… if he let you?

The answer came faster than he wanted it to.

Selfish.

Raph’s jaw tightened, his throat burning as he forced down everything clawing its way up.

He made the choice right there.

Because loving you wasn’t the hard part.

Letting you go would be.

You deserved more than late-night visits through a window left cracked open. More than whispered conversations and stolen moments in the dark. More than a life you had to shrink yourself into just to make it fit his.

You deserved family dinners. Bright lights. A life that didn’t come with danger stitched into every corner.

You deserved home.

And he—

He would only ever be the thing keeping you from it.

Raph sucked in a sharp breath, steadying himself, even as his chest felt like it was caving in.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered under his breath, though you’d never hear it.

Then, before he could change his mind—before he could climb through that window and pretend none of this mattered—

he pushed off the fire escape.

The cold night air rushed past him as he landed on the rooftop above, the impact jarring, grounding, final.

He didn’t look back.

Couldn’t.

Because if he did—

he knew he wouldn’t leave.

And just like that, he disappeared into the night.

—

“Babe, you’ve been zoning out, like, all night,”

you giggled, nudging the stack of weights with your foot as you leaned against it.

The weight room echoed faintly with the clink of metal as Raphael pushed the bar up one more time, arms straining before he locked it in place.

You had been talking—about your day, about something Mikey said earlier, about a show you wanted to make him watch—but his responses had been… off. Delayed. Distant.

Not like him.

Raph sat up slowly, dragging a hand over his face, avoiding your eyes.

“Yeah. Sorry,” he muttered.

You frowned, straightening a little. “You good?”

He nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Jus’ tired.”

It was a lie. A bad one.

Because all he could think about was you—your voice, cracking softly through that phone call. The way you said you missed home.

The way you stayed anyway.

His grip tightened around the edge of the bench.

You deserved more than this. More than him.

“Raph,” you said softer now, stepping closer. “Hey… talk to me.”

He glanced up at you then—and that was his first mistake.

Because you looked at him the same way you always did. Open. Warm. Like he was something worth choosing.

Like he wasn’t about to ruin everything.

His chest tightened painfully.

This… this right here? This was exactly why he had to do it.

Before he got too used to it.

Before you lost even more trying to hold onto him.

Raph stood abruptly, the bench scraping slightly against the floor as he stepped away from you.

“We gotta talk.”

You heard it in his voice.

Saw it in the way he couldn’t quite look at you.

Something in your chest tightened.

He’d thought of a million ways to do this—played them over and over in his head until none of them felt right. None of them felt fair.

Because the truth?

The truth was that he loved you too much to say it out loud.

Too much to tell you that you deserved more. That all he wanted was for you to be happy—even if it wasn’t with him.

He couldn’t say that.

Because he knew you.

Knew the way your face would soften, the way your voice would turn gentle as you tried to convince him otherwise. Knew you’d fight for him.

And he was already hanging on by a thread.

One look at you—

—and he’d cave.

“Uh oh… that doesn’t sound good, Raphie,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips as you tried to lighten the mood, stepping a little closer.

It didn’t reach your eyes.

Not fully.

Raph felt his chest twist at the nickname.

God, he hated that this was the last time he’d hear it like that.

Raph turned away.

He couldn’t even face you anymore.

His eyes landed on the living room—his brothers sprawled out like always, laughing about something stupid, normal in the only way they knew how to be. A life he understood. A life that made sense for him.

Not for you.

Never for you.

“Hey, what’s going on?” you asked softly, stepping up behind him. Your hand rested gently on his shoulder.

The contact burned.

He whipped around too fast, eyes dropping immediately—not to your face, not to your eyes—but to your shoes.

Anywhere but your eyes.

And before he could stop himself—

he flicked your hand away.

The second he did it, something in his chest cracked.

But he didn’t take it back.

Couldn’t.

He knew what he had to say.

Knew that once the words left his mouth, there’d be no fixing it. No going back. No late-night visits through your window. No soft laughs. No you.

And that was the point.

He was the strongest of his brothers.

He could take it.

Even if it destroyed him.

Raph swallowed hard, forcing the words up past the lump in his throat.

“I don’t want you anymore.”

Silence.

Heavy. Suffocating. Immediate.

You looked like you had the wind knocked out of you.

“Wait—what?” you breathed, your voice barely there as you looked up at him.

Raph’s jaw clenched.

Don’t look at her.

Don’t.

“I’m serious,” he said, the words coming out flat. Too flat. Like they didn’t belong to him.

Your brows pulled together, confusion bleeding into hurt. “Raph, what are you talking about? This isn’t—did I do something?”

Yeah.

You stayed.

And he hated himself for it.

“No,” he muttered quickly. “Ain’t you.”

Your hand twitched at your side, like you wanted to reach for him again—but you didn’t.

“Then what is it?” your voice cracked. “Because you don’t just—just say something like that and not explain it. We were fine. We are fine.”

He squeezed his eyes shut for half a second.

That word.

We.

Not anymore.

“This—us—” he gestured vaguely between the two of you, still refusing to meet your eyes, “—it ain’t working.”

Your head shook immediately. “No. No, don’t do that. Don’t just decide that by yourself—Raph, talk to me.”

Each word pulled at him, chipped away at the wall he was trying to hold up.

One look.

That’s all it would take.

So he hardened his voice instead.

“It’s over.” 

You had to blink a few times to collect yourself.

Was this really happening?

Raph shifted like he was about to turn away—like he could just leave after saying something like that—but you reached for him before he could.

Your hands pressed against his plastron, grounding, desperate.

“I don’t understand—wait,” you said, your voice trembling as your fingers curled slightly against him.

He froze.

For a second—just a second—he almost leaned into it.

Almost.

Instead, his hands came up, grabbing your wrists, holding them in place.

Firm.

Too firm.

He tried not to notice how soft your skin felt under his fingers. Tried not to think about how this would be the last time he’d ever touch you like this.

“I…” his voice faltered, just barely. He swallowed hard, forcing it down. “I ain’t want nothin’ to do with you.”

The words sounded wrong.

Even to him.

“Look at us, (Y/N),” he continued, harsher now, like he had to double down before he lost his nerve. “I’m a mutant. That’s all I’ll ever be.”

His grip loosened.

Dropped.

“It’s…” he let out a short, bitter breath. “It’s almost pathetic that you thought this could actually work.”

The second it left his mouth, he felt it—

That snap.

Like something between you finally broke for good.

Your hands fell back to your sides.

And God—

The look in your eyes.

Tears welled over, spilling silently, your lips parting like you wanted to say something—anything—but nothing came out.

You took a shaky breath instead.

Nodded once.

Like you’d heard enough.

Like you understood.

And somehow… that hurt worse than if you’d screamed.

Slowly, you lifted your gaze to him.

Really looked at him.

At the rough edges of his scales, the faint scratches across his skin, the worn fabric of his bandana—like you were memorizing him.

Like you were saying goodbye without words.

Raph couldn’t move.

Couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t stop you.

And then—

you turned.

No yelling. No fighting. No begging.

Just quiet, devastating acceptance.

You walked out of the lair without another word.

And Raph stood there, rooted in place—

feeling like he’d just torn his own heart out and handed it to you…

just to watch you walk away with it.

After that night, Raphael didn’t see you.

Didn’t hear from you.

Nothing.

You didn’t reach out—not to him, not to his brothers. And that was the part that hit harder than he expected. You had been their friend before you were ever his. You laughed with Mikey, argued with Donnie, rolled your eyes at Leo.

And now?

Radio silence.

Like you had just… disappeared.

Raph couldn’t tell them what really happened.

Couldn’t say that he’d pushed you away on purpose. That he’d torn you apart just so you’d have a chance to be happy somewhere else.

So he said nothing.

But they weren’t stupid.

They saw it.

Saw the way he hit the punching bag too hard, the chain rattling violently with every blow. Saw how he got quieter—how the usual fire in him burned low and mean instead of loud.

He didn’t even snap back at Leo anymore.

That’s how they knew something was wrong.

Weeks passed.

And it didn’t get better.

If anything, it got worse.

Because time didn’t dull the memory of your face—it sharpened it.

The way your eyes filled with tears. The way your voice broke. The way you didn’t fight him… didn’t beg… just accepted it.

That was the part that made him feel sick.

Raph found himself in the dojo most nights now.

Late.

Late enough that no one would come looking for him.

The space was quiet, dim, the city noise barely filtering down. It used to feel peaceful.

Now it just felt empty.

He knelt on the floor, shoulders heavy, staring down at the small pieces of you he couldn’t bring himself to get rid of.

A couple of photos—edges worn from how many times he’d picked them up.

Your hair tie.

A bracelet you’d forgotten one night and never came back for.

His hand hovered over them before finally picking up the bracelet, turning it slowly between his fingers.

It looked so small in his hand.

Fragile.

Just like the way your voice sounded when you said his name that night.

Unbeknownst to him, Master Splinter stood in the shadows of the dojo.

Silent.

Watching.

He saw more than he ever let on—always had. He knew his sons better than they knew themselves. Knew the way they carried pain, the way they hid it.

Raphael had never been good at hiding anything.

“Raphael.”

The voice cut gently through the silence as Splinter stepped forward.

Raph flinched, shoulders tensing as he turned quickly, clearly not expecting anyone—him—to be there.

“Sensei,” he muttered, his voice rough.

Too quick, he shoved your things aside, like they were something shameful. Like evidence.

Like if they were out of sight, the hurt would be too.

Splinter’s gaze flicked to the movement.

Noting everything.

Saying nothing… yet.

“You train late,” Splinter said calmly, stepping closer, his hands folded within his sleeves.

Raph shrugged, avoiding his eyes. “Couldn’t sleep.”

A pause.

Splinter hummed softly. “Mm.”

He stepped closer still, until he stood beside him, looking down at the scattered items Raph had tried—and failed—to hide.

“A restless mind is often not eased by exhaustion,” Splinter said.

Raph’s jaw tightened. “I’m fine.”

Splinter turned his head slightly, studying him.

“You are many things, my son,” he said gently. “But fine is not one of them.”

Silence stretched between them.

Heavy.

Raph exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand over his head. “It’s nothin’, Sensei. Just… dropped somethin’ that wasn’t meant to last.”

The words tasted like acid coming out.

Splinter’s gaze softened—but his voice remained steady.

“Then why,” he asked quietly, “do you grieve as though you have lost a part of yourself?”

That hit.

Harder than anything else.

Raph didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

Because he had.

Raph’s hands curled into fists at his sides.

For a moment, it looked like he was going to brush it off again—shut down, walk away, pretend none of this was eating him alive.

But Splinter didn’t move.

Didn’t push.

Just… waited.

And that was worse.

Raph let out a sharp breath, dragging a hand down his face.

“…She called her mom,” he muttered finally, voice low.

Splinter remained silent, listening.

“I wasn’t even supposed to be there,” Raph continued, shaking his head. “I just—went by to see her. Like I always do.”

His throat tightened.

“The window was open.”

Of course it was.

It always was.

Raph swallowed hard.

“She was sayin’ she missed ‘em,” he went on, words coming out rougher now. “Said she wanted to go home. That it was hard stayin’ here.”

His jaw clenched.

“Said she gave up everythin’.”

Silence filled the space again, but this time it pressed in on him.

“I heard enough,” Raph added quickly, like he needed to justify it. “Didn’t need the rest.”

Splinter’s gaze flickered slightly—but he still said nothing.

Raph huffed out a bitter laugh, pacing a step away before turning back.

“What was I supposed to do, huh?” he snapped, the emotion finally leaking through. “Just walk in there like I didn’t hear that? Let her keep pretendin’ she’s happy down here with me when she’s missin’ her whole life up there?”

His voice cracked.

“She don’t belong here, Sensei.”

The words came out quieter now.

“Heard it in her voice.”

A pause.

Raph’s shoulders dropped slightly, the fight draining out of him.

“…So I ended it.”

The confession hung heavy in the air.

“I made it so she wouldn’t come back,” he added, barely above a whisper now. “Said things I—” he stopped himself, jaw tightening. “Doesn’t matter.”

It did.

It mattered more than anything.

“I just…” he shook his head, staring down at the floor. “I ain’t gonna be the reason she loses everythin’.”

Another silence.

Longer this time.

Raph let out a slow, shaky breath.

“…She looked at me like she didn’t even know who I was,” he admitted quietly. “And she didn’t fight it. Didn’t argue.”

That was the part that broke him.

His voice dropped even lower.

“She just… left.” Silence followed his words.

Heavy.

Unforgiving.

Raph didn’t look up. Couldn’t. His eyes stayed locked on the floor like it might swallow him whole if he stared long enough.

Splinter exhaled softly.

“Raphael,” he began, his voice calm but firm, “you have always carried the weight of others upon your shoulders.”

Raph’s jaw tightened.

“She said she missed her family,” he muttered defensively. “She said it was hard—”

“And she also said she was happy,” Splinter interrupted gently.

That made him pause.

Just for a second.

Splinter stepped closer, his presence steady, grounding.

“You heard her pain,” he continued, “but you chose to ignore her joy.”

Raph’s head snapped up slightly at that.

“I didn’t ignore nothin’,” he shot back, though it lacked its usual bite.

Splinter’s gaze softened—but didn’t waver.

“You heard what you feared most,” he said. “And you allowed that fear to decide for you.”

The words landed.

Hard.

Raph swallowed.

“She was givin’ up everythin’ for me,” he said, quieter now, like he was trying to hold onto his reasoning. “That ain’t right.”

“No,” Splinter agreed. “Love often asks for sacrifice.”

A pause.

“But it must always be a choice.”

Raph froze.

“And that,” Splinter said gently, “was not your choice to make.”

Silence.

Thick.

Suffocating.

Raph’s chest rose and fell unevenly, something cracking open in a way he couldn’t stop now.

“She—” his voice faltered. “She would’ve stayed anyway.”

Splinter nodded slightly.

“Because she loved you.”

That broke something.

Raph’s shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of him completely as he looked away, shaking his head.

“I hurt her,” he muttered, voice rough. “Said things I didn’t mean—things I knew would make her leave.”

His hands curled into fists again, but this time they trembled.

“I made her hate me.”

Splinter was quiet for a moment before speaking again.

“Do you believe she hates you?”

Raph didn’t answer.

Because he didn’t.

And that somehow made it worse.

“I thought I was doin’ the right thing,” he said finally, barely above a whisper. “I thought if she left now… it’d hurt less than later.”

Splinter studied him.

“And now?”

Raph let out a hollow breath, his gaze drifting to the small pile of your things he had tried to hide.

The bracelet.

The photos.

“…Now it feels like I just threw away the only good thing I ever had.”

His voice cracked on the last word.

And he didn’t try to hide it.

For once—

Raphael didn’t hide the pain.

Splinter watched him quietly, the weight of his son’s words settling between them.

Then, softly—

“Then why are you still here?”

Raph stilled.

“What?” he asked, brows pulling together.

Splinter stepped forward, his gaze steady, unwavering.

“You speak as though it is already over,” he said. “As though her story has ended.”

Raph shook his head, frustration flickering again. “Sensei, you didn’t see her—what I said—there’s no comin’ back from that.”

Splinter tilted his head slightly.

“Is that what she said?”

Raph opened his mouth—

—and stopped.

Because… no.

You hadn’t.

You hadn’t said anything.

You hadn’t yelled. Hadn’t argued. Hadn’t told him to stay away.

You just…

left.

Splinter’s voice softened, but his words hit harder than anything before.

“You chose her path for her once already, my son,” he said. “Will you choose it again by deciding how her story ends?”

That landed.

Deep.

Raph’s chest tightened, his thoughts spiraling back—your face, your silence, the way you looked at him like you didn’t recognize him anymore.

“I hurt her,” he said, almost like a warning. “Bad.”

“Yes,” Splinter agreed.

No sugarcoating.

No softening.

Raph flinched slightly.

“But pain,” Splinter continued, “is not always the end of love.”

A pause.

“It is often where the truth begins.”

Raph’s breathing grew uneven, his mind racing now.

“What if she don’t wanna see me?” he asked, quieter. “What if I already ruined it?”

Splinter’s gaze softened.

“Then you will have given her the respect of choosing that for herself.”

Silence.

“But if you do nothing,” Splinter added, “then you have taken that choice from her… again.”

That was it.

That was the one.

Raph’s head dropped slightly, something in him finally snapping into place.

Because this—

This wasn’t about protecting you anymore.

This was about his fear.

And he’d let it ruin everything.

“…She said she was happy,” he muttered, more to himself than anything.

Splinter gave a small nod.

“Yes.”

Raph looked up, eyes sharper now, something desperate flickering behind them.

“And I didn’t even let her fight for it,” he said.

Regret flooded in, heavy and suffocating.

“Didn’t even give her the chance to choose me.”

Splinter placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Then perhaps,” he said gently, “it is time you give her that chance.”

Raph didn’t hesitate this time.

Didn’t overthink it.

Didn’t let the doubt creep back in.

He grabbed the bracelet from the floor, holding it tightly in his hand like it might anchor him.

“…Yeah,” he muttered, already turning toward the exit. “Yeah, I gotta fix this.”

And before Splinter could say another word—

Raphael was gone.

–

Raphael leapt over buildings, barely feeling where he landed before launching himself forward again.

Faster.

He had to be faster.

The city blurred beneath him as he ran—no hesitation, no second-guessing this time. Just one thought repeating over and over in his head.

You.

It had been weeks.

Weeks of silence. Weeks of regret eating him alive.

What was he even going to say?

Would you forgive him?

Did he even deserve that chance?

Didn’t matter.

He just needed to see you.

Needed to fix it.

Needed—

You.

Your apartment came into view, and something in his chest tightened.

He pushed harder, vaulting onto the fire escape with a heavy thud, barely slowing as he made his way to your window.

God.

He was an idiot.

A complete, selfish idiot.

He was gonna fix it. He had to. He’d hold you, pull you close, tell you everything he should’ve said before—how much you meant to him, how wrong he was, how—

God, he missed you.

Before knocking, he leaned forward, cupping his hands around his eyes to peer inside.

Just to catch a glimpse of you.

Maybe you’d be on the couch. Maybe scrolling on your phone. Maybe—

Nothing.

Raph frowned slightly, shifting to get a better angle.

Still nothing.

No movement.

No light.

No you.

His chest tightened.

Slowly, his hand came up, pressing flat against the glass.

Cold.

Too cold.

His eyes scanned the apartment again—

And that’s when he saw it.

Or… didn’t.

No blanket draped over the couch.

No shoes by the door.

No little pieces of you scattered around the space like there always were.

It was empty.

Completely.

Raph’s breath caught in his throat.

No.

No, no, no—

His other hand slammed against the window, harder this time, like that might somehow change what he was seeing.

But it didn’t.

The silence on the other side was deafening.

You were gone.

The realization didn’t hit all at once.

It crept in—

slow, suffocating, undeniable.

You didn’t just leave the lair.

You didn’t just give him space.

You left.

For real.

Raph’s hand slowly slid down the glass, his forehead resting against it as his breathing grew uneven.

“…No,” he muttered, barely audible.

Too late.

He was too late.

The one time he finally did the right thing—

and you were already gone.

His grip tightened into a fist against the window.

Because this?

This was the choice he made.

And now he had to live with it.

Synopsis(?): Aside from your favorite mutant friends, you're the only one that's been diligently single. No dates, no interests, nothing. At some point the conversation comes up about relationships, and they can't help but ask about any of yours.

Leonardo x reader blurb because I wanted to write something small that wasn't headcanons. (Also, if anyone knows who or how to make borders or banners for tumblr posts, please lmk, I'm sick of the shitty gifs.) And if you see spelling errors, mind ya bizznatch.

Warnings: None, aside from some painfully awkward yearning from you, dear reader

Bay! Leonardo X Reader (Part II)

Part 1: Not your type!

Author's note: Leo in the bayverse movies is kinda nasty sometimes LIKE i understand where he is coming from most of the time but he is kind of a dick to his brothers for like zero reason. need him to yell at me like that lowkey

Word count: 6479 words

The cold settled in the moment I stepped onto the ice.

It wasn’t biting, not enough to be uncomfortable—but it lingered, sharp against my skin, curling into my lungs with every breath. Each exhale came out in a soft cloud, fading just as quickly as it appeared.

The rink was alive in a quiet kind of way.

Blades carved steady lines into the ice, the sound crisp and rhythmic. Laughter echoed from somewhere across the rink, mixing with the faint hum of music playing overhead. Lights reflected off the surface beneath our feet, turning it into something smooth and glass-like, almost glowing.

I stood there for a second, taking it in.

“…I forgot how much I missed this.”

Beside me, Casey crouched slightly as he tightened the last lace on his skates, tugging it firm before tying it off with quick, practiced hands. His movements were easy, automatic—like muscle memory drilled in from years on the rink, just a different kind.

“Yeah?” he said, glancing up at me. “Didn’t peg you as the type to miss freezing your face off.”

I huffed a quiet laugh, shifting my weight as the cold seeped through the soles of my skates.

“It’s not the cold,” I said, nodding toward the rink. “It’s this.”

Casey followed my gaze for a moment, watching a couple skate past, their movements uneven but determined.

“…Yeah,” he said after a second, a little quieter. “I get that.”

He stood, rolling his shoulders once before stepping up beside me at the edge of the rink. For a brief moment, we both just stood there, watching the flow of people—some confident, some clinging to the railing, all moving in their own rhythm.

Then Casey pushed off.

His blade cut into the ice with a sharp, controlled scrape, sending him forward in strong, grounded strides. There was power in the way he moved—built for speed, for impact, for control in tight spaces. Hockey.

I followed a second later.

The second my skates touched the ice, everything fell into place.

The balance settled under me instantly, edges catching clean as muscle memory took over. I pushed forward into a smooth glide, weight shifting effortlessly from one foot to the other, each movement controlled, precise—years of figure skating settling back into my body like I’d never left.

The cold air rushed past, brushing against my cheeks as I picked up speed without thinking.

It felt… easy.

Familiar.

Like stepping back into something that had always been part of me.

I exhaled slowly, letting the rhythm take over for a few seconds before I noticed Casey glancing over his shoulder.

“…Okay,” he said, dragging the word out as I pulled up beside him. “Yeah, that’s not normal.”

I smiled faintly, not slowing as I matched his pace.

“It is if you know what you’re doing.”

“Yeah, no,” he shook his head, letting out a quiet breath of disbelief. “That was way too smooth.”

“That’s the point.”

He huffed a laugh, adjusting his stride to stay beside me.

“Alright,” he said. “So what—this is like a hidden talent thing, or…?”

“Or I’ve just been doing it for a while,” I replied.

“Yeah, that makes more sense.”

We fell into an easy rhythm after that, skating side by side as the sounds of the rink blended into the background. His strides were heavier, sharper—cutting deeper into the ice with purpose. Mine were quieter, lighter, guided by edges and balance rather than force. Different styles, completely—but neither of us had to adjust much to stay in sync.

After a moment, he spoke again.

“…So how’d you end up with those guys?” he asked, nodding vaguely. “Not exactly your average crowd.”

I let out a small breath, eyes focused ahead as I leaned slightly into a curve, letting the edge carry me.

“Honestly? I could ask you the same thing.”

He smirked a little at that.

“Fair.”

There was a brief pause, the only sound between us the steady scrape of our skates against the ice.

“Just kinda happened,” I added after a second. 

“Wrong place, right time.”

Casey nodded once, like that was all the explanation he needed.

“Yeah,” he said. “Sounds about right.”

He pushed forward a little harder, gaining a bit of speed before looping around in a loose arc, cutting across my path with a quick hockey turn before falling back into place beside me.

“They’re good, though,” he added. “Your guys.”

A small smile pulled at my lips.

“They are.”

“Little weird,” he said.

“Very.”

“But solid.”

I glanced over at him. “You’re one to talk.”

“Hey,” he pointed briefly at me as he skated, “I’m completely normal.”

“Mm. Sure you are.”

He bumped his shoulder lightly into mine as he passed a little too close, the contact brief but steady enough to throw off my balance for half a second.

“Careful,” I said, correcting smoothly, shifting onto my edge without breaking rhythm.

“Relax,” he shot back. “You’ve got it.”

I let out a soft laugh, pushing into a longer glide, one foot trailing behind me in a clean, controlled line, posture straightening instinctively.

Casey slowed just slightly, watching.

“…See, that,” he said. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

“What?”

“You make it look like you’re not even trying.”

I shrugged, letting the movement carry me.

“I’m not.”

“That’s not helpful.”

A small smile tugged at my lips as I turned slightly, letting the edge of my blade guide me into a smooth transition. Without really thinking about it, I spun—quick, centered, controlled—years of practice making it effortless before I settled back into a glide like it was nothing.

When I looked back at him, he was staring again.

“…What?” I asked, a hint of amusement in my voice.

He blinked, like he’d been caught, then let out a short breath.

“Nothing,” he muttered. “Just—yeah. That’s actually kinda cool.”

“‘Kinda’?” I echoed.

“Don’t push it.”

I laughed, the sound lighter now, easier.

For a moment, neither of us said anything.

We just skated.

The cold air, the steady rhythm, the noise of the rink—it all blurred into something distant, leaving just the movement and the quiet understanding settling between us—his power, my control, somehow meeting in the middle.

Casey exhaled slowly, glancing around like he was taking it all in again.

“…Haven’t done this in a while,” he admitted.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

I nodded slightly. “Same.”

Another small pause.

Then I glanced over at him, a hint of challenge creeping into my tone.

“Alright,” I said. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Casey’s head turned toward me, brow lifting slightly.

“Oh, you’re serious.”

“Very.”

A slow grin spread across his face, something more competitive slipping into his expression now.

“…You’re on.”

—---------------

The lair buzzed with noise.

Not chaotic—just alive.

The TV cast flickering light across the room, reflecting off the concrete walls as the sound of a hockey game filled the space. The sharp crack of sticks, the rush of skates, the distant roar of a digital crowd—it all blended into the usual background chaos.

“—NO, that was a penalty! There’s no way that was clean!”

Michelangelo was halfway off the couch again, one foot planted on the cushion as he pointed aggressively at the screen, like the players could hear him.

“It was clean,” Raphael shot back from across the room, arms crossed, completely unmoved. “Your guy just got outplayed.”

“He got demolished! That’s not the same thing!”

Donatello barely glanced up from where he sat, fingers moving across his tablet.

“Technically,” he said calmly, “body checking is a legal maneuver within regulation play—”

“Donnie,” Mikey cut in, whipping around dramatically, “I don’t need facts right now, I need support.”

“You came to the wrong turtle.”

Before Mikey could argue further—

Footsteps echoed faintly from the tunnel.

“Wow,” a familiar voice called. “I could hear you from halfway down the sewer.”

April stepped into the room, brushing a bit of dust from her jacket as she looked around, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Mikey lit up instantly.

“April!” he said, spinning toward her. “Perfect timing—you’re about to witness injustice.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been here for three seconds.”

“Exactly. You’re unbiased.”

Raph snorted under his breath.

“Unbiased doesn’t mean blind.”

April laughed softly, shaking her head as she stepped further into the living area, her gaze flicking between them.

“You guys are unbelievable,” she said. “Is it always this loud down here?”

“Yes,” Donnie answered simply.

“Always,” Mikey confirmed.

April’s attention shifted as she looked around the room, taking in who was there—

Then who wasn’t.

“…Wait,” she said, brows pulling together slightly. “Where is everyone?”

Donnie didn’t look up. “Define ‘everyone.’”

“You know what I mean.”

Mikey followed her gaze, looking around exaggeratedly before slowly sitting up straighter.

“…Hold on.”

He pointed toward the empty space beside the couch.

“Where’s (Y/N)?”

There was a brief pause.

April answered without thinking, her tone casual.

“Oh—she went out with Casey.”

That landed.

Not loudly.

But enough.

Raph’s head tilted slightly.

Donnie’s fingers stilled for half a second.

Mikey blinked.

“…Out?” he repeated.

April nodded, shrugging lightly as she stepped closer to the table.

“Yeah, they mentioned something about an outdoor rink. Skating, I think.”

Silence slipped in.

Quick.

Noticeable.

Across the room—

Leonardo stopped moving.

He’d been near the counter, one hand resting lightly beside his mug, posture relaxed in that controlled way he always carried himself.

Now—

Still.

Not rigid.

Not obvious.

Just… still.

April didn’t notice.

“They seemed pretty excited about it,” she added, glancing back at them. “Casey was going on about hockey, and she said she used to skate—like, actually skate.”

A quiet clink echoed through the room.

Ceramic against stone.

Leo had set his mug down.

A little too hard.

Mikey’s head snapped toward him immediately, eyes widening just slightly.

Raph’s gaze followed, slower—but sharper.

Donnie definitely noticed.

April blinked, looking between them. “…What?”

Leo didn’t look at anyone.

His gaze stayed forward, jaw set just enough to give him away—if you were looking for it.

“I have training,” he said.

His voice was steady.

Measured.

Too measured.

Mikey tilted his head, squinting. “…Right now?”

“Yes.”

Raph pushed off the wall slightly, arms still crossed. “Didn’t you already train this morning?”

Leo’s expression didn’t change.

“I’m going again.”

Short.

Final.

There was no room for argument in it.

He turned before anyone could say anything else, footsteps echoing against the floor as he headed toward the hallway.

Controlled.

Even.

But his hand flexed once at his side, fingers tightening before relaxing again.

Then he was gone.

The room sat in silence for a second longer than it should have.

Then—

Mikey leaned slowly toward Donnie, voice dropping.

“…that was weird.”

Donnie adjusted his glasses slightly. “That was quite the behavioral shift, yes.”

Raph huffed quietly, shaking his head just a little. “He’s ain’t subtle.”

April looked between them, confusion turning into realization as she replayed the moment in her head.

“…Wait,” she said slowly. “Did I say something?”

Mikey turned to her immediately.

“Yes.”

“You absolutely did,” Donnie added.

April blinked. “…What did I do?”

Mikey leaned in closer, lowering his voice like he was sharing something important.

“You started something.”

April’s eyes widened slightly as it clicked.

“…Oh.

—--------------

The cold lingered a little more once we stepped off the ice.

Without the constant movement, it settled in—biting at my cheeks, seeping through my clothes as I pulled my jacket tighter around myself. The sounds of the rink faded behind us, blades and laughter turning into something distant as we stepped back onto solid ground.

I flexed my fingers slightly, still warm from the gloves.

“…Okay,” Casey said, exhaling a cloud of breath into the air. “That was worth it.”

I smiled faintly. “Told you.”

He nudged the door open with his shoulder, holding it long enough for me to step through first before following me out into the open air.

The sky had darkened while we were inside, the last traces of daylight gone. Streetlights cast a soft glow over the sidewalk, reflecting faintly off patches of ice and snow.

For a moment, neither of us said anything.

We just started walking.

Boots crunching lightly against the ground, breath visible in the cold between us.

“…You’re way better than you let on, you know that?” Casey said after a minute, glancing over at me.

I huffed a quiet laugh. “I didn’t ‘let on’ anything. You just didn’t believe me.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugged, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “Didn’t expect that level of… whatever that was.”

“Skill?” I offered.

He gave me a look. “Don’t push it.”

I smiled a little, looking ahead again as we walked.

The quiet wasn’t awkward.

Just… easy.

The kind that didn’t need to be filled.

Casey kicked lightly at a patch of snow in his path before speaking again.

“…You should come out more,” he said. “Not just skating. Just—out.”

I glanced at him. “Are you saying I don’t go outside enough?”

“I’m saying,” he started, then paused, like he was choosing his words more carefully this time. “You seem different out here.”

I raised an eyebrow slightly. “Different how?”

He shrugged, but his gaze lingered on me a second longer than before.

“Less… guarded, I guess.”

That made me look away for a second.

The cold air filled the space between us again as we kept walking, the distant hum of the city settling in around us.

“…Yeah,” I admitted quietly. “It’s easier out here.”

Casey nodded once, like he understood exactly what I meant.

“Yeah,” he said. “I get that.”

Another stretch of quiet followed.

Comfortable.

But now… a little more aware.

I glanced down the street ahead, recognizing where we were getting closer to.

“You don’t have to walk me all the way, you know,” I said. “I’m good from here.”

Casey scoffed lightly. “Yeah, not happening.”

“I can handle myself.”

“I know you can,” he said. “Doesn’t mean I’m not walking you.”

I shook my head slightly, a small smile tugging at my lips.

“Stubborn.”

“Smart.”

“Debatable.”

He let out a quiet laugh at that, his breath fogging in the air.

We slowed as we reached my place, the street quieter here, the noise of the rink long gone.

Casey stopped, rocking back slightly on his heels.

“So,” he said. “I’ll see you around?”

I looked at him, a small smile lingering.

“Yeah,” I said. “You will.”

He nodded once, like that was enough.

“Good.”

There was a pause.

Not uncomfortable.

Just… there.

Like neither of us was in a rush to break it.

Casey shifted slightly, hands still tucked into his pockets, glancing down the street for a second before looking back at me.

“Well,” he said. “Get inside before you freeze.”

I rolled my eyes lightly. “You’re the one standing out here.”

“Yeah, but I’m built for it.”

“Sure you are.”

He smirked faintly.

Another pause.

Shorter this time.

Like this was the part where one of us was supposed to leave.

I hesitated.

Then stepped a little closer.

Casey didn’t move—just watched, a flicker of confusion crossing his face.

“Thanks,” I said softly.

“For what?”

“For today.”

Something in his expression shifted—just slightly, softer than before.

“…Yeah,” he said. “Anytime.”

And before I could overthink it—

I leaned in.

Pressing a quick, light kiss to his cheek.

It was brief.

Warm despite the cold.

And then I pulled back just as quickly.

Casey blinked.

Once.

Then again.

“…Okay,” he said, clearly thrown off, one hand coming up to the back of his neck. “Didn’t see that coming.”

I smiled, just a little.

“Yeah,” I said. “Me neither.”

For a second, neither of us moved.

Then he let out a small breath, a crooked grin slowly forming.

“…Alright,” he said. “I’m definitely walking you home again.”

I laughed softly, shaking my head.

“Goodnight, Casey.”

I turned slightly toward the door—

Then he spoke again.

“Hey—”

I paused, glancing back at him.

“You coming back to the lair?” he asked. “We were probably gonna hang out for a bit.”

There was a small hesitation.

Just enough to matter.

“…Not tonight,” I said. “I think I’m just gonna stay in.”

Casey studied me for a second, like he was trying to read if there was more behind that answer—

Then he nodded.

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll probably head back.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Another small pause.

“Get inside,” he added, softer this time.

I smiled faintly. “You too.”

He huffed a quiet laugh at that.

“Yeah. I will.”

I gave one last glance before stepping inside, the door closing softly behind me.

And when I looked back through the window—

Casey was still there for a second.

Then he turned—

And headed back the way we came.

Toward the lair.

—-------

The walk back felt shorter.

Maybe it was the cold.

Maybe it was the fact that Casey’s mind wasn’t exactly… focused.

His hands stayed shoved in his jacket pockets, shoulders slightly hunched against the night air as his boots hit the pavement in steady rhythm. The streets were quieter now, the city settling into that late-night calm.

But his mind kept replaying it.

That moment.

The way you stepped closer—

The kiss.

Casey let out a quiet breath, shaking his head once like that might reset him.

“…Yeah,” he muttered to himself. “Did not see that coming.”

A few more steps—

Then the familiar entrance came into view.

He didn’t hesitate, pulling it open and slipping inside, the colder air of the tunnels wrapping around him as he made his way down.

By the time he reached the lair—

The noise hit first.

Voices overlapping, the flicker of the TV casting shifting light across the room, the low hum of Donnie’s tech blending into it all. It was the same as always.

Comfortably chaotic.

Casey stepped in, pushing a hand back through his hair.

“Yo.”

Michelangelo popped up immediately from the couch, twisting around so fast he nearly lost his balance.

“CASEY!”

He leaned over the back of the couch, eyes lighting up.

“Where have you been?! We’ve been bored for like—hours.”

April stood nearby, leaning against the table with her arms loosely crossed, a small smile on her face as she glanced over.

“Pretty sure it’s been twenty minutes,” she said.

Casey smirked, shaking his head. “Relax, I was out.”

Mikey spun toward him, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “Out with… (Y/N)?”

Casey grinned. “Yeah. Hit the rink.”

Mikey practically fell off the couch. “WITHOUT ME?!”

Casey held up a hand. “Hey, they don’t make skates big enough for your feet, man.”

Raph snorted. April let out a soft chuckle. Mikey glared down at his feet, muttering indignantly, “These are proportional!”

Casey shrugged, unscrewing the cap of his water bottle. “I played hockey; she skates better than me.”

That earned a small laugh from April and a quiet shake of the head from Raph. Mikey froze, eyes wide.

“Better than you?” he repeated, slowly. “No way.”

“Way,” Casey said simply, leaning back slightly. His gaze softened as he remembered the rink, the way you moved—fluid, precise, effortless.

April glanced between Casey and Mikey, noticing the subtle shift in his expression. She tilted her head. “Sounds like fun,” she said quietly.

“Yeah,” Casey admitted, taking a small sip of water. “She’s… really good.”

Mikey flopped back against the cushions, staring at him. “I would’ve fallen immediately.”

“You would’ve tripped before you got on the ice,” Raph muttered dryly, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

The room settled into its usual rhythm again. Mikey muttered about betrayal, Donnie went back to his tablet, Raph leaned back against the wall smirking, and April’s gaze lingered a moment longer on Casey, a knowing glint in her eyes.

Casey leaned against the table, quietly spinning his water bottle in his hands, still thinking about the evening—the way you’d laughed, the way your blades had cut across the ice, the warmth of your small gesture before parting. It was simple, quiet, but it stuck with him.

Around him, the lair buzzed on, unaware—or maybe unwilling—to notice just how much his mind was elsewhere.

– – – –

The next evening, you stepped into the lair.

You barely made it a few steps in before—

“Son of a—!”

A loud clang of metal echoed through the space, followed by the sharp scrape of something hitting the floor.

You paused, blinking.

“…Donnie?”

The noise had come from deeper in the lair, and without thinking, you followed it—your footsteps echoing lightly against the concrete as you made your way toward the makeshift garage.

The moment you stepped in, the scent of metal and oil hit you.

And there he was.

Donatello was halfway under the Shellraiser, only his legs and the edge of his shell visible as sparks briefly flickered from beneath the vehicle. Whatever he was working on clearly wasn’t cooperating.

“…okay, that’s not supposed to—” he muttered under his breath.

“Hey, Don,” you called, stepping closer.

There was a pause—then the sound of something being set down quickly.

A second later, he rolled out from underneath the Shellraiser, adjusting his glasses as he sat up.

“Oh—hey!” he said, a little breathless but smiling. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

You smiled back, glancing up at the massive vehicle.

“Wow… it’s looking great, Donnie.”

And it was.

Even from the outside, it looked more reinforced than before—new plating, cleaner welds, pieces that looked like they definitely weren’t part of a normal garbage truck.

Donnie pushed himself up to his feet, towering slightly as he grabbed a nearby rag and wiped his hands.

“Thanks!” he said, clearly pleased. “Leo actually had a few improvement ideas, so I’ve been trying to stay on top of everything.”

“Leo, huh?” you said, stepping a little closer, your hand brushing along the side of the Shellraiser. “I think it looked amazing before the improvements.”

Your fingers trailed lightly along the metal, cool beneath your touch.

Donnie snorted softly, amused.

“Have you even seen the inside yet?”

That caught you off guard.

You hesitated, glancing back at him with a small, slightly sheepish smile.

“I mean… not really,” you admitted. “I’ve seen it in action, but—”

“Not up close,” he finished for you, already grinning.

You laughed quietly, looking away for a second.

“…Not quite.”

“Well,” Donnie said, stepping toward the door and pulling it open with a bit of a flourish.

“After you.”

You raised an eyebrow, smiling.

“Wow. A gentleman.”

“Only on special occasions.”

You laughed, ducking slightly as you stepped up and into the Shellraiser.

And the second you were inside—

You stopped.

“…Okay,” you said softly. “Yeah, this is insane.”

It was nothing like the outside.

Screens. Lights. Organized chaos of tech lining the interior. It felt more like stepping into a mobile command center than a vehicle.

Behind you, Donnie climbed in, clearly pleased with your reaction.

“I’ve been upgrading the internal systems,” he explained, moving past you to tap lightly on one of the panels. “Navigation, defense protocols, communication—basically everything.”

You turned slowly, taking it all in.

“You built all this?”

“Well—” he adjusted his glasses, trying to play it cool, “—refined it.”

You smiled, shaking your head slightly in disbelief.

“Donnie, this is incredible.”

For a second, he just stood there, clearly trying not to look too proud of himself—

and failing.

“Okay, yeah,” he admitted. “It’s pretty great.”

You laughed softly, leaning back against one of the seats as you took everything in again, your eyes flicking over the glowing panels and controls.

“Do I get to go for a ride?” you asked, turning and spinning lightly in the front seat, hands gripping the sides for balance.

Donnie snorted, leaning casually against one of the consoles.

“Only if Leo says yes,” he said, giving a small shrug. “Which is… statistically unlikely.”

You groaned, letting your head fall back dramatically against the seat.

“Of course it is.”

He smirked a little at that, tapping a few buttons absentmindedly.

“I mean, you could ask him,” he added, glancing over at you. “But I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”

You turned your head slightly, giving him a look.

“Wow. So supportive.”

“I deal in realism.”

You huffed a small laugh, shaking your head as you glanced back toward the front windshield.

“…He’s not that bad,” you muttered.

Donnie didn’t respond right away.

Instead, he just adjusted his glasses, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Didn’t say he was.”

A quiet beat passed.

Then—

“You gonna ask him?” he added casually.

You hesitated for a second, your gaze drifting away from his as you let out a small sigh, shoulders relaxing just a little.

“Uh… something kind of happened the other night,” you said, trying to sound casual—but not quite pulling it off. “Not really in the mood to talk to ‘lame-oh-nardo’ right now.”

You giggled under your breath, like you knew exactly how ridiculous that sounded.

Donnie raised an eyebrow, immediately intrigued.

“Oh?” he said, dragging the word out slightly.

He reached over and pulled the Shellraiser door shut with a solid thunk, then dropped into the seat across from you, leaning forward with interest.

“Okay,” he said, resting his arms on his knees. “Talk to Donatello.”

There was a light laugh in his voice—but his eyes were sharp behind his glasses.

You shifted slightly in your seat, leaning back as your gaze drifted toward the front windshield instead of him.

“I don’t really know…” you started, exhaling softly. “He’s just been… sharp with me lately. I think that’s the word.”

Your fingers tapped lightly against the armrest as you thought about it.

“Leo and I have always been good,” you continued, quieter now. “But the other night he kind of just… snapped at me.”

You frowned slightly, shaking your head.

“And ever since then, he’s been short. Like—” you paused, searching for the right words, “—not ignoring me, but not really… talking to me either.”

Donnie didn’t interrupt.

Didn’t joke.

He just listened.

Really listened.

His expression shifted slightly, thoughtful now as he adjusted his glasses.

“…That’s not normal,” he said after a moment.

You let out a small, humorless laugh.

“Yeah. I noticed.”

A quiet beat settled between you, the low hum of the Shellraiser filling the space.

Donnie leaned back slightly in his seat, arms crossing as he thought.

“Did anything happen?” he asked. “Like—before he snapped?”

You shook your head slowly.

“Me and Mikey were just playing games for a bit… Then Casey dropped in. I went to say hi to leo while he was meditating, and he’s just been…” You trailed off, staring out the front windshield, the soft hum of the Shellraiser filling the space.

“Well…” Donnie began, leaning back slightly, fingers steepled under his chin as he thought.

“Now that you mention it,” he said after a moment, eyes narrowing just a fraction, “last night when April was over, she said you and Casey were skating. If I’m correct…”

You felt your stomach twist just a little.

“Yeah… that’s right,” you admitted quietly.

Donnie’s expression sharpened, his gaze flicking toward the front as if he could already picture it. “Leo’s body language… tensed up the second it was mentioned.”

You shifted in your seat, fidgeting slightly with the edge of your sleeve.

“You noticed all that?” you asked softly.

Donnie gave a small, knowing smirk, adjusting his glasses. “I notice a lot. He may not say anything… but it’s there.”

The air in the Shellraiser seemed to thicken for a moment, quiet except for the low hum of the vehicle’s systems.

You let out a soft sigh, leaning back against your seat. “Figures. That sounds… just like him.”

Donnie nodded slowly, eyes still thoughtful.

“Hey, Donnie,” you said, rubbing the back of your neck nervously. “Are you going to tell Leo about this conversation? Things are already… awkward, and I really don’t want to make it worse.”

Donnie leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Your secrets are safe with me,” he snorted, a teasing glint in his eyes.

You gave a small laugh, letting some of the tension slip from your shoulders. “Good. Because I’d rather survive his silent treatment than have it get worse.”

Donnie laughed at that, the sound echoing softly in the Shellraiser.

“Leo is always like tha—”

Before he could finish, the Shellraiser door swung open with a firm creak.

“Leo’s like what?”

You both froze.

Standing there, framed by the dim light of the lair, was Leonardo. Hands planted firmly on either side of the Shellraiser door, his stance tall and imposing. His eyes scanned the two of you like he was trying to read every thought before it could be spoken.

The quiet hum of the Shellraiser suddenly felt deafening.

Donnie straightened, adjusting his glasses, but didn’t speak.

You swallowed, heart thumping just a little faster, and shifted slightly in your seat, suddenly aware of how exposed you both were under Leo’s gaze.

“Looks like you’re working hard, Don,” Leo spat, his tone thick with sarcasm as he turned away slightly, clearly not fully engaging—but making sure you both knew he was watching.

You and Donnie exchanged a quick glance, neither of you saying a word. The silence stretched, punctuated only by the soft hum of the Shellraiser’s systems.

Donnie finally pushed off from the vehicle, stepping fully out, hands relaxed but ready.

“Hey, Leo… listen, we were just talking,” he said carefully, voice calm but cautious.

You caught a hint of a laugh in Leo’s voice, low and dry, like he was amused and irritated at the same time.

“Oh, I’m sure you two were,” he replied, the words sharp but not overbearing, his gaze flicking between you and Donnie.

You shifted slightly in your seat, fidgeting with your hands. The weight of Leo’s presence pressed down in a way that made the Shellraiser feel smaller, more confining.

“Well, now that you’re here… did you wanna see what I added to the Shellraiser?” Donnie asked, his tone light, trying to ease the tension.

“I have no interest,” Leo barked, sharp and cold.

What a dick, you thought, glaring at him. Donatello had been working his shell off making improvements Leo himself had asked for, and now he’s dismissing them without even a glance?

You stepped out of the truck, following Donnie, your jaw tightening.

“Hey,” you said, voice firm, cutting through the tension. “Donnie put a lot of work into this, and he deserves a little credit, whether you’re interested or not.”

Leo’s eyes narrowed, and his hands clenched slightly at his sides. “I don’t need to give him credit for following instructions,” he shot back, voice low but edged with irritation. “He’s doing what he was told. That’s his job.”

“His job?” you repeated, incredulous, stepping a little closer. “Donnie didn’t just follow instructions. He improved your ideas, made it better than what you asked for, and he deserves acknowledgment—not a dismissal.”

Leo’s stance stiffened, chest rising as he took a step toward you. “I’m not dismissing him. I’m being realistic. He doesn’t need me patting him on the back for doing what he’s supposed to do.”

You crossed your arms, meeting his gaze without flinching. “Realistic? That’s just an excuse to be dismissive. Effort matters, Leo. And Donnie put in effort—and you’re being a jerk if you act like it doesn’t.”

A tense beat passed. Leo’s jaw clenched, his eyes sharp, but you didn’t back down. “I won’t stand here and let you make him feel small. Not over this,” you added firmly.

Donnie shifted beside you, awkward but grateful, as Leo’s expression softened fractionally, though the pride and irritation lingered.

Finally, Leo let out a controlled exhale, stepping back slightly. “You think I’m being unfair,” he said, voice tight. “Maybe I am… but I won’t let this turn into praise for every little thing.”

“Not every little thing,” you said, nodding. “Just the things that actually matter. And this—this matters.”

He said nothing after that, eyes flicking briefly to Donnie, then back to you. The tension still hung heavy—but the argument had been made.

Donnie exhaled quietly beside you, muttering, “Thanks…”

“Well,” you said, letting the words roll off your tongue just a little louder, “you know Leo can be a real asshole.”

Leo’s eyes snapped to yours immediately, sharp and focused, his jaw tightening slightly. He didn’t say anything, just stood there, silent but clearly listening.

Donnie shifted awkwardly beside you, glancing at you with a mixture of surprise and amusement.

You, meanwhile, just let a small, sly smile tug at your lips, refusing to look away. Mission accomplished: Leo had heard, and you weren’t backing down.

The garage felt charged, every hum of the Shellraiser louder than before, as if it was holding its breath along with all three of you.

You stepped away, brushing past Leo’s tall, solid frame as if he were just another person in a crowded hallway. Your movement was casual, but your eyes caught the faint tension in his stance as you passed.

Heading toward the living room, you let Donnie lead the way, gesturing excitedly to Leo as he pointed out all the improvements he’d made. Tools glinted under the overhead lights, welds shone, and circuitry hummed softly—a testament to Donnie’s work.

Leo followed silently, shoulders stiff, hands tucked loosely at his sides, watching Donnie’s every move. He didn’t say a word, but the way his gaze lingered on you for the briefest of moments before snapping back to the Shellraiser made it clear: he was aware. Every step you took, every laugh or comment Donnie made, he noticed.

You kept walking, trying not to smirk too much at the unspoken tension you’d stirred, letting Donnie shine while Leo silently processed the scene.

By the time you stepped into the living room, you felt like you could finally breathe again, letting the cool hum of the lair settle around you. Donnie and Leo were still in the garage, absorbed in their own world, and you decided to give them some space.

Your attention immediately shifted to the couch, where Mikey was sprawled across the cushions, his eyes glued to the TV. Raph sat beside him, arms crossed, grumbling quietly at whatever was playing.

“Hey,” Mikey greeted without looking away from the screen, tossing you a bag of chips. “Where’ve you been? You missed all the action!”

You laughed softly, taking a chip and sinking onto the armrest of the couch. “Action, huh? You mean chaos?”

Mikey grinned, barely containing himself. “Tomato, tomahto! Totally the same thing.”

Raph muttered something under his breath, but you could tell he was half-listening, half-annoyed, the way he always was when Mikey was hyped.

You leaned back, letting yourself relax for a moment. But even as the room’s casual energy surrounded you, a small, familiar tension lingered in the back of your mind—the one Leo left behind. You knew it wasn’t over, not by a long shot.

—-

You walked into the kitchen to get yourself a cup of coffee. Casey was supposed to stop by soon, though you had no idea exactly when. You’d texted a bit earlier—no one besides Donnie really knew what had been brewing with Leo.

Opening the fridge, you pushed past the sodas to reach the coffee creamer buried deep in the back. As you pulled it out and closed the door, the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps filled the room. Leo had entered, his presence announced by a deliberate huff, sharp and deliberate, like the air itself stiffened around him.

You poured a splash of creamer into your coffee, swirling it slowly, then turned to face him. A teasing smirk tugged at your lips, just enough to let him know you were aware of the tension. He wasn’t fooled; he knew exactly what you were doing.

“You better watch it,” he began, voice low and sharp, “or—”

“Or what?” you cut in, leaning forward just slightly, letting your smirk grow. You could see the way his shoulders tensed at the challenge.

He didn’t speak, just stared through you, those piercing blue eyes narrowing ever so slightly, measuring you, calculating.

“You know,” you began, voice firm but careful, “I don’t know what this… switch up was, but I never did anything to you.”

Leo’s jaw tightened, a faint clench that betrayed the effort it took to keep his composure. His hands flexed at his sides, fingers curling and uncurling, like he was physically restraining himself from saying something sharp.

“You think it’s that simple?” he said finally, voice low, controlled—but every word carried the weight of unspoken frustration. “You waltz in, make everyone else laugh, shake things up, and suddenly I’m the one out of step?”

You shook your head slightly, refusing to step back. “No. I’m not the problem, Leo. You don’t have to snap at me—or at Donnie—just because you’re… unsettled. That’s on you, not me.”

His eyes flicked away for a moment, and you caught the faintest sigh escaping him. A moment of vulnerability, quickly masked by his usual rigid posture.

“I’m not snapping,” he muttered, but the words were thin, unconvincing.

“Oh really?” you asked softly, voice just above a whisper, letting the tension hang in the air. “Because it sure felt like it.”

He stared at you again, silence stretching between you like a taut wire, neither willing to let go—but both fully aware that this conversation was far from over.

“Is there an issue?”

Master Splinter’s calm voice cut through the tension like a gentle blade. He stepped into the kitchen, eyes scanning the two of you carefully. The subtle weight of his presence made the air feel heavier, as though even the hum of the lair had quieted in respect.

“No, sensei,” Leo replied quickly, straightening his posture, his voice clipped but controlled. His hands twitched slightly at his sides, betraying the irritation he was trying to mask.

You gave a small, almost imperceptible shrug, letting your expression remain neutral, though the heat of the argument still lingered in your chest. Splinter’s eyes lingered on the two of you, unspoken understanding passing in the silence—he could feel the tension, even if the words weren’t said aloud.

“Very well,” Splinter said softly, his tone calm but carrying authority. “But remember, sharp words and unspoken frustrations have a way of growing when left unresolved. You would both do well to address them before they fester.”

Leo’s jaw tightened again, but he didn’t respond, merely inclining his head slightly in acknowledgment. You stayed quiet as well, letting the sensei’s words settle, though the undercurrent of challenge between you and Leo hadn’t dissipated—it had only been paused.

Splinter gave a small nod and quietly left the kitchen,

leaving the two of you alone again, the silence now ringing louder than before.

Jack Abbot x fem!reader

~ Your Favourite Doctor Abbot~

Summary: You host a dinner party for your friends and Jack stops by only for him to stay for the night. And maybe finally forever.

Warnings: none, comfort, love, fluff, mention of the past grief

Word count: 1.1k

A/N: Had to write this little one :)

gif credit goes to @doctorjackabbot 🩶