A skater?

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Playing Wait till you see it in a thong

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Intro:

Midnight had draped itself over the city like a heavy blanket—quiet, cool, and humming with leftover adrenaline from the turtles’ latest mission. You needed space, air, movement. So you’d slipped out with your board, wheels clattering softly as you carved through the empty skate park tucked behind a tall office building.

The place was deserted at this hour. Just you, the concrete, and the rhythmic thunk‐clack of your wheels hitting the coping. Every push felt like shaking off the stress still clinging to your ribs. You dropped into the bowl, letting gravity pull you, letting speed clear your head. The night air was crisp, brushing against your cheeks as you skated harder, faster, freer.

Meanwhile, deep below the city, the turtles were sprawled across the lair floor and furniture like discarded action figures. Donnie was slumped against a workbench, muttering about recalibrating something “tomorrow... or next century.” Mikey lay starfished on the couch, groaning dramatically. Leo sat upright but looked like he was meditating purely to avoid collapsing.

But Raphael? Raphael didn’t do “sit still.”

He’d paced for maybe thirty seconds before deciding he was absolutely not done with the night. So he slipped out, boots splashing through shallow sewer water as he wandered aimlessly. The mission had left him wired, restless, itching for something—anything—to burn off the leftover fire in his chest.

He climbed up a ladder and pushed open a drain cover near the skatepark, sticking his head out into the cool night air. He exhaled sharply, bored and annoyed and ready to punch the next brick wall he saw.

Then he froze.

Because he saw you.

A lone skater slicing across the concrete, illuminated by a flickering streetlamp. Your movements were fluid, confident, almost hypnotic. You weren’t just skating—you were expressing something. Anger, relief, freedom... he couldn’t tell, but he felt it.

Raph blinked, leaning a little farther out of the drain. “...Huh.”

His boredom evaporated instantly. He watched you drop into the bowl again, wheels scraping, hoodie fluttering behind you like a cape. Something about the scene tugged at him—maybe the rebellion of being out this late, maybe the raw emotion in your movements, maybe just the fact that you looked cool as hell.

Either way, Raphael wasn’t bored anymore. Not even close.