#turtlecleric scrolls

[turtlecleric]

It's fine as long as nobody knows. Thought crimes aren't real, and you can't judge people for what gets them off. As long as no one is getting hurt in the process, there's really nothing wrong with it.

That's what Leo tells himself each time he lies in bed, wishing it was your cunt squeezing around his cock instead of his own fist. Imagining the way your brow might pinch as he slides inside of you, or the way your back might arch beneath him when he bottoms out, or the way your breath might hitch when he pulls out and thrusts back in.

Fuck. Fuck. You'd take him so well. He knows you would.

He wonders if you'd talk to him. Tell him what you like, or ask him to go faster, or just babble while he fucks you. He'd like to hear what sounds you make when he fucks you, with his thumb rubbing slick little circles over your clit and his mouth against your ear, telling you just how good you feel. How insane you make him, how soft and warm and wet you are.

Would you like that?

What about his hand on your belly, feeling himself move in and out? You're small compared to him, but you would take it so well, he knows.

Leo reaches for the box beneath his bed. He pulls out your sweater, pressing it to his nose and breathing in slow. It still smells like you, but it's getting fainter. He'll need to put it back soon and borrow something else. The next time he comes by and you're sleeping, maybe. What's a little borrowing of clothes between friends?

He wonders what you'd taste like. Wonders how many times he could curl his tongue just right and make you gasp his name. Wonders if maybe this time he'll be brave enough to steal a pair of underwear instead of a shirt or jacket. Wonders how heavy a sleeper you are. Wonders what it would be like to lick over the cotton of your panties and-

Fuck.

[turtlecleric]

Hang on actually @luckycharms1701 I'm imagining something specific now.

Mikey's never been shy about asking questions. Some of the shit he comes up with is borderline insane, honestly, and the fam is pretty much used to it. Lately though? He's been asking some really weird, really specific questions.

“Hey, Donnie, how hard would it be to make something that gave me more fingers? Ones that I could move? Oh. Yeah, no, that's cool. Just wondering.”

“Raph! Raph, hey Raph! If I make this face, do I look like I'm asking a question or is it, like, coming off as angry? Ahhh very funny, dude! No seriously, though.”

“Be honest, Leo. When I don't understand something, how stupid does my face look. No, man, come on, just be honest.”

“April! Love you, missed you, glad you're here, but I gotta ask real quick: What do I smell like? Like is it obvious that I live in a sewer? It's- REALLY?? Oh that's good, that's- no, no reason!”

He's also been spending a lot of time doing… who knows what. Running off on his own after patrols. Slipping out of the lair when no one else is paying attention. It isn't until the third time Raph goes looking for him, only to realize he isn't anywhere in the lair, that the brothers decide to actually pay attention and follow him the next time he slips out.

They don't have to wait long. The very next day, he's out and running as soon as lunch is over. They follow from a safe distance, trading jokes and theories the whole way. When he finally stops, standing on a roof, they watch from afar. He's fidgeting more than usual. Almost like he's waiting for-

Oh. Oh my god.

When you appear, Mikey lights up like the sun. He starts gesturing excitedly, visibly fumbling his way through a series of signs, and when you smile up at him and start to smoothly sign back the other three brothers share a flabbergasted look.

“Well boys,” Splinter says behind them, making each of them jump. When had he… “It seems we need to start learning sign language.”

imagine mikey

that’s it that’s the post

[turtlecleric]

CWs: somno, dub/non con

Donnie wonders how much of this you'll remember in the morning. Will you remember the feeling of his hands on your skin? Of his tongue in your cunt? He hopes that you do, almost as much as he hopes that you don't. From the noises he's pulling out of you, it seems like it would be a good memory. 

A good dream. 

You've come once already, but he wants to make sure you're ready before he fucks you. Any soreness will be an indicator that something is amiss. No, he needs you fully prepared. Not that he's complaining. You've always tasted so fucking good. 

By the time he drops, hips unconsciously thrusting against the bed, you're ready. Donnie presses a kiss to your thigh before straightening, lining himself up quickly. He pushes the tip of his cock inside you, groaning quietly and breathing a little harder. “Newton, you're perfect,” he murmurs, still pushing in slowly. “Good girl, good fucking girl. That's it. Fuck.”

[turtlecleric]

Thinking about Donnie having a setup under his desk where you could be held in place, comfortable and secure with his cock in your mouth while he sits and works. Him teaching you how you breathe around it, how to relax your jaw and stay still while he uses you to warm his cock and occasionally thrusts into your throat. Getting you into the headspace where you feel so good being used. Strapping a vibrator to you and getting to feel your moans and whimpers around him. Murmuring little words of praise each time you come. Breathy curses as he grinds his hips, having to pause in his work because he just wants so badly to ruin you that he can barely focus but... not yet. A little longer, just a little longer. He's going to make sure you're nice and fucked out, unable to use that mouth for anything but sucking before he drags you out from under the desk, replaces the cock in your mouth with his fingers, and finally presses himself inside your cunt and fucks you like you want. He's going to make you forget you were ever anything other than his toy, make you forget that you exist for anything other than taking whatever he decides to give you. If he ever does leave your mouth unoccupied, the only words he ever wants to hear are "Yes Sir" and "Thank you."

[turtlecleric]

Your phone is ringing again.

It's Donnie. You know it's Donnie. You don't know how he does it, but he always knows when you're getting bad. Somehow he always knows, and he always calls. And usually you answer, but right now... you can't.

Why not? It's a simple thing, to reach out and pick up your phone. To swipe that little green icon and say hello. Simple, but not easy, apparently, since you can't so much as lift a finger. Instead, you watch your phone with hollow eyes as it vibrates on your nightstand. You watch, and you wait, and you sink further into your mattress when it finally stops.

It doesn't make any sense. You'd spent the last two days lying in bed, unable to do anything other than cry and ache and stare at nothing. Thinking about things you really shouldn't be thinking about. Wishing someone - anyone - would come and pull you out of this hole you've dug yourself into. Donnie would help. Isn't that what you want? Someone to notice? Someone to help you? That's what you want, so why didn't you answer? Why are you stuck, staring, aching, crying, being stupid and useless and-

Your phone starts to ring again. You still don't answer.

[turtlecleric]

God damn it, something something straps holding you in place because you always squirm too much, and Donnie needs you to stay still while he fucks you, and the frightened little sounds and twitches you make when you can't quite see him and you get no warning before he touches you are so lovely, and honestly isn't this nice? When he doesn't have to move you into position? When he doesn't have to punish you for not listening? When you're ready for him at all times? When you have no choice but to be the perfect little fucktoy that he knows you can be? Come on, sweets, this is perfect. Say you love it. Say you love it, come on. You love the way he feels inside of you, don't you? Say it, or there'll be a gag added next.

There we go. That wasn't so hard, was it? Good girl. Good fucking girl. Now keep that mouth open so he can hear what he's doing to you.

[turtlecleric]

[runs through your wall at full speed like the coolaid man] FOR THE DIALOG-ahem, sorry. screaming. for the dialogue prompts 👁👁 may I humbly request number 2 with rise leo por favor mi amor 👁👁

Hiiiiii Keishaaaaa 💕 anything for you, my dear!

-

“Come here, dumbass.” with rise!Leo

AU where future!Leo came to the past with Casey Jr.

CWs: blood, death, technically reader death but also not? 

-

Leon catches himself staring, sometimes. He'd thought that maybe his memory had put you on a pedestal after he'd lost you, painted you as kinder and more lovely than you actually were - but no. You're just as he remembers, with that laugh that makes his heart flutter and those eyes that make it impossible to say no if you look up at him just right. It's so strange, knowing a version of you that doesn't know him. A you that doesn't seek him out. A you that belongs to someone else. 

Well. It's not really someone else, but… in all the ways that matter, it is. 

It has to be karma. Some sort of twisted punishment from the universe. That's all it can be, really, when he has to watch his younger self act like a complete and total jackass around you. Flirting with you constantly but never actually making a move. Making you blush and laughing it off. Cracking jokes and pushing your buttons and making Leon lose his fucking mind because he knows so much better now, knows that you deserve better. 

He's got to keep it together. 

It's movie night, now. Leo is sitting next to you. Pressed against your side, with an arm around your shoulders like it means nothing. Like Leon wouldn't give anything to so casually hold you in his arms again. 

Leon tries to focus on the movie, but he can smell the faint scent of your shampoo from here. He keeps looking back at you, unable to stop himself, and when Leo's fingers idly caress your shoulder, Leon catches the pretty pink that dusts your cheeks. 

It reminds him of… certain memories. Memories he really shouldn't be thinking about right now, in the same room as a much younger version of you. Although, you were about this age when he and you first started to-

Leon breathes slowly. Forces his gaze back on the movie. 

“Are you cold, hermosa?” Leo murmurs in your ear, drawing Leon's eyes to you once again. Leo's mouth is right up against your ear, and his fingers continue to trail slowly up and down your arm. “You've got goosebumps.”

You swallow, breathing a little fast. Leon gets a little lost in the movement of your throat, then in the way your lips part as you speak. “I'm okay. Thanks.”

Leo hums, watching you intently for a few more moments, then shrugs and turns back to the movie. “If you say so.”

Leon wants to punch the smirk off his stupid face. 

By the time the movie ends, Leon has long since given up trying to stop himself from glaring. He can tell that you've noticed, but Leo is acting like everything is fine. He might even be enjoying Leon's quiet rage, if that cocky smile he gets every time he glances at Leon is anything to go by. 

Leon wonders what it would mean for him if he strangled his younger self to death. He won't know unless he tries, right?

He's joking. 

Mostly.

Movie night ends. You say goodnight. Give everyone a hug. Everyone but Leon, of course. Respecting the boundary he's put in place, even if you don't fully understand why. You give him a little wave instead. It's still too much, but he nods in response, trying to ignore the way his chest tightens at your clear disappointment. 

How could he possibly explain?

He waits until there's no doubt that you're out of earshot to confront Leo. “Stop messing with her.”

There's that cocky smile again. “I don't know what you're talking about, Viejo.”

Leon takes a deep breath, trying to quell the rage that simmers beneath his scales. “She doesn't deserve your bullshit, Leo. She deserves to be treated with respect.”

“Come on, old man, what happened to you?” Raph hisses Leo's name. A warning that Leon himself has heard a thousand times. A warning he's missed having, wished he could've heard just one more time, a thousand more. And just like he always did, Leo pushes forward anyway. “What? I'm just saying, he's blowing this way out of proportion. What's the big d-ah!”

Leon grabs Leo's mask tails, yanking him closer and snarling, “Come here, dumbass.” He holds Leo there, glaring into the wide, shocked eyes of his younger self, and before he can think better of it-

Their eyes glow blue when the mind meld connects. 

An odd echoing, familiar but warped. Looking into a mirror in a dream. A flurry of thoughts, a maelstrom of emotions. Flashes of color blurring into images into memory into

He's calling your name. You always answer when he calls. Always. So why aren't you answering? Why

Screeching. Screaming? Each footfall sends a jarring impact through his bones. He needs to find you. Where

Everything stops. Spins, tilts, then settles into place, but it settles wrong because it's you but 

He says your name, but it's like a question he doesn't want the answer to.

He rushes over, tripping over his own feet. Clumsy, Leo, what is he

It's you but

You're stuck, lying flat in the dirt. Impaled by the claws of a dead hound. Of course you took the fucker out with you. Of course you

“Leo. Can't- can't breathe.”

Your hands reach for him. Slick with blood. Panic, his, yours, choking, choking

When he removes the hound you shriek, sobs ringing in his tympana. Gasping. Begging.

“I know baby, I know. I've got you, okay?” He needs to get you back to the base. Get you patched up somehow. Ignore the red. Ignore the

“H-hurts.” He can barely hear you. He gathers you in his arms, wincing at the choking screams. He knows it hurts, he knows. “Leo. Leo, please-”

His hands are sticky. Almost home. “Shhhhh, I've got you. It's okay, it's okay, just keep breathing.”

They're everywhere. It's so loud, but you're so

Quiet. Why are you

Movement. Sound. Impacts that fall too close, making him stumble, but he still makes it through the portal, makes it to the medbay, places you on the cot. You're staying so still for him while he works. You always were a good patient, but this is

Wrong.

“Leo.”

“Donnie, get me a bag of O neg, I need to-”

“Leo, stop. Please.”

Slick hands. You're so quiet. You're

They're pulling him away, but he's not done. He has to patch you up, can't they see that you need

“Leo, stop!”

You're

The connection snaps like a frayed string. Leo staggers backward, his shell colliding audibly with the wall, and he slides to the floor. His plastron heaves with every breath, his eyes wide and horrified, and Leon watches quietly as tears streak down Leo's face. The cocky smile is gone, and he can't find it in himself to feel anything but hollow satisfaction. 

Someone says something, but Leo is focused only on his younger self. Surely, surely, he understands now. He stalks forward, crouching and grabbing Leo by his sash to pull him closer. “She. Deserves. Better. Get your shit together. I won't tell you again.”

Leo stares up at him, eyes somehow widening further. He's visibly shaking, and all Leon can think is good. 

After a long, tense moment, Leo nods. Leon releases him and stands, glaring down at Leo for another few seconds before he's fully satisfied. He turns on his heel, going straight to his room without another word. 

No one follows.

-

Tag list: @yorshie @luckycharms1701 @khayalli @mxalmighty @justalotoffanfiction @thelaundrybitch @shakeyourtrees @silverwatergalaxy

[turtlecleric]

Leo stumbles into your room with his head bowed. His eyes are haunted and wide, his movements oddly stilted.

Something is wrong.

As far as you know, all the boys were supposed to do tonight was help the NYPD bust into a Purple Dragon storage house. You don't know what could possibly have him acting so... off. You don't see any injuries. If one of his brothers was hurt, he would be with them, not with you. If the storage house was a bust, he would be complaining about wasted time and energy, so that can't be it, either.

You want to ask. But at the same time, you really, really don't.

You watch him slowly shed his armor and gear with shaky hands. As soon as he's done, you reach for him. He pauses, studying you for a long moment before crawling into bed and pulling you close. You can feel him trembling, his fingers clutching at the fabric of your shirt like a lifeline.

"Can I stay with you tonight?"

The sound of his voice, small and pleading, makes your throat tight. He should never sound like that. Never.

"Of course," you whisper. "Always. You don't even have to ask, you know that."

He doesn't reply. You try to soothe him a bit, to get him to relax. Swiping gentle hands over his muscles. Scratching little symbols over his shell. Pressing kisses onto scale and keratin. It still feels as though he might shake apart in your arms, but he doesn't ask you to stop. You like to think it's helping. At least a little.

"I love you," he chokes out. He sounds... desperate. Afraid. "I love you so much."

"I love you, too, Leo."

His arms tighten around you again. "You're being careful, right? When- when I'm not there to keep an eye on you?"

"Yes, love, I'm being careful. I'm being safe. I promise."

"...Okay."

You try to stay awake, but the pull of sleep is too strong. You can feel it dragging you under, and the last thing you register before you slip away is Leo's voice.

"Please. Please."

You don't know what he's asking for.

[turtlecleric]

rise!Leo x fem reader, nsfw, established relationship

Cws: biting, possessive talk, choking

---

You wake up to feel Leo’s hips grinding lazily against your ass and one of his hands roaming beneath your shirt. There's a steady rumble in his chest that vibrates against your back, and you wonder if he's even fully awake as he nuzzles sleepily into your neck. “Leo,” you croak, patting the arm he has draped over your waist. “Leo, you with me?”

He just hums, breathing you in and exhaling on a growl that you feel in your teeth. His hand finds your breast and squeezes as he continues to roll his hips against you, his breath hot against your neck. Easy, so easy for him, you sigh as he palms at your chest and starts to brush his fingers back and forth across your nipples. You turn your head toward him, and his mouth meets yours immediately.

Slow and wet, his tongue glides against your own. His hand trails from your chest to your stomach, ghosting over your hip and pressing into the seam where your thighs start before slipping into your underwear. His finger dips between your folds, and you whine into his mouth when it starts a slow caress against your clit. Leo breaks the kiss just long enough to speak with an audible smirk.

“Already wet for me, princesa?”

You flush hot at his words, but his mouth seals over yours again before you can answer. The slick glide of his tongue matches that of his finger in a dizzying mixture of friction. Time morphs into nothing more than the space between moans.

When his lips leave yours, chaste kisses press sweetly into your shoulder. He mumbles something into your skin, but you can’t focus past the way his finger is making your toes curl. More mumbled words, punctuated by the feeling of him sucking purple marks onto your skin. You can feel it building as his finger continues to stroke, as his hips continue to grind into your backside. Sudden and all at once, you feel your body tense as you come. Your mouth falls open on a gasp, and his teeth sink into your neck while electricity sparks along your skin.

“That was quick,” he murmurs smugly against your ear. You slur a response that even you don’t understand, and he chuckles darkly. You don’t understand how he does this - reduces you to this so easily. Like it’s nothing.

His hand dips lower, a thick finger pressing easily inside of you. One slow pump. Two. A second finger, his thumb pressing firmly against your clit, and your hips jerk backward just for him to grind forward against your ass again. “Pobrecita,” he says with mock pity. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.” His voice lowers, the hint of a growl rumbling in your ear. “I always take care of what’s mine.”

His fingers leave you and then he shifts. Your shirt is gently pulled over your head and tossed aside before he does the same with your panties. He shifts again, moving you onto your back and straddling your waist. You’re distracted for a moment by how handsome he is in the low light, but then you focus on his eyes. Roaming across your naked body, ravenous in a way that you’ve only ever seen directed at you. It makes your heart sing. You push through the haze in your mind to whisper the only thought you’re able to have right now.

“I love you.”

His eyes widen at that. The fact that he looks almost shocked makes your chest tighten. How many times have you told him how much you love him? How many more times will you have to say it before he stops looking at you like that when you do?

“I love you, too,” he whispers back, his eyes soft for a long moment. Then the hunger returns, and he leans down to rest on his forearms and kiss you again. You let your eyes slip shut, let yourself get lost in the taste of him as your arms lift to rest over the stripes on his arms. Sensitive there, you remember, when he shivers at your touch. You drag your nails over the marks, smiling into his kiss when the action draws a groan out of him.

Leo pulls away, his eyes unmoored on your face, and then he leans heavily on one forearm and lifts the other to grab one of your wrists. He scoots up and pulls your hand down to his cloaca, and you can feel that it’s leaking and swollen.

You’re not the only one who’s easy.

He lets go of your wrist when you start to lightly trail your finger up and down his slit. Up and down. Up and down. You don’t miss the way his throat bobs as he swallows, the way his brow pinches the tiniest bit. You slip your middle and ring fingers inside of him, pride swelling in your chest when his breath stutters. He slips his fingers into your mouth, then, and you can still taste yourself there.

“Suck,” he breathes, and you obey. You keep your eyes on his while you work him open, while you swirl your tongue around his fingers in your mouth. He’s so pretty. So pretty above you. Another swell of pride has you smiling harder when you curl your fingers toward you and his hips rock jerkily in response.

“You like playing with me, juguete?” He’s teasing, but it’s hard to miss the strain in his voice. His fingers leave your mouth to pinch your nipple, leaving a trail of your spit across your skin. His head dips down to kiss the valley between your breasts, to seal his lips around your other nipple and suck. Your fingers continue to massage inside of him, and you really can’t tell which of you is wetter.

He adjusts suddenly, his hands resting on either side of your head to hold himself up. “Gonna drop,” he groans, his eyes squeezing shut. “Gonna-”

A shuddering breath cuts off his next words, and your fingers are pushed out of him as he drops wetly into your hand. Warm - warmer than any other part of him - and so fucking big you can’t wrap your fingers all the way around. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the sheer size of him.

When you start to pump your hand up and down the shaft, his hand shoots down to wrap tightly around your wrist again. This time, though, he pulls it away from him and pins it against the bed by your head.

“Ready?”

He bottoms out and stills, breathing hard over you. His intense gaze is almost a glare, and you unconsciously clench around him, making his eyes sharpen. After a long moment, he starts to pull out, just to slide back in before he’s even halfway out. Establishing a slow, steady rhythm, he leans down on his forearms again and rests his forehead against yours.

His voice makes you shiver. You nod and stay still as he scoots down your body and raises and spreads your legs, letting them rest on either side of him as he lines himself up. He delays just long enough to peer at your face before pressing inside, and you can’t stop the broken moan that punches out of you. Fuck fuck fuck. You swear you can feel him in your fucking throat, and you have to remind yourself to breathe.

“You feel so good,” he whispers, his uneven breaths mixing with your own. “God, you’re so- so fucking tight and wet for me, so good, pretty girl.” He presses a kiss against the corner of your mouth. “You’re perfect.”

You can only whisper strings of his name. That’s all there is. Here and now and you and Leo Leo Leo Leo Leo.

“Who do you belong to, pretty?”

Leo Leo Leo

“That’s right,” he breathes. “Mine.”

His pace picks up without warning, and you inhale sharply as he starts to growl. It’s a steady, thrumming thing that you feel in your skin, in your bones, in your cunt. Each movement of him inside of you has spikes of pleasure lighting up your body. There’s nothing but him. Nothing but his hands tangling in your hair, his teeth grazing down your neck, his cock filling you up like nothing else ever could.

He’s starting to move faster. Harder. A punishing pace, now, and you can’t help but writhe beneath him. His hands yank your head back and his teeth clamp down on your neck, harder than before, and hold you in place. You feel every beat of your heart in your throat, your pulse erratic at the pleasure-pain that makes your whines louder. Each thrust has the feeling of almost there, almost there building up higher. Your hands fist in the sheets, and again, again, again, you have to remind yourself to breathe as he ruts into you. Fuck. Fuck. Breathe. His teeth release you, his mouth sliding up your jaw so he can whisper in your ear.

“Mine.” The gravel in his voice makes you whimper. “All mine. Perfect little toy, taking my dick like you were made for it. Come for me. Just for me, pretty girl, come on.”

His angle changes just so, and your eyes roll back in your head as another orgasm shakes you apart. You’re vaguely aware of him fucking you through it, his head raising up so he can watch your face, his hands moving to grasp your upper arms and push you into the mattress while his hips smack loudly against yours.

He doesn’t stop - hasn’t stopped - and you only realize he’s still talking to you after you come back down to earth.

“You like being my little toy, don’t you? You like it when I fuck you stupid, pretty girl?”

You open your mouth to respond, but you can only whine pitifully. His hands tighten further around your arms. You wonder if his fingers will leave bruises before his voice makes you shiver again.

“Who do you belong to, juguete?” You try to speak, your mouth hanging open, but you don’t quite manage it. His hips still haven’t stopped moving, haven’t slowed in the slightest, and you don’t know how he expects you to be able to form words, but he’s not letting it go. One of his hands grabs your jaw, and his eyes take on a dangerous glint that makes your heart skip in your chest. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“Y- hah!” Okay, okay. Focus, you can- you can- fuck. Okay. “You, Leo.”

His hand releases your jaw and moves down to tighten around your throat. Blood rushes in your ears as your oxygen is cut off. Your thoughts scramble, your mind pulled in a million different directions. His hands, his weight on top of you, his fingers pressing harder into your skin. The way your lungs burn, the way your spine tingles. The way each thrust jolts your entire body. The feeling of him spearing you open over and over, the wet friction that melts your brain, the slide of skin against scale and keratin, the room spinning as your mind fractures, and still there is only Leo Leo Leo.

You feel his rhythm falter before he pushes as far in as he can go, so deep that you have the delirious thought that it’s actually his cock in your throat that’s stopping you from breathing. His hips meld to yours, a thundering growl ripping out of him, and you feel him twitching inside of you as he fills you with his come and chants your name like a prayer.

Your vision is blurry. Darkening at the edges. You feel yourself getting lightheaded, and suddenly you can breathe again. You suck in a wheezing breath, and after a few moments you manage to focus on Leo. He’s resting on his forearms above you again, studying your face with hazy eyes. He leans down to kiss your forehead, your nose, your lips. To rub the side of his jaw against yours and nip at your earlobe. His breaths are starting to slow, his growl having settled into a soft churr, and oh, you love him. You love him so much.

“I think my season is coming up soon,” he mumbles, and you can’t stop the laugh from bubbling out of you.

“I think so, too.”

You can’t wait.

---

Tag list: @yorshie @khayalli @luckycharms1701 @thejudiciousneurotic @thelaundrybitch @mxalmighty @justalotoffanfiction

[turtlecleric]

I Know Now

late as usual ~ nsfw, rise!donnie x reader (cw: altered state of mind)

---

“Dearest?”

“Yes, Donnie.”

"Tell me again."

You blow out a slow breath, closing your eyes and pushing down the hint of exasperation that's starting to bloom in your chest. He's worried, you remind yourself. Unsure. Hesitant in a way that you simply aren't. You can be patient, for him. 

"It will be disorienting and confusing," you say once more. "I may feel overwhelmed or scared. I may not be able to control my thoughts or actions. I may hate it."

Donnie searches your face, brows furrowed. "And you still want t-"

"Yes."

The movement of his free hand tapping rapidly against his thigh catches your eye. It makes you soften further, seeing how worried he is about this. About you. You step forward to wrap your arms around him, and his own slide around you immediately, making the bottle of pills in his hand rattle as he does. His cheek rests on the top of your head, and you bask in the comfort of his hold for a long moment before leaning back to catch his gaze. Somber, anxious eyes look back at you. 

"I trust you,” you murmur. “I understand the risks. And I still really want to do this. Okay?"

His mouth opens, but he closes it without saying anything. When he opens it again, it's with a firmer, more resolute expression.

"Okay," he says, nodding and pulling away fully from your hug. "Let's get you set up then."

He leads you to the bed nestled in the back corner of the workshop - one that he put together specifically for this. Sturdy, with a mattress that has just the right amount of give, an absurd number of pillows, and the softest blankets and sheets you've ever had the pleasure of running your hands over. The memory of when he'd first shown you the finished product makes you smile. 

It's perfect, Donnie!

Of course it is! I made it to your exact preferences based on the data I've collected over the past few weeks, and - oh, let me show you how the heating function works!

God. You love him so fucking much. 

Settled amongst the pillows now, with him kneeling on the bed beside you, your heart sings thinking about how much work he's put into this. The pills, obviously. The bed. The lectures and pamphlets and reminders that you don't have to do this - despite the fact that you were the one who requested it in the first place. Wanting to experience a taste of what it's like for him, so you can understand better but… also because you're a little selfish. He's told you countless times how much better his season is now that he has you. Alone, it had been miserable. With you… it's something incredible. And he always seems so content during his season - relaxed and satisfied and so goddamn happy. Giddy with it, even. You want to see what that feels like. 

"The effects should last approximately one hour," Donnie says, pulling you from your thoughts. The bottle rattles again when he gingerly shakes a single pill into his hand. "Don't forget that your heart rate will increase, and you'll start to feel really warm. That's normal. Oh, and don’t forget that-”

"Donnie," you call softly, cutting him off. You take the pill from him with one hand and use the other to weave your fingers around his and squeeze. "As long as I'm with you, I'll be fine."

His eyes soften, and the tiny smile on his face bolsters you. Before he has a chance to make you repeat the warnings (again), you reach over to one of the cup holders jutting out from the side of the bed and pick up a water bottle. 

(It's important to stay hydrated, dearest. Ooh! Watch this, there's a hidden cupboard for snacks that raises up when you press-)

The pill goes down easily, and Donnie immediately starts to ramble again. Reminding you of what to expect, of the contingency plans in place should you decide this really isn't for you and you need to stop. You half-listen, smirking when he falters for just a moment as you start to strip. 

You'd thought you might get a bit chilly since he keeps it relatively cold in here, but you're feeling okay even without your clothes. You get comfortable on the bed, lying down and… about to ask how long it will take for… hm.

Hm.

He's still talking, but you're a little distracted by the way his throat moves as he speaks. The way his tendons stretch and pull when he shifts, when he turns his head, or... the glimpses of his tongue, his teeth, as he talks. 

Wait. Focus. 

"-feeling?"

You blink up at him. "...Huh?" 

He looks like he can't decide between worry or amusement. It's not an unusual expression to see on his face - you evoke that in him pretty often - but something about it mesmerizes you. 

"How are you feeling?" He says again.

Feeling. How are you. Feeling. 

It's hard to focus when you're staring at him. Looking away feels impossible, but you manage to close your eyes and think. 

You feel... warm. That's right. He said that would happen. You feel… hazy. Like your thoughts have to drag themselves through molasses to make it to the surface. Hungry? No, hungry isn't quite right, but it's... similar. Like a craving. You want. You want. You feel your pulse in your throat, hear the blood rushing in your ears. You miss him. He’s right here, but you miss him. 

When you open your eyes and see him there, you feel yourself relax. His gaze is intense. Heavy. It makes you shiver, goosebumps rising along your arms and legs, and you try to focus. Focus. Try to… 

Why aren’t you touching him? It seems stupid to not be touching him. More than stupid, it feels wrong. You reach out, resting a hand against his plastron, feeling the vibrations there as he speaks.

Wait, what is he saying? You see the movement of his mouth, and you hear the words, but… the meanings slip away like smoke in your hands. Your name is the only thing you recognize, and oh, the way he says your name has you shivering again. Shivering - but you're so warm. The thought makes you smile, but it falls when you suddenly become aware of every inch that separates you from him. You place your other hand on his arm, curling around his bicep, pulling him closer, because he’s so far away. Even when he moves where you pull him, letting you wrap around him and press your face into the crook of his neck, he’s still too far away. 

He says your name again. Quiet and gentle, and you love the sound of it. It echoes in your mind, a layered whisper that soothes something you can’t put a name to. You breathe him in, nuzzling into his neck as the both of you lie down together. Arms around each other, your legs entwined, he’s right here but you need him closer. You need… something. You need…

Hands massage your back. Your shoulders. Someone is moaning and you think it might be you. You want to say something, but you can’t, can’t, can’t - there’s an ache in your chest, a burning in your stomach. Your thighs are sticky. You need- you can feel your cunt throbbing.

A brief moment of clarity. Suddenly you can understand his steady murmuring, can fully remember what's happening and how you got here. 

“-okay, I’m here. I’ll take care of you, okay? You’re safe, I’ve got you.”

You need him. You need him, you need him right now, and you have to tell him. You don’t even care, don’t have the capacity to even be embarrassed by how whiny your voice is when you finally manage to speak. “Donnie. Donnie, please. Please, I need you. Please fuck me, please, Donnie, please, I need-” 

The moment he kisses you, all of your thoughts slip away. There is only him and you and him and you and him but then he pulls away, and it hurts. You miss him. You try to tell him, ask him to come back, but someone is whimpering, and you miss him, and it hurts, and you can’t think. 

You miss him. 

His hands find you again, his lips pressing against your own, and the relief is overwhelming. Your entire body shudders, shaking apart beneath him. You can't differentiate between the touches, his hands and mouth here and there and everywhere, everywhere, everywhere at once. Someone whines again. 

Donnie lies on top of you then, arms pressed between you and the mattress, holding you close against him, and oh. The weight of him, the smell of him, the taste of him - it’s enough to make you go boneless. Something, something - his knee, you think - slides between your legs, pressing against you. You can't help but grind against it as his tongue just barely glides against yours. It’s so warm. Everywhere, everything, warm and good and safe.

You’re trembling, chills running up your spine, lighting sparking along your skin. You’re flying, you think. Weightless, somehow, with only friction and pressure and Donnie Donnie Donnie. He adjusts, his knee moving away, but before you can protest something slips inside of you. His finger, you realize after a few pumps, and it's better, so much better, but it's not enough and you need more more more-

Donnie is whispering something that you don’t understand, but his voice alone is like a balm. Soothing your impatience. Your desperation. You focus on the rumble of it, then on the rub of his jaw against yours, then on the slick circles of his thumb against your clit, then his fingers - two, now - pumping easily in and out of you. Your hips are in constant motion, your arms clawing at his arms, and you can't stop seeking him in every way that you can. Time warps - there is no time, only feeling as you fight to somehow have him closer. 

He lifts himself up, and you miss having his weight press you into the mattress, but then you feel him start to press something bigger inside of you, and fuck yes this is it. His cock - this is what you were craving, what you need more than oxygen itself, and it feels so fucking good. The feeling of him inside you, filling you up, full, so full of him. And then he starts to move and - no, this is what you need. This delicious, wet friction, the feeling of him spearing you open again and again as you pull apart at the seams. There is only him and here and now, and it’s all you've ever wanted and it's yours. 

Are you coming? You can't tell if you are or if it just feels that good to have him pumping into you. You can't seem to think past each thrust, your mind going blank after every... Fuck, are you coming? Or does it just feel that good-

One of his words slips through the mist that's replaced your mind. Mine. It makes your skin spark. You've never felt more safe, more content, more full. It's almost too much. Just the brush of his scales against your skin is enough to overwhelm you, and fuck, fuck, are you coming or does he just feel that good inside of you?

You want to tell him… something. Something. You don't know, couldn't put it into words even if you could manage to control your mouth enough to speak. You might already be speaking. You’re not sure. His voice, though, you are sure about. It's a constant echo in your mind, and you can’t understand the words but at the same time you do. You understand. Safe, pretty, good, mate, mine. Yes, yes, yes. You’re his. Forever. 

Your heart is beating so fast. Your entire body is one big heartbeat, pulsing with every movement he makes. It’s almost scary - would be scary if you didn’t feel so fucking good and so completely, utterly safe. You're an imploding star, a burning, writhing, blissed-out thing that used to be a person and that may not ever be one again. You think you might be okay with that. 

God, are you coming or does it-

That thought is abruptly disintegrated when you do come. Your eyes roll back into your head, waves and waves of shimmering pleasure lighting up every nerve. On and on and on, it doesn’t stop. It doesn’t stop, and you’re sure now. This is you coming, and it isn’t fucking stopping. Someone is crying, and this shouldn’t actually be possible. It shouldn't be possible for a person to feel this way, and it isn’t fucking stopping, holy fuck. The wave swells in a way it never has before, cresting and cresting and cresting, and- oh. You’re crying. That's you. 

breathe, darling. got you, beautiful, mine, doing so good. breathe. that’s it, pretty girl

He’s comforting you, you think. What is there to comfort? There has never been anything that feels as good as this. You’re still coming and he’s still fucking you through it, and thank god, because if he stopped you might actually die. You reach for him, but he's already there. 

mine, mine, mine

You think you might be starting to come down from that insane high. The trembling seems permanent, but you can think a little, can take in more of what he's saying now even though it's a little slurred in your ears. 

“- got you. All mine, so pretty and perfect. Smell so fucking good, taking my cock like you were made for me, like the perfect mate. So good, pretty girl, you're doing so good. I love you so-”

He's happy with you. You're being good. You're good. You're good and safe and warm, and he's here, and this is where he belongs, always. Deep inside of you, fucking you, always, always, with his fingers in your mouth and his teeth in your shoulder. You can't separate pain from pleasure. It's all one swirling, overwhelming cacophony of sensation until you feel him release inside of you, coating your insides with his come, marking you as his in every way - and it does something to your brain. You think you really are talking now, thanking him, maybe, or just- fuck, you can't concentrate, you're so full. 

Part of you mourns, even through the thick haze of your mind, knowing that he will pull out of you soon. But you're surprised to find that he doesn't, that he only needs a few moments before he's hard and pumping into you again. More sweet, incomprehensible words fall on your ears like so many shooting stars, and time continues to warp, and oh, fuck, the wave is cresting again-

---

--

-

When you wake, the first thing you become aware of is the fact that you feel so unbelievably relaxed. The second thing is that Donnie is holding you, stroking your hair and speaking to you softly. 

You take a slow, deep breath, and his words stop, then start again. This time you push through the haze enough to actually listen. 

“You haven't stopped smiling,” he says, his own smile audible in his voice. 

His hand continues to brush through your hair, while the fingers of his other hand tap absent-mindedly against your thigh. It's nice. You bask in the feeling for a moment before you respond. 

“It was like… like you said. The way you feel now, during your season. I just felt really… connected to you. Safe. And happy.” You sigh, snuggling in closer. “And really, really good. I don't know why you were so worried I would hate it.”

His hands stop. Then start again. When he answers, you can't hear the smile anymore. “It's only like that when- when you're with the person you…” 

He trails off, and you wait for him to elaborate. He doesn't. The silence grows heavy. You pull back to look up at him, but he avoids your eyes, his lips thinning and his brows pinching together. You finish his sentence for him. 

“The person you love?”

His throat bobs when he swallows, and his tiny nod makes your chest ache. To think that - even after everything you've been through - he was still unsure. Worried that the pill would not only make you miserable, but also that it would confirm your true feelings. 

Or lack thereof. 

“Donnie,” you start, but he cuts you off with a kiss. Slow, gentle, and intimate. He kisses you until you forget how to breathe, and when he finally pulls away you have to take a few moments to remind yourself of what you were going to say. “You thought I wouldn't-”

“I was wrong to worry,” he says simply, cutting you off once more. “I know that now.”

You consider pushing further, but the pleasant fog that still clings to your mind makes it hard to think. You close your eyes and breathe, trying to focus past the memory of his lips on yours. It’s hard when his hands still trail through your hair. When you open them again, he’s still avoiding your gaze. 

“You know I love you. Right?”

His eyes finally meet your own, and you see something there. Something that’s too big to put a name to but that relaxes your concern nonetheless. He leans toward you to press a quick kiss to your forehead, and when he pulls back his lips have settled back into a soft smile. 

“I know, dearest. I know.” 

---

tag list: @yorshie @khayalli @thejudiciousneurotic @luckycharms1701 @mxalmighty @thelaundrybitch @justalotoffanfiction

[turtlecleric]

CWs: non con, drugging, somno, implied kidnapping

-

There's a stretch of time, about 10 minutes before you fully pass out, where you're perfect.

Still aware, but not fully so. Almost as if you were just... sleepy. Very, very sleepy. It's easy to pretend that it's real, when you're like that. Pliant, and easy, and uninhibited by silly things like fear. When he gets to hear every breathy little sound you make as he works you open, because no gag is necessary and you can't don't even think about staying quiet. When his fingers can be gentle, can trail and press and pinch, and it's so much better than the after and the before, because you still react but you don't pull away. This is how it could always be, if you just...

He carries that with him, after those ten minutes are up. The essence of how it could be. He holds it in his mind, clinging with both hands and pretending. Pretending. Long after he's cleaned you up.

He just needs to... extend that, somehow. You're happy when you're like that, aren't you? You seem happier. Maybe a few tweaks to the formula, or to the pace of administration.

Donnie noses at the hollow of your throat, wrapping himself in your scent like a blanket. Yeah, he thinks. Just a few adjustments.

[turtlecleric]

Future Leo aka Leon time babeyyyy; NSFW with juuust a splash of angst.... juuuuuust a smidge... don't worry about it. :)

I think this is technically a part two but you don't necessarily have to read part one to know what's going on. Part one!

CWs (spoilers, as always): misunderstanding, dub con? Ummmm bad ending??

-

Leon had thought it would be… better, somehow, once his younger self finally made a move. He'd thought that it would be enough, that he would be satisfied, knowing you were happy.

He was wrong.

His room is far too close to Leo's. He can hear every pretty little noise you make in the middle of the night when everyone else is asleep, and it drives him crazy.

He can't help comparing what he hears to what he remembers. He knows Leo is young. Inexperienced. But- but Leon could do so much better. He's always been insatiable, but listening to you moan down the hall, and remembering the way he used to make your legs shake, and imagining the way your eyes might roll back as you come on his cock - if you'd just let him show you how much better he could be - it has him dropping into his hand almost every night.

He knows it's just a fantasy, imagining himself with you again. You're with Leo, not him - and that's the way it should be. He didn't come back to the past to get a second chance with you or to take happiness away from his younger self. He came to help stop the invasion, and that's exactly what he did. This is his happy ending. He shouldn't wish for more.

And yet-

Leon breathes in slowly. Deeply. The air is thick with the scent of alcohol and strawberry flavoring. A few untouched jello shots still sit on the little table in front of the couch, but there are far more empty shots littering the living room. He shouldn't be staring, but with everyone passed out, he can't find a good enough reason to stop himself.

You're leaning on the arm of the couch, with your head tilted at an odd angle. That's going to give you a hell of a crick if you stay like that. Sleeping half-sitting up can't be comfortable. And you're still dressed in those clothes… they don't look comfortable, either. Much too tight. Not breathable. He has lots of big shirts he could loan you. Soft ones that would probably fit you like nightgowns.

His chest feels tight, but there's no time to think about what that means. You're not comfortable, and he can fix it. There's only one right answer here.

You melt into him when he picks you up, and a little sigh flows out of you. He knows you're practically catatonic, but the way you nuzzle your head against his plastron, like this is where you belong - it makes that tight feeling in his chest twist into something piercing and heavy.

He ignores it. Carries you to Leo's room and carefully lays you on the bed. After a quick trip to his own subway car, Leon returns with a plain blue t-shirt and hovers for a moment, rubbing the fabric between his fingers and watching you sleep as he considers his options.

He knows you'd like wearing it. It’s that texture that you love - all of his shirts are - but he doesn't want to disturb your rest, either. He sighs, sitting on the edge of the bed, and whispers your name. You don't respond, and your eyes stay closed. He says your name a little louder, but it isn't until he brushes his knuckles across your cheek that a raspy hum eases out of you.

“You wanna change into something more comfortable?” he murmurs, his knuckles sweeping feather-light over the skin just beneath your lashes.

You take a deep breath, whining in the back of your throat on the exhale as your face scrunches up in a pout. It's so cute, and it's so you, and the piercing feeling stabs a little deeper. He has to swallow down the affection that bubbles up in his chest.

“Come on, you'll feel better once you've changed.” He takes your hand and holds the shirt against it. “See?”

Your fingers close around the shirt, your face relaxing at the texture. You mumble something incoherent in response, and Leon chuckles and pats your arm.

“I know. Now get dressed.”

A grumpy sound slips out of your throat, but you do start to move your hands, so Leon nods to himself and stands. He'll check on you later, he thinks, to make sure you actually changed and didn't fall asleep as soon as he left.

“Wait,” you croak, and he pauses, turning back to see your shorts pulled low on your hips. His eyes go a little wide, seeing the lacy blue underwear that peeks out from the top.

“Can't-” a frustrated huff “-will you help?”

Will he help? That's- that is- not appropriate for him to-

“Please?”

Fuck. Fuck.

Leon swallows, hesitating near the doorway and staring between the peek of blue and your pleading face. He should leave.

But your eyes are open. You see that it's him. If you're okay with it… honestly, you asked him to help you. Right?

…Right.

He turns. Walks back to the bed. Hovers, standing over you and watching as you try and fail to pull your shorts down. He feels his heart hammering against his plastron, banging against it like it's trying to escape. He wonders if it's trying to get closer to you or farther away.

He really, really can't tell.

His hands move the next time you whine in frustration. Shaky fingers unbutton the shorts and grip the sides before pulling them down, and fuck fuck fuck. Your scent intensifies and hits him like a punch to the jaw. He wants to-

You're trusting him here. It's not your fault that he's… feeling like this. You need help, that's all. And he's here to help you.

That's all.

You move suddenly, pulling the bottom of your shirt up, and the moment he sees your matching blue bra he forgets how to breathe. You try to shimmy out of your shirt, but you're too uncoordinated and it gets stuck on your head. For a long moment, he's frozen. Watching your body squirm weakly and your chest rise and fall and your skin glow under the soft blue LED lights of the room.

You say something else that he doesn't understand. He's still not breathing when he reaches down to help you pull the shirt all the way off. It's stupidly easy to do, which reminds him that you are so very drunk right now.

Okay. Okay. Focus.

Leon reaches for his shirt, maneuvering it in his hands so that it'll be easier to pull over your head, but then you start to arch your back and reach behind you and- you're taking your bra off.

He drops the shirt, his hands flying forward to press down on your arms so you don't have the room to keep going. “What are you doing?!”

“Can't sleep with…” You blink, squinting at him like he's the one doing something strange. “Uncomfy.”

He stares down at you, incredulous, his mouth hanging open. You arch again, trying to undo the clasps, and he yanks his hands back and turns away. Jesus Christ. You're way too comfortable with him right n-

“Hey.”

Stupidly, so, so stupidly, he turns to look at you. Your chest is bare, and you're reaching for him.

You're reaching for him.

How could you not get your shirt off by yourself but somehow manage to get your bra off?

Focus. Focus. Breathe. Actually, don't breathe, that makes it worse. Get the shirt. Where the fuck is the shirt? He dropped it. Okay, just pick up the shirt and-

“C'mere,” you murmur, your hands brushing against him as he bends down. It's like an electric shock when you touch him, and he can't help but move where you want him to, like his soul is on a leash that only you can tug on. Your hands cup his face, pulling him closer, and god, you smell so good, and you're so beautiful, and your lips are so soft. You taste just like he remembers, here. He lets you pull him even closer, the room blurring around him as he climbs on top of you.

This is- he shouldn't-

You make a soft sound against his lips. His hands grip your sides, sliding up and down. Another soft sound, and it’s like a balm to the ache in his chest. It sounds like everything he's wanted for years, everything he's wanted since you-

You bite his bottom lip, gently pulling it with your teeth. Your eyes are closed, but he can still see the mischief that used to dance in them. You kiss him again, and again, and he lets you. Over and over and over, he lets you, and he kisses you back, and he ignores the alarm bells in his head.

“Take care of me?” you whisper, and how could he say no? How could he do anything but what you've asked him to do? He would do anything for you. Anything at all, if you asked.

“Of course, pretty thing.” The nickname slips out without his permission, but you smile when he says it, so that must mean it's okay. He kisses you again, slow and languid, and churrs when you sigh happily.

You asked, he reminds himself, shoving the alarm bells away. You asked.

He uses his metal arm to hold himself up and pulls back, watching you. Your eyes are barely open, but they flutter all the way closed when he uses his flesh arm to cup your breast, rubbing his thumb across your nipple.

There it is. That pretty little sound he's been hearing late at night. A breathy, high-pitched thing that he only wants to hear more of. Leon leans down, taking your other nipple between his lips and sucking gently. After a few moments, your legs come up, settling on either side of him, and he shifts down to press his nose to your panties.

“Smell so fucking good,” he groans, licking the fabric that covers you. It's unreal how good you smell, and when he pulls your panties to the side and licks another stripe, the broken “please” that comes out of you removes all conscious thought from his brain.

You taste so good. Make such pretty sounds. Grind against his face just like he remembers. His tongue slides inside of you easily, and it's far too soon before you start babbling like you always do when you're close.

He drops the moment you come, but he needs you to come again. Needs it. He pulls back just long enough to remove your panties, then loses all sense of time, loses himself in your scent and your taste until you come a second time. Only then does he finally pull his own pants down and line himself up.

You take his cock all at once, despite his size, and an involuntary growl vibrates in his chest when he's fully seated inside you. You feel so fucking good, just like always, always so good for him. Taking him like you were made for it. Wet and tight and warm, making those breathy little whines, and fuck, fuck, he missed you. He missed you so much.

He presses his thumb against your clit, rubbing in quick little circles while he fucks you into the mattress. He can't make himself slow down, but you're taking it so well, so well, just like always. There's nothing but you and him and this, nothing but the way you feel around him and the fireworks exploding in his mind. You're so fucking perfect, in every way, and you're everywhere and everything, and he can't-

Somehow he manages to hold out until you come again, but the moment you do he's spilling inside you, trying to press even deeper. Gripping your hips like you'll disappear if he lets go. Kissing you again and again, like he can only breathe if his mouth is against yours.

Slowly, his brain puts itself back in his skull. Breathing hard, pressing his forehead to yours, he waits until his cock fully retracts on its own before he pulls away from you. Your skin is flushed, a dreamy expression on your face. He leans down and kisses your nose, and the content hum you make is almost enough to keep the rapidly approaching wall of guilt from crushing him.

He… shouldn't have done this. You shouldn't have done this. What about L-

“Oh my god,” you whisper, your words slurring and raspy. “That was… incredible.”

You sound almost surprised, but more importantly you sound exhausted. He sighs, forcing his thoughts away and pressing another kiss to your forehead, then looks around the room. It's less than a minute before he finds Leo's stash and starts to clean you up. You've gone boneless on the bed, and you let him clean you without protest, let him slip his shirt over your head and pull your panties back on. Once that's done and he gets you under the covers, you look like you're on the very edge of sleep.

He kisses your forehead once more. Then again, just because he finally can. They'll need to talk about things in the morning, when everyone is fully awake and sober, but for now you just need-

“Thanks,” you say, so soft and quiet that he almost misses it. “Love you, Leo.”

Leon freezes. His blood turns to ice, waves of growing horror rushing through his veins as he processes what you just said.

Leo. Leo.

You thought he was-

He staggers away from the bed, watching you fall into an easy sleep with wide eyes.

No. No, no, no, no, no. He thought you- he thought-

No.

-

Tag list: @yorshie @khayalli @thejudiciousneurotic @justalotoffanfiction @luckycharms1701 @mxalmighty @shakeyourtrees @silverwatergalaxy @thelaundrybitch

[turtlecleric]

You're in the middle of masturbating when a portal crackles to life in your room. You scramble to turn off the toy inside you and yank your pants up just in time for Leo to step through, already complaining about something. He freezes mid-sentence, jerking his head towards you, and you don't know how but you know he knows. Your heart is pounding frantically against your ribs, your face flushed, and you can still feel your cunt throbbing. There's a long moment where he just stares at you. Then his expression smoothes out, and he steps closer. Close enough that you could reach out and touch him if you wanted to. His eyes are burning into you, and you feel goosebumps prickle along your arms.

"Do you want me to leave?" He takes another step closer, looming over you where you're lying near the edge of the bed. His eyes trail along the length of your body before he looks back at you. He looks... hungry. "Or do you want some help?"

[turtlecleric]

I'm just thinking about how much Leo would love the way tears gather in your eyes as you choke on his cock. The way your throat would convulse around him, vibrating with every whimper. The way he would have his fingers tangled in your hair. The way he would tell you to keep looking up at him while he moves you like a toy.

"Come on, eyes up. Keep looking at me. There we go. You look so pretty with a cock in your mouth, you know that?"

Thinking about how, when he lets you breathe, he asks you who you belong to. And when you say his name, he smiles and rewards you by pushing himself deeper down your throat.

"That's right, pretty thing. Good girl. Good fucking girl."

Just. Thinking.

[turtlecleric]

I'm thinking about mating season again, but this time I'm thinking about mating season with yandere turtles.

You're perfect. Absolutely perfect. It's like you were made for this. You look so pretty underneath him, sound so pretty on his cock, and he can't believe how good you feel. You're taking him so well. It hurts, he knows, but look how good you're doing. Pliant and soft and warm. Smelling like him, inside and out, and isn't it so wonderful that you're here? It was hell before, without you. Now it's heaven.

Shhhhh, no, no, you're okay. Just relax. He'll take care of you. Fill you up over and over, fucking his come deeper and deeper inside you until you forget what it feels like to be empty. He'll keep you here with him, like this, all hazy and sleepy and cute in his nest. Perfect little thing, just for him. Doing so well, just like he knew you would. Just like he always knew you would...

He'll never let you go.

[turtlecleric]

I am once again thinking about Leo, unable to sleep for too many nights in a row, exhausted and aching and desperate. Leo, seeking you out, portaling into your bedroom and sliding into bed next to you and pressing his mouth to your sleep-warm skin without even thinking about it. Leo, drowning in the relief that you give, reaching out and holding you close and getting lost in you, you, you. Letting your presence muffle the static. Leo, resting with you in his arms. Finally resting.

Leo, not realizing what he's done until he wakes up the next morning to the smell of sex. Leo, thinking that surely, surely, you're not that heavy a sleeper. It was mutual. It had to be.

Right?