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Part 1 of Raphael-Centric Requests.
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Published:
2025-05-30
Updated:
2025-07-19
Words:
1,897
Chapters:
3/?
Comments:
28
Kudos:
34
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Red Requests: A Raphael-Centric Request Fic.

Summary:

Got a scenario you want to see Raph in? Angst? Fluff? Crack? Something in-between? This fic is a request-driven collection of Raphael-centric stories, one-shots, and drabbles across all TMNT continuities. I’ll be writing what you send in (within my comfort zone), and every chapter is a love letter to our favourite red-masked turtle.

Requests are: OPEN

(Yes I re-made this as I didn't like how the other one looked, sue me XD).

Chapter 1: Guidelines & Info

Chapter Text

Hey there! This fic is entirely focused on Raphael from the following iterations:

  • 2003
  • 2007
  • 2012
  • Bayverse
  • Rise Of The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
  • (maybe) Mutant Mayhem / Tales Of The TMNT

These will be written with the goals of exploring prompts, ideas, or scenes that readers want to see but haven't gotten around to writing themselves.

The iteration limitation is just because those are the only ones I’ve really watched and know a fair amount of. Mutant Mayhem/Tales is a bit iffy for me as it’s new and I didn’t think much of it, but I do have ideas for that Raph.

This will be a request-based fic, so feel free to submit prompts or ask for specific scenarios in the comments. Before you do, though, please check below!

What I Will Write:

  • Angst / Hurt/Comfort
  • Fluff / Found Family / Soft moments
  • Action & Fighting
  • Character studies / trauma recovery
  • AU scenarios (e.g. post-capture, canon divergence, etc.)
  • Whump / emotional breakdowns / protective siblings
  • Illnesses / Chronic pain etc

What I Will Not Write:

  • NSFW / explicit sexual content (especially not with minors)
  • Torture for shock value or without purpose
  • Ships involving large age gaps or problematic dynamics (I've never been a fan of shipping the turtles with other characters, there are a few exceptions tho.)
  • TCEST
  • Reader-inserts / OC's
  • Requests not focused on Raph
  • Crossovers. This includes different tmnt iterations as well as completely different shows.


But yeah, feel free to leave a comment of your request listing off which iteration you'd like, the tone, the characters included, and any specific trigger warnings you want to be handled carefully.


Please be kind in your requests, and note that while I’ll try to get to as many as possible, I may skip prompts that don’t spark inspiration or fall outside of my boundaries.


This is a love project for Raph. Let’s give the hothead some well-deserved spotlight!

Chapter 2: Grease And Gears.

Summary:

Characters: Raph & Donnie.
Iteration: 2003.
Summary: When an old motorcycle ends up in Donnie’s workshop, Raph drops in to lend a hand. Cue bonding.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The lair smelled like motor oil and burnt wires again, which, to be fair, was kind of Donnie’s fault.

A busted-up motorcycle frame lay across two propped crates, its paint chipped, rust seeping into the bones of it like rot into an old tree. The engine was half-disassembled. Grease smeared across the floor like battle scars.

Donnie stood over the frame, squinting through a cracked pair of goggles, muttering to himself. Raph watched him from the doorway, arms crossed, a smudge of oil across his cheek he hadn’t noticed yet.

“D’you ever sleep?” Raph asked finally.

Donnie grunted, not looking up. “Do you ever knock?”

“Touché.”

He walked over, grabbing a wrench from the bench and flipping it in his hand before crouching beside the mess. “This the one Casey found behind that warehouse?”

“Yeah,” Donnie said, wiping sweat off his brow with a rag that did nothing to clean anything. “Frame’s solid. The engine's salvageable. Carb’s junk. It’s like a Frankenstein bike.”

Raph grinned. “My kinda monster.”

Donnie glanced sideways at him, a little smile tugging at his mouth. “You’re just here for the rebuild.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

They settled into the familiar rhythm quickly, like slipping into an old song. Donnie directed; Raph passed tools, unfastened bolts, handed him parts with hands steadier than anyone gave him credit for. There wasn’t much talking – there never was when they did this. Just the hum of focus, the quiet clink of metal, the occasional muttered curse when something didn’t quite line up.

The world outside the garage corner faded. No Leo. No Mikey. No missions or Foot or nightmares. Just rust and wires and two brothers trying to make something work again.

An hour passed. Then two. Then they’d finally gotten the engine to cough to life again like a smoker given a second chance, Donnie stepped back, wiping his hands clean with an old rag that has definitely seen better days, his eyes gleaming with tired pride.

“She lives,” he said.

“Barely,” Raph replied, smirking. “She ain’t pretty, but she’s ours.”

“You sound attached.”

Raph shrugged, rolling his shoulders. “I get it. This? Building something from junk? Feels better than smashing stuff for once.”

Donnie glanced at him, and for a second, there was something else in his expression – something softer.

“You’re good at it,” he said quietly. “I don’t say it much, but… you’ve got a knack. Mechanics. Problem-solving. You’re not just fists and attitude.”

Raph looked away, ears tinged red beneath the grime. “…Thanks.”

The silence returned, but this time, it wasn’t empty. It was comfortable. Earned.

After a while, Raph tapped the tank with his knuckles. “Think she’s fast?”

Donnie raised an eyebrow. “Faster than your Shell Cycle on a bad day.”

Raph scoffed. “Please. My baby could lap this thing blindfolded.”

“Your ‘baby’ leaks oil every time you turn too hard,” Donnie said, crossing his arms.

“She’s got character,” Raph shot back. “Unlike your lab on wheels.”

Donnie chuckled. “You mean the Battle Shell? The armoured, weaponized, tank you all beg to ride in during patrols?”

Raph rolled his eyes. “Still ugly.”

Notes:

Just for my own sake, I kindly ask that any and all future requests are commented in the first chapter!
(I'm weird with the whole layout schlock, I'm sorry TvT).

Chapter 3: The Quiet After.

Summary:

Characters: Raph, Donnie, Mikey, Leo, Splinter (mentioned), & Shredder (mentioned).
Iteration: 2012
Summary: Since the night they lost Splinter, Raphael hasn't been the same. He trains far too much or not at all, he talks less and sleeps far too much. Grief is a quiet thing, but guilt is louder. Raph would rather live in a dream where he had died saving their father... Than keep waking up to a world where he hadn't.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The lair was quiet in a way it hadn’t been in years. Not since they were young – really young – and afraid of every creak in the tunnels. Back then, silence meant safety.

Now, it just meant no one was talking.

Raph sat alone in the dojo, fists wrapped in worn tape, knuckles raw and red. Not from training – he hadn’t really been training lately. Just... hitting. Swinging at the air like it owed him something. Like it could bleed.

Somewhere in the distance, he could hear the low buzz of Donnie's equipment. The occasional metallic clang. Mikey's laughter hadn’t echoed off the walls in weeks. Leo hadn’t even sparred with him once since the funeral.

Raph closed his eyes.

The rooftop was burned into him. The way Splinter had stood tall and proud, still fighting even when it was over. The way the Shredder’s blade had sunk deep. The sound it made. The way he fell after he was thrown off the roof.

The way Raph had screamed his name but hadn’t moved fast enough.

Not fast enough to save him.

Not fast enough to die instead.

He dreamed about it most nights. Sometimes he was paralysed, trapped behind April’s steadying arm, watching in slow motion. Sometimes he got there too late. Sometimes he didn’t get there at all.

But always – always – he woke up choking on guilt.

He didn’t mean to drift away from his brothers.

But grief made ghosts of them all.

Leo stayed in the dojo, meditating  for hours on end. Donnie poured himself into his tech, sometimes forgetting to eat. Mikey still tried – still cracked jokes, still cooked breakfast – but his smile never reached his eyes anymore.

And Raph… Raph just stopped showing up.

He sat in his room. Or somewhere within the depths of the sewer tunnels, where neither the sun nor his brothers could find him. Or in Splinter’s room, when he thought no one would notice.

He didn’t talk, because he didn’t think he could say anything that wouldn’t shatter.

They didn’t reach out, because maybe they didn’t know how. Maybe they thought he didn’t want them to.

Maybe they just didn’t notice.

Raph didn’t notice how much time had passed in his room.

The light changed. Mikey must’ve walked by at some point – he thought he heard the shuffle of soft feet and the subtle tap of fingers drumming on the wall. But no one said anything. No one asked him to come eat. Or rest. Or be .

And maybe that was fair. He hadn’t asked either.

He looked down at his hands. The wrappings were frayed and tinted pink from reopened scabs. He peeled it off slowly, like it mattered. Like he hadn’t already done this same thing for six days straight.

Seven? He didn’t know anymore.

He only knew that sleep came easier now.
Because in his dreams...

Splinter lived.

And Raph died.

It was peaceful, in a way.
To finally do what he was supposed to do.

Protect.
Shield.
Fall, so someone else didn’t have to.

And waking up…waking up felt worse each time.

So he started sleeping more.

And nobody stopped him.

Donnie was the first to notice.

Not because of anything obvious. Raph didn’t collapse, or snap, or scream at anyone. No, Donnie noticed because of the overwhelming absence. The quiet moments that used to be filled by sarcastic jabs or muttered grunts. The cold dinner plates that were left untouched. The door to his room was always left slightly ajar, like Raph didn’t want to be in the lair and was leaving himself a quick escape, but couldn’t quite find it within himself to leave it either.

And then there were the times he caught him sleeping . Midday. Lights off. Door tightly shut.

Eyes twitching like he was dreaming something vivid.

Donnie watched once. From the doorway.

Raph whispered something.

"Sensei."

Donnie backed away.

And made a decision.

It took effort to get Leo and Mikey to stop.

Mikey was the easiest. He missed his brothers. He didn’t know how to fix it, but he wanted to.

Leo… Leo didn’t argue, exactly. But he hesitated. Like letting go of the burden Splinter left behind would mean failing him all over again.

But in the end, Donnie didn’t give them a choice.

“Dinner. Together. Tonight. No excuses.”

It wasn’t much. A few takeout containers, a shared bottle of something to drink, a candle Mikey insisted on lighting just for “vibes.”

Raph didn’t show up.

At least, not right away.

They didn’t talk much while they ate. Just quiet chewing. The occasional glance.
And then–

Footsteps.

Slow. Heavy.

Raph appeared in the doorway. He looked tired. Eyes puffy. Shoulders low. Like even standing was a debate.

He hesitated.

Mikey blinked first. "Hey," he said softly. No joke. No push.

Leo slid a plate across the table without looking up. “There’s still food.”

Raph stared.

Then, quietly, “...You sure?”

Donnie looked up from his bowl. “Yeah, Raph. We’re sure.”

Raph crossed the threshold like it was a cliff edge.

And sat.

They didn’t talk about it that night. Not directly.

But Mikey leaned against Raph’s shoulder while they watched a rerun on the projector.
Leo didn’t leave for the dojo.
Donnie stayed out of his lab.

It was the first time in weeks they’d been in the same room without someone needing to escape.

It wasn’t fixed. Not even close.

But it was something.

Later that night, in the dark of his room, Raph dreamed again.

Of the rooftop.
The blade.
The fall.

Only this time, everything was slowed.
 Not like in the movies. Not cinematic.
Just still.
Like the moment a body goes limp.

There were no words. No declarations. No final acts of bravery.
Just instinct.
Donnie stepped in first. Then Leo. Mikey didn’t even hesitate.

Splinter didn’t move at all.
He just watched, eyes unreadable.
Like he already knew how it would end.

Raph didn’t move either.
Couldn’t.
His legs wouldn’t carry him. His voice wouldn’t come.

He didn’t get there in time.

And when he finally blinked–
The dojo was empty.
Not wrecked. Not bloodstained.
Just…empty.

Splinter’s robe hung on the wall.
The way it always used to.

When Raph woke up, the silence felt familiar.
But not comforting.

Not lonely, either.

Just quiet .
Like a room that used to be full.
Like someone had just left.

Notes:

I wasn't too sure about this one but oh well, I hope it's an enjoyable piece for you guys! <3

(I wrote this all in one sitting so excuse any errors or inconsistencies).

Series this work belongs to: