Masterlist

Record of Ragnarok

Kpop demon hunters

Obey me

Twisted wonderland

Demon Slayer

TMNT!2012

Bayverse!TMNT

More fandoms…

2k special!!!

Nicknames

|Bayverse!TMNT masterlist|

Summary:You’re someone who naturally gives nicknames to everyone, but with him, your words become something deeper and more personal.
⚠️WARNING⚠️ The art in the middle doesn’t belong to me. I found it on Pinterest. Credits to original owner

Leonardo

• Leo notices before anyone else that you don’t give him playful nicknames the way you do others. Yours for him are intentional, spoken slowly, like you’re grounding both of you at once.
  “Hey, lovely,” you say when he returns from patrol, voice gentle. He pauses in the tunnel entrance every time—like he needs a second to breathe again.
• Being called “darling” makes him deeply self-conscious at first. He corrects you once—very calmly—but never again after the night you whisper it while cleaning blood from his knuckles. From then on, it becomes something sacred.
• During training, you’ll tease lightly:
  “Careful, handsome, you’re overextending.”
  He flushes, adjusts his stance, and pretends it’s tactical focus—but his movements become smoother afterward, like your words sharpen him.
• Leo carries so much responsibility that your nicknames become verbal armor. When you murmur, “I’ve got you, my heart,” after a brutal mission, the weight in his chest eases for the first time all night.
• He never uses your nicknames for him in front of his brothers—but in private, he asks quietly,
  “Could you… call me that again?”
  It’s one of the only times he allows himself to ask for comfort.
• When he’s exhausted, leaning against the lair wall, eyes closed, you brushing your thumb along the scar on his face and murmuring,
  “Rest, love,”
  he obeys without question. You’re the only one who can command him without speaking like a leader.

Raphael

• Raph bristles at nicknames—at first. He assumes they’re jokes, teasing, things people use until they leave. But yours aren’t careless. When you say, “You okay, sweetheart?” there’s no mockery—only concern.
• He snaps once. Tells you not to call him that. But later, when you don’t, he gets tense, restless, picking at the duct tape on his shell. He doesn’t realize he’s waiting for it until it doesn’t come.
• When he’s hurt and trying to hide it, you crouch in front of him, tilt your head, and say softly,
  “Sit down, love.”
  No one else could make him listen like that. He grumbles—but he sits.
• Being called “handsome” messes him up more than anything else. Compliments usually slide off him—but yours hit deep, making his ears warm and his voice drop when he mutters, “Don’t say stuff like that.”
• During fights—real ones, loud and emotional—your nicknames are the only thing that slows him down.
  “Raph, my big guy, breathe.”
  He clenches his jaw, exhales hard, and backs down for you.
• Late at night, when he’s unusually quiet, he’ll mutter,
  “You still gonna call me that tomorrow?”
  And you realize your nicknames are proof to him—that you’re staying.

Donatello

• Donnie categorizes everything—including your nicknames. He quickly realizes the ones you give him are carefully chosen, spoken with warmth and consistency. That matters to him more than he admits.
• When you lean over his shoulder and say,
  “How’s it going, dear?”
  his heart rate spikes—not enough to panic, just enough to register. He logs it mentally. Always the same response.
• “Sweet thing” short-circuits him completely. He’ll clear his throat, push his glasses up, and pretend he didn’t hear—but his coding errors spike right after. You’re a delightful variable.
• When he’s doubting himself, staring too long at a malfunctioning device, you’ll rest your hand on his arm and say,
  “You’ve got this, my genius.”
  The tension drains from him instantly. Your belief is stronger than logic.
• Donnie starts associating your nicknames with safety. During missions, hearing you call out,
  “Donnie, love, incoming!”
  cuts through the noise faster than his visor alerts.
• He never asks you to stop. In fact, one night, quietly, almost shyly, he asks,
  “Could you… keep calling me that?”
  Because for him, affection is data—and yours proves he’s wanted.

Michelangelo

• Mikey adores nicknames—but yours for him are different. They’re not just fun; they’re affectionate. When you call him “babe”, he grins. When you call him “sunshine”, he softens.
• “Hey, pretty boy, what’re you up to?”
  He immediately poses, flexes, jokes—but watches your face closely, checking if you’re smiling. Your approval matters more than the laugh.
• When he’s injured and trying to mask it with humor, your quieter nicknames pull him back down.
  “Mikey… love, sit with me.”
  And he does. No jokes. Just leaning into you.
• He starts saving your nicknames in his head, repeating them when he’s alone. Especially on nights when patrol goes wrong and he’s shaken.
• Mikey matches your energy, but sometimes—late, tired, honest—he whispers,
  “I like the ones you only use for me.”
  His voice is softer then, less playful, more real.
• When you curl up beside him and murmur,
  “You’re my sunshine, you know that?”
  he holds you tighter, because in that moment, he believes it.

My lazy ass finally started to write Part 9 of Silken Fangs

And i need to write remaining requests in my inbox as well. And also planning to finally watch Ror Seson 3, so i will regain interest in Ror again

😓

Cute brat

|Bayverse!TMNT masterlist|

Summary:Bay!TMNT x Bratty!popstar!reader
⚠️WARNING⚠️ Angst?, Secret relationship, Toxic?relationship, Mention of stalking, Mental/emotional burnout, Jealousy/possessiveness

Leonardo

• Leo is painfully methodical about how you enter his world. The first time you ever came to the abandoned subway station, he mapped three exit routes, two fallback points, and rehearsed evacuation drills in his head before you even arrived. You mocked him for it — called him “Paranoid Blue” — but secretly felt safe knowing he planned like that for you.
• He does not react well to your bratty teasing at first. When you pout, complain, or act spoiled after long tours, his instinct is to lecture you about discipline and perspective. It takes time for him to understand that your brattiness isn’t immaturity — it’s exhaustion and armor.
• Leo hates that your on-stage persona is deliberately childish. He understands manipulation, but seeing thousands of strangers emotionally consume you makes something dark twist in his chest. He never tells you to stop — he just asks, quietly, if it costs you anything.
• You often catch him watching your old performances on mute, studying your expressions rather than listening. He memorizes when your smile is real versus rehearsed.
• Physical affection is rare but heavy with meaning. He rarely initiates kisses, but when he does, it’s slow, grounding, like he’s anchoring you back to something real after weeks of being idolized.
• He never complains about waiting. You can disappear for months on tour, and he will still be exactly where you left him — training, leading, protecting. His loyalty is absolute, but it scares you sometimes how easily he sacrifices his own wants.
• When you snap at him during stressful comebacks, he absorbs it silently. Later, alone, he questions whether he’s failing you simply by existing the way he does — hidden, monstrous, unseen.
• Leo is the turtle most likely to ask you if you’d be happier without him. He will phrase it as concern, but it’s fear.
• At night, when you sleep in the lair, he positions himself between you and every possible entrance without thinking. It’s instinct. Duty doesn’t stop when it’s love.

Raphael

• Raph does not pretend to be okay with the imbalance between your worlds. He feels it constantly — the noise, the crowds, the way people chant your name like a prayer. It makes him feel replaceable in a way nothing else ever has.
• Your bratty attitude pushes him and reassures him at the same time. When you mouth off to him, roll your eyes, or deliberately provoke him, it proves you aren’t afraid of him — not of his size, his temper, or his claws.
• He hates your managers. Hates stylists who touch you. Hates fans who cry over you. He never interferes — but his rage simmers quietly beneath his shell.
• Raph has followed stalkers without telling you. He’s watched them for days, learned their habits, then scared them just enough that they never come near you again. You never know. He prefers it that way.
• Your offstage indifference sometimes hurts him more than insults. When you’re cold, quiet, emotionally distant, he worries you’re already halfway gone.
• When you fight, it’s explosive. Raised voices echo through tunnels. But he always comes back. Always. Even if he needs space, he circles back like gravity.
• He loves when you sit on his shell, drape yourself over him, or claim his space unapologetically. It soothes his fear of being abandoned.
• Raph is rough with the world but gentle with you in moments you never expect — adjusting your jacket, offering his shoulder, shielding your face from dust and debris.
• He believes, deep down, that one day you’ll outgrow him. Until then, he loves you like time is limited.

Donatello

• Donnie understands your dual persona faster than anyone else. He recognizes the pattern: performance vs survival. He never asks you to drop the mask — he just learns how to read both versions of you.
• He builds systems specifically around your needs: silent communication devices, secure tunnels that bypass populated areas, light filters so cameras can’t detect heat signatures when you visit.
• Your bratty teasing doesn’t annoy him — it distracts him. He pretends to sigh, but secretly loves that you pull him out of his head.
• When you’re emotionally distant, Donnie doesn’t take it personally. He gives you space without disappearing, sitting nearby, working quietly until you decide to speak.
• He stores copies of your songs on multiple encrypted drives — not because he’s a fan, but because he fears losing pieces of you to time, trends, or industry burnout.
• Donnie struggles with feeling inadequate next to your fame. You shine publicly; he exists in shadows. You counter this by reminding him that without him, your world would literally collapse.
• He is the one who hears your unfiltered thoughts at 3 a.m., whispered into the dark, when you admit you’re tired of pretending.
• When you curl into his side while he’s working, he adjusts his entire setup without complaint. Your presence becomes part of his workflow.
• He loves you quietly, intellectually, permanently.

Michelangelo

• Mikey treats your fame like a game rather than a burden. He doesn’t idolize you — he humanizes you, which is why being with him feels like breathing again.
• He plays along with your bratty behavior, exaggerating reactions, pretending to be offended, turning everything into playful banter.
• When your offstage coldness surfaces, Mikey doesn’t retreat. He cracks jokes softer, slower, until you thaw on your own terms.
• He watches your performances because they make you happy, not because they impress him. He cheers for you like it’s personal.
• Mikey is the one who reminds you to eat, sleep, and laugh when you’re burning out. He never scolds — just nudges.
• He’s painfully aware that your world is brighter than his. Instead of resenting it, he tries to bring light into the sewers for you — neon paint, music, stupid decorations.
• When you cry, he doesn’t panic. He just holds you and lets you soak into him until it passes.
• Mikey believes love doesn’t have to hurt to be real. With him, you don’t have to perform.
• He knows you could leave. He just hopes you won’t — and chooses joy anyway.

Lowkey started to think that Jinu was more inspared/based on Han from Stray Kids than Jungkook…

Like???

Bro- it’s the same pic!!!

THE SMIRK- HELLO???

Han’s such a diva, love this man so much

They’re like “HUH?”

Han’s lool like a maniac here, but no one’s perfect

Ruined Surprise

Summary: You were planning to propose as a big surprise, but they accidently found the engangement ring
⚠️WARNING⚠️ Fear of being unworthy of love, Protective behavior, Possessiveness, Angst with Comfort, Gn!reader

Rumi

• Rumi finds it completely by accident—she’s not snooping. It’s during one of those rare quiet moments when she’s helping you clean or pack before schedules pull you apart again. The ring box slips from a jacket pocket and hits the floor with a soft, unmistakable clack.
• Her first reaction is panic, not joy. Her heart drops straight into her stomach. She freezes, staring at it like it might burn her fingers if she touches it.
• Immediately, guilt floods her. ‘Is this for me? Do i deserve it?’
• She doesn’t open the box right away. Instead, she carefully puts it back, hands trembling, and pretends she never saw anything. That night, she barely sleeps.
• Over the next few days, Rumi becomes distant in a very specific way: extra attentive, extra gentle, but emotionally guarded. She starts overworking herself even more, throwing herself into training and demon hunts.
• Internally, she’s spiraling. She’s terrified that marrying her would mean condemning you to a life tied to danger. Her demon half feels heavier than ever.
• Eventually, the pressure breaks her. She confesses tearfully—not about the ring directly, but about her fear of being unworthy of a future with you. She asks if you’d still choose her even knowing everything.
• When the proposal finally happens, Rumi cries harder than she ever has. Not pretty crying—full sobbing, clutching you like you might disappear.
• She accepts, but only after whispering something like:
  “I’ll spend my whole life proving I’m worthy of this. Of you.”

Mira

• Mira notices immediately. She always does.
• It’s something small—your bag placed just a little too carefully, the way you freeze when she walks into the room while you’re on your phone.
• When she finds the ring, it’s while rummaging for something else. She opens the box without thinking… then blinks.
• Her first reaction? A sharp laugh.
  “…No way.”
• She doesn’t cry. She doesn’t panic. She just sits there, staring at it, jaw clenched, emotions crashing into each other.
• Mira feels a surge of protectiveness that almost hurts. Her mind immediately jumps to ‘Who’s going to hurt them? Who do I need to kill?’
• She becomes subtly territorial afterward—standing closer to you, hand always on your back or waist, daring the world to try something.
• She doesn’t confront you directly. Instead, she waits. Watches. Studies.
• When the proposal finally happens, she pretends she didn’t see it coming—but the way her voice cracks when she says yes gives her away.
• Later, alone, she admits she was scared. Not of commitment—but of losing the one person who chose her without trying to fix her.
• She promises, bluntly and fiercely:
  “Anyone comes between us, demon or not—I’ll handle it.”

Zoey

• Zoey absolutely finds it while snooping. Zero shame.
• She’s looking for snacks. Or her notebook. Or literally anything. The box falls out and she gasps so loud the neighbors probably hear it.
• She clamps her hands over her mouth immediately, eyes shining, heart racing.
• From that moment on, Zoey is a menace.
• She starts making offhand comments like:
  “Haha wow weddings are sooo expensive, right?” “Purple rings are pretty… just saying.”
• She’s terrible at hiding her excitement. She doodles rings in her notebooks. Accidentally hums wedding march melodies.
• When the proposal finally happens, Zoey bursts into tears before you even finish the question.
• She says yes through laughter and crying, bouncing on her heels, immediately hugging everyone—even the air.
• Later, she admits she was scared too. Not because she didn’t want it—but because she worried she’d mess it up.
• She promises to keep choosing you every day, even when she’s scared, even when she feels like she doesn’t belong anywhere else.

Where the Heart Lands (New Year and 2.5k special!!!!)

|TMNT!2012 masterlist| |Huntr/x masterlist|

Platonic!Zoey x TMNT!2012

⚠️WARNING⚠️ Mild bullying references, Mention of parental divorce, Fear & emotional distress, Anxiety, Self-doubt, Found family themes, Mentions of idol industry pressure, Zoey is around 15-16 y/o, A little LeoxZoey??

A/n: Leo Raph Donnie Mikey April Casey Zoey
Happy New Year everybody!!!!! And thank u so much for 2.5k!!! You don’t know how it means so much to me!!! Thank you all SO MUCH for following me and supporting my blog. I genuinely appreciate every like, reblog, and comment — you make this space so fun and comforting for me 🫶 I’m endlessly grateful for every single one of you. I hope this new year brings you happiness, comfort, and good vibes 🌙✨

New York still smelled like rain and ozone when Zoey moved in with her aunt—her mom’s older sister—who lived above a laundromat in Queens. The constant hum of dryers and the sharp scent of detergent seeped through the floorboards day and night. Sirens wailed in the distance. Trains rattled underground. The city was loud, messy, alive.

Too alive sometimes.

At fifteen—almost sixteen—Zoey carried her whole life in a faded black backpack. Inside were spiral notebooks stuffed with lyrics, half-written melodies scribbled between algebra notes, cracked earbuds held together with tape, and a phone full of voice memos recorded at 2 a.m. when sleep wouldn’t come. And tucked somewhere deeper than all of that was the quiet fear that this school would be like the last one.

‘Why do you write that stuff?’'Pick a side already.’'Korea or America?’

So she kept her head down.

She learned the safest routes between classes. She memorized which stairwells stayed empty during lunch. She sat near the windows, where teachers were less likely to call on her and classmates were less likely to look too closely. Music played constantly in one ear—a shield, a comfort, a reminder that there was still something that belonged to her.

Until April O’Neil slid into the seat next to her in science class like they’d known each other forever.

April leaned over, eyes flicking to Zoey’s notebook, pages crowded with arrows, crossed-out words, and neat little rhythm marks. “Is that a rhyme scheme,” she asked casually, “or are you just really aggressive with your notes?”

Zoey blinked, startled. “…Both?”

Casey Jones, sprawled two seats back with his chair tipped dangerously, overheard and leaned forward with a grin. “That’s metal.”

Zoey stared at him for a second, then laughed—quiet at first, like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to.

And just like that, the fear cracked.

April thought Zoey’s Korean-American background was fascinating, not weird. She asked questions—real ones—about food and language and music, not the invasive kind, just curious. Casey thought her notebooks were “kinda sick, actually” and demanded she play him something one afternoon after school.

They started hanging out on rooftops and fire escapes, legs dangling over the edge of the city. Zoey hummed beats under her breath while April tapped rhythms on her knees and Casey tried (and failed) to freestyle without cracking up halfway through.

It felt… safe.

Too safe, maybe. Like something bad was bound to happen.

It did.

The night the alley filled with mechanical screeches and glowing pink portals, Zoey thought she was hallucinating. Kraang droids poured out like a nightmare made of metal and neon, their voices distorted and wrong, echoing off brick walls.

April shoved Zoey behind her without hesitation. Casey grabbed a broken pipe like it was instinct.

“Run!” April shouted.

But there were too many. The alley felt too narrow, the air too thick. Zoey’s heart slammed against her ribs, panic rising fast and sharp. She wasn’t a fighter. She was a writer. A dreamer. A girl who made music because words were easier than fists.

Then shadows dropped from the rooftops.

Steel flashed. Nunchucks spun. A bo staff crackled with tech. Twin sai slammed into metal with bone-rattling force.

The Kraang didn’t stand a chance.

When the last droid hit the pavement in pieces, silence followed—thick and heavy.

April and Casey turned slowly.

Zoey was still there.

April’s breath hitched. Casey froze. “Uh. Guys?”

Four mutant turtles stood under the flickering streetlight.

Zoey stared.

Then her eyes lit up.

“…Whoa.”

Everyone blinked.

“That’s,” Zoey whispered, stepping closer before she could stop herself, freckles standing out as she smiled wide, “the COOLEST thing I’ve ever seen.”

Raphael stared at her like she’d just spoken another language. “You’re… not screaming.”

“I mean, I would, but in a happy way,” Zoey said, bouncing slightly on her toes. “Do you guys live here? Are you ninjas? Oh my god—are you like, found family coded?”

Michelangelo gasped. “I like her.”

Leonardo relaxed first. Something about Zoey’s open awe—no fear, no disgust—hit him right in the chest.

Weeks passed.

Zoey learned how to throw a punch (badly at first), how to roll without knocking the air out of her lungs, how to block without flinching. Leo taught her discipline. Donnie made her protective gear that fit around her slender wrists and long limbs. Raph pretended not to care but always corrected her stance. Mikey hyped her up like she was already a pro.

She wrote songs in the lair, too.

Soft raps echoed off stone walls, lyrics about being split between worlds, about bending without breaking, about gold that survived being melted down. Sometimes she sang quietly. Sometimes she whispered. Sometimes she stopped halfway through, embarrassed.

The turtles listened anyway.

One night, they were all sprawled around the lair—training mats abandoned, pizza boxes stacked dangerously high—when Mikey suddenly spoke up.

“Hey, Zo,” he said around a mouthful of crust. “Do you still wanna go to Korea?”

Everyone froze.

April straightened.
Casey paused mid-sip of soda.
Donnie’s fingers hovered above his keyboard.
Raph folded his arms, jaw tight.
Leo turned fully toward her, blue eyes soft but searching.

Zoey didn’t answer right away.

For a moment, all she could hear was her own heartbeat—too loud, too fast—echoing the same rhythm she used when she wrote music late at night to drown out the sound of arguing parents and unfamiliar hallways.

“I…” she said slowly. “I don’t know.”

Leo watched her carefully, heart already sinking.

“I wanted to go to Korea because I thought I had to,” Zoey continued. “Because I wanted to find my place. Somewhere I wouldn’t feel… split.” She looked up, eyes shining but steady. “But I think I already found it.”

Her voice wavered, but she didn’t stop.

“It’s here. With you guys.”

Silence hit harder this time.

Mikey’s mouth fell open.
April’s eyes went glassy.
Casey muttered, “Oh, come on…” under his breath, already emotional.

Donnie’s face flushed.

Raph looked away.

Leo’s grip tightened slightly on his swords.

“But what about your dream?” Leo asked quietly.

“The songwriting. Performing. The music stuff you do constantly even when you think we aren’t hearing—YES MIKEY WE ALL HEAR HER HARMONIZING AT 3AM—”

“HEY!” Mikey yelped. “She sounds amazing at 3am!”

April nudged Zoey. “They’re right. You’ve talked about being an idol since day one.”

Casey shrugged. “And, like, you’re actually good. I don’t even like K-pop that much but I’d listen.”

Zoey hesitated.

“Well…” She looked down at her hands. “I guess I could find something better here?”

That did it.

“Nope.”

Raph uncrossed his arms instantly. “Absolutely not.”

“Statistically speaking, abandoning a lifelong creative aspiration due to emotional attachment is a terrible idea.”

“Dude,” Mikey added, pointing dramatically, “you don’t just cancel your destiny arc.”

Raph pointed at her like she committed a crime.

“No way you’re ditchin’ your dreams ‘cause of us,” he grumbled. “That’s stupid.”

“Raph!” Leo hissed, elbowing him.

“What? It is stupid! In a nice way!”

Leo took a breath, softened his tone.

“What he means is… your dream matters, Zoey.”

Mikey hopped onto the couch beside her, sitting criss-cross applesauce, full puppy-eyes activated.

“You wanna sing on a giant shiny stage, right? And wear sparkly stuff and rap super fast and make the crowd go WOAHHHHH—”

He waved his arms wildly.

Zoey laughed. “Yeah… that was the idea.”

“Then you gotta do it!” Mikey insisted, pointing dramatically.
“And we’ll cheer from backstage! Or the sewers. Or, like… maybe Donnie could make a disguise cool enough for us to sneak into concerts?”

Donnie went quiet, thinking about it. “I… actually could.”

Casey fist-pumped.

April leaned in. “Zoey, you don’t have to change your dream. Your place can be with us AND out there.”

Zoey suddenly felt her chest tighten—not in a painful way, but like every word hit something deep inside.

“But what if—” she hesitated. “What if I get bullied again? What if they think I’m too American for Korea and too Korean for America? What if they hate my music like my old school did? “Korea feels so far away. And scary.”

“Then we help.”

Donnie’s eyes lit up.

“Actually… I’ve been thinking about that,” he said. “With your notebooks, your bilingual lyrics, your rhythm—there are ways to record, to share your music, even from here. Underground studios. Online platforms. If you did want to go someday, we could prepare you.”

Casey grinned. “And hey, if anyone gives you crap, we know some ninja turtles.”

Zoey laughed through the tears that finally spilled over.

Leo knelt in front of her so they were eye-level.

“Zoey,” he said softly, leader voice gone, just heart left behind. “Belonging somewhere doesn’t mean shrinking yourself to stay.”

Later that night, after training and pizza and Mikey insisting she name her next song after him (she refused), Zoey sat alone on the couch again.

Notebook open. Pen moving fast.

Not about running away.
Not about choosing sides.

But about found family.
About shadows and sewers.
About being scared—and staying anyway.

Above her, unseen by the city, four mutant brothers watched over her like guardians.

And somewhere far in the future—bright lights, a stage, a crowd chanting her name—Zoey would remember this place.

the sudden urge to make everthing pink and black… please, someone talk me out of this…

Saja!Y/n Au

Somewhere and some time ago in Demon realm

Saja!Y/n: You’re the only fuckers I can tolerate in this place, never leave me.

Jinu&Abby&Romance: Awww you tolerate us?

Mystery&Baby: Love you too, Bitch.

Originally posted by filmouts