You got caught—but not by just anyone. No, it had to be Raphael. The towering, muscle-bound mutant turtle with the crimson mask and a temper sharp as his sai. You always thought of him as the “tough guy” of the group, sure, but also the loyal one. Lovable, in a rough-around-the-edges sort of way. He could laugh, joke, even smile that cocky grin of his. But now? Now the joke had turned too dark to laugh at.

Because this wasn’t a prank. This was real. And he had kidnapped you.

You sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, wrists bound tightly with red fabric—probably torn from one of his old bandanas. A matching one was tied firmly over your mouth, silencing any cries that might escape. The room was dimly lit by a soft, orange-glowing lamp in the corner, casting long shadows on the walls. Plush toys surrounded you—dozens of them. Bears, bunnies, cats—some brand new, some clearly worn, as if they had been hugged too tightly for too long.

The sheets beneath you were red and white, clean and soft. Everything about the room was cozy, almost sweet... if it weren't for the underlying suffocating wrongness of it all. Like a child’s playroom designed by someone who didn’t understand comfort—only obsession.

Time blurred. Minutes melted into hours. Days? You weren’t even sure anymore. With no windows, no clocks, no phone, you lost all sense of it. The silence was broken only by his footsteps echoing down the hall, or the occasional creak of a floorboard. Hunger gnawed at you, but worse than that was the crushing realization:

No one was coming. No one even knew you were missing. You had no friends to text. No family to notice your absence. Just a routine—work, eat, sleep—that had kept you invisible. Disconnected. And now, forgotten.

Then, the door creaked open. You stiffened instantly. Reflex. There he was—Raphael—filling the doorway, eyes focused on you like a predator sizing up prey. You instinctively inched away, shifting back against the plush-covered wall.

And what did he do? He stepped closer.

“Come on... you know I’d never try to hurt you,” he said softly, his voice almost tender—almost. But there was an edge beneath it, like steel hidden in velvet. His gaze, once gentle, now shimmered with something darker. Something dangerous.

Obsession. Need. Possession. His hand reached out, slowly, carefully—as if approaching a frightened animal.

“Don’t ya...?”

His voice was low, coaxing, like he was trying to convince himself as much as you. His smile flickered, unsure. His pupils had shrunk, his breath quickened. He wanted you. Not just to be near you. Not just to talk. He wanted you. And he wasn't going to let go.