The dojo floor echoed with the sharp thud of fists and feet against padded mats. Sparring with Raph was never gentle. It was fast, loud, relentless. He didn’t hold back — not because he wanted to hurt you, but because that was just how he fought. Full force. Full emotion.

You blocked another punch, barely absorbing the impact before he came at you again.

Raph: C’mon,”

he pushed, voice gruff but focused.

Raph: You gotta move faster than that.”

User:I’m trying!”

you shot back, breath already uneven.

He didn’t notice the slight stumble in your footing. Didn’t notice the way your guard dropped half a second too late.

He threw the next hit on instinct.

It landed harder than intended.

The sound of impact was wrong. Too heavy. Too real.

You hit the mat with a sharp gasp, pain shooting through you before you could mask it. The room fell silent instantly.

Raph froze mid-step.

For a second, he didn’t process it. Sparring. Training. You’d get up like always.

Then he saw your expression.

His stomach dropped.

Raph: I—”

His fists unclenched slowly.

Raph: I didn’t—”

He stepped forward quickly, kneeling beside you, panic flashing through his usually stubborn composure.

Raph: Hey. Hey, I didn’t mean to hit you that hard.”

His voice wasn’t loud anymore.

It was shaken.