TMNT x Reader Fics

He had rolled straight through this person’s door- it would explain the glass sticking his ass mercilessly.

In fact, as he appraised the bed beside his head and the scattered clothes he laid on, he had tumbled into their room.

“Shiiiit,” was the next word he had chosen. A wise and relevant selection, if he did say so himself.

He needed to go. In fact, he had needed to be gone already.

The chances that the tenant was home were sky high and if he was spotted it wouldn’t just be hours in the Hashi. It’d be days. The boozed terrapin tried to roll onto his side, groaning at his creaking joints.

He was going to be in the hurt locker when he sobered up.

On all fours, he paused in an attempt to catch his breath. He had no idea where he was. All he knew was that the nearest sewer was his best shot at getting home. If he couldn’t make it back tonight, at least he’d be safe underground until the alcohol was out of his system. 

The floorboards creaked and Raph froze. 

“What...” 

His heart stopped in his chest as his eyes shot upward. The human blinked back at him, armed with only a frying pan and pure, unbridled terror. 

He was so fucked. 

_________

The creature stared at you with wide eyes from it’s position on the ground. 

“Oh, fuck.” You gasped, stepping back. “Oh fuck no.” 

It cringed and your heart stopped as you basically fell into the wall behind you. Tracking your movements carefully, there was a low throaty hiss from the thing. 

“Fuck is right,” the creature rolled it’s eyes, hanging their head dramatically. 

Your jaw dropped. Did it just speak? 

You couldn’t breathe, what was happening? One minute you had been pouring yourself a drink and the next you heard your entire bedroom cave in. You had thought it was a bomb-  it was much worse. 

While they were focused on the ground, you took a second to take in your room. It was absolutely trashed. Glass door smashed, clothes torn, curtains ripped off and nightmare fuel on your bedroom floor. 

Your hand shot out to flick the light switch, chest heaving rapidly. Bright yellow wash flooded the room and there was a loud groan from the creature. 

“Jesus fuck-” 

You raised your pan in self-defence, lips trembling as the creature glared at you. 

“It’s too fuckin’ bright,” it snapped, gritting it’s teeth.

“You’re in my room,” you breathed, trying to log the events. There was no way to process this calmly and you could feel your chest seizing. 

“No shit,” was the angry response. “Put that thing away before you hurt yourself, Short-Ass.” 

It jerked it’s chin towards the pan raised above your shoulder and you only tightened your grip. This was your only defence against it, whatever it was. Although it was wide, at least it wasn’t tall. You could reach it’s head if you felt so inclined, and you most definitely did. Ironic of it to call you short. 

Your feet were glued to the floor as the creature scoffed at your stubbornness. It let out a growl of frustration as it swiped the glass off of it’s palms. 

“Can’t believe this happened,” it muttered. You ignored it’s ramblings, raking your eyes across it’s figure over and over again. What the fuck is it? 

“What are you?” You mustered the courage to shakily ask. Instantly, you regret drawing attention to yourself when it’s gaze snaps to yours. With a cruel twist of it’s lips, your stomach squeezed violently. 

“Take a wild guess, genius,” it snarked. You physically recoiled at the tone and it turned it’s eyes downward. “Fuck, kid. The shell doesn’t give it away?” 

Shell. When you realized, your face slackened in disbelief. 

“A... turtle?” Your voice wavered. 

“Wow,” was the muttered deadpan response. “Landed in Einstein's house!” 

You ignored it- him, you hesitantly decided. From the voice, to the size and then the sheer arrogance, you’d guessed it was most definitely male. 

The turtle began to shift in his position, leaning back on it’s... knees? Hind legs? Whatever they were, he had gotten significantly taller.

“Don’t fucking move!” You blurted, pointing the end of the frying pan towards him. “I will use this thing.” 

The blank stare you received immediately had embarrassment rising to your cheeks. He was right, there was not much a medium sized cooking tool could do for you here. But there was no other real alternative and it was the best you could do. 

"Yeah," he drawled. "Nice."

"It's the best I have, you little fuck!"

The turtle rolled his eyes, "hey, I didn't say anything."

He moved again, this time propping up a foot shakily. Your heart dropped when you realised.

He was on his hands and knees.

And he was about to stand up.

"No, no, no, don't fucking move," you rambled, heart pounding wildly in your chest. He raised his brow ridges again.

"We've been over this, kid. You ain't gonna do shit-"

Before you could stop yourself you had launched at him, pan raised in a batter's swing. There was a sound of suprise from the terrapin, before he raised a hand to his head.

The pan rebounded off of his thick forearm and he grunted. Swatting lazily at you, the turtle reached for your only defence.

"Stop, you fucking-" he snatched at the pan again, swaying unsteadily. "You're fuckin' crazy!"

To your horror, his fingers wrapped around you. They enveloped your entire forearm, yanking you towards him with an angry growl. The pan clattered to the floor beside you as you were forced to face him head on. His emerald glare pinned you to your place and he was close enough that you could literally taste the alcohol on his breath.

"You move again," offering the beginning of a threat, his voice was a low snarl. The creature pulled in, nudging his nose against yours. "And I will fuckin' eat you, kid."

Your heart stalled in your chest, frozen beneath his steady gaze. You couldn't breathe as terror gripped your throat tightly. This is where you would die. In your room, alone, with a fucking Turtle.

"And crazies are my favourite flavour," he grinned, making a show of running his long tongue over sharp canines.

You trembled in his tight grip, unable to look away from your death- and it was staring right back.

"You got it?" His mouth was twisted into a cruel smirk, "If you don't, I'll make it simpler for you, human."

You shook your head at the underlying threat, "I understand."

Your voice was a shaking whisper, thick with the tears building behind your eyes. The amusement dropped from his expression as the first droplet spilled over your lashes.

"Hey," his voice was softer now and his hands were off you entirely. "I was only kiddin', kid."

You barely heard him as you fell backwards, stumbling over your own feet in an attempt to pull away. He watched you make no distance, something darker pooling within his eyes.

You were still, propped onto your elbows as you trembled beneath him. "Don't..." your words were pleading but barely audible. "Please."

He cast his gaze away from you, "I know. Big, scary, monster. I'll be out of ya hair soon."

The red clad turtle leaned forward and you flattened yourself to gain some semblance of space. To your relief he was only trying to find his feet.

But he was close. And you had fallen next to the pan.

While he shakily prepared himself to stand, you shot your hand to the weapon beside your head. You swung before he could realize you had even moved.

The rebound hurt your hand more than you thought it would, the handle vibrating its way through your fingers and onto the floor. The turtle made no noise, nothing to indicate he had even felt it.

At first you thought you had made a grave mistake, he was solid- maybe he was bulletproof. What the fuck was a cast iron pan supposed to do against him?

But as he suddenly rocked forward, you realised too late that he was unconscious.

And you were directly beneath him.

The breath was crushed from your body as, what felt like a bus, slumped on top of you. The cry that ripped from your throat was gurgled and you wheezed under the weight.

His face was downturned into the crook of your neck and you realised that should he wake up, those fangs were perfectly aligned with your throat.

You shuddered at the thought, a cold sweat dripping down your spine.

Inch by inch, you worked your way out from beneath his hard body. Writhing to free yourself wouldn't leave you with much time to subdue him before he woke up.

You were going to need a lot of rope.

“So, what you’re saying,” Raph snickers, “is that you want me to fuck you up?”

You flash him a defiant grin, “I’ve been offering a fight for years. You’ve been too scared to throw hands with me for a long while, Red.” 

Raphael raises an eyebrow, taken off guard by the sudden embarrassment that flushes through him. Clearly, the turtle has never been afraid of losing a fight to you. He stopped wrestling with you a couple of years back, opting to simply end the situation by launching you onto the nearest piece of furniture. 

He’s not scared, he just can’t handle it. The feel of your skin beneath his finger tips, the warmth of your breath on his body. It’s a lot to say the least. 

Maybe if he wasn’t the world’s biggest fucking liar, he could comfortably mess around with you as friends do. The issue is that he hasn’t seen you as ‘just a friend’ for years. He had fallen in love with you and, slowly but surely, you’ve managed to ruin him for any other being on this earth. 

Leaning against a pillar with a long suffering sigh, Raph crosses his arms over his chest. He doesn’t miss the way your eyes briefly flick to his biceps, you do it every time. It’s why he positions himself this way often, though he’d never admit it out loud. He groans internally. This can’t go on for much longer, it’s become embarrassing. 

“You’re lucky that I don’t hit little munchkins.” Raph snorts, reminding himself to come back to the conversation. You roll your eyes at him and cast your gaze to the floor beside you. 

“I wish you would,” you mutter beneath your breath.

Raph chokes on his own spit. 

__________________________

You had just been laid out flat by Leo in the dojo, a humbling experience to say the least. He was always half a second too quick for you, as though he knew every move you were going to make before you had even thought of it.

That piercing blue gaze lands on you, amusement dancing across his expression. "You did good."

You deliver your best deadpan glare and he snorts. "Yeah, I'm sure. At least help me to my feet."

"I'm serious, that was better than last time." The leader shrugs his wide shoulders, offering you his hand. You take it, appreciating the gentleness of his movements even after he had just embarrassed you.

"I just feel like I'm getting nowhere," you murmur, disappointment twanging within your chest. "It's been years and nothing has changed, if anything I've gotten worse."

You swipe the sweat from your forehead, reaching for a nearby towel. Leo watches you for a moment, deliberating his words carefully.

"It's not that you're getting worse," he starts, tracking the movements of the towel in your hand as you dry off. "It's that we're obviously a lot bigger, heavier, sharper and most importantly: not human."

You shoot him a venomless glare, more tired than anything. "But you said skill beats size!"

He sighed, tossing his head back lightly. "I know what I said, but that's within reason. If you were fighting for your life you'd be fine, but one wrong move while training and my shell could crush your hands."

"And Karai?" You question, watching Leo carefully. His jaw sets and you approach your next words slowly, "how come she can tussle with you guys so effortlessly?"

That infamous icy gaze pins you to your spot, "you severely underestimate how much restraint my brothers and I practice when fighting any humans."

Leo averted his sights to something across the room and, with a quick glance, you spotted his point of interest.

"I think it's just the style you're teachin' her," Raph shrugs. He's leaning against the door frame, filling the space with his presence. It's a wonder he manages to fit through it.

You can almost hear Leo roll his eyes without looking at him. "Then you teach her, I've taught her all I can anyway."

Raph's mouth quirks into something like a cringe and a wince combined. "Mikey would probably be the best one for that, there's not much that I fight that's bigger than me."

"No," Leo muses, "but you're a lot bigger than her. Best way to learn is to do. Good luck."

With that, the leader turns to face you, a small smirk playing on the corner of his lips. His gaze is intent, staying on you as he bows lightly. "Think outside of the box. Girl's tend to have a hidden advantage, use it."

You blink at him, watching as a rare mischievous smile graces his expression.

Finally he takes his leave, nodding at Raph on his way out. All of a sudden the cocky terrapin looks entirely uncomfortable.

"Well," you begin, garnering his attention. "Got some moves you wanna show me, Beefcake?"

Pushing off the door frame with a shaky sigh, the red clad turtle nods his head. "Yeah, but nothin' you're gonna like, Shortstack."

"Oh," you croon slyly, "I highly doubt that."

Raphael's eyes widen, "what kind of moves are you talkin' bout?"

You shrug your shoulders, watching him from beneath your lashes. It was a bold tactic, you know. Something you had never tried before, nor been comfortable enough to try. Especially not on Leo, there was no way you could manage the embarrassment of the aftermath. But he was right, you had the advantage. They were young boys, sheltered from the world.

It wouldn't take much to fluster and distract.

But Raph? He's your best friend, if it fails he'd find it funny, right?

"Come a little closer, Big Red," you say lowly, crossing one leg over the other. "And I'll show you what moves I mean."

Raphael blinks dumbly, mouth parted. He doesn't say anything for a long moment other than a couple of shaky "uhhh"s and "umm"s.

Finally, just when your courage began to waver, he takes a step forward. Then another.

Finally, he's close enough for your hand slowly raise. It rests against his chest plate, open palm flat against the hardness of his body. You gulped, you needed him to lean down. There was no way you could reach his neck, head or shoulders from this height.

He watches you closely, relaxing from the shock into a more confident sway. His eyes are hooded now, a slow smirk pulling at his lips.

He steps into your touch, maintaining his height and standing tall. Did he know what you had planned? Surely not.

"What moves were you thinkin', Shorty?" His voice is low, soft and deep in a way you had never heard him speak. Your stomach tightens at the sound and your attention to the task is shaken.

Slowly, he does as you need, lowering his mouth towards yours. "Were you thinkin' of moves that need a little... face-to-face?"

Face-to-face indeed, he is only inches away. Every word he says so close that you can taste them on your own tongue.

"Something like that," you trail off, leading your hand towards his shoulder. Then, your fingers begin to explore the planes of his neck.

As you begin to apply pressure, readying yourself to leap upwards there's a shift in his expression. You knew he would catch on eventually, you just hadn't expected him to look so smug.

You propel yourself up, readying yourself to climb this turtle like a tree and fight for dear life. However, as you reach the apex of your jump, you suspended mid-air.

There a loud laugh from your opponent, boisterous and outright cocky. "Are you serious?"

You scowl as Raph holds you like a misbehaved pet, arms pinned to your sides as his hands envelop your limbs and waist on each end.

"Shut up," you snark, "you almost fell for it."

"You're right," Raph chortles, "it could have passed if you didn't get all worked up yourself."

Your jaw went slack, cheeks heating up under his gaze. "I didn't..."

He raises an eyebrow ridge, the smirk ever present. "Oh no?"

To your dismay, he brings you closer. Your thighs pressed against his body, your lips only inches from his. Your heart is racing and you know he can hear it by his soft snort.

"You're a mess," he teases quietly. Your mouth is dry and you can feel yourself trembling from the adrenaline suddenly flooding your system. "And you're nervous. "

You know you're done for. Not only did you completely fail the task at hand, but you had entirely exposed yourself.

"If you're gonna try and seduce someone into submission," Raph murmurs, gaze flickering from your lips to your eyes intermittently, "you might wanna do more than flutter your lashes."

Your words are as shaky as your breath when you whisper, "any suggestions?"

A grin stretches across his mouth and you're distantly comforted by the fact that you can feel his chest racing beneath your skin.

"I'd be a lot closer if I were you, Shorty," he shrugs, a snicker punctuating his sentence.

"How close?" You smirk.

You let the video play again. 

“Hey,” the turtle snapped before he could stop himself. “Fuckin’ simp.” 

You jolted at the sudden noise, phone fumbling between your fingers. Upon meeting his pointed gaze you immediately cringed. Oh, God. Clasping the device, you smacked the ‘sleep’ button to hide away the evidence. 

“Instead of starin’ at fuck-boys, how about you come up here and put in some fuckin’ work?” He couldn’t help the sourness in his voice and he hated it. He had no right to be angry at you, he was your friend. Nothing more. 

But, God, he was so fucking jealous.

He was twice the size of that fucking idiot, anyway. He had nothing to be threatened of, nobody could hold a candle to the sheer mass of his body. So, why do you watch that guy instead of him. 

As you awkwardly climbed the staircase, cheeks burning with embarrassment, Raph had an idea. A stupid one? Sure. But aren’t they all?

 _________

With a soft groan, you slowly sprawled yourself out atop the lounge. Raph had to have been in a mood because he fucking destroyed you with that workout. The sheer level of sass you had received the entire time was also a good indication.

What a fucking drama queen.  

You allowed your eyes to flutter closed, relishing in the rare silence of the lair. Leo had taken Mikey to mark a new patrol path and you felt a guilty relief that it would take them hours. Between Leo’s intense gaze and odd sense of humour, and Mikey’s boisterous nature, it was exhausting. 

Splinter had dragged Donnie into the dojo to meditate. The memory made you giggle, the way the purple clad turtle had whined the entire time was jarringly childish. However, at least there would be no random explosions for a couple of hours. 

Your brows pinched together as your thoughts drifted back to Raphael. 

He had been so irritated, jittering with an uneasy energy. When you had asked him what had him so riled up, he had simply shot you a withering glare. Almost like he had expected you to know the reason. 

Raphael had never needed a clear reason to become aggravated. So, you’d come to assume sometimes he just needed an outlet for his thoughts and had no other way to express it. A coping mechanism of sorts.

It still didn’t sit right with you, the way he had so pointedly watched you. It was almost as if you had wronged him and he had chosen to be passive aggressive rather than just plain aggressive. 

There was nothing you could recall saying to him that would have warranted his reaction. Your banter was returned and he had been in your orbit all day, constantly within talking distance but doing his own thing. 

Finally, it clicked. 

He had been upset after catching you watching the thirst trap. 

Your cheeks burned at the re-run of the memory flitting through your mind. It was a stray video on your otherwise completely innocent algorithm, but it had intrigued you enough to keep your attention. 

You couldn’t help it. It wasn’t the man in the video that had caught your attention, it was the fact that you had imagined Raphael in his place. Body bare from straps, wraps and weaponry under a soft glow. Every curve of his arms, the reflection of the light brushed upon his clover skin. Like a god of myth, carved from virescent marble and breathtakingly perfect. 

Your heart raced in your chest at the forbidden images plastered upon the walls of your mind. 

Ting!

You audibly gasped at the notification tone, jolted from your shameful reverie. It definitely had to have been a sign to reassign your thoughts to something less dangerous… Or not.

You stared at the screen for a long moment, the message was from Raphael.

It was a link.

Swallowing hard, your thumb hovered over the bubble. You didn’t know why you were so hesitant, maybe opening something that made him think of you wouldn’t exactly distract you from your thoughts. In fact, it’d be better if you opened it later. Whenever your mind settled.

Ten minutes of pointedly trying to forget appeared to have worsened the situation.

For fuck’s sake.

You decided that it’d be easier to watch it, humour him and move on. Having the link sitting in your notification bar has done nothing but pique your curiosity. Clicking the message, you settled into the cushions.

The video began and your eyes widened at the sight of Raphael in the dim lighting of his room. To your chagrin, the image of him under the low, red tinged glow made your heart flutter. He was dressed in his usual getup, an organised array of leather strapping, cloth and weapons.

“I wish I could synthesise, a picture-perfect guy.”

The sensual smirk on his face was fucking breathtaking. It was an effortless, genuine mirth twinkling in the glowing emerald of his eyes. He mouthed along to the lyrics, nodding his head to the beat as his feet shifted his weight. The song was familiar, you recognised it to be from a trend on the app. You just don’t quite remember which one…

“Six feet tall-“

Raphael held his hand out as if measuring his height and he shot a knowing wink at the camera. Your heart skipped a few beats and threw itself straight into overdrive. You knew damn well that he was well over six feet tall.

“-And super strong.”

Holy fucking shit.

As if someone had dropped a bucket of ice-cold water over your head, your body launched into fight or flight.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” it had become a mantra on your tongue while you threw your phone across the lounge. With your heart firmly lodged in your throat, you leapt to your feet.  

You paced the length of couch, back and forth for a solid chunk of time.

Then you picked the phone back up.

With wide eyes you force yourself to wait as the video restarted. There was no way that you actually witnessed what you think you did. No fucking way.

“Six feet tall-“

Your chest tightens and your breath hitches in your throat.

“-And super strong.”

At the word ‘super’ he had shifted his body to flex, allowing his head to fall back. With his throat bare and his body stretched out.  

However, on the word ‘strong’ he had inserted a seamless transition. A transition that resulted in him in the same position but stripped bare of his equipment.

It was such an intimate sight and your whole body felt as though it had seized. To see him so exposed was the equivalent of an undressed human. Your mouth felt as though it had been stuffed with cotton and you could hear your heart racing in your ears.

Only a second after his teaser, did he return to being fully clothed in another well-timed transition.

The video looped back to the start, rewinding the images.

You watched it again.

And again.

And again.

You couldn’t stop yourself, no matter how much your common sense lurched in your chest.

He was absolutely fucking breath taking.

“I knew it.”

Immediately you threw the phone across the couch, whirling to face the voice. The turtle in question was leaning his palms against the back of the lounge. He was so much fucking closer than you had anticipated.

Had he just seen you watch his thirst trap 8 times in a row?

His eyes flickered in the direction you had launched your mobile and he snickered. “It’s a bit late for that, sweetheart.”

You stared at him with wide eyes.

With the same smirk that had your heart in a death grip, Raphael leaned in.

When you had agreed to be civil with each other you hadn’t been expecting him to literally manhandle you. Something has clearly been lost in translation. Although, in fairness, your last incident hadn’t exactly ended in discussing the terms and conditions of your ‘acquaintanceship.’  If anything, you’ve barely changed anything since that day in the dojo. You greet him and answer questions but for the most part you’ve just opted to steer clear when possible. Although, you’ve never been able to outrun the tension.

“She started it!” Donnie exclaims, offended.

Leo’s grip on your shoulders tighten, and you’re suddenly hyperaware of your position.

“I’m finishing it,” Leo says, soft and firm. His voice vibrates in his chest, sending a shiver down your spine at the intimacy.

“He’s right, though.” You finally force the words that were stuck in your throat. “I was stirring him up.”

The voice above you is silent and Donnie throws his hands up, validated.

“See?” The purple clad turtle rolls his eyes. “We were joking around, anyway.”

“Your ‘joking around’ was loud enough to interrupt Raphael’s meditation.” Leo’s tone is flat, and the implication makes you cringe.

The hot-headed meatball’s arch nemesis is meditation and only recently has he been able to slowly conquer it. The catch? He can only meditate in complete silence.

Donnie winces and his hand rises to scratch the back of his neck guiltily. “Suddenly, I’ll take my chances with the chronically explosive backpack.”

“Glad I can always trust you to make the wise decisions,” Leo drawls and you’re certain that he’s rolling his eyes.

Your heart squeezes tightly in your chest as you watch Donnie swiftly slink through the exit, leaving you alone with the leader. There’s a short silence as you both listen to his brother’s retreating footsteps then the click of his door.  

 “Didn’t we agree to be civil?” His words startle the stillness of the air. You notice the mocking edge in his voice has softened into something you can’t quite name.

Swallowing nervously, you try to ignore the sudden rush of adrenaline coursing through your system. Leo’s always had a talent for setting your fight or flight instincts on fire. Now that you’ve been left alone with him, you can’t stop replaying what had happened last time.

“This isn’t civil?” You question, forcing a false confidence into your words although you know there’s no point. He can see straight through it, he always has.

“Not if you don’t look at me,” he rebuts.

You raise an eyebrow and steel your nerves. “Hard to look at you when you’ve got me in a death grip,” you say pointedly.

His hands don’t move.

You loose a shaky breath.

“I’d hardly call this a death grip,” he murmurs, sending something aflutter within your chest. He’s right, of course. You know exactly what Leo’s death grip feels like and this was nothing like that.

Heat rushes to your cheeks as you try to shake the implicative thoughts from your head. Not long ago you had been strangers at each other’s throats.

Well, you had been at his throat. Leo was only avoiding you, but what he had meant when he’d said that you were a ‘distraction’ remains a mystery.

The only thing you’re truly sure of is the tension between the both of you, so indescribably intense and thick enough to drown you.

“What would you call it then?” Your words are barely a whisper.

Leo falls silent for a long moment and suddenly you have the irrational fear that he can hear your heart pounding in the quiet of the room.

“You’ve been ignoring me,” he finally says. You blink at the abrupt change, though you know you shouldn’t be surprised. He’s never bothered with subtlety before, when he doesn’t want to answer something he simply doesn’t.

“I haven’t,” you say quickly, too quickly.

“You have,” he corrects gently.

You fall silent, unsure of how to explain yourself. How could anyone explain it? How does he expect you to respond?

Another silence sweeps over the room and the tension throbs in the air like a tangible being. It’s drowning you, suffocating you with an intensity you’ve never experienced.

“Turn around.”

The words aren’t a demand, they’re an invitation.

You can’t think of anything more disorienting than looking into that piercing gaze of his. You can already feel him watching you as it is, your skin on fire beneath his appraisal.

“I’m sorry for avoiding you,” you say instead, the words a throwaway tool meant to distract.

“Turn around,” he ignores your apology, “please.”  

The longer you avoid being face to face with him, the weirder you make it. You know that, logically, you look strange avoiding such a simple question. If he didn’t suspect anything before, he definitely does now.

You steel your nerves and hold your breath as you turn to face him.

You knew he was close; hell, you had felt his chest against your back that entire time. However, being face to face with him at this distance is an entirely different thing.

Leo’s face is inches from yours, his every breath dancing against your lips tantalisingly.

“There you go,” his mouth quirks upwards and the smirk is almost sultry. “This is civil.”

His hooded gaze explores your features slowly, almost lazily, if it weren’t for the clear attentiveness in his observations. 

“Is it?” You whisper distractedly, almost stunned by the intimacy of your situation. The electric blue of his eyes put his mask to shame, dancing with amusement and a hunger you’d never seen before.

“You’re nervous,” he murmurs, “breathe.”

“No shit,” you quip, embarrassment heating your cheeks as you realise you had been holding your breath. “Last time we did this you were trying to kill me.”

 He raises a brow ridge, leaning back slightly. You relish in the breathing space, drunk on his presence. “What is ‘this’ exactly?”

You’d love to know the answer, yourself.

“You tell me,” you say, watching him guardedly from beneath your lashes. “You’re the one whose got his hands on me.”

It’s his turn to blush now and the sense of awe for the being before you is almost overwhelming. Everything about this situation just seems ridiculously impossible, completely surreal. Yet, your feet are glued to the ground as you remain enraptured by his presence.

“Are you uncomfortable?” The question is softly spoken but the tone is jarringly serious. You feel his grip soften and shift from your arms and an inexplicable panic grips your heart.

“No!” you say quickly, and his hands freeze, his fingertips resting hesitantly against your skin. He’s cold-blooded but somehow his touch is addictively warm, you don’t want to lose it. “Not uncomfortable.”

For the first time in this entire encounter, he seems unsure of himself.

“You make me nervous,” he says slowly. You can’t help the small laugh of disbelief that leaves you.

“And you terrify me,” you counter truthfully. “You’re intimidating and unreadable.”

His posture relaxes again, and his hands return to gently rest against your arms.

“Intimidating can’t be helped when you’re a 6’2 turtle,” Leo retorts with a raised brow ridge.

“Believe me,” you say, “the ‘turtle’ part is the least intimidating thing about of you.”

The corner of his lip quirks upward and his thumb absentmindedly rubs against your skin. Just like it had that day.

Leo shrugs slightly, “that’s refreshing. As for unreadable, I feel as though I’ve been clear.”

Your mouth dries instantly. Your heart begins to race in your chest and you’re hyperaware of the adrenaline in your system. To your dismay, your hands begin to tremble as you watch him with wide eyes.

His gaze dart to your shaking limbs and back, sending a flush of embarrassment through your body.

“Clear?” You scoff uncertainly, “until a couple of weeks ago, you hated me, Leo.”

To your surprise, he snickers.

You’ve never heard him make that noise before and you immediately capture the memory and store it.

“Hate you?” He chuckles. “I’ve never hated you.”

You stare at him for a long moment.

Leo leans forward, ignoring your disbelief. “I wanted to hate you because it was the opposite.”

“The opposite?”

He nods slowly, “It’s hard to address your own feelings when you’re taught to put everyone else’s above yours.” 

There’s a moment of silence, nothing but the sound of your quick breathing and the steady rise and fall of his chest between you both. His hand rises to rest against your cheek and for a brief moment you’re reminded of the size of him. A warrior riddled with battle scars, holding you as though you are the most precious thing he’s ever encountered.

“Just say the word,” he murmurs with a hooded gaze and lips an inch away from yours. The words themselves are close enough that you can taste them. “Say the word and I’ll leave you be. We can be civil. We can forget this ever happened. The decision is completely yours; I won’t make anything difficult.”

You can’t think of anything further from what you want. This person before you is completely unrecognisable from the turtle you had longed for. The complete opposite of the mask he wore as the leader of his band of ninjas.

It’s raw and vulnerable and starved for some sort of emotional intimacy.

This is what he had been afraid of, why he had pushed you away for those months. He has a mountain of responsibilities and the things he secretly desires have always seemed completely unattainable to him. Until that day in the dojo.

“Just say the word,” Leo says again, his lips brushing against yours for a brief, electrifying moment as he spoke. It’s as though he’s almost begging for you to snap him back into place.

“And if I don’t?” You whisper, your hands rising shakily to rest against his plastron. “What if I don’t want to forget this? If I don’t want you to leave?”

“Then I stay,” he says, gentle but firm, “I stay for as long as you’ll have me.”

You watch him carefully and he strokes your cheek softly. His electric gaze almost glows in the darkness of the space you’ve both created. His thumb wanders slowly to your mouth, outlining the pout of your skin carefully.