tmntngl

[tmntngl]

Wow-wow-wow-WOW! Hold up, you are writing for Donnie now too?!? I just came back for a little hiatus and find out you write for more brothers. AMAZING! 😍

Hi! How are you? Hope you are doing well! I didn’t see any mention of you ask box is open or not so take your time to answer this! ♥️

Id like to ask for a scenario or Headcanon with the tmnt boys x reader about a situation that happened to me recently, I was venting about work with a friend and she out of the blue just “can I take a picture of you? You look so pretty right now” and proceeded to tell me she felt like she was living the “bla bla bla place name, back story stuff” meme? (If you are not aware it’s basically a meme where someone is going on a full rant and the other can only see them through being pretty and ethereal, even when talking about something super serious 😂) I busted out laughing when she mentioned, I thought about the boys going through the same would be super funny, Maybe their crush doing mundane things and they are literally heartened for it?

If it’s too complicated to do allllllll of them I’d like ask for this to be a donnie scenario then 🫶 I know you are a ralphie girlie (which I adore your stuff for him like it’s so good??? Seriously I’m eating it up your recent posts) but if you feel comfy doing it all or just Donnie it will be more than welcomed!

thank you and hope you have a good day!

I'm unfamiliar with the meme, but I think it's from the LEGO movie? Anyway, I hope this is okay. 😂

Distraction

Donnie x reader

No warnings, just fluff

It didn't take much, and it was so damn frustrating. Especially while he was working.

Donnie restarted the sequence again from the beginning. He needed to get these disks calibrated before the next time they tangled with the foot, but for SOME reason YOU exist, and your soul purpose in life is to torture him.

A scent, a sound, the smallest indication of your existence pulls ALL his focus.

Right now, you're in the living room watching a movie with Mike and Raph, and Donnie just has this *last thing* to finish before he can disengage and join you, but now you're laughing and he's lost count again.

He sighs, ripping his glasses from his face and rubbing his eyes. Replacing his glasses, he glares at the lab's door. He knows he should close it, of course he should close it, closing it is the only way he's going to get anything done.

But the door was in view of the couch and you'd think that was rude, right? He didn't want to be rude...

No. You'd get it. Especially if he could finish up quickly and join you for the rest of the movie. Okay, he was gonna close the door. He nods resolutely to himself before scowling.

An IQ of 187 and somehow you're constantly turning him into an idiot.

He sets down the disk he's working on and stands, walking over to the door. He hears you laugh again and makes the mistake of looking up at you.

Whatever movie you were watching forgotten, Mike and Raph are listening to you tell a story about something that happened at work this week.

It's inane, something about an argument in the break room over the new coffee machines, but the colorful fairy lights scattered about the lair have caught in your hair and eyes, and he is trapped in your spectrum.

It occurs to him that you can't see it. The depth of you. The reds and pinks in your skin when it flushes with laughter, the blue cableing of your veins beneath. Tetrachromacy is an advantage that he's not sure he ever fully appreciated until just now. And it breaks his heart.

There has to be a way to show you. There's light filtering technology that help people with colorblindness. It couldn't be that hard to retrofit a pair of those glasses to fit custom lenses. He'd need to examine your eyes specifically, of course, to ensure his measurements are correct, but he already has the glass grinding equipment, and people are constantly throwing away frames, and it takes him a moment to realize that the room has gone quiet.

He blinks and his eyes refocus to find the three of you staring at him, standing dumbly in the doorway, staring at you.

"You good bro?" Mikey asks.

"Yeah," he squeaks, before clearing his throat, "Yeah," he corrects, "I'm good. I'm just gonna, uh... finish up in here. I'll be out in a few."

You smile at him and he nearly trips over... the door? God, he's a mess. He closes it quickly before he can make an even bigger ass of himself.

He walks back over to his current project and sits back down. He stares blankly at the laptop and scattered pieces of tech for a few moments before sighing heavily and pushing everything aside.

He pulls out a notebook and starts sketching a pair of glasses.

...

Tag list:

@thelaundrybitch @the-cauldron-witch @fyreball66 @ninnosaurus @tmntngl @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos @zagreustomb @ramielll @silverwatergalaxy @gornackeaterofworlds @footninja @daedric-sorceress

[tmntngl]

I'm baaaaack from the dead(a little hiatus)! I will need to catch up on some of the new writings that tickle my fancy.

I thought to myself, why not start to check out this fic? 😊

This is a slow burn, the BEST of slow burns. I am always up for some Donnie love. It just starts to tingle between the two of them in the last chapters you released. But WHO CARES. This is the kind of fic where it feels like you have all the boys personalities on POINT. Such a treat, it is *chef's kiss*.

I demand (kindly ask) for more chapters 😍. I will be at your feet begging like Elise's doggies beg Mikey for treats~

I finally have something to contribute to the fandom!

Tagline Summary: It was supposed to be a summer of quiet, solitary dog-sitting out on the old family farmhouse. That was until four brothers and their elderly, dying father showed up at the door late at night. Now it's 6 weeks of the most unusual company she could ever have dreamed of.

Dog Days of Summer is a slow burn long fic where I just indulged my imagination and explored what it could be like being stuck at the farmhouse with four turtle men. It'll be 32 chapters, and all 32 are written. I'm just neurotic and giving each chapter that 'one final comb through' and then posting. Because Lawd, I need to give birth to this thing and stop fussing with it.

[tmntngl]

Another one?! This soon? You are spoiling us!

Assassin, Part 4

Warning: alcohol, graphic description of a bipolar crash and panic attack (or, at least how I experience them). Please take care of yourselves and don't read if you think it might trigger you. Much love to my fellow rapid-cyclers. 💚

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Stepping into the foyer, the soft darkness envelopes him. Holding the door gently, he makes a futile attempt to mitigate the screaming hinges, before giving up and just closing the damn thing.

He's tired. It feels like he's been running a marathon, and as far as the exhausted muscle in his chest is concerned, he has. It's been pounding like a god damn drum, nonstop, for hours.

If you asked him, he couldn't tell you a word that was said during the ceremony. You'd consumed his senses, filled them completely. He only looked away from you once, to fumble in his pocket for the ring, otherwise he couldn't stop his eyes from roaming over every inch of you. He caught your scent on the evening wind, and the spinning in his chest turned faster.

He tried to hold onto his thoughts, but they ripped from his grasp as they started to spiral. He clenched his jaw, he had to hold it together. He was the Best Man at his best friend's wedding and he had shit he was responsible for. But his mind has always been a bigger beast than he is.

Look at her.

Fuck, she's beautiful.

She's perfect.

Your kind of perfect.

This will never be you, you know.

Freak.

Unwanted.

If you were human, you'd be together already.

If you were human, you'd probably be engaged by now.

Why does she waste her time on you?

All you do is drag her down.

Chain her to the sewers when she should be living a real life.

With a real person.

Why?

Why do you do that?

Why are holding her prisoner just so you can feel better about yourself?

He couldn't hear past the rush in his ears, but he was vaguely aware that there was cheering around him. Then you'd turned to look at him, smiling like the sun, and the answer crashed over him like a violent wave.

You're a monster.

He stops just short of the sitting room, eyes closing and jaw clenching, as the memory floods him.

You'd turned to him and smiled and for one moment everything stopped. You were the only thing that existed in the universe. You *were* the universe.

That's when he hit the wall.

A sharp inhale was the only outward indication of the crash. But inside, he was screaming.

You're light streaked through his veins like fire along saltpetre. Burning away all pretense. No matter how much he wanted, no matter how much he needed, he would never be more than this. He could dance with you, sing with you, laugh and cry with you, but he could never ever love you.

Unacceptable.

Unworthy.

Unloved.

The guests in attendance began to disperse, while the bridal party stuck around for pictures. Through the smoke haze he could see very little, and could hear equally as well, though his body seemed to know what it was doing. He had no choice but to trust it.

His heart was pounding, and he's pretty sure at some point Casey thanked him, but his only thought by that point was to get away from everyone.

As soon as there was an opening, his body excused itself and made for the house. He was winded by the time he reached the side opposite the party, the panic attack threatening to consume him.

He put a hand on the wall, leaning against it with his head down, trying to breathe through the burning. His hand flexed and the antique wood siding of the house cracked under his fingers. He ripped his hand away, scalded.

You destroy everything you touch.

He'd stumbled backward, staring at the spiderweb cracks left behind by his fingers, a dry sob escaping him.

What hope does she have?

Eyes closed tight, he balled his hands into fists and pushed everything down. Get it together, he'd berated himself, you still have shit to do.

Three deep shuddering breaths and then he could breathe evenly. He locked the panic down tight and opened his eyes. It would hit him later, and twice as hard, but this was more important. Just a few more hours.

The reception was a blur of flashing light and discordant sound, and he avoided you for most of it. Or tried to, anyway. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't escape you.

Four separate times you had hunted him down and begged him to dance with you. And as the champagne flowed, and the night spun on, you became harder to avoid.

"Boo!" you said, peeking around the bar at him, grinning. Your cheeks were flushed pink from drink and dancing, and your scent wrapped around him with the night air. He tightened his jaw and tried not to breathe.

"Yoooouuuuuu've... been avoiding me," you accused, slinking around the wall, practically lying against it.

"Busy," he rumbled, starting to mix a drink for no one, and not looking at the siren calling to him.

"Oh come on, Red," you'd pouted, standing up from the wall, "The night's almost over and you haven't danced with me once." You walked over to him "Please? You've been working this whole time, come have some fun. I promise the reception won't fall apart without you." You teased, placing a hand on his forearm.

He froze the moment you touched him. He was shaking and he prayed to anyone who would listen that you wouldn't notice. The last thing he needed was you knowing that something was wrong. you cared about him too much, and your knee-jerk would be to fix it.

His hand tightened around the high ball and Mike popped his head around the corner like a god damn superhero, "Hey, they need you for the bouquet toss."

"Okay, one sec," you replied, and he disappeared again. "Please try and have *some* fun tonight?" You squeezed his arm gently, before letting go.

When you removed your hand his skin burned, and it wasn't until you were out of sight that he risked breathing again. He'd set down the glass, braced himself on the bar, and closed his eyes so he didn't have to see the cracks in the glass where he'd been gripping it too hard. He drew a deep breath.

He wasn't going to make it.

Snatching the bottle and leaving the broken glass, he made for the house. He skirted the perimeter of the reception, trying to be as inconspicuous as a 6'5, 350lb, bipedal turtle dressed in a tux can be.

He heard the countdown and made the mistake of looking over as April's bouquet flew through the air. You weren't even trying, you were talking, but, as if the Gods were punishing him, it had landed in your hands anyway, and he felt his pounding heart clench.

He watched as one of the other guests came up to you and placed a very human hand on your arm, presumably asking you to dance.

It will never be you.

He turned and continued toward the house until he heard familiar clumsy footsteps coming up the hill behind him.

"Hey, where's the fire, Red? Oops!" You'd said, giggling as you nearly tripped.

Your voice pierced him like an arrow, pinning him in place. He tried to take a deep breath as quietly as he could, but you've always been too good at reading him and asked if he was okay.

You'd persisted when he tried to brush you off, and he'd come up with some excuse. The longer you stayed there with him, the faster his resolve was crumbling, and he didn't want to fall apart in front of you. This was not your problem, and there was no point in runining your night, or your friendship.

He attempted to sidestep you, and you'd brushed against his arm. Your touch seared him, and reflex caught your wrist in his hand. For the first time in hours he met your gaze.

Disgusting.

Unworthy.

Why? Why make him this way? Why give him the ability to fall in love at all if he wasn't allowed to? What kind of cruel bastard...

Your wrist flexed in his hand and you looked up at him with an expression that said, I'm here. Whatever it is, I'm here. It's a familiar look, and it brought him back to himself. You're always the one he runs to. Now he was running away.

He dropped your hand, muttering an apology and fled without another word, leaving you behind.

Heart hammering in his chest, he nearly stumbled with the force of it. He made it to the other side of the house and collapsed, a wave crashing over him. He couldn't breathe. He was drowning, pulling in air, and getting nothing except dizzy.

On his knees, hands pressed to the ground beneath, it felt like his shell was crushing him. He maneuvered himself to sitting on the cold slate tiles, pulling his knees up to his chest.

There were no more words inside his head, only screaming, and he squeezed his eyes shut, and gripped his head tight, begging for it to stop. Some vague part of him was aware that he was crying, but any thoughts were swept up into the vortex inside of him.

The panic attack held him, shackled to his faults, for seventeen minutes, but it could have been a year. By the time he finally felt it begin to subside, he was exhausted and trembling.

He'd retrieved the bottle of whiskey that had rolled under the nearby bench, and, with great effort, managed to pull himself onto it. He'd held onto the bench to steady himself, before opening the bottle and drinking nearly half of it.

He remained there until his father found him.

He takes another deep breath, exhaustion seated heavy, like a stone in his chest, and rests a hand on the wall beside him. He needs sleep. He continues to make his way toward his room at the back of the house, passing by the open archway to the sitting room.

Where he finds you.

...

Less a lover, more a fighter

But I'm tired of fighting to hold on

Got too many scars to hide them

So it's easier being on my own

But you

Shoot first, draw blood, before I know

Yeah you

One shot, one touch, and I let go

How did this happen?

My walls were up and

You moved without a sound

Never imagined, like an assassin

One look to me down

Assassin - Sultan + Shepherd

...

Tag List:

Tag list:

@thelaundrybitch @the-cauldron-witch @fyreball66 @ninnosaurus @tmntngl @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos @zagreustomb @ramielll

[tmntngl]

This. THIS! I have been blessed with a part three today. I can't wait for more!

Assassin, Part 3

Fem Reader x Raphael

Warning: graphic description of a bipolar crash (or, at least how I experience them) over this chapter and the next. Please take care of yourselves and don't read if you think it might trigger you. Much love to my fellow rapid-cyclers. 💚

After the storm of emotion had passed, Splinter sat with Raphael until the moon had crossed over the house, discussing the matter more calmly with his son. Eventually, Raphael felt stable enough to at least make it to bed.

The front steps groaned under his weight, and the paint flaked off the banister like snow in July, as he made his way up the front porch. Today had been a lot.

It had started out beautifully. The early morning mist held fast to the light of dawn as the five of you spent the morning setting everything up. Light swirled around your waist as you worked on place settings, and he was pulled to you.

He walked up behind you, just watching for a moment, affection blooming in his chest. You had ruined his life in the best possible way. Meeting you had brought up so many things he thought he'd let go of a long time ago. It made him hurt in ways he can't even begin to describe. And he is so very grateful.

You'd held each other, swimming in the golden light, and for just one moment he knew how it felt to hold sunlight in his arms.

Then, the ceremony.

Raphael reaches for the screen door handle and depresses the button, pulling it open. The hinges screech their usual protestations, and he cringes as the sound digs the exhaustion headache further into his skull.

That low had hit hard and he should have been expecting it. It'd been a minute since he got triggered like that, but you've always had a way of getting inside his head... You were so damn beautiful...

"Hey," you'd said, peeking around the door to the "boys room" where Casey and the guys were drinking waiting. "You guys almost ready?" When you stepped around and into the room, Raphael forgot how to breathe.

Perfectly coifed and painted in pin curls and neutral make up, and adorned with matching teardrop moissanites in your ears and around your neck (a pre-wedding gift from your brother), you looked like you'd stepped off the silver screen in 1940.

The silk of your floor length forest green dress flowed around you like ink in water, and the thin straps holding it up might as well have been non-existent. His eyes followed the curve of your neck down to your shoulder. His mouth watered and his mind wandered. He wondered what it would taste like. He looked away. Fuck's sake. Couldn't he just look at his beautiful friend in peace?

Minutes later, you'd slipped your arm through his as the two of you waited for your cue to walk down the aisle. A light dusting of pink bloomed in your cheeks when his arm had brushed against your silk covered breast, and your warmth radiated through contact. That warmth poured into his veins, and he felt something in his chest begin to spin.

It had been such a good week. Too good. And some part of him knew that. He'd drawn a deep breath, and exhaled, maintaining a mask of calm. He could feel the crash coming, and prayed he could at least make it to the other side of the wedding before it hit.

He'd spent the week in bliss, planning, packing, driving, and setting up his best friend's wedding with the most beautiful, sweet, smart, and sassy woman in the world. Now, he was going to pay for it.

Don't think about it. Don't think about where you are, or what this is, or that she's literally about to walk down an aisle with you. *Don't* think about it.

The awaited cue came and the two of you stepped out into the early evening light. He'd tried so hard not to look at you as you crossed the threshold, but it had been a lost cause from the beginning.

A Summer Goddess walked beside him. Skin full of golden sunlight, you'd caught his eye out of the corner of yours and your playful smile could have lit up the world. When three steps in the skirt of your dress fully bloomed to reveal a scandalous amout of leg from the slit three-quarters of the way up your thigh, he nearly tripped.

Every look, every brush of silk against his skin sent ripples through him, pushing the spinning in his chest faster. It was the longest twenty-five feet of his life.

When you reached the archway, you turned to him and your hand slid, feather light, down his arm into his. He gazed down at you and smiled.

He wanted to stop you. To pull back on your hand and pull you into him. To take his own and place it softly against your cheek, the other around your waist. He wanted to look into your eyes with every word he's choked down since the moment he met you. He wanted to slide his hand into your hair, tilt your head up, and capture your mouth with his.

This was the closest he would ever get.

With one last gentle squeeze, your hand slipped from his, and his fingers tingled from the loss of contact. You'd each walked to your respective places, and when the music changed over and Bride walked down the aisle, all eyes were on April.

Except his.

...

Tag list:

@thelaundrybitch @the-cauldron-witch @fyreball66 @ninnosaurus @tmntngl @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos @zagreustomb @ramielll

[tmntngl]

A part two? Eeeexcellent. Perhaps we will be gifted a part three soon? 😏

Assassin Part 2

Fem reader x Raphael

Warnings: alcohol/drunkenness

Part 1

The wedding had been beautiful, and the reception was a blast. But now the party was beginning to thin as guests made their way to their lodgings for the night, and you've been watching them them leave from your place on the front steps of the main house.

The benefit of having a wedding on property you own is that you don't really have to clean up all that much until morning. As such, you've been posted here, making your way steadily through your own personal bottle of champagne, for the last hour.

You take a long draw from the bottle before setting it back down. Things had been going so well.

You look up when a shadow falls over the moon.

"Oh, hey Specs." You say to your exceptionally tall friend. Donatello sits down beside you on the steps.

He picks up the champagne bottle and swishes it to see how much is left. Yup. You're drunk.

"So, what was all that about?"

You shake your head, at a loss "I have no idea."

You think back over the Wedding for the millionth time in the last hour. You'd walked down the aisle with Raphael arm in arm, and *damn* that reptile could rock a suit. You remember really hoping that the amount of formal makeup you were wearing was enough to cover the flush of warmth in your skin every time he brushed against you and the very thin fabric of your dress. It was criminal, how handsome he was.

You remember your mind drifting during the ceremony to wishes and what-ifs. You'd glanced at him while April was saying her vows. Comfort, safety, home... Gravity. The person you keep coming back to. Why was your brain suddenly checking off boxes?

When the bride was being kissed you couldn't help but look over at him once more. Your... friend? Is that what he is...? The word doesn't seem right. Enough.

D is your best friend. You know what "best friend" feels like. But Raphael... You don't know what these feelings are. You've never felt like this about anyone. This *need*. To have him close. Closer. Finding reasons just to be around him. Coming up with excuses to touch him, just to feel his skin against yours.

Every relationship you've ever been in has felt like work, but things are *easy* with Raphael. Natural. It left you second guessing yourself. Wasn't it supposed to be hard? Weren't you supposed to have to try? Was it really love if you didn't have to fight for it?

April tossed the bouquet and you were the "lucky" one. The moment it hit your hands you decided you were going to talk to him about all of this. Maybe it wouldn't completely blow up in your face. Maybe he would be willing to see where this goes. After all, the night was already so magical, maybe you could squeeze out one more miracle.

Someone had approached you, placed their hand on your arm, and asked you to dance. In the moment it took you to say, "just a sec," he was gone.

You'd looked around for a moment, completely abandoning whoever it was that had asked you to dance, and finally spotted him walking toward the house. You ran to catch up.

"Hey, where's the fire, Red?" You'd giggled as you stumbled on the uneven ground, (more than) a little tipsy.

You'd felt the sigh, more than heard it when he stopped walking, and your brow furrowed. "You okay, Bruiser?" You'd asked gently.

"Yeah..." He'd said without turning around.

"Doesn't seem like 'yeah,'" you'd observed, walking around to face him. "What's up?"

"Nothin'. 'm just tired. Gonna head in early." He wouldn't meet your eyes. You were too buzzed to notice. Instead, you saw an opportunity.

Privacy was perfect! Exactly what you needed for what you had planned! "Great! I'll come with you!" You'd chirped brightly, as he attempted to side step you. You'd touched his arm. That's all.

As your skin brushed his he turned in a flash and had you by the wrist, his expression unreadable. It didn't hurt, he'd never hurt you, but his grip was like iron, and his eyes cold as steel. You'd never seen him like this. Completely guarded.

He held your gaze, almost searching for something, before realizing what he was doing and releasing you quickly. He muttered an apology, reiterated that he was tired, and took off toward the house.

You stood there dumbfounded for several long moments, trying to process what just happened. You considered going after him, but then thought better of it. Something was wrong and it obviously had something to do with you. You being around might just make whatever this was worse. You'd spotted Splinter heading toward the house as well and decided he was better suited to tend to Raphael.

You try to think past the haze of intoxication. You can't remember doing anything that might upset him. In fact, the last time you got to actually talk was before the ceremony and things were great then. At the reception you'd asked him, practically begged him, to dance with you several times. But he was always busy with something else. With the help of your good friend Dom Pérignon, you'd practically been throwing yourself at him all evening. And every time you'd approached him he'd seemed more and more uncomfortable...

Oh.

It must be love. Because this hurts.

You'd ruined it. You'd committed the cardinal sin of catching feelings. You'd condemned yourself even more by attempting to act on them. He was pissed. You'd upset the balance, changed everything, your relationship would never be the same... and it was all your fault.

"Do you wanna hear something stupid?" You say quietly, barely able to speak over the shattering in your chest.

"Shoot," Donnie says, taking a swig from the near empty bottle.

"I think I'm in love with your brother."

Now, Donatello has never had expensive taste, and you wouldn't think an internal organ would have any opinion. But for a second there, Donnie's lungs are drinking champagne.

Coughing, sputtering, and cursing whoever first discovered fermentation, he looks down at you trying to catch his breath. It would have been hilarious if you hadn't just ruined your own life.

"And I'm pretty sure he knows and I'm pretty sure he hates me," you say, as your eyes fill with tears. "Donnie, I think I ruined everything..."

........

Tag list:

@thelaundrybitch @the-cauldron-witch @fyreball66 @ninnosaurus @tmntngl @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos

[tmntngl]

these four one shots were feeding my soul in the most sinful ways... I need MORE 😍

If the Truck is a Rockin' Don't Come Knockin’

Series of One Shots with each of the boys.

Mature 18+ smut ahoy

Raphael here

Donnie here

And rounding third base we have...

Michelangelo

Your fingers clenched tightly into the worn fabric of the seat in front of you. Your elbows pressed into the cushion, your back arched over the arm of the couch placed in their large mode of transportation. Your body jutting forward as the excitable turtle in orange slammed his beautiful cock into you from behind.

His hands clasped tightly around where your hips and thighs met. His fingers gripping into the fat that as he moved your body into him with every thrust he brought forward. The meat of your ass and hips jiggling so beautifully with each heavy slap of his. The wonderful curve to his cock hitting your g-spot so fucking maddeningly well, you felt drool drip down your chin. Your clit being deliciously stimulated with each brush of rough fabric from the arm of the couch.

“Mike… Mikey fuck, faster.” You pant as he chuckles, ramping up the speed of his hips. You can barely take a breath in with each one being fucked out of your lungs. “Yes, yes! Fuck yes! Just like that.”

“Shh… Angel, we don't want to wake anyone.” He says, ducking his to see if someone was coming down the alcove into the garage where he fucked you, just in the doorway of the truck. He knew what he was doing. He wanted your echos to carry down that long alcove to one of his brother's straining ears.

“Sorry, sorry… Fuck, it's just so good…” You pant, covering your mouth with your hands as he was able to move even faster into you. You gasp in surprise to his strength and speed, clawing at the cushions in front of you.

“Such a pretty little ass…” He hums, giving it a hard slap that makes you moan out again. “Like that?” He asks, give you another as your head lulls in a nod.

“Please Mikey, harder.” You whine, needy and wantingly as he complies, giving you a harder slap and putting some body weight behind his next thrusts. The coach groans from the movement, squeaking on its old legs. His grunts fill the cabin as you moan into your palms, biting down on the meat of it to keep back your cries threatening to explode from your chest.

One of his hands leaves your waist to circle around the tight hole of your ass. You mewl and whine, pressing into him. He chuckles, a deep rumbling noise from his chest as he leans over you. His hand moves yours from your mouth as he shoves a finger in. “Nice and wet for me baby.” He moans against the shell of your ear. His weight along your back so fucking heavy and delicious while his hips continue to give short, hard thrusts into you. You lap at his skin, your tongue circling the tip of his finger as you let saliva coat his thick digit. “Good girl.” He hums, taking the finger from your mouth and letting it circle around your tight hole. “You want more?” He asks, pressing just the tip of that wet finger into your hole. You continue to whine like the needy, cock drunk slut he was turning you into. You nod and he presses it inside of you to the first knuckle, slow and testing. You groan long and loud, your eyes crossing as he continues to fuck you into the cushions.

“M-Mike… Please.” You plead as his finger slips in a bit further. His hips flush firmly to your backside. You can feel his strong thighs at the back of your own. He was buried so deep within you any small movement he made kissed against the soft tissue of your g-spot making stars illuminate behind your eyes.

He circled his hips, always teasing and playing with you, giving a few small juts of his hips before pressing the entirety of his finger inside your ass. You felt your body brace itself, stiffening for the initial burn and hurt of the thick digit entering you. But, his hand at your hip that you knew left marks from his fingertips biting into your skin, moved from the fat of your hips. His calloused, large palm soothing along the curve of your ass, up the length of your spine and into your hair at the base of your neck. Slow movements with a gentle knead of your tensed muscle.

“Relax Angel…” He cooed gently as you felt your body do just that. You leaned back into him as his finger sunk into your ass and his cock sunk further into your core. “That's a good girl.” He hummed, moving his finger and cock in tandem. Slow purposeful movements in and out until they quickened. You moaned out in a slow, long sound of absolute bliss as it left your lungs.

“Fuck Mikey, so good, so, good, fuck!” You babble pushing back into him, begging him with your body to go faster. He complied with a low rumbling groan of his own, snapping his hips into you that much faster. His finger at your tight entrance playing with you, exploring the space as his cock fucked into you into the cushions of the tattered couch. Your eyes rolling back in your head as more drool slipped down your lip. The sounds of your bodies meeting with each heavy slap threatening to travel down that long hallway.

“Almost there Angel…” he groans. You can barely feel the tightening of his grip at the back of your head as he tugs your hair back. The feeling of him pounding into you faster and faster bleeds into every fiber of your being. Every nerve ending feeling nothing but him.

“Mikey, yes, yes…” You manage, feeling that band tighten and tighten in your lower abdomen before it snaps. You cry out feeling the entirety of your body seize and stiffen while your core flutters around his cock.

“Fuck yes…” He breaths out as his head falls back. His hand still pressed into your back, arching it for him as he thrusts into you a few more times before you feel the pulse of his cock. He removes his finger from your tight hole, placing it back on your hip to move your body along his. Up and down his cock with one, two strokes before he pulls out, dripping onto the floor.

You lay with your face buried in the cushions, drool staining under your mouth as his bright blue eyes come into view.

“Doing ok champ?” He asks with a large smile as you groan and attempt to push at him. He dodges your hand easily, giving your palm and kiss before kissing your forehead. “C'mon Babycakes. I'll take you inside.” He says, wrapping his arms around you and picking you up easily as he leaves the truck.

“Mikey my clothes!” You yell, trying to grab at your pants and shirt as he chuckles.

[tmntngl]

More GOLD! Only the Mikey one left 😈

If the Truck is a Rockin' Don't come Knockin'

One shot series with the guys

Raphael here

Mature NSFW. 18+

Next up to bat...

Donatello

You straddled the nerdy turtle's lap. His cock sandwiched between your stomach and his pastron. His pants opened just to let his beautifully long appendage slip be free. Your body moved slowly up and down as the thick length of him rubbed against your clit so mind numbingly well.

“That’s so pretty…” He sighed, pressing a button in the driver’s seat that made it tilt back a little more. You placed your hands on his chest in surprise to the movement, his hands at your hips keeping you rocking up and down over his cock. “Don’t worry princess I’ve got you.” He coos as your head falls back in pleasure. “I actually wanted to try something.” He pants, reaching into a side pouch pocket of his pants. He clicked on a device that started buzzing in his hand, with a devious smile he pressed his hand to your chest. “Lean back.” He encourages as you watch him, letting your body lean back against the steering wheel. “Good girl.” he hums, lifting you with one hand at your hip and letting your body slowly sink down over him, engulfing his cock inside of you.

His eyes shuttered closed for a moment before opening back up to watch you be fully seated over him. “Fuck… You always take me so well…” He sighs, astonished that he could fit into you as easily as he did. His hand with the buzzing device slowly moved down your chest, to your stomach and then at the hood of your sex. Your body jerked, feeling the sensation stimulate your clit as you tried to get closer to it. “Easy, patients…” He smiles, watching you as he finally pressed the small toy to your clit. A gasp leaves your chest as your hands reach back to his knees. Your body arching, and hips rolling forward as you started to fuck yourself on the toy and his cock. “Uh, fuck yes.” He breaths, stuttering out a breath as your moans grow louder. His hips meet yours as his hand keeps the toy firmly to your clit.

“Don-Donnie, fuck. Fuck! Too, too much.” You stammer as he leaves the toy vibrating against your clit for a breath longer before removing it.

“What’s too much?” He asks, pressing something on the toy to lessen the speed. “Better?” He asks, moving the slick toy slowly back and forth over your clit, before his hips start to thrust upwards again, slowly.

“Yes, yes… That, just like that…” You sigh, your eyes rolling back in your head as he continues. “Ugh fuck. You’re such a fuckin’ genius.” You cry, fucking yourself a little faster on his cock. Your finger nails digging into the meat of his thighs.

“You gonna cum?” He asks, watching you fuck yourself on him, feeling that familiar band in his own stomach get tighter. He loved watching you like this. Your desire outweighing everything around you. The need for him and what he can provide for you blinding you with absolute pleasure. You both could be in the middle of a room with a million onlookers and all you would feel is him. “So beautiful like this…” He breathes as you nod your head. “Cum for me then princess.” You bounce on him a little hard, your eyes locked on his before your back arches, and head lulls back. He tosses the to the floor, as his arms circle around you. His palm open against the center of your back between your shoulder blades, holding you as close as he can get. He can feel you flutter wildly around his cock, making his hips thrust upwards, once and then again and then again until it’s all he can seem to do. Just as blinded by the want of you as you are with him. His hips snapping upward into you faster and faster, prolonging your initial orgasm and driving you straight into another.

“Fuck Donnie!” You scream, slapping your hands over your mouth. His soft chuckle turns into a drawn out moan to him thrusting up into your harder and faster. His own orgasm bubbling up and exploding into you as his head buries itself into your neck. His breaths panting along your skin, kissing and nipping along your flesh as he comes down from his high.

You’re so beautiful…” He pants as your body falls into him. His hands petting your hair back so he can look you over. “You’re ok?” He asks. He always asks after he’s taken your entire world and thrown it on it’s axis.

“Always, with you.” You say, sleepily as he lets a small chuckle leave his chest. He kisses your forehead, laying the seat all the back as you snuggle against his chest.

[tmntngl]

I am down BAD. All four must be collected to my blog🥵

If the Truck is a Rockin' Don't Come Knockin'

Series of One Shots with each of the boys.

Mature [18 plus] only

First up....

Raphael

You felt your head slam hard against the cool metal of the large truck. His body tight to your own, his muscular thigh pressing in between yours, feeling the heat coming off from your dripping core.

“Been thinkin’ ‘bout this all fuckin’ day.” He manages in a low growl, pulling the hem of his shorts down so his beautiful large cock can spring free. His hand grasping his cock, coating itself in your excitement before he pressed inside of you. Always so slowly, cautiously at first, watching his large cock being slowly engulfed in your pink warmth.

“Fuck, always so fuckin’ good…” He hums, spreading your legs apart wider as his hands move to cup around your ass. His muscles bunch and flex as he moves your body up along his cock, then slowly back down again. His eyes hooded with lust as he looks at your face flushed with want and back down to his thick cock spreading you open. “Always take me so well dontcha?” He asks, gliding your body up and down over him like his own personal fuck toy. Your head lulls back against the metal door to the feeling of him stretching you, filling you completely. It never got old. The burn and all encompassing feeling of being absolutely full of him. He played with you a bit more before shifting his feet, planting them firmly on the ground and thrusting his hips upwards into you. The heavy slap of his hips meeting you, making your eyes roll back in your head.

The large vehicle rocked back and forth to his heavy thrusts. Your moans are muffled by his large palm that settled over your mouth. “Shit…” He hisses, stopping his movements for a moment as his head turns to look towards the alcove that opened to the entrance of their home.

“Uh, Raph, you good?” He heard Donnie's inquisitive tone ask, just out of sight. Raphael smiled, looking you over as your eyes grew wide. Wasn’t the first time you and your large lover nearly got caught. Raph was something of an exhibitionist when it came to sex and you did nothing but enabled it.

“Doin’ just fine Don.” He chuckled, his voice raw, even rougher than it normally is, since he was buried balls deep inside you. He moved out of you slowly grasping around his shaft to circle around his thick head around your clit. Slowly up and down, then side to side making your body shift against him. The wet noise sounded almost in stereo with the large ceilings and narrow space. You moan, biting down hard on your lip to keep it from getting too loud before gasping out of your lungs by his cock slamming up into your cervix, in a heavy, hard thrust. “Just checking on something before I head in.” He called to his brother, as you watched Donnie’s lanky shadow shift on his feet.

“O-oh okay. If you’re sure. If you, uh, need help just let me know.” He said before you watched his shadow disappear back down the alcove.

“Where were we?” His voice is a guttural sound as he moves his hand from your hips. His large arms cupping under both of your knees as he pins you between him and the truck, perfectly aligned with his cock. Your body nearly bent in half as he pressed himself even closer into you. His eyes dancing over yours, his hot breath panting in your face swallowing your air before you had a chance to. “Wanna keep the screamin’ to a minimum baby girl, you wouldn’t want poor Don thinkin’ someone is tryin’ to murder this sweet, pussy.” He chuckles, slamming back into your tight core with a grunt.

Your head bangs against the metal door of the truck as your lips clamp shut from another scream. Your hands search over his body, shoulders, arms, neck and chest. Needing something, anything to anchor you to him even though you knew you couldn’t fall. He wouldn’t let you. His strong thrusts feeling like he was going to fuck you straight through the metal door. His endless ropes of muscles surrounding you completely.

“Raph, fuck…” You pant, placing your hands to your mouth moaning into them. Tears welling up in your eyes as he hits that perfect spot over, and over again. You swear you could taste him at the back of your tongue he was hitting so deep inside you.

“You gonna cum for me baby, c’mon. I know you wanna. I can feel it.” He growled, pumping into you faster. The truck behind you rocking harder on its wheels as you nod your head. One hand clasped around your mouth as the other reached between you to circle your clit. “Yes, that’s it. Play with that pretty little cunt.” He hums, tossing his head back as he moves even faster, grunting with each heavy slap that echoes throughout the high ceilings. “Oh, I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna fuckin’...” He moans as it turns into a guttural growl, deep and long from the depths of his chest. You feel him pulse inside of you and his movements slow, but don't stop as he moves your body up and down his large cock, milking it with all he has. Your cunt flutters around him, meeting him in his release.

Your hands fall from your face. Your body feels like it’s floating and sinking all at once. His large arms wrap around you, holding you to him as he opens the door to the truck and lays you along the soft carpet inside. He huffs a breath, his arms braced along the doorway before he climbs inside as well, laying next to you.

“You’re going to get us caught one of these days.” You chuckle, still completely cock drunk off of your behemoth lover.

“Next time maybe we’lll ask him to join huh?” He asks as you look over at him, his beautiful green eyes gleaming playfully at you. You smack against his chest as he leans over you with a laugh.

“You’re trying to kill me.” You shake your head as he kisses your face, your cheek and then your lips.

[tmntngl]

It IS hot in here. These four "rockin" one shots are so filthy... I just have to reblog ~

If the Truck is a Rockin' Don't Come Knockin’

Series of One Shots with each of the boys.

Mature 18+

Raphael here

Donatello here

Michelangelo here

Last but certainly not least...

Leonardo

You kneeled on the floor between the leaders legs. His pants still in place over his beautiful ass but, unzipped to allow his cock to be free. Your mouth slowly licked his engorged length up and down humming to the heady taste of him along your tongue. You would never tire of that taste. It was like a fine wine you constantly craved, a want of it to explode with it's flavor along your taste buds. It made your mouth and... Other things water.

His sapphire eyes hooded with desire looked down at you as his hand cupped the back of your head. You cooed in delight, leaning into his large palm as your hand took hold of him at the base, letting your mouth engulf him, attempting to take him completely.

You never got tired of this angle. You never tire of him. The way his fingers massage your scalp as he moves the hair from your face to have a better display of your lips wrapped around him. Your tongue lapping up his long shaft, circling his head before going back down. What wouldn't fit you used your hand, slick with saliva to coat him. 

“Fuck…” He moaned, letting his head fall back against the old coach that sat in the truck. It was rare when Leonardo swore but when he did the sound, rough and deep went straight to your clit. You could feel your heart pounding in your core with every pulse of blood rushing through your veins. You wanted to devour him complete. 

Hallowing out your cheeks you sucked him harder having his hips thrust upwards on their own. His fingers gripping the edge of the couch as his other hand tangled into your hair. His large hand helping your head bob up and down over his thick length. 

“I'm close but I want…” He panted with a small hiss as you sucked on his head. “I want to be inside of you.” He groaned, as you pulled back from his cock with an audible pop. You smiled up at him, saliva and his precum rolling down your chin as you wiped it away with the back of your hand. 

You weren’t one to keep your leader waiting, especially when he was this far gone in lust. You stood, letting your pants fall to the floor, then your panties and tore off your top tossing it into some corner of the truck before straddling the leader's strong lap. 

He watched you with lustful eyes, the color of them always so beautiful as they met your own. Want of you, only ever you written over his face in a needy haze. You loved him like this. Craved him like this. 

Slowly you sunk down over his cock as the both of you let out a slow groan. His hand pressing at your shoulder for you to lean back as the other steadied you between the shoulder blades. He watched as you took him in, all of him so beautifully. Your pink, slick folds swallow him inch by inch. He hissed as you seated on his legs, the tip of his head reaching inside of you that made your breath hitch. 

His hand at your shoulder moved slowly, lovingly over your chest, circling your nipple then the other as you lifted yourself from him. He would never tire of the contrast of your skin against his. Soft and supple to his rough and leathery texture. It was criminal. 

Your body started to move faster on him as his hands clasped around your hips. His strength helping guide you up and down over his beautiful cock.

“Leo… God yes…” You moan, as your head lulls back. He lets you fuck yourself on him, enjoying the show of your body in his hands and over his cock. Your body took him so perfectly it surprised him each time.

But, he wanted his fun as well.

His arms circle around your back, pulling you flush to his chest as he stands easily from the couch. Your legs wrap tightly around his waist and his fingertips find purchase in the meat of your ass, holding you in where he wanted you, with his cock still buried inside of you.  

“My turn…” He growls, laying you on the floor in front of the tattered old couch. He kneels on the carpeted floor, your body still fused to his before he uses what feels like all of his power to start thrusting faster and with more strength than you could provide. Your hands reach for anything to anchor you to him, finding another seat above your head and locking your arms against it as he fucks into you.  

Your breathing catches with each hard, heavy thrust. His hands lifting your leg up into the crook of his arm as your calf rested along his large bicep. He somehow moved even deeper inside of you as your back arched. 

“L-L-eo, fuck.” You can barely manager as his hips continued faster. Your body rocking harder into the chair above you, making your arms strain from his strength. The truck itself sounded like it was going to snap off of its axel with the power behind each thrust. 

He loved you like this. Naked, face flushed with need, your legs spread as wide as he could get them showing off how well you took him. Your body swallowing all he had to give with ease. The sounds of your slick excitement taking in every inch as his hips slapped heavily against your own. He loved meditating at night and hearing the echo of it in his head. The sound of your bodies reaching your crescendo together. 

“That’s my girl…” He breathes, his hand at your thigh leaves to slowly circle your hardened bud, exposed for him at the hood of your sex. His thumb swiping up and down over it as his hips slowed but the strength continued. Endless, boundless strength into your body as he took it for his own. “You gonna cum, I can feel it Hato… Cum for me.” He commands and your body can only follow, to do what he says. Your back arching off the dirty carpet as his hips pick up the pace again. You don’t know how loud your being, but your throat ached as he drives himself into you. Your body fluttering around him, clenching his cock inside of you as he persists as only Leonardo can, driving you into another glorous release.

His body bowed forward, his hands catching himself beside your head caging you in his endless strength and arms. He always needed his face up this close as you came around him. Breathing in your air as he stole it from your lungs. Just as you loved to watch every expression of his as he lost himself in you.

“Let’s see if we can get one more, hmm?” He challenged, his body dropping to one elbow as his other hand pressed in between the both of you. His hips grinding down on you as his finger found your hardened bud again. Over stimulated and not ready for the sudden pinch between his rough fingers. You squirm, trying to get closer or away from him you couldn’t tell anymore. He holds you steady, moving his body slowly into you, as he rolls your clit between that pads of his fingers. 

“Leo, fuck, I-I can’t take…”

“Yes you can. And you will. Cum again.” He demanded, his eyes locking on your own as your head rocked back against the floor of the truck. Your back arching up into him and thrusting wildly against him as he moved back with just as much want. “There she is…” He breathed, his hips faultering as you clenched and fluttered around him again, somehow even tighter than before. “Good girl.” He praised, pumping into you a few more times before his head fell to your shoulder. His breath heavy in your ear as he kissed your naked shoulder and neck. You could feel his muscle tense around you as his breathing picked up. His soft moans and beautiful voice in your ear telling you how much he wanted you in Japanese. Babbling endless need of much he never wanted this to end as he came inside you. His hips slowed but didn’t stop. His movements pushing his release back inside you, deeper and deeper with each thrust. He always marked you as his. Only ever his. 

Finally he stopped. His forehead pressing into yours as his lips gently kissed you. He rolled from your body, bringing you with him as he laid back against his shell. His softening cock still buried inside you as you laid along his strong plastron. 

“I’ll have to check in with Donnie and see if the sound proofing really worked…” He said, looking around the cabin of the truck as you glared down at him.

“What?”

“I had to test it out somehow.” He shrugged with a large smile as you give him a soft slap against his chest. 

“I would expect such things from Michelangelo, but not you Leo.” You smile, giving his chin a kiss.

“Where do you think he learned it from?”

[tmntngl]

Even more angst this week. Hurts my heart, feeds my soul 😈

Nightmare

Gn reader x Raphael

Warnings: Injury, Guns, Blood, Suggested Character Death, Nightmare

You're not sure why you're awake. You can't put your finger on it, but something about tonight is just unsettling. You are sitting on the couch, staring blankly through infomercials, when the dirge of products made for very specific situations is interrupted. 

BREAKING NEWS: MONSTERS IN MANHATTAN

Your stomach drops.

No...

The news report cuts to a live feed of the construction site where they knew the Foot had *something* going on, but they couldn't figure out what. They had moved out to do just that hours ago. 

Please no...

The news helicopter hovers over a circle of gunmen trained on a large figure. There is a massive, darkening bruise across his left arm and face, and his shell is cracked and seeping red. He'd fallen. From how high up you'd no idea.

Your body stands on it own and steps towards the television. Too injured to stand, he looks up at the humans surrounding him, and he's afraid. You've never seen him afraid of anything. 

You reach out a hand towards the screen as wild eyes dart between barrels, he's trembling. You can't hear him over the roar of the helicopter and the barking of orders, but you see him say, "please... please don't hurt me..." 

One man orders him to raise his hands over his head, another orders him not to move, a third demands he identify the device on his back. They're scared too. You hate them for it. 

A sound, probably nothing more than falling debris, spooks one of the younger men and he opens fire. The rest follow suit, and a scream rips from your throat as your knees buckle. 

You hit the floor and shoot up in bed soaked in sweat and screaming. Through a haze of tears and terror you frantically grasp for your phone on the beside table, sending the call. 

He picks up quickly. 

"Hey." 

"Tell me you're okay." You demand into the phone.

"What?"

"Tell me you're okay. I need to hear you say you're okay." You're near hysterics, still barely conscious, the roar of gunfire ringing in your ears.

"Yeah, yeah I'm okay," he reassures quickly, "are *you* okay?" He asks. Now he's worried. You're usually one to keep a cool head in the worst situations.

You lay back and squeeze your eyes shut, trying to slow your heart rate, and ignoring the hot tears of relief that stream from your eyes. "Yeah... Yeah I'm okay..." your voice trembles.

You suddenly feel really stupid. Of course he's okay. "Sorry... I'm sorry," you apologize, embarrassed, "Bad dream. You can go back to work. Sorry. Night." You hang up before he can respond and cover your face with your hands.

He looks down at his phone when the call ends. You certainly didn't seem okay. He's on the other side of town tonight, but things have been pretty quiet, and... well, now he has an excuse. 

A little over an hour later, you're still sitting in bed, having been unable to fall back asleep, and there is a soft landing overhead. 

Damn it. 

Moments later there is a knock at your bedroom door. You don't bother getting out of bed.

"You didn't have to come all the way here," you sigh. 

The door opens, "Seemed important."

He steps into your room and over to the bed. You move over and he sits on the side of the bed next to you. 

He looks you over. You can't bring yourself to look at him, instead choosing to remain focused on the hands in your lap. "Bad dream, huh?"

You nod. 

"'Bout me?"

You nod again.

"I get hurt?" 

You tense and shut your eyes as that first gunshot rings in your ears. 

He nods in understanding, looking you over. There's something like a selfish pride that's touched that the thought of something happening to him seems to affect you so deeply, but it's quickly overruled when you open your eyes and they're brimming with tears.

He sighs and takes one of your hands, squeezing gently, trying to reassure you that he's okay, that he's safe and he's here and he's okay. "Sweetheart..." He says softly before trailing off. He doesn't know what to say. 

"I know why you do what you do," you say softly, as if you're afraid that speaking too loudly might break you, "I understand it, and I agree with it, and you know I would never ask you to stop..." 

You look up at him and his heart breaks when your voice cracks, "... and I hate it." 

He releases the hand in your lap and bring his up to wipe a tear from your cheek. You lean into his touch, closing your eyes and pressing his hand against your cheek, grateful for any tangible proof that he's here, safe. "I hate waiting for the day when you climb out my window for the last time," you say, unable to stem the tears, "and I hate knowing it's coming." 

You'd grown so close in the last few months. You'd begun to forget what life had been like without him, and you really really didn't want to have to remember. Ever. 

He couldn't bear it. Seeing you like this. He looks at you with an unreadable  expression before picking up you in one motion and pulling you into his lap. You waste no time wrapping your arms around his neck and clinging to him. You bury your head in his shoulder and cry.

He doesn't know what to do. He wants to tell you that nothing bad is going to happen, that he will always come back to you, that you don't have to worry. But he can't. He can't lie to you. There is a very real possibility that any given night might be the last night. 

So, he does the only thing he can do. He holds you tighter, grateful for this moment, and every single one after, that he has left with you.

...

Tag list:

@thelaundrybitch @the-cauldron-witch @fyreball66 @ninnosaurus @tmntngl

[tmntngl]

Pain, that is what I crave. The pining in this one! The fatherly support. You never disappoint ~

Assassin

Raphael x Fem Reader

No warnings, just pain

...

He's always had a sixth sense about his children. Perhaps it is part of his mutation, perhaps it is fatherly instincts, but when his more emotional son went missing late into the wedding reception, he went looking.

He finds Raphael sitting on a secluded bench by the house, sheltered from the moonlight by branches overhead. When he approaches, his second son looks up at him with tear filled eyes. He places a soft paw against his cheek.

"Will you tell me what is troubling you?" He asks, knowing that pushing will get him nowhere. His son looks up at him with a lost expression, before shame and anguish turn his features.

"I can't..." He says, looking away.

Splinter frowns, now more concerned. This must be serious. "Take your time..." He reassures, as he sits beside him, placing a paw on Raphael's shoulder. The internal conflict is clear on his face, and he can't meet his father's gaze for several long moments.

"I love her, Dad... I love her so damn much..." he finally responds, breath hitching at the confession, needing a moment before he can continue. "And... every time I think I got a handle on it she goes out with some jerk... or she does something really sweet... or she just... looks at me. And I'm right back where I started."

He grips the bench hard, wood cracking under strong tridactyl hands, "God, I haven't hated it this much since I was a kid," he laughs humorlessly. It took him so long to find peace with himself. With all the things he could never have.

"I was good, you know? For *so long* I was good... Then she turns up and suddenly I..." He shakes his head. You'd come into his world and he'd started *wanting* things again. Impossible things.

He'd walked down the aisle with you as Best Man and Maid of Honor, and the whole time his friends were getting married, he was looking at you. And when the bride was being kissed and you turned to smile at him from the other side of the archway...

"What I'd give for a chance, you know? Just a shot. Just to see if we *might* work..." His voice cracks as if, if he were insistent enough, the Gods would let him have this one thing, "because I think we would. I think we..." His voice choking off into a sob as Splinter pulls him down into a hug.

Tomorrow, his gratitude for you will return. He really does love you, and wouldn't trade what he already has with you for anything. But tonight, as the party winds down across the lawn, Raphael weeps into his father's shoulder, mourning the love he can never give you.

...

Less a lover, more a fighter

But I'm tired of fighting to hold on

Got too many scars to hide them

So it's easier being on my own

But you

Shoot first, draw blood, before I know

Yeah you

One shot, one touch, and I let go

How did this happen?

My walls were up and

You moved without a sound

Never imagined, like an assassin

One look took me down...

Assassin, Sultan + Shepherd

...

Tag list:

@thelaundrybitch @the-cauldron-witch

(let me know if you want in on the tag list ♥️)

[tmntngl]

Oh, this was good soup. First time with your OCs, but with great writing any characters can become immersive. Loved a desperate Leo ~

Hi....

Little something I've been working on today. Hope you like it. It's kinda a welcome back present to myself.

Try Again

Reader/OC X Leonardo

Fluff. Angst. Mature-ish.

“Rebecca I appreciate the concern but, as I've told you and my sister I am fine alone here, reading… A book. It's a new series too. Very invested…” You lie looking at the pile of unread books on your coffee table. Nothing seemed to interest you much anymore.

“I would really like it if you came by. It'll be a fun night! Your sister is worried. I'm worried. Just an hour.” Rebecca Vincent was anything if not persistent, she always had been. Ever since she started her relationship with your older sister she took the reins as mother hen. Having both of them in your life was a headache in itself. “April will be here so, you should as well.” She insisted as you sighed heavily.

“She's going because Casey is there.”

“Jones is on Duty so he won't be having much time for chit chat.”

“I'm assuming he's going…” You sigh, looking over at the old pictures of you and your ex with his brothers. Recent ex. He made the decision for the both of you that it would be better if you stopped seeing each other. This was a month, three days and 12 hours but, who's counting? Not you, especially not since every time you saw him or his brothers or the color blue your insides twisted into a nerve of knots and you wanted to crawl into a hole.

“He and his brothers are the guests of honor.” Rebecca hedged. “They're always gentlemen and after everything you should be here. He wants you here…” She says softly as you feel tears sting behind your eyes.

“Well, he made it clear it was very much the other way around.”

“You're friends first. Especially for the others. Mikey is excited…” She always knew how to win you over. Especially using the happy orange banded terrapin as bait.

“Fine. But only for Mikey… And Don. And Raph but not him!” You say as Rebecca laughs a little.

“Sounds fair. See you soon.” She says hanging up as you stare at the blackening screen of your phone.

“Great…” you sigh, shaking your head.

If you were in any other mind set you might have cared what you put on but, you couldn't be bothered. You'd wave hi and bye to the guys, give your sister and Becca a kiss and leave. Old sweat pants with Cheeto dust stains probably weren't the best for a formal affair. Simple black wrap dress, it was. You wore it for company bullshit which was equally as a chore as this so, what the hell.

You put your hair up after dosing it in dry shampoo to give it some life back, and a pair of plain black pumps and left.

The walk to Rebecca’s well to-do home that your sister now called her own was… Too short. Normally you'd be complaining about your feet and not taking a taxi but, the lights in the apartment with large shadows moving across the windows made you feet slow. Made your stomach ache and heart clench. You hated this. It was so easy dating in New York, you never saw the other person again in such a large city. But, he wasn't just any person.

Leonardo. Fucking, Leonardo. You had to go and fall head over heels in love with the leader. The most headstrong of them all. The one that would put his life in the line for anyone he knew. Including you… Even though you weren't sure if that anymore. Stubborn, arrogant, cocky, beautiful, handsome, eyes that would leave you breathless…. Jackass Leonardo.

After the things you said. After the lies you told him, yourself just to make it easier for him to leave and never come back. You both hurt each other that night. You were haunted by the flash of hurt that went over his handsome face each time you tried to sleep. You were always too quick to lash out. Too quick to say things you didn't mean. If you hurt them first, it made it easier, right?

“Em, hey!” April said as she opened the doors to Rebecca's apartment building. “So glad you came! Come on in!” She encouraged, holding the door open. She must have noticed you lingering on the stoop. That or one of the brothers did.

“I uh… Yeah. I just came to say hi.” You shrugged as April smiled, nodding her head inside. You followed after the beautiful redhead trying to force your face to make any other expression other than a wince.

You hated this.

“Em! Hey babes!” Mikey’s voice brought you a semblance of joy for a moment as bright blue eyes met yours. He bounced over to you, wrapping his large arms around you in the tightest, bestest hug. He could cure all diseases with just his hugs.

“Hey Mike…” You say, the twinge of a smile coming to your cheeks as he sets you down.

“Don't hog ‘er!” The big brute said next as he pushed his little brother out of the way and gave you another tight embrace. “Ya doin’ ok?” He asks softly. You swallow hard, nodding your head too choked up to say anything. Of course he knew. Of course Leo would tell him. “Ya need anythin’...” He said as you nodded.

“I know who to call.” You say with a small smile, patting his large arms.

“My turn!” Donnie says, wrapping his lean arms around your middle and picking you up off the floor.

“Ok, guys sheesh. She's gonna need an alignment after all the hugs…” Your sister says patting Donnie's shell as she hugs you next. “Thank you for coming. He… uh, he's been worried about you.”

“He has my number. Wasn't worried enough not to pick it up and talk to me.” You grumble as your sister sighs, putting her hands around your cheeks.

“You need a drink.” She announces and you whole heartedly agree, following her to the kitchen.

You felt his eyes on you the whole time. Burning through your dress, through your skin. You willed yourself not to look up at him, not to even look in his direction but… His pulls was far too strong. Your eyes met his and you felt your knees buckle. Your stomach sink. You wanted to run out of this apartment and back home crawling in your Cheeto dusted depression. But, you were also stubborn, also strong willed and you pushed ahead. He wasn't going to see what he left you like. A husk of yourself. He didn't deserve that privilege anymore.

Quickly you moved past your sister and slipped into the kitchen. The walls there made it easier to ignore him. He couldn't use his hypnotic gaze through concrete, surely.

“He has been worried about you. He asks me about you daily.” Your sister says as Rebecca beside her, setting up dishes and food nods.

“Well, great to know my ex can confide in someone since it was never me.”

“You know he did it because he cares about you.” Rebecca added as you roll your eyes taking the glass of wine your sister offers.

“How romantic. But, he's not mine. He belongs to the whole city. So, they can enjoy him while I sit back and drink myself stupid.”

“You are stupid.” My sister says with a small smile. “He doesn't want to see you get hurt.

“Too late for that.” You sigh.

“Em…” His voice is like a goddamn freight train ramming through your heart. Your body tenses as your eyes meet your sisters. She nods her head in his direction as her and Rebecca leave the kitchen.

You can't move. You're frozen in place as he slowly comes into view. His tall, strong frame standing inches from you as your hand clenches around the wine glass.

“I think we should talk.” He offers softly and you shake your head, your eyes still downcast at your feet.

“I think we both said enough.” You breath, pushing down whatever tears, whatever sadness you felt. “It's easier this way, right?” You ask, using his words against him with a small glare as that look of hurt crosses his face again.

“I… I thought it would be.” He says, the stammer to his speech so very unlike him.

“Well, I'm fine. So…” You say, shoving everything down. Down, down, down to the bowels of your stomach where it couldn't resurface until you were home alone.

“I'm not.” He says softly as your eyes snap to his. The look of dark circles under his eyes, purpling just before the start of his mask.

“What do you want me to say Leo? You did this. You chose this. For the city remember? They need you. So go be the hero they all want.” You hiss, feeling the angry outweigh the pain. The words you'll regret later are already rolling around your brain like a serpent looking for it's prey.

You walk away before you can say anything else. He didn't need this. He didn't need you. It was better this way.

You stayed for a bit longer, making sure you said your goodbyes to everyone, except him. All the brothers looking at you with knowing expressions. Donnie telling you to call him no matter what time if you needed him. Mikey begging you to come back down to the lair for a movie. Raph giving you a long hug with no words. They weren't needed.

You walked back home alone. Understanding that this was your new fate. To forever walk these city streets alone with the wanting remembrance of your beautiful, strong savior. Your feet now feeling the strain from wearing heels halfway to your apartment. Stupid, why even try? Why even go? Just to feel doubly like shit for another month?

“Em.” That goddamned voice. The power, the confidence, the way that voice hit you and rolled through you with abandon. Your heart hammered in your ribcage, making you question if you should just throw yourself into oncoming traffic to avoid what he had to say.

Of course he followed you. Of course you couldn't end this night with a semblance of peace.

“Leo… I can't. Ok? Please. You wanted this to be it. You want …”

“I was wrong! Ok? I don't…” He sighs, again the tremor in his voice so very unlike him making your heart ache that much more. You didn't want to continue hurting him, hearing that sadness, seeing his face to continue to haunt your dreams.

He stepped into the light of the street for a moment, taking your hands and quickly pulling you into the shadows of an alleyway. “I have missed… I have missed you. All of you.” His voice strained like he was trying to hold himself back. Like he didn't know what would happen if his hands left your body again. Those hands that gave you everything and more. Rough and calloused but so precise and understanding. They searched up your arm, across your shoulder, into your hair cupping around your neck. His thumb caressing the apple of your cheek as those blue sapphires danced back and forth over your own.

“Leo…” Your voice is more pained than you want it to sound. Your vision blurring with tears you didn't want him to see. Gods, you missed him more than air and now that you had it back it was so hard to breathe.

“Let me walk you home, please.” He breaths, taking a step closer making your resolve loosen that much more. His scent wafting around you. Mint, and tea and oils from his weapons. The underline metal flavors of it in your tongue. The sweetness of sandalwood and incense stuck in the fibers of his mask. The musk of just him…

You can only nod, your eyes clenched shut tight to keep yourself from crying. His arms wrap around you and tuck your body against his in a fireman's hold. Your arms wrapping around his shoulders, and your head tucking into the thick skin of his neck.

It wasn't long before he was at your apartment. The window was locked but, you had a key. Maybe it was hope, maybe it was stupidity but you packed it with the rest of your things when you left.

“You've kept it locked…” He asks, letting you down into your living room.

“I didn't exactly have a reason to keep it open.” You shrug, your arms closing around yourself now that he wasn't against you. Now that you couldn't drown yourself in him to ignore everything that had to be said.

“Emerald I…” He stopped, swallowing hard as his eyes slowly ranked over you.

“Nothing has changed Leo. You still want to play hero. You still… It's your duty.” The harness of your choice of words shifted. You didn't need to hurt him or yourself anymore. If this was to end it was to be on good terms. Even though your heart felt like it was being ripped from your body.

“You are my duty. You are what I want.” His voice strong and confident again while he takes a step forward. You almost want to retreat back but, his pull. That damned pull of him is too overwhelming.

“Leo…” You were so defeated. You would give him your beating heart from your chest if that's what he needed. You would bleed out at his feet if that's what he wanted.

“I have…” His voice catches as your eyes meet his. The smallest of tears welling up as it soaks into the fabric of his mask. “I need you with me. I need…” His breathing hitches, his chest expanding and releasing slowly. “I love you, Hato. I… I don't want a life without you in it. I can't have a life without you in it. The past month has been hell…”

“Month, three days and 16 hours…” You breathe as a small smile lifts to his face.

“But, who's counting?” He asked as you felt your cheeks round to a small smile of your own. His thumb slowly brushed away a tear you weren't aware was falling. His body stepping that much closer to you. His body in your small apartment never was more all encompassing than it was at this moment. You wanted to fall into him and never come out. His mouth gently brushed along yours, his eyes asking permission, begging for you to allow him a kiss. You knew with this it would be over. Your life as you knew it would belong to him, and only ever him.

“Leo… Please.” You plead back, as his mouth finally presses along yours. Your heart leaps as your breathing hitches. Your hands lifting to his head, grasping tightly to the bandana at the base of his skull. You never wanted to let go. Never again.

“I will never deny you anything, again.” His mouth moving along yours with every word. The taste of him is so familiar and so beautiful, as his tongue asks for permission at your lips. You allow it greedily, hungry for him inside you in any way you could get.

You didn't need air, or food or water, you only ever needed him.

[tmntngl]

The pining is REAL. Loved to read it from the outside view. The hurt and comfort in this one is great, too <3

Safe With Leo

bayverse leo x female reader

SFW, reader in peril off screen, injured reader, Leo pining like a TREE, new nickname acquired, reader is not coping well after violence.

(I think the backstory me and @fuckedupcleric decided to go with was reader got carjacked then Leo did his own carjacking to get her back, but it's up for reader interpretation)

“Where do you think you’re going?”

His voice was low and even, at odds with the way his hands were clenched tightly into fists at his sides. Your gaze lingered on where the right was freshly bandaged, the strips of linen tight, the smell of ointment heavy in the air surrounding him.

The hallway where Leo caught you skulking wasn’t very wide. His shell blocked most of the light from the arcade around the corner. You tried, and failed, not to shrink in on yourself, despite the little voice screaming at you that it was Leo, the one person you always felt safe with. Should always feel safe with.

“Can’t sleep.” You told him, finally, honestly, too tired and too jittery to be able to stand the beeping and sterile cleanliness of the needle room. Your voice was a croaky thing, raw from screaming and sobbing yourself hoarse. Your ears rang, where you had deafened yourself in the enclosed space. Your palms and feet were raw, bruised from the concrete and trying to scratch yourself free. Your arms stung underneath where you were gripping onto your biceps in an attempt to hold yourself together. You could feel the deep cuts littered there, even through the bandages underneath the soft sleep shirt covering you. Covering you, you reminded yourself.

Safe with Leo, you told yourself again.

He let out a slow, heavy breath, the kind you were used to hearing directed at Raph, or Mikey, when either was being particularly annoying. It twisted something deep inside your gut, soured the saliva in the back of your mouth. The feeling of being trapped settled back in your gut when he swayed to the side, creating a space for you to slip past him.

He followed you, like a hound shadowing your footsteps, raising the hair along the nape of your neck. You heard him huff, the noise quiet, before he dropped back another step.

His voice was soft, but firm, when you reached the atrium, “Turn left, head to my room.”

You stalled, foot catching on the cold floor, a wince pulling at your mouth before you could hide the pain, “But-”

Leo shook his head, closing his eyes to dismiss your protest, “There’s no way you’re going to sleep on that couch, blossom.”

Blossom.

That was a new nickname. Before tonight, he’d always used your name, formal and polite, or on the rare occasion, if you were being especially sassy, he’d drop ‘princess’ in a smooth and silky voice that never failed to shut you up in a way Raph couldn’t when he teased you.

Tonight, however, Leo hadn’t whispered your name when he’d scooped you out of the trunk of the car hours before. No, it’d been blossom he’d pressed against your bloodied hair, voice wrecked and shaking as he’d cradled you in his arms and bared his teeth at Donnie when his brother had tried to take you away. It had been blossom he’d cooed at you while holding you still so Donnie could bandage the cuts on your arms, back and legs while you cried.

It’d been blossom he’d whispered when everything had become too much and you’d curled up into a little ball, the last word you’d heard when Donnie had ushered everyone out of the needle room.

Hearing it now, your feet resumed automatically, not ready to press and ask questions, not liking the newfound uncertainty that surrounded your feelings where Leonardo was concerned. 

He shadowed you all the way to his room, his normal, soothing demeanor gone, feeling more like a caged animal at your back than the friend you had grown to know these past two years. 

You stalled just inside the door, taking in the neat and orderly room that you’d only seen in passing before. “I don’t… think I should be here.” 

It felt sacrilegious. A privilege you hadn’t earned. An insight to Leo that made your palms sweaty and itchy and your stomach feel like lead. You wanted to be here…

You feared it.

He was watching you with an unreadable expression when you turned. “Do you want to go back to the needle room?”

Needle Room. Just the name sent a shiver down your spine, goosebumps and chills breaking out as you recalled the phantom smell of rubbing alcohol and disinfectant.

“No,” you whispered, too tired to keep the petulant edge from your voice despite the fact you knew he hated it.

Leo sighed again, his shoulders moving with the motion, and you idly realized his hands had yet to move, or unclench, from the rigid way he kept them at his sides. “Then, you,” He tipped his beak towards you, then to a point across the room, “bed.” 

He waited, patient as the moon, for you to cross the room, silent as you pulled back the covers and slipped between the sheets. You weren’t sure what to make of the way his eyes lingered for a moment, or of the way tension seemed to bleed out from his frame.

“Get some sleep.” He offered, voice noticeably softer, closer to that rumble you remember from the nightmare of your rescue. “If you need me, I’ll be just down the hall.”

You watched, unblinking, as he turned and disappeared from the doorway, not even a scuff of his feet to announce his departure. 

Maybe you were dreaming, maybe it had been a fictitious Leonardo that had offered the one thing you’d dreamt of, the one thing that you were sure you’d never get to experience. The one wish you’d squashed and squeezed, hoping one day it would disappear completely.

You were in his space. You looked slowly around the room, taking in the little pieces of decor, and the way everything was set just so. It screamed Leo, down to the soft blue blankets you were curled up under. 

Safe. The room told you. Safe from prying eyes, from staticy emotion boiling off other’s bodies, from questions you weren’t in any state to answer.

Safe with Leo.

Your eyelids fluttered, tension bleeding out of your spine with every deep inhale, letting the stale scent of teakwood and jasmine on the sheets, the incense from across the room, the tea on the little table beside your head, swirl together, lulling you to sleep with the scent of Leo.

Safe with Leo.

[tmntngl]

Lovely, fluffy, god damn! Keep it coming <3

Hi there! This is my first fic ever. I hope you like it. 🫣

Nothing spicy, gn reader x Raphael.

You look up as a heavy impact comes from overhead, heralding his arrival.

He'd called you at the beginning of the season to let you know that you couldn't see each other for a few weeks. He was hesitant to explain why, but relented when you reminded him that you've never blinked twice at his "fucked up turtle shit" (his words, not yours).

He'd said that emotions run high between the four of them and fuses are shorter than they would be otherwise. In reality, he knows that spending *any* amount of time with you during the season would make keeping a lid on his feelings that much harder.

Hormones suck no matter what species you are, and this year the season was hitting *hard*. It was making him think and feel and need things that didn't exist. That couldn't.

Despite what those weird romance novels would have you believe, mating season is less like Viagra on steroids, and more like cracking open your shell and exposing your heart to the raw unfiltered injustice of your existence. There was the physical need for release, sure, that was a given. But the other part of them, whatever part made them almost human, wanted more. Wanted a life. A real life.

Raphael wanted that life with you. He wanted to wake up next to you every morning, and hold you while you fall asleep every night. He wanted to make love to you with the sunrise, and see the dawn painted on your skin. He wanted *everything*. And he knew that if he were in that room with you right now he would tell you *everything*.

He's a realist. He knows what he is, and the reality of all the things that come with it. And you are not one of them. So, he tells himself he's content with how things are, that he doesn't want so much more. Most days, he believes it.

You pick up your phone and frown, concerned when you notice the time, before tapping his name. He's early. It takes him a moment to pick up.

"Hey," he rumbles quietly into the receiver. He sounds tired.

"Hey," you say gently, "slow night?" Your voice is slightly dampened. You're laying in bed. Raphael closes his eyes and breathes deep, trying to picture anything else.

"Distracted..." He says, and sighs, "Not safe to be out there when my head's somewhere else."

"Where's your head?" you ask, idly flipping through the pages of the book you'd been reading.

You almost miss it, it's so soft it almost bleeds into the night, but the weight of it falls like a hammer.

"Here."

You still. Your eyes look up at the ceiling as if you can see him through the concrete. He sounds resigned, shameful, as if the word spilled out unbidden. As if it held every word he never said. As if you hadn't been dancing around your own feelings for the past two years.

He was the best thing that had ever happened to you. After he'd crash landed into your world, for the first time in your life you'd felt safe and cared for and...

How did you not see it?

It takes a moment for you to find your voice.

"Raphael-"

"Don't invite me in," he interrupts. His voice feels like thunder, the promise of a storm, and you try to ignore the gooseflesh that scatters across your skin.

"Why not?" your voice is a whisper, and you almost hate how breathless you sound.

He hesitates, exhaling before taking a slow, measured breath.

"Because I won't say 'no.'"

[tmntngl]

Heart eyes motherfucker! Pining, check! Spilling their hearts out, check! Loved this read~

Hello! Sooo happy I found your writings!!

May I please have #15 with Donnie?

Thank you!

This one was tricky to write for some reason! I hope you enjoy it hun, special thanks to @iridescentflamingo and @sketchytychou / @tmnt-tychou for giving me a hand with this one <3

Taglist: @silverwatergalaxy @thelaundrybitch @sophiacloud28 @iridescentflamingo @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos @yorshie

If you want to be apart of my tag list, message me!

Lightning shattered the darkened skies and thunder roared in its wake, sheets of rain cascading down heavily against Donnie’s shell as he stood on the lip of an apartment building roof. His glasses were speckled with droplets that skewed his vision, eyes locked on an apartment window directly across the road despite all the obscurities. With how heavy he felt coupled with the rain beating him down Donnie wondered how he was able to stand to his full height, feeling and kind of wishing he was well below the earth and even the sewers he called home.

What he called home. Right now, as his gaze cut through the constant stream of perspiration being carried against sharp winds, the sewers felt like a prison he could only fantasize about leaving one day in his dreams. Dreams that would devour his thoughts night after lonely night while sitting at his lab desk or laying in his bed, eyes closed as images of you and himself flashed through Donnie’s mind to give him some sense of comfort in the cold, damp darkness below the bright city. Dreams of the two of you sitting behind the window he was currently gazing into, living together happily and completely in love with each other.

An intangible fantasy. That's all it was. An intangible fantasy Donnie needed to finally be done with, to confess to you and get it over with after all these years of pining and driving himself crazy. Over a week or two ago you had come into the lair with the brightest smile he had ever seen from you, bubbling with excitement and jumping with giddiness as you excitedly announced you had done it, you had finally gotten your dream job. No one was prouder of you than Donnie himself, he even swept you off your feet in a spinning embrace at the news. He had watched and admired you for so long as you worked for this career.

Although the pride Donnie held for you remained, the happiness slowly waned away as you continued explaining how excited you were to start in a few weeks, how there was so much planning and packing you had to do before you moved to an entirely different state and started this new chapter. The words hit like a speeding train through his chest.

You were leaving him. You were leaving him and there were so many things left unsaid, so much time unspent, and so many more memories Donnie wanted to make with you. While you chattered and squealed to the rest of his family about your future Donnie felt his own growing dark by the second as the information began to settle. He went quiet the rest of your stay that day, his mind racing with a million thoughts so loud he almost didn’t register you bidding him goodbye as you left.

It wasn’t intentional, but Donnie had gone silent on you since the announcement in order to put all his thoughts into his next decision. Other than that last goodbye, he hadn’t spoken to or texted you as he usually did throughout the day. Even during his busiest time he at least once or twice sent you a text to tell you how things are going, yet he sent and said nothing.

The guilt of him leaving you alone drove Donnie out of his lab tonight, even with the sky practically falling on top of him. Inhaling the cold air sharply Donnie steeled his screaming nerves and bounded his way to your apartment through the shadows, the memorized route sending an ache into his chest at the prospect that this might be the last time he would be taking it. It felt like he blinked and he was hanging at your window, watching you briefly as you taped a brown box shut. Barren walls with remnant shadows from picture frames, shelves, and other decor that once hung there. Most of your furniture was all that remained, your electronics mostly packed aside from a few lamps and a TV in your living room.

Tapping at the window gently Donnie couldn’t help but give a small chuckle when you nearly jumped from your skin, bolting upright from being hunched over the box on the floor. For half a second you had half a mind to leave him hanging out there for a second, but the pleading look in his eyes and the way the rain pelted him mercilessly wrenched at your heart further. Making your way over to the window you pushed it open for him to enter, it always honestly amazed you how he managed to slip his entire frame inside your apartment with such ease somehow.

“You should have called, I would have left out more towels for you” Was all you said to him, making your way to your bathroom briefly. Sliding the window shut to leave the awful weather outside Donnie didn’t respond, unsure of his own voice at the moment. When you returned with the only towel not packed in hand he murmured a small thank you and began drying himself off.

“[Y/N]...I...” Donnie couldn’t seem to form the words without outright blurting them out, did he want to come off so bluntly though? He had practiced for days what he wanted to say, but now that he stood directly in front of you looking as pathetic as he felt most of his vocabulary seemed to just vanish.

“What’s going on, Donnie?” You questioned, growing a little concerned by his unusual demeanor. Ever since you announced the biggest news of your young life Donnie had slowly shut down, it left a terrible open pit in your stomach.

“I just...I just need to tell you something, okay? Just let me speak for a moment without interruptions,” He watched you intently for permission to continue, which you responded to with a small nod. “[Y/N]...from the first day we met, I was yours, I was in the palm of your hands the very second I looked at you,” He talked as though the words were escaping him rather than actually speaking, “I’ve wanted to tell you all the years I just...couldn’t bring myself to do so, tell you and hold you back-”

“Hold me back?” You repeat this with disbelief, unintentionally interrupting him before swallowing your words and allowing him to continue. Of all the people in your life, Donatello was by far the one holding you back- if anything you’d say he was the catalyst some days to keep you going forward.

“I mean hold you back from experiencing life...Life in ways I can’t and will never be able to, you deserve to experience your life without me weighing you down” His voice was starting to come out faster, his anxiety taking hold and making his heart race a little quicker. “A-and I’m not telling you this to make you feel guilty, or guilt you into staying! I want you to go- well not really but...”

Swallowing hard Donnie sucked in a deep breath, closing his eyes and steadying his nerves before opening them and looking to you. His glasses were still speckled with rain, but even then you were still beautiful to him. It felt like at least ten minutes before he spoke again, even though it was only ten seconds at most.

“I want you to experience life the way you were meant to, but I couldn’t let you leave without telling you how I feel. Even if I never seen you again or you don’t feel the same-”

You couldn’t handle it anymore, even though you made a promise to him you just couldn’t handle hearing him talk like that anymore. All these ridiculous years of pining after Donatello only for him to confess when you had convinced yourself that it would never happen and that it was time to move on...but you couldn’t shove those feelings into the corner any longer, not when Donnie just confessed to you and you had so little time left now. When he didn’t reciprocate the kiss you pulled back, eyes searching his hazel irises and wondering if you had made a mistake.

His hazel eyes searched yours for a moment, uncertainty and fear swirling behind his now dried tortoise shell glasses. Reaching up you cupped his cheeks, gently swirling your thumbs against his smooth damp skin. The chill from the rain radiating from his skin against your warmth and spreading goosebumps to your core.

“I feel the same way...I’ve always felt the same way,” You gently guide him towards you and he shakily follows, allowing you to gently pull him downward and place your lips on his forehead. Despite everything in him screaming for Donnie to turn around and leave he still stood in front of you. He made his confession, there shouldn’t be anything more to go over.

“I’m sorry I’m only telling you this now, I should have said something years ago...”

“I don’t....I don’t want you to wait for me, but if you come back...I’ll always be yours” Donnie’s eyes were lidded with guilt and lust, emotions battling it out within his chest. Countless nights spent dreaming of having a moment like this with you, lips molding together with heated breaths and lewd sounds- but that wasn’t what he thought was happening.

“Give me a reason to come back,” You breathed, gently giving him a tug towards you again. The gears in Donnie’s mind screeched to a halt for a brief second before slowly turning again. He was about to question what you meant by that, what could he possibly do  to make you want to come back besides tell you he was irrevocably in love with you as he already had, but the question was snuffed out by your lips against his and tongue gently requesting access.

Words didn’t feel strong enough to convey what he felt, so Donnie acted instead by kissing back fervently and wrapping his arms around your waist. Before you knew it your feet were off of the ground as he lifted you by your waist, letting your legs wrap themselves around his midsection as he stood to his full height. Rough, calloused hands gripped your flesh tightly, one hand on your hip and the other firmly on your thigh.

Pulling your lips from his, a string of saliva bridging between you two still, Donnie walked to your kitchen with you in his muscular and firm arms. Pressing hungry kisses down your jawline and neck before sinking his teeth into the soft near your pulse. Your breath hitched as the sting of teeth grazing flesh turned to pleasing warmth as Donnie licked the spot over again. In the heated kiss you hadn’t registered Donnie walking with you into the kitchen, setting you on the counter and peeling away from you slowly. The air bit into your warm skin making you shiver once.

“Are you...are you sure?” Donnie questioned, his eyes locked onto yours unwavering. He needed to know this is what you wanted, even if it meant a great change in your relationship.With a gentle, soft smile your hands fiddled with the hem of your shirt for a second just before peeling it up slowly, revealing your naked torso to him. Tossing the crumpled fabric to the corner of the kitchen you sat on your counter shirtless, nipples budding in the open air as Donnie stared in awe.

“Yes. Please, I want you. I want this before I leave so I can look forward to it again when I come back,”

He doesn’t need much more convincing. Closing the gap between you in one swift step Donnie was now pressed against your naked torso, feeling the smooth plastron against your breasts surprisingly warm against your chilled skin. If it meant that you would come back to him, he was more than okay with doing this.

[tmntngl]

Wooow. What. A. Delicious. Read. I can't deal with it, so much smut in one day. You are soooooo gooood at writing these ~

Mating Season

Bayverse Mikey x reader for the March fic event! No warnings apply. Some pinning by the wrists. Enjoy Spoon's First Smut!

Michelangelo had thought mating season was hard since he'd first gone through it. The insatiable desire, the rise in territorial behavior, the pining Yeah, Michelangelo would have said that mating season was difficult for him, back then.

But then he met you.

If he'd thought that mating season was difficult before, well. Now it was a whole new league beyond difficult. More like impossible. Taking care of himself alone had been hard enough when he didn't have an image in his mind, didn't have all these fantasies of what it would be like if you were the one working his cock instead. On top of being horny and territorial and pining, now he had to physically refrain from seeking you out and claiming you as his. Working your sweet cunt with his mouth until you cum on his face. Pinning you down and sliding his cock into your pussy, feeling how absolutely drenched you'd be for him as he enters you slowly - so agonizingly slowly. Feeling the way his cock fills your pussy, the way you squirm with pleasure beneath him. Clawing at him, raking your nails down his arms as you come undone from his bare cock alone. He knew he shouldn't be picturing you like this, shouldn't be stroking his cock and rutting into his pillow and running his fingers along the edges of his tender slit to thoughts of you like this, but he found himself powerless to resist. All he wanted was to claim you.

Especially now.

His season had come on earlier than usual. He should have expected it. It was always that way when one of his brothers had found someone they had feelings for, yet somehow it had still managed to blindside him. You had been in the dojo with them, it had started out innocent enough. Practicing moves to thwart potential attackers. But when you'd failed to execute the movement correctly and he had managed to overpower you and pin you to the mat, it had been all he could do to release you and hope you hadn't noticed - hadn't seen the way his pupils had blown so wide his irises were all but gone, hadn't felt how slick he'd become with your thigh between his legs, hadn't noticed the (hopefully) subtle stutter of his hips at the feeling. You hadn't said anything, hadn't acted strangely or treated him any differently, so he assumed he'd gotten away with it. He was a ninja, after all. What was a small bout of arousal between friends, anyway? Your scent still lingered softly in his room, and it wore away at his composure. Drove him to run his fingers up and down his slit as he recalled the image of you pinned beneath him. Dip them in as he imagined taking you there in front of his brothers, so everyone would know you were his. The image of you writhing beneath him, calling his name out eagerly as he took you, had him pumping his digit fully in and out now.

He definitely shouldn't be answering a phone call from you while knuckle deep inside himself. “Heeeey babes,” his voice comes out breathy, almost hoarse to his own ears, “what's up?”

“You. Me. Pizza. Popcorn. Movie marathon.” Your voice is light, casual even. You haven't seemed to notice he's out of sorts yet. Haven't noticed how just hearing your voice is enough to almost make him drop for you right now.

“Uhhhhh,” Mikey looks down at himself, sees the desperate way his fingers are plunged inside, see the wrinkles in the sheets from the death grip he'd had on them right before you'd called. “Maybe not tonight, angelcakes. I'm, uh. I'm not feeling so great. Might be coming down with something.” Only half a lie. He felt amazing. On fire, even. Couldn't stop picturing your perfect tits.

“Please, Mikey?” Oh. If he thought he was closing to dropping before, well. Your voice is so sweet. Tantalizing, even. He imagines those words pouring out of your lips over and over again as he teases your slit with his cock. “Besides. I already picked up your favorites and I'm about 5 minutes away. Be a real shame to let this pepperoni extra cheese go to waste.”

He shouldn't. He knew he shouldn't. But. He was hungry. In so many ways. “Just, uh. Just give me a couple minutes to take a shower.”

“Deal.” Click.

Mikey had never moved so fast in his life. He couldn't risk you showing up when he was still so close to dropping over thoughts of you. A nice, innocent shower should do the trick. Except he made the mistake of picturing you walking in on him. Stripping yourself of your clothing. Sauntering towards him. Stepping into the shower with him. He found himself imagining the way the water would look as it runs down your beautiful, soft skin. Each droplet beading up nice and fat before sliding down over your shoulder, down the smooth expanse of your back, over the swell of your ass. Another sliding down over your collarbone, catching a little for a moment before continuing it's path downwards. Down to the soft, soft skin of your breast. Slowly sliding it's way between them, another droplet rolling over the top and resting on your pert little nipple - perched perfectly, tantalizingly for a brief second before plunging down, down, down to slide its way over your sweet sex. Unable to contain himself any longer, he dropped eagerly into his own waiting hand. Long, thick strokes of his cock as he imagined himself in place of those water droplets. His hands exploring the curve of your ass. His mouth wandering deliciously across your chest. Tasting your breasts, teasing your nipples, licking at the sultry meal that would be your sweet sweet cunt - if only he could get his mouth on it. He'd eat you out for hours. Faster strokes now as he imagined the sounds you might make, imagined the way your eyes would look at him as you begged him for his cock. Begged him to fuck you. You'd be so needy for him. He could make you so needy for him. You’d be such a pretty little thing, begging for him. Such a good girl.

So much for a nice, innocent shower. He really needed to hurry now if he was going to clean up the mess he'd just painted all over the shower wall and regain his composure before you got here.

You walked into the lair just in time to greet Mikey as he exited the bathroom. Something seemed… different about him. Maybe it was the way the last bits of steam still followed him, silhouetting his form with soft and hazy light which almost seemed to make him glow. Or maybe it was that his already impressive physique seemed somehow more imposing, more impressive - as if he were standing straighter than usual, muscles seemingly more defined than you recalled. Whatever it was, he looked good. You found yourself already missing him, knowing he would be hiding himself away soon for whatever secret spring ritual he and his brothers participated in every year. It would be a lonely week, and you would be left with yet another chance to try to cleanse your system of this secret crush you had on the youngest brother.

“Hey, babes!” Mikey called out to you. You must still be imagining things, because something about his tone sounded almost sultry.

“I heard a certain ninja turtle needed a pick me up.” Shaking the thoughts of your rampant crush on him from your head, you raised the pizza boxes in invitation. Mikey’s responding smile was dazzling. Brighter than the sun - and you were a sunflower, ever turning towards him in hopes of catching a mere glimpse of his splendor. He strode across the room towards you, reaching for the pizza in your hands per usual and pretending to take them from you like a gentleman just so he could steal a couple of slices from yours. Except he didn't engage in his usual antics. Instead he was simply standing there with the pizza boxes in hand, still as a statue. You look up, concern in your eyes, only to find his eyes locked on you. He was staring, staring, staring. The heat of his gaze had you blushing faintly. You found yourself wishing he'd stare at you like that more often.

Mikey’s eyes dragged their way across your form, drinking you in like he was a dying man in search of water and you were his oasis. “Are you … doing okay?” You ask him in a voice that is far too revealing of your inner thoughts, and his gaze snaps to your lips.

“Yeah,” he says, his tone dreamy and a little far-off as he stares, stares, stares before tearing his eyes up to meet your own, “Just … feeling a little out of sorts.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

The question was innocent. Mikey could see it in your eyes. His thoughts, though, were another matter entirely. He could think of several things you could do to help. Starting with those pretty lips of yours. For one fraught moment, he considers asking. Considers telling you exactly what you could do to help. “Not really,” he tells you instead.

You don't quite believe him, but you let it go. Together, you settle on the couch to eat your pizza. Mikey turns on his favorite movie series, but when his usual animated antics fail to appear, you realize that he isn't really paying attention. Where he would usually be deeply engrossed in the action, you find his face contemplative. Despite the fact that his gaze is firmly locked on the television, you get the distinct impression that he is watching you instead. As the movie continues, you develop a niggling feeling that Mikey is sitting even closer to you than normal, invading your space in a way that feels far more intentional than usual.

Over the course of the second movie, your suspicions are confirmed. Slowly but deliberately, he works his arm around your shoulders. You feel the soft skin of his side between his plastron and shell press softly against you as his large, strong arm encases you. Still, his eyes remain focused on the film. You dare only a glance or two at his face, afraid that drawing attention to his actions would only cause him to withdraw.

Mikey had intended to watch the movie. Tried to, even. Gave it his best shot, really. You were just so intoxicating. The heat from your body beside him had his mind racing. What would that heat feel like, wrapped around his rock hard cock as he fucked you? He couldn't help but wonder. Would the smooth expanse of your back be as soft as your shoulders were beneath his arm? He found himself imagining it, picturing what you would look like with your back to him as he bent you over the couch and fucked you roughly from behind. Trailing sweet kisses up your spine, working your cunt with his shaft until you come undone beneath him as he bites down to leave a love mark at the curve of your throat.

His self-control falters, and he brushes his snout across your neck to inhale deeply where he'd just imagined sinking his teeth into your neck. Heat rises to your cheeks at the sensation. Clearing your throat to try to hide the needy whimper that escaped you, you turn your eyes shyly to him.

The heat in his gaze pins you down almost as easily as his wrists had. It happened so fast you hadn't even fully processed it before the heat began to pool in your core. The moment your eyes had met his, he'd grabbed you by the wrists and pinned you beneath him on the couch. His thigh pressed deliciously against your core as he stared down at you, stock-still. You saw that look on his face again, his pupils blown so wide his irises were all but gone. This time, though, you felt how slick he'd become with your thigh between his legs, the subtle stutter of his hips at the feeling of the skin of your thigh pressing into him beneath the now raised hem of your clothing. It mirrored the wetness of your own core pressing into his thigh, and your breath caught in your chest with the feeling.

Your voice was small, strangled by your arousal as he kept you there, pinned down beneath him. “Mikey?”

Sucking in a shuddering breath, he fights to control himself. He can feel it - the way your presence makes him go absolutely feral. “I’m sorry, babes. You're just so irresistible. It's like trying not to eat your dessert before dinner.” His voice comes out a rough whisper as he buries his face in the side of your neck. The sensation of his hot, heavy breath on your neck sends goosebumps down your spine.

“Mikey?” Your voice calls to him again, confusion in your tone as your now incredibly flustered mind struggles to catch up to his meaning, hoping he'll anchor you. His hips stutter against your thigh again at the sound of his name on your lips, less subtle than before, spreading the wetness from his arousal farther up your leg. The small gasp it earns him is like music, singing him the song of your pleasure. Your legs spread incrementally, allowing his thigh to push just a little harder into your core and earning a sudden rush of arousal between your folds. The sweet scent of it reaches his nose, and he freezes.

“Mikey?” You try again, voice sounding a little less confused and a little more needy.

He doesn't hear you, far too gone in the decadence of the thought that you wanted him. Michelangelo could smell the way you had gotten aroused - for him. It was all he could do to hold himself completely still above you, to prevent himself from simply taking you here and now. A shock of pleasure shoots down his spine as he feels your thigh raise ever so slightly, giving him a modicum of beautiful friction against his slit. His breath shudders out of his chest as if you've wounded him. He hears the pounding of his own heartbeat in his ears, his pulse heavy and strong. Your lips were moving now. You were talking to him, he realizes. What were you saying?

“Mikey, what's going on?”

He hears the uncertainty beneath the arousal in your tone, and it's enough to let him regain control of himself and slowly ease his body off of yours. With a deep, slow breath to center himself once more, he brings his eyes to look at you. Part of him is afraid of what he might find in your gaze after his rather forward display of need. He finds only confusion and an undercurrent of desire on your face. “You know how we, uh, disappear every spring?” His voice is quiet, almost tender as he broaches the subject. You nod, encouraging him to continue. He stares at his hands and plays with his thumbs as he thinks about how to say this. “And you know how we're… not really human?”

“Mikey.” Your voice is both scolding and encouraging.

Right. He's been stating the obvious. His eyes find yours again, pupils still blown wide. He might as well just get it over with. “It's mating season.”

“What?”

It takes him a second to decipher your reaction, but there's no judgment in your tone. Only surprise. Mikey nods once, slowly. “It's not usually for another week, but. Uh. Mine came a little early this year.” His eyes study every movement you make, gauging how well you're taking this. A small part of him dares to hope.

Brow furrowing, you stare back at him. “Why is it early? Has that ever happened before?”

“It's, uhhh,” he hesitates, looking away for a moment before continuing, “It's because of you.” Your stunned silence is everything except reassuring, but he tries to explain himself anyway. “When we find somebody we want to be our mate, it sort of … kickstarts our season early. Gives us more time or something, Donnie said.”

Once. Twice. Three times you blink slowly at him, letting his words sink in. Michelangelo wants you to be his mate. “What does that, uh. Entail, I guess? Wanting me to be your mate. What does that mean?” Your voice is a little strangled, and you wonder briefly if you're dreaming about him again.

For the first time since you've known him, Mikey looks almost embarassed. “It, uh. It means I want to have sex with you. Like, really bad. Really bad. Because…” his voice trails off as he stares into your eyes. There's something tender and vulnerable in his gaze. His hand raises to brush softly against your cheek, resting along your jawline. One deep breath. It's now or never, he figures. “Because I am super in love with you, babes.”

Of all the ways he'd imagined you might react, extended silence was not one of them. Throwing yourself passionately at him to give him a kiss, maybe, or slapping him and leaving if he'd totally misread you. But a long beat of silence was definitely not what he had anticipated. He probably would have preferred the slap. He definitely would have preferred the kiss.

Finally you heave in one long, ragged breath. “Am I dreaming?”

Mikey laughs at that. “Do you dream about a super cool mutant ninja turtle confessing his love to you super romantically often, angelcakes?”

“Yes.” You breathe out empathically.

The laughter in his chest snuffs out instantly. Oh. His next move is all primal instinct, caging you in beneath him as he pins you to the couch once more, eyes staring hungrily into your own as he silently asks you for permission - asks you to please, want him as badly as he needs you. Your fingers trace along his face, over his cheekbones and down to ghost along his jawline before sliding around to the back of his skull and pulling him by the nape of his neck to come crashing into you.

Nothing has ever felt as good as your lips sliding softly against his, he thinks. Eagerly, he kisses you back. Over and over, lips slotting together like you were made specifically to kiss him. Made for this moment, with him. His tongue darts out to taste your lips, asking you to let him slide it in to to explore your mouth. Begging, really. When you part your lips so willingly for him, he thinks he may have actually died. Surely, this is what heaven was like. Eagerly, he explores the taste of you. When your tongue slides along his own, dancing its way into his mouth, he feels like he could cry with joy. Your hands slide their way across his wrists, up along the muscles of his arms, over the expanse of his shoulders to rest once more at the back of his neck. He revels in the feeling of your hands on him, exploring his body with desire. His hands move to your waist, tightening his grip as he feels your hips buck up into him ever so slightly.

His breath comes in large, ragged heaves when he breaks away from you. His forehead rests gingerly against your own as he stares piercingly into your eyes. “Are you sure, angel? You want me - like, really want me? For good and everything?” He hesitates, fighting the need to plunge back into your eager mouth. “Because I can't go back, babes. I need you to be sure.”

Hands come forward, away from his neck, pulling his face so that you can really get a good look at him. So that he can see you mean it. “Michelangelo, I have wanted you for months. I have never been more sure of anything than I am sure that I want you. All of you.” You smile softly at him. “For good and everything.”

Mikey’s hands wrap around your waist as his mouth crashes back to yours, picking you up off the couch. It was exhilarating, the way he lifted you as if you weighed nothing to him. Your lips chase his eagerly as he stands. You wrap your legs around his waist to press your heels against the back of his shell. Carrying you like that, he brings you to his bedroom and shuts the door with a kick of his foot. He tosses you onto his bed as easily as anything, and you feel a surge of desire once more at the strength he possesses and the knowledge that he would never use it to bring you harm. Large hands envelope your wrists as he pins you to his bed.

Michelangelo is a quick study, and he's already learned how much you like it when he pins you down. His lips ghost across your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake and making you shiver with pleasure. “I've been dreaming about this all day, baby girl. I can't wait to taste you.” He captures your lips in an almost possessive kiss.

You smirk softly into his kiss, moaning at the feeling of his body pressed against yours like this. “Dreaming about what, Mikey?” Your tone is sultry, seductive.

A bright, toothy smile has his face practically glowing at your words. Your eyes go to his dimples. “Fuck, babes,” he groans, “what haven't I dreamed about. Let's see.” Smirking, his dimples now on full display, he pauses as he pretends to think before continuing in a low voice. “Been dreaming about what an absolute meal you'd be with that pretty little pussy cumming all over my face when I eat you out.” Eyes drinking in the way you react to him, he drags his lips up your neck, over your pulse point, past your jaw to the shell of your ear. “How good it would feel to have your hands on my cock after you eat me out,” he whispers, his breath tickling your ear deliciously. Tongue darting out to run softly around the shell of your ear. “Dreaming about how pretty you'll be when you take my cock deep.”

Gasping, you feel a shiver of pleasure run down your spine at his words. The way he calls you pretty has you practically melting in his arms. “How about we find out?” Your breath tickles his face as you whisper to him, and Mikey loses himself in the feeling of your eager desire for him. Hands work to remove every barrier between your bodies, letting your clothing fall wherever it may. Mouths seeking each other out. The way he kisses you, as if he might die were you to ask him to stop, stokes an ember deep in your belly. You could kiss him like this for hours, but there's somewhere else you can't wait to start kissing him now. Slowly, your hand runs its way down his chest and pushes gently, inviting him to lay beside you. Twisting, you follow the plane of his chest as you encourage him onto his back and rise to straddle him. His eyes are wide, pupils blown as he stares eagerly at you as you oh so slowly slide your way down, down, down to settle yourself between his thighs.

“How does this work, exactly? Me eating you out?” Your voice is almost as breathless as he feels, wavering with desire.

He slides a hand down between his legs. “Right here, babes,” he runs a finger along the sensitive slit of his cloaca and shudders at the feeling, anticipating your hands on him instead. Your eyes catch on the wetness dripping out of him at the base of his tail, and you feel your mouth watering already at the idea of tasting him like this. Hands slide along his thighs as you look up to meet his gaze, searching for any sign he wants to stop.

A tender caress of him with your finger sends another shudder down his spine. All doubts fly from your mind when your tongue darts out to taste him and his hands fly to grasp at the back of your head in eager encouragement. Lapping at him gently, exploratively, you quickly learn exactly how to drive him wild. He is so, so responsive to your every touch, to every swipe of your tongue and press of your lips. When you dive your tongue in deep, the low moan he lets out brings a smile to your face. What you wouldn't do to hear him make that sound again, over and over. You bring your face away from his slit so you can watch him properly as you slide a finger inside, tantalizingly slowly.

The way his fingers grip the edge of his bed with raw strength has you eager for him to put those hands on you again, pinning you down with ease. Not yet, though. For now, it was your turn to learn what he likes. Slowly, teasingly, you start to pump your finger in and out of him, earning another of those low moans. This one was more guttural, and you found you liked it very much. He fights to keep his eyes on you as your finger fucks in and out of him. You add a second and pump deeper and deeper into the wet heat of him. When your fingers finally brush against the head of his cock, it tears a deep growl out of him. His fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling your hand away from him as he tugs your body up onto his chest before he rolls you both and pins you to the bed.

Ragged breaths escape him, lips brushing along your skin as he pants against your neck. You can feel his grin as he buries his face and breathes you in. He pulls up for air and looks down at you, that bright toothy smile beaming down at you again. Oh. You could look at him for days. “You're a dream come true, angelcakes.” His smile turns wicked as he rocks his hips against you, pulling a whimper from your chest with every slow roll. “But it's my turn now, babes.” Those lips burn a sensual path down your body, tracing across the skin of your neck and over your collarbone until they drift down over the soft, supple skin of your breast. His tongue dances eagerly over your flesh, and he wonders what he could have possibly done to deserve this with you as he pulls another needy little whimper from your throat. “That's it, babes. Let me hear you.” He lets his breath ghost across your nipple as he whispers, noticing the way you shudder in delight. The way he grins as he pulls your nipple into his mouth sends wetness directly to your core. That smile should be illegal - should be on some kind of watch list. The things you would do to get him to smile like that for you. The things you were about to do for that smile. It could be minutes or it could be hours that he stays there, mouth working your nipples as his hands massage the soft flesh of breasts. You certainly couldn't tell, too lost in the pleasure of him, unmoored from time. When his lips at last leave your breasts, you whine at him until his mouth continues its exploration of you. Down, down, down he goes across the soft expanse of your stomach, sliding himself down until he rests between your thighs. His strong hands wrap around your legs, hooking them over his shoulders. He massages his way down towards your core, teasingly slowly, watching your every response to his touch. The smell of your arousal is overwhelming, driving him to the brink - but not yet. He's not quite ready. He wants to taste you first, to know what it feels like when you cum on his face before he takes his own pleasure. One slow exhale across your lower lips has you nearly writhing for him as you hold back a moan, and he all but pouts. “Come on baby. Please? I want to hear what I do to you. I want to hear you.” An experimental kiss to your mound has you giving him everything he wants as a needy, keening whine escapes you.

You can feel the victorious smile on his face as he laps at your pretty little cunt. So, so slowly. Savoring. Pleasure courses through at every pass of his tongue, white hot heat that sears at your flesh. You moan loudly for him. “That’s my girl,” he praises and you practically purr for him with another low moan. His long tongue pushes deeper, pressing between your folds and pushing inside to the sweet song of your pleasured moaning. He earns another of those keening whines when his tongue slides against just the right spot, and he finds himself willing to do anything to hear you make that sound for him again and again. Your first orgasm comes quickly, and Mikey can't believe how addicting it is. The way your body writhes, thighs clenching and hips bucking and, oh, those beautiful sounds you make - and all for him. How did he ever live before this? Before knowing just how good this would be? His own hips stutter against the mattress, seeking out friction for himself as he sets about the work of pulling another orgasm from your pretty little pussy. He could do this for hours. After he delivers you a second orgasm, he finds himself unable to resist the urge to finger himself as he pleasures you. When you cum for him this time, you whine his name and, oh - Mikey likes that. Likes it so much that he drops into his hand for you, hard cock throbbing with how much he wants you. A shudder of pleasure runs through him and he pulls away from your cunt with a gasp to stare at his handiwork - you. There, on his bed, staring up at him with fucked out eyes and making such pretty little needy sounds. Desperate for more of him. Something warm and soft stirs in his chest, and he leans down to kiss you slowly. Your smile as he kisses you lights him on fire.

“You're so beautiful.” Pulling away from the kiss, he smiles that sunshine grin down at you once more and you think you might actually combust from the warmth it fills you with.

“You are,” you tell him and he laughs. “Now come here and fuck me proper, please?”

Mikey was wrong, before, when he was kissing you. This was heaven, and you were an angel gracing him with your light. Soft moans escape your chest as he slowly slides the head of his cock along your wet slit, and nothing has ever sounded as good. When he finally, finally pushes inside it is so much better than anything he had fantasized about. Every thrust is pure pleasure as your tight, wet heat welcomes him. Never in a million years could his imagination have done you justice. The way your back arches as he thrusts into you, the needy whines you make, the way you're desperate for more - all for him. It's better than anything he ever could have imagined.

When his eyes meet yours and you see him grinning down at you with pleasure, you feel the white hot heat of pleasure burning at your flesh again. All it takes is a few more deep thrusts at just the right angle, and you find yourself coming undone for him. Mikey fucks you through your fourth orgasm of the night, and nearly careens over the edge himself when his name comes tumbling from your lips - he thinks he might like that the most - but he holds himself back. He wants to savor this with you, wants to pull as much pleasure from you as he can. Wants to give you as much pleasure as he can. Hormones rage through him, driving him to fuck you harder. Eyes lock onto your fingers, the way they curl into the sheets, the way they slide up his forearm. He revels in the feel of your hands on him for a moment. Enjoys the smooth slide of your soft skin over his rough scales. Your fingers curl, nails digging in over his shoulder and dragging their way back down, down, down to his forearms. With a deep growl, his hands find your wrists once more and he pins you to his bed again. When you arch beneath him, raising your hips to meet his as he lowers himself to kiss you deeply, you can feel that wonderful smile of his pressing against your skin. Hot breath mingles together as his lips meet yours again and again. Over and over he kisses you, smiling all the while as he fucks into you.

His voice is soft in your ear, that sunshine smile showcasing his dimples. “Such a pretty girl, taking my cock deep.” It's unfair, really, the beauty of his smile paired with his sinful words. Your lips seek his mouth, his skin, the soft part of his wrist on the inside where you can feel his pulse pounding. Gently, you graze your teeth across it and feel the pace of his hips stutter as his eyes roll back in pleasure. Teeth graze over his pulse a second time, a little harder, begging him to lose control for you. Begging him to tumble over the edge with you. His eyes lock onto yours, and you feel it now - the connection between mates.

“Oh, Mikey,” you moan out his name, voice full of passion and pleasure and something deeper, and the two of you fall into bliss. Feeling a little fucked out and a lot cockdrunk, your lips finds his again in a passionate kiss. “I love you.”

His smile widens and fills you with a warmth that feels like home. A surge of possessiveness courses through him, only for a moment. You're his - you want him as much as he wants you, all of him. For good and everything. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you close, burying his face in your hair and pressing a soft kiss to your head.

For good and everything.

“I love you too, babes.”

[tmntngl]

I felt like hissing and cursing out anyone disturbing me reading this long and well written fic. *Can't you see that I am busy!!*🤬

I loved this! How have I not found you before? So happy to have been blessed on my dash today 🥰 put me on a tag list if you will!

Bruised

18+ THIS IS SMUT.

We in angst town baybee! Hurt\comfort because am soft. Bayverse Raph x reader. Aged up as always.

TWs: domestic violence, strong hints at strangulation, hints at previous sexual assault, dissociating\panic attack

Cloaca references.

Written for @turtlecleric

Special thanks to @yorshie and @avery73 who's wonderful brains I picked for Raph Opinions and who helped me brainstorm immensely. This fic would not exist without them.

It happened again. It always happened again. One perceived misstep, a bad day, the wrong choice of word at the wrong time; it didn't actually matter. It never mattered. He was violent because he chose to be violent. Because he wanted to be. He wanted to hurt, and he got away with it. People liked him. They liked him a hell of a lot more than they seemed to like you, because it didn't seem to matter what he did to you. They always chose him. Maybe you just didn't love him enough. Maybe if you loved him, really loved him, he wouldn't want to hurt you. Maybe he knew you didn't love him enough - knew you had eyes for someone else. Feelings, too.

With a heavy sigh, you release yourself from your musings and rise from bed. Fixating on how shit your life is wouldn't make it any less shit. Besides, you'd see him today. Getting dressed, you fantasized a little about what it might be like if he loved you instead. What it would have been like if he had chosen you first, before Gabe had. It was … indulgent. Decadent. The mere concept of being loved for real. Tenderly.

It was torture.

Shaking out your limbs, you free yourself from this worse line of thought. Pulling on an oversized hoodie, you sink into the comfort of its weight - into the comfort of invisibility. If the marks that litter your arms, your throat, can't be seen then maybe you can pretend they aren’t there. At the very least, you can try.

You look forward to the day ahead, pushing those more painful musings to the back of your mind as you head out. It had been too long since you'd been able to spend a full day at the lair. Not since your relationship had started to get more serious. Gabe had taken to monopolizing your time, getting violent if he discovered you'd gone to see a friend without telling him or spending too much time with other people. But that didn't mean you couldn't sneak time with them wherever you found the chance.

It has become something of a subconscious routine at this point, sneaking quietly into the dojo to watch Raph train after Gabe had put his hands on you. Something about the way he moves when he's in his element, the precision and control in his powerful strikes when he's focused, makes you feel secure when everything else feels unsteady. When Gabe turned your world upside down, Raph made everything right again.

Today, though, you were not so lucky.

“Hey, Angelcakes!” Mikey's joyful voice calls to you as soon as you step foot inside the lair, his body bounding towards you in greeting like a giant Golden Retriever puppy whose favorite person had just arrived. His arms are around you before you can get a little distance, before you can shut him out, and you have to hide the way you wince when his strong arms wrap around your bruised ribs and *squeeze*.

“Hey, Mikes. You're in a good mood today.” You barely manage to contain the pained sound in your voice, and if he's noticed he doesn't call attention to it.

“Of course I am! My favorite girl is back!” His voice is so *excited*, so *happy to see you* that you can't bring yourself to be disappointed that he'd intercepted you on the way to your usual routine.

A raspy sounding laugh escapes you as you hug him back. “It’s good to see you, too, Mikes.”

He pulls back, a suspicious squint as he studies your face and looks you over. “Is everything okay? Your voice sounds … wrong.”

*Fuck.* He wasn't supposed to pick up on that. *He's going to find out*. Mikey might be a goober, but he's not an idiot.

“Oh, yeah.” You smile reassuringly at him. “I had a cold a little while ago, and I can't quite get my voice back.”

His squint narrows, and for a moment you're afraid he doesn't believe you, but then his face lightens once more. “You should've gone to Leo, babe! He's got, like, a million teas. I'm sure he could give you something.”

“You're right. I'll have to ask him later.” You reply, guilt curling up in your chest at the knowledge that you've lied to him about something so important, and he *believed* you. It makes you abandon your usual routine, following Mikey back to the couches instead of slipping off silently to the dojo where you know Raph is training.

Mikey has noticed the way you always slip into the dojo first, and he has no shortage of ideas as to why that might be. “No Raph time today?” He asks slyly, a hint of mischief in his grin as he looks at you from his spot on the couch.

For your part, you feign ignorance at his question. “What, I can't hang out with my favorite youngest turtle?” You ask him coyly.

Mikey’s sly smirk cuts straight through your coy reply. “I see you, angelcakes. Your first stop is always slipping into the dojo. You’re not as sneaky as you think you are.” His sly smirk quickly morphs into a knowing, evil grin. “Those puppy dog eyes you get when you ogle him are a dead giveaway, too.”

“I do not ogle him, Michelangelo.” You argue, however the blush on your face lets him know he’s right on the money.

“Oh, you definitely ogle him, angel.” Mikey responds, getting off the couch to crowd your space in that annoying-little-brother way he’s so fond of. “I’ll bet you’d like to do a lot more than that, too.” He says lowly, his voice suggestive as he waggles his eyebrows at you.

“Don’t be crass, Michelangelo.” You scold him, a hint of embarrassment to your voice.

Mikey’s eyes positively *gleam* with mischief at the sound of your voice. “Oh, you *do* want to do more than that!” He practically squeals.

“You know what, maybe I *will* go find Raph instead.” You respond, voice deadpan as you turn to step away from him.

Michelangelo practically leaps off of the couch after you, eager to continue his teasing. “Oh come on, Angelcakes, don’t be like that. I’m just saying that you’d *like it* if Raph -”

His voice dies in his throat instantly at the sound that comes out of you when he grabs your forearm. He’s never heard you *whimper* before.

There’s an impossibly long moment of dead silence that stretches between you as the two of you stare wide-eyed at each other - you like a deer in headlights, him like a hawk on the hunt.

“Angel.” Mikey’s voice comes out firmer than you’ve ever heard him before, his entire body perfectly still in a way that screams danger.

“Mikey, no.” Your voice is unsteady, your response too quick. You know it’s too late, but you can’t help it - you don’t want him to piece it together, don’t want to see the look on his face when he does. “It’s fine. I’m fine, it’s nothing.” You try to twist, to pull your arm away, but his grip on your arm is unwavering. Somewhere in the back of your mind, the sound of a door sliding open and shut again registers, but your focus is entirely on the youngest turtle in front of you and the way he’s looking at you like he *knows*.

Mikey doesn’t put as much emphasis on the importance of proper form and technique as Leo or Raph, but it’s a mistake to think that means he’s not just as fast or as skilled as they are. In one swift motion he has your sleeve hiked halfway up your arm, and the both of you freeze. Your eyes are fixed on him, preparing for a reaction, but his eyes are still fixed on your damaged skin. He isn't moving. It feels like your breaths are coming at a million miles a minute. Neither of you fully register the sound of footsteps moving through the kitchen behind you - or so you think.

“Raph.” His voice is shaky as he calls out to his brother, and if you thought you were afraid of Mikey's reaction before, you are *petrified* of Raphael’s.

“*No.* No, Mikey, *please*, no -” you try to shush the youngest brother, but it's too late.

Raphael walks in, annoyance on his face until he sees the two of you. His brows knit in confusion, and he opens his mouth to ask what Mikey wants, but then his eyes finally land on the now bared arm you've been trying to pull from Mikey’s hold. His jaw snaps shut, and you feel your breath stall in your chest.

The waiting is the worst part. He is silent for one impossibly long breath, and then he is pushing Mikey out of the way to take your wrist in his massive hand. His eyes are still fixed on your bruised skin, silent rage building behind his gaze as he *stares*. You’ve never seen Raphael this still. Never seen him this *angry* before, and that was saying something. Several moments go by, and none of you move. It feels like you can’t breathe, like you’re suffocating under the scrutiny of his gaze on your marred skin.

“Say something. Please.” You beg quietly, voice tinged with fear and anxiety as you brace for the rejection you're certain is coming. Who would ever want *damaged goods* like you? Certainly not Raph, who values *strength*.

“He thinks he can beat on *my girl*?” Raphael snarls.

For the first time since you’ve known him, it’s *Raphael* that sends your world spinning on its axis. Before you can ask him if you heard him right, his hand is off your skin and he’s *gone*, running out of the lair faster than you’ve ever seen him move and leaving you standing there frozen in place.

“Mikey?” Your voice is quiet and shaky, barely above a whisper. “Mikey, *what did you do*?”

“What did *I* do?!” His voice is incredulous as he stares at you. “What do you mean, what did *I* do? I’m not the one who left a *bruise* on your arm.”

Mikey instantly lowers his voice the second he sees you flinch. “Hey. Hey.” He calls to you softly, finally moving to pull you into a gentle embrace. “It’s ok, Angel. It’s going to be okay.”

Your body can’t seem to relax as he pulls you against his plastron, his hand running softly over your hair. You’re trembling. “He’s going to hate me, Mikey.”

“Angel, why would he hate *you*?” Mikey's quiet voice asks in disbelief.

“Because it's *my fault*, Mikey. He hurts me and I can't stop him. I let him hurt me. I'm too weak to make him stop. I'm weak, and Raph values strength. He's seen how *pathetic* I am and he's going to stop wasting his time on me.” The tears are hot on your face as you speak.

For once, Mikey doesn't have anything to say. He wants to tell you none of that is true, but he doesn't think you'll accept it - not from him, anyway. He's not the brother you need to hear it from. He wants to comfort you, to tell you some magic words to heal your heart, but no words come. So he simply holds onto you instead. Quiet murmurs as he guides you to the couch once he notices your legs shaking, soft reassurances that Raph is coming back and that everything will be alright. You're still tense at his touch, and for the first time in a long time Michelangelo realizes that you're *always* tense when someone touches you - anyone but *Raph*. He wastes a few moments in self-pity, thinking about how he should have *noticed*, how he should have seen it because he's the *emotional* brother. But those thoughts don't help you, and they can't undo what's been done. You don't need his regrets right now, you need his brother.

*Where the fuck is Raph?*

Mikey does the only thing he can think of, and sends his brother a text.

Raphael can barely hear his phone going off over the sound of the blood rushing in his ears, the *crack* of bones shattering beneath the pressure of his hand. This *bastard* thinks he can lay hands on his girl? He thinks he can leave a mark on your arm like that? Well, Raph will just have to return the favor - *in spades*.

The screaming stopped an hour - and several bones - ago. All that's left now are pathetic, ragged whimpers. Small, wet sounds and the cracking of bones breaking.

And the sound of his phone going off.

‘She needs you, bro. Now,’ is all his younger brother sent. It's all he needed to send. Raphael casts one last sneer at your boyfriend - no, your ex-boyfriend - before he leans down close to his face.

“You stay the fuck away from *my girl*.” He snarls, and then he's gone into the night. As much as he'd love to keep hurting that bastard, he had more important things to attend to. He'd planned to kill him - to make sure he never touched you again - but he'd have to settle for a thorough maiming.

*You* were more important than his vengeance.

When you see him, he's covered in blood. You hadn't heard him come back, hadn't realized he was there until he was right in front of you. There's a hollow look on your face that he can't stand, and it only serves to stoke the angry fire burning in his chest. It's like you're waiting for everything to fall apart.

“Hey, darlin’. I'm here.” Is all he says for a long moment. He doesn't touch you yet, still too angry to trust himself to have gentle hands for you. His eyes rove your features, stilling on the bruise that started all of this. The sight of it makes his blood boil just beneath the surface again, and he can still smell that bastard on you. Suddenly, he just needs to do *something* before he leaves again to finish the job. “Come on.” He growls, scooping you up with one arm like you don't weigh anything at all and carrying you with him to the bathroom. Closing the door behind him, he grabs a washcloth and sets you on the countertop beside the sink. His movements are extremely precise and controlled as he goes about wetting the cloth to wipe himself clean of every last trace of your rancid boyfriend, carefully controlled to contain the anger. He's silent, quieter than you've ever seen him, and still absolutely furious.

After a moment, you simply can't take the silence anymore. “Raph?” You ask quietly, your voice even more hoarse than before and barely audible now.

“You don't gotta worry about him anymore.” He says gruffly, scrubbing at the blood on his knuckles.

“Raph -”, you go to speak, but he cuts you off.

“You've been datin’ that piece of shit for a year. How long’s he been hurting you?” He says, his voice sharp with barely contained rage.

“I…” you begin, but your voice dies in your throat as the shame takes hold. “Since… since August.” You admit quietly, your voice so quiet he actually has to lean down a little to hear you - and when he does he goes completely, perfectly still.

August. *Eight months.* That bastard's been beating on you since *August*. Raph’s fingers move to the edge of the countertop, gripping so hard he can hear the tile cracking, cracking, cracking - just like that bastard's bones. He wants to break more of them.

That was when he'd realized he loved you - about eight months ago. When he'd started to call you his girl in the quiet of his own mind. All this time, he'd been *right here*, and you'd picked that bastard. It makes him want to keep breaking things - to break everything until there's nothing left that isn't as broken as his heart right now.

“Why'd you let him do it?” He growls out lowly, hating everything about this conversation but *needing to know*.

“I don't know.” You tell him in that same quiet, broken voice, and the sound of you *hurts*.

“He hits you, and you take it, and all you can say is ‘I don't know’?” He responds, his voice thick and low with the anger he's trying to contain.

You open your mouth to say something, to defend yourself, to tell him that it isn't that simple. It's not like you had just laid down and taken it! But he doesn't give you the chance, too consumed by his own anger and pain to be sensitive right now.

“Why'd you stay? Why didn't you fight back? Why didn't you *leave*?” He asks, his anger boiling over now. *Why didn't you pick me?*

“I don't know! I don't know, okay?! Everything just - it happened too fast! He was nice to me and then all of a sudden he'd just - he'd claimed me and then he was hurting me and I had nowhere else to go, okay?!” Your voice is raw and hoarse and broken in its desperation.

Eight months of this, eight months of him pining after you while Gabe was beating you and you thought you had nowhere else to go. You always had a place to go - you could have gone to him, you could’ve been in his bed, and none of this would have ever happened.

His hands come to cup your jaw, dwarfing your face tenderly between them. “Darlin’, you could have come to me. You could have come home.” His touch is hesitant, tentative, as if afraid you’ll flinch at the feel of him.

There's no anger left inside of him anymore. *Of course* you hadn't known. He'd never told you. He'd been so good at hiding what he felt that he'd gotten exactly what he wanted - you hadn't ever realized his feelings for you. You thought he didn't *want* you, because that's what he'd *made* you think. He hadn't given you the *option* to pick him over Gabe.

“You could have come home.” He repeats softly.

There's a moment where you simply let him hold your face like that, eyes closed as you fight the tears. It's too much - everything is too much, and his words are stuck in your brain. “I did fight back, Raph. I *did*.” You tell him, your quiet voice watery with the tears you're keeping inside. You sound broken, and all Raph wants to do is put you back together again.

“I know you did, darlin’. I know you did.” He tilts your chin up ever so slightly so you have nowhere to look but him. “*My girl*? She's a fighter.” He tells you, his voice soft. His eyes study you carefully, searching for any sign of discomfort - any sign that you're about to pull away. When you let yourself lean into his touch instead, his eyes are impossibly soft on you. “You're my girl, darlin’. You've always had a place here.” There's a quiet sniffle as you press your face into his hands a little more. The way you nuzzle against his palm for comfort, seeking more of *his* touch, fills him with a warm sense of pride.

It's your next words, though, that really do him in.

“This whole time, I wished it was *you* instead.” The words come out of you almost of their own accord, summoned by the way he keeps saying you're *his girl*. “All I could think about was … was how *different* everything would be if it had been *you*. I *wanted* it to be you. I wanted to be *your* girl, not his. I've always been your girl, Raph.”

Your admission is so soft, so sweet, so *heartbreaking.* His arms wrap around you like a fortress. All this time, all this pain, all this *wanting* when he could have been *having*. When you both could have. It *shatters* him, and suddenly he needs to see - needs to *know* how badly he's fucked up. He finishes wiping away the last of that bastard's blood, unwilling to let any part of him touch you ever again, and then his massive arms are scooping you up against him to cradle you against his chest. His feet are moving before he's even really conscious of it, carrying the both of you to the safety of his room. It's not until he hears the soft click of his door closing that he sets you down, reaching behind him to turn the lock as he studies you carefully. His eyes take stock of every inch of you, checking you over for any sign of discomfort, any indication that you don't feel safe.

There isn't any. Your eyes are still nervous, still filled with disbelief that any of this is happening - that your nightmare is *over* - but you look more at ease in his presence than he's seen you since all of this started hours ago.

A giant, gentle hand comes to cup your cheek as you look at him. “I need you to take off your shirt, darlin'. I… I need to see what he did.”

His voice is so quiet, filled with something so genuine that you can't help but do as he asks. You're tired of hiding it, anyway. Tired of covering for Gabe and all of the ways he's failed you - all of the ways he's hurt you. He doesn't deserve your protection, and you won't be giving it to him anymore. Still, your hands tremble when you reach for the hem of your sweater. Not quite able to bear the look on his face when he sees, you turn so your back is facing him as you pull first the thick hoodie and then the worn tee shirt you're wearing away from your body to reveal the extent of the damage. Your hands pull your hair up and away from your skin so there's nothing left to obstruct his view but your bra.

There is absolute silence for one long moment before you realize that it isn't silent. Raph is *growling*, the sound so low you can't even hear it. You can feel it, though. Feel the way it reverberates through your bones, the way it rolls through your chest like waves of thunder. Casting a glance over your shoulder, you see the intense way his eyes are roving over your body, taking in every single mark before his gaze meets yours and he gestures with his head for you to turn around so he can see the rest of it.

Everything stops the moment his eyes land on the handprint around your throat. Neither of you move - you're not even sure that he's breathing anymore. You're certain that you aren't.

When he finally breaks the silence, his voice is dangerously low. “I should have gone back - I should have made him hurt *more*.” His hand reaches for you, gentle fingertips sliding their way carefully over the mark as if to cover it with himself, to erase it. He can still smell that bastard’s scent on you and something primal in his brain *snaps*. He's pulling you in to him by the waist before he even knows what's happened, curling down to press his face tenderly against the hollow of your throat and nuzzle against the bruise there in an instinctive display as he leaves traces of *his* smell there. He needs to do it more - needs to leave his scent on you *everywhere*. Needs to cover you in *him* until there's no trace of that bastard left.

“Raph?” You ask him quietly, your hands instinctively coming up to rest on his chest.

He rubs his face gently against you for a breath more before answering you. “I'm gonna fix it, darlin'.” He murmurs softly into your skin, his lips brushing feather-light over the handprint on your throat with every syllable. His mouth drags over the bruise, pressing gentle kisses over it, up the column of your throat to the underside of your jaw before he speaks again. “Gonna make it so there's no trace of that bastard left on my girl.” His hands are trailing along your body, his touch so light it's almost ticklish as he slides his face along your skin to find the next mark and cover it with his scent.

The tender way he's touching you, the way he's *claiming* you, is so at odds with everything you've experienced that for a moment you're entirely overwhelmed. It's too much - too much and yet somehow *not enough* all at once. He's touching you like you're something *precious*. You don't realize you're on the verge of tears until a shattered gasp escapes you.

His head snaps up at the sound, eyes checking you over intently, and the loss of him on your skin makes you feel so *empty* that all you can do is grab desperately at him.

“No, please.” Your voice comes out pleading and desperate and broken. “Please don't stop, Raph. Please.”

Raphael is a strong man. A fortress. The shield that protects the ones he loves. Despite that, he finds himself wondering if there's a man alive strong enough to resist you when you sound like *that*, because he sure as hell isn't.

“Shhh.” He soothes, his voice low and deep. He wraps a large hand around your wrist, bringing your bruised forearm to his mouth. His gaze never leaves yours as he brings your skin to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss there and nuzzling his face along the point where your veins lie just beneath the darkened skin. Raphael is consumed with the need to paint over every mark, every bruise, every hurt with traces of him instead. You can see in his eyes that he's staking his claim over you, replacing every hint of Gabe with strokes of him so that there can be no mistake. You're *his girl*. “I’ve got you, darlin’.” He speaks against your skin, lips brushing against you in a way that sends goosebumps down your spine.

His massive hands are impossibly gentle on you, despite the immense power in them. Despite the way he could absolutely *crush* you if he wanted, there's no scenario in which Raphael would *ever* hurt you. All of his strength - all of that power, all of that *deadliness* - and there's nothing in this world that could ever make him turn it on *you*.

“I don't want to hurt anymore, Raph.” You tell him, your voice shaky as you tremble at the way he touches you like you're something precious.

“Nobody’ll ever hurt you again, because you're *my girl*, you hear?” He says, his voice a low rumble against your skin. There's something in the way he touches you, the way he's *laying his claim on you* that is in such stark opposition to the way that Gabe had claimed you, and it's all you can do not to crumble beneath his fingertips.

Gabe had turned your world upside down for the last time, and Raph was here now to make everything right again.

“I want to stop feeling so broken, Raph.”

“Let me fix it, darlin'.” His voice is low, filled with promise as his massive hand cups your jaw, his face coming back in to nuzzle across every mark he can reach. Gentle hands with gentle pressure sliding their way across your skin, cupping around your sides to stroke their way up your low back to the bottom of your ribcage. You've never seen him so singularly focused before, every atom of his being intent on painting himself over every last trace of your monster of an ex. No one's ever *touched you* like this before, and it's almost too much to bear. A dizzying, heady sort of feeling overtakes you with every pass of his face, every stroke of his fingertips, every press of his palms. It's too much, it's too much, it's too much - *it's not enough*.

He's so *focused*. Focused on the *scent. On getting Gabe's scent off of you, on getting *his* scent all over every last inch of you. He's so focused on his task that he almost misses it.

What's *this* scent?

A new smell, this one *all you*. Sweet, and enticing, and enough to lose himself in if he isn't careful. It's dangerous. It's *you*. It takes him a moment to process, for it to register - *you're aroused*. You're *into this*. Into the way he's covering you with traces of *him*. And then he's spiraling. His entire body freezes, rigid as he drags in a sharp breath through his nose, fighting to retain control. He *needs* you, but you don't need this. Not *now*. You need comfort, need to be held, need to be touched with gentle hands like you're something *precious*, you need -

"Raph.” Your quiet voice cuts through the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears. “Raph, please.” The sound of his name on your lips as you plead is almost enough to break him. “Put me back together.”

He can feel his control *shattering*. Raph wants to give you what you're asking for, wants to give you *everything*. He's *desperate* for it - but he won't be like your ex. He won't hurt you, not ever. He won't *take* from you. He needs to be sure, needs you to be absolutely certain.

“Darlin’...” His hesitation is clear despite the hunger in his voice. He wants to *ask*, but he doesn't know *how*. He's never *done this* before.

“I used to imagine it was you, instead. When he'd…” You swallow, not willing to give that particular memory a voice right now. “I imagined what it would be like with *you*. Please, Raph. I don't want to *imagine it* anymore. I want to be your girl, Raphael.”

That's *more* than enough permission for Raph, and he lets his last shred of control fall away. His lips are on yours in a second with a desperate, hungry kiss. It's messy, and hard, and wet, and full of every ounce of *need* in his body. His tongue darts out on instinct and for a moment, he’s worried he’s overstepped, but then your lips part so sweetly for him that he just can’t help himself. He needs more of you. Hands grip your waist, firm but ever so careful not to hurt you - *never* to hurt you - and he guides you back towards the foot of his bed, his tongue surging forward to explore your mouth greedily.

Your legs knock against the frame of his bed and suddenly he’s picking you up, his grip firm and secure as his arms snake around you to keep you close as he maneuvers you up so he can climb onto the bed. Careful hands lay you out beneath him on the mattress, his mouth never leaving yours. He’s pressing your head into the mattress with the force of his kiss, hungry with a primal need for more of you. It isn’t until your lungs start burning with the need for air that he pulls away, his eyes raking over your half-naked form laid on the bed - on *his* bed.

A shiver runs through you at the sight of him there above you, staring intently down at you like a man starved. One huge hand slides its way up from your hip to your ribcage, fingers gliding over the fabric of your bra. When you arch your back a little to grant him better access, he takes the invitation and reaches around to unclasp the thin material, sliding it off of your shoulders and leaving your torso entirely bare for him.

His breath hitches in his throat at the sight of you, drinking you in hungrily until he spots the faint outline of an old mark left behind. A low, dark growl escapes him to know that your bastard ex had left his mark there, too, and he’s nuzzling his face into the plush flesh of your chest to leave his scent and rewrite the story on your skin. You’re *his girl* now, he thinks to himself, darting his tongue out to run it soothingly over the faint mark.

The *sounds* you make at that have him feeling about half-ready to drop then and there. He’s never heard anything like it before, and doesn’t think he can survive if he doesn’t hear it again. His tongue darts out again, slower this time, lingering as he makes his way to your nipple and runs his tongue across it. A low whine escapes you at the feeling, and he does it again, needing to hear it over and over. If you make sounds like *that*, he’ll run his tongue over every last inch of you without complaint. His hand comes to cover your breast, rolling the peak of your nipple between his fingers experimentally. A satisfied grin tugs at the corner of his mouth as he takes in the sight of you, pleased with himself as he earns another low whine from you.

When he brings his mouth down to run his tongue over your other bruises, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses over the darkened skin as he continues teasing your nipple with his fingers, you think you might just crumble beneath him. It feels so much *better* than when you had simply been imagining it was his mouth on you instead of Gabe's. There’s a moment where the thought flickers across your mind, and you feel like you can’t *breathe* - because *what if you’re imagining it*. What if it’s not real, if *none of this is real*, what if that bastard finally got what he wanted - finally *broke you* so *completely* that you’re too far gone to even know what’s happening to you anymore?

Raph can *feel* the way your breath catches in your chest, and something about it is *different* this time. His eyes dart up to meet yours, and immediately he knows something’s *wrong*. Your gaze is distant, unseeing as your entire body freezes, and suddenly he doesn’t know what he’s done wrong but he knows he has to keep his promise - he has to *fix it*.

“Hey, hey, hey, darlin’.” Large hands move to cradle your face so you’re looking at him as he hovers over you. “What’s wrong?” There’s an uncharacteristic tremor to his voice as he looks at the distant, panicked way your eyes fall on his. He asks again when you don’t answer. “What’s wrong, darlin’? Talk to me.” Every muscle in your body is rigid, and he doesn’t know what to do. Part of him is screaming to back away, that he’s scaring you. Another part is terrified you’ll think he’s abandoning you when you need him. He *doesn’t know what to do*. So he just keeps talking, keeps stroking your face. “It’s just me, darlin’. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I did, but I - I’ll never do it again, sweetheart. I promise. Please.”

It’s the ‘I’m sorry’ that catches your attention, makes you focus on his voice. You’re pretty sure you’ve *never* heard Gabe say those words, not for any reason. Least of all for *this*. Your eyes are already on his, but now they’re actively *on him*. His hands on you feel more like a memory, like it’s happening to someone else, and you can hear your own voice quietly asking him for reassurance. “Raph?”

His breath comes out in a rush when he sees you start coming back to him. “There she is,” he strokes your face adoringly, “There's my girl.” He says with a small, relieved grin.

“Tell me…” You can feel your voice in your own chest again, feel your throat as you swallow. “Tell me I'm safe.” It comes out like a quiet plea, and it's all Raph can do to bring his big arms around you and cradle you close.

“You're safe, darlin'. I'm here. You're safe.”

You can feel his hands on your skin now, feel the way his plastron presses against your bare chest. You're back in your own skin, your body yours again, and you use it to raise your hands in a tender caress. “It's not your fault, Raph. I just… I got lost in my own head, that's all.” You explain, wanting to take away the guilt you can hear in his voice when he speaks to you.

“We can stop. We don't have to - we can stop, sweetheart.” He murmurs against your shoulder, terrified that he pushed you too far.

“No.” Your response is instantaneous, the thought of being bereft of the feel of him against you in this moment worse than any of the torture you'd been through before. “Please. I don't want to stop, Raph. I want to feel you everywhere. I want you to *fix it*. Please, Raphael.”

He wonders again if there's a man alive who's strong enough to resist you when you sound like *that*, and he thinks to himself that if there is then he's glad it's not him. He doesn't want to stop, either. He wants to touch you *everywhere*, wants to replace every bad memory with a memory of him. Wants to make you feel good, feel better than you've ever felt before.

*You* kiss *him* this time, and all bets are off.

Suddenly, his hands are *everywhere*, searing a path along your skin. He wants to hear those sounds you made earlier, wants to know what other sounds you can make for him, wants to know that he's doing it right. He wants to be the *only* thing you can think about in this moment.

To his credit, it's working.

Your mouth matches his, hungry and desperate and tender all at once as your lips slide against each other. A nip at his bottom lip and now it's your turn to be enraptured at the sound that comes out of *him* - something low and rumbling and *animal* that lights your skin on fire. You want to know how to get him to make that sound *more*, make it again and again and again. Something delicious occurs to you then, and you gently press at his shoulder to encourage him to roll over, to let you try something.

Curious, he follows your lead and rolls to his back, his strong hands bringing you with him to straddle his lap. Pressing a kiss to his lips, you nip at his bottom lip again. This time, when he makes that rumbling churr, you can feel it where your clothed core is seated on his plastron. A spark of heat runs up your spine at the feeling and your whole body shudders, earning a smug grin from Raph. He opens his mouth to comment, but the feel of your mouth pressing open mouthed kisses and little nips along the side of his throat makes his jaw snap shut, the words dying in his throat and being replaced by a deep growl. Your lips travel lower, exploring the skin at the junction of his neck and shoulder. Hands that seem far too small and delicate on his massive frame push gently at his gear, encouraging him to take it off.

He obliges quickly, his eagerness more apparent than he wants it to be but unable to hold himself back as he sits up a little to unbuckle his straps and pauldron and slides them off. His motions are hurried, not willing to keep his hands off of you for longer than necessary. The sight of you on top of him, bare chested, your now messy hair falling to frame your face has him feeling a little breathless. Adjusting yourself so you can slide your way down his body, you start trailing kisses along his plastron.

Once it's clear where you're headed, clear what your *intent* is, he reaches down quickly to pull you back up to his eye level.

“Not this time, darlin’.” He pants out, a primal part of him positively screeching at the knowledge that he's *stopping you*, but he has to keep his wits about him. He knows he isn't… typical, that his anatomy isn't what you're used to, and he's afraid he'll scare you off before he's had a chance to show you just what he can do with it. A chance to win you over first. Besides, this first time isn’t about him. When he hears the way you whine, a low chuckle escapes him. “Next time, sweetheart. I do my job right, there'll be *plenty* of next times.”

The urge to pout is strong, but quickly overpowered by a desire for *more* as he presses his mouth to yours again, tongue sliding into your mouth as he rolls to place you beneath him again. Taking a cue from your own ministrations, he moves to press open mouthed kisses along your jaw. When you make that low whine he likes so much, he knows he's onto something. Tentatively, he scrapes his teeth over the edge of your jaw. It's louder, this time. Encouraging him on. Happily, he obliges. His hand comes up to cradle your nape, adjusting the angle of your head to give him better access to your throat as he dives back in and presses a hot trail down your throat with his mouth, his tongue dragging a thick line across your pulse and making you shiver. *This* sound is higher, less a whine and closer to a *whimper*, and he's determined to pull more of it from you.

You can tell he likes the way your breathing has gone a little ragged, likes the effect he's having on you. And, god - so do you. It feels so *good* with him. He's a quick study when he wants to be, you think to yourself. His free hand slides down your side to rest at the waistline of your pants, tracing gentle patterns along the edge of your hip with his fingertips as he continues his assault on your throat. Somewhere in the back of you mind, you had been concerned about the mark on your throat and the way it aches, but he's so mindful of it - so careful and gentle and *tender* - that all it does is tingle faintly when he runs his mouth over it softly. Your focus has zeroed in on what his fingertips are doing there on your hip now, hesitantly exploring, and you arch yourself ever so slightly against him. His fingers dip below the waistline of your pants, running along the top edge of your panties for a moment. He's hesitant, as if silently asking for further permission, and you grant it to him eagerly. Your feet press against his mattress to lift yourself up, giving him the space he needs to undo your pants and slide them down your thighs with your panties.

It's decadent, he thinks, the way you look there on his bed. Naked, hair splayed around your head like a messy halo, lips puffy and well kissed as you look at him with open adoration in your eyes. He could get drunk off of the sight of you like this. “You're so beautiful, darlin'.”

You feel a little silly that out of all of this, everything that's happened so far tonight, it's Raphael calling you *beautiful* that brings a blush to your face. The feeling doesn't last long, though, because he's got his mouth on your chest again and your entire body feels positively electric at the sensation. Is this what it was supposed to be like? All this time, is this what you could have had? Suddenly, an overwhelming feeling of having *missed out* washes over you, but it doesn't last long. Too distracted by the sensation of Raph’s tongue flicking out over the hardened peak of your nipple, his large hand kneading your other breast as his fingers toy with that nipple too, the thoughts simply drain from your mind like water through your fingers. When he finally begins to trek lower, pressing kisses along your abdomen, he makes sure to keep his hand where it is. He likes the way you respond to his calloused fingers rubbing against your sensitive skin too much, wants to keep hearing what it does to your voice when you whine for him as he makes his way down.

Teeth scrape gently over your hip, causing you to jolt slightly at the sensation with another whine - this one more high-pitched. He can smell your arousal even stronger now, and it takes everything he has not to simply dive in like a man starved. Instead, he presses little kisses and nips along your inner thigh, teasing you as he gets closer and closer to your core.

Raph pauses, hovering over the spot you want him most, his hot breath fanning across you and kicking that sweet, heady scent back up at him. His eyes flicker to your face for your reaction, needing to be absolutely certain. When he sees you looking down at him, eyes half-lidded and biting your lip in anticipation as you snake a hand down to grip at the tails of his bandana, he has the confirmation he needed.

You're pretty sure there's fireworks going off in your veins when he presses the wide expanse of his tongue against your entrance and *licks*, tracing a slow stripe along the entirety of your entrance and up to your clit. His tongue is large, just like the rest of him, and it works you over slowly. Again and again and again, licking that slow stripe along your entrance to flick over your clit and back. Over and over, until your head falls back and a low moan tears its way out of your throat. You can *feel* the way his eyes are studying you, absorbing your every reaction and reveling in them as he learns what you like. Everything he does is slow, almost achingly so, building your anticipation and arousal as much as he can.

Raphael wonders briefly whether it's possible to get addicted to this, before deciding that he doesn't actually care if it is. That's fine. He can be an addict, as long as you're his fix. His fingers are still playing with your tits as he lets his tongue press inside of you at last, and the sound that earns him has his eyes rolling back for a second as his hips jerk into the mattress involuntarily.

Your own hips jerk to meet his face eagerly, and he takes his free hand to hold you in place. “Don't be greedy, darlin'.” He murmurs against your folds, and you outright whimper at the loss of his tongue inside of you.

That deep, animalistic churr starts up again at the desperate little sound you make, and you can *feel* it when he presses his mouth back to your slit and slides his tongue inside. It's too much, it's all too much, and the sensation sends you rocketing over the edge faster than you've ever come before. His tongue doesn't stop, and neither does that churr, as you ride out your high against his mouth. The feel of your walls fluttering against his tongue has him dropping eagerly for you, his cock sliding out and pressing against the fabric of his shorts. He has you pressed down so firmly with his free hand that you can't even buck your hips for more, can only lie there and take it as he laps at you. His own hips have no such restraint, and he's grinding himself against the mattress almost instinctively as he urges you towards your next orgasm. Your fingers grip hard at the base of his mask, nails scratching a little against his skin, and it only spurs him on. He doesn't let up even after you finish, his thick tongue fucking into you over and over and over until your eyes roll back and a pretty little keening moan falls from your lips as he brings you over that edge a second and then a third time.

He *definitely* likes *that*.

It isn't until you start whimpering that he slides his tongue out, kissing your entrance gently as he looks up to take in the sight of you. “How'd I ever get myself such a pretty girl?” He muses with a grin, his eyes soaking up the way you practically glow from the release he'd just given you.

Your eyes track his every movement as he brings one of his large hands to his mouth, using his thumb to swipe firmly at his bottom lip, wiping away the wet mess you’d left there. A tremor runs through your entire body at the sight.

His eyes don't miss the way you respond to the sight of him, and it makes something in his chest puff with pride. Knowing he has that kind of effect on you is outright *dangerous*, the kind of thing that could drive a man to think he's invincible. But then you're tugging gently at his mask tails, urging him to come back towards your face, and he knows he's not invincible. How could he be, when you're his biggest weak point? He hauls himself up, shoulder muscles rippling as he prowls over you like a big cat.

The sight of him is something to behold, and you can't resist tugging him down to press an adoring kiss to his lips. There's a tender moment where you're just kissing him, arms wrapped around his neck to keep him close. But you can taste yourself on his lips, and it's only fueling your arousal.

“Raphael. I want you. Please.” You murmur softly against his lips.

For a moment, you think maybe you've said something wrong because his entire body goes completely still. Every muscle in his body is rigid, and you're about to say something to let him know it's ok, you don't have to, when his hips stutter and buck against you and suddenly you can feel just how *badly* he wants you, too.

There's something like embarrassment on his face when he looks at you, and you can tell he's debating something.

“It's -” he tries to start, but the nervousness in his throat chokes the words before he can get them. He wants to *warn* you, to tell you what to expect, but the words won't come. He screws his eyes shut and takes a deep breath before trying again with a different tactic. “Just - just don't look, okay?” His eyes open to meet your gaze, pleading with you to listen and sighing in relief when you nod.

“Tell you what. You keep that handsome face right here where I can kiss it, and I won't look at anything else.” You tell him playfully, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

His mouth seeks yours in an instant, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. He shifts to slide his shorts off, kicking them to the floor before settling himself between your legs, the both of you fully naked now besides his bandana. He likes the way you tug at the tails of it to guide him and to anchor yourself when he makes you feel so good you feel like you're floating.

There's a sharp gasp when you feel his cock slide over your entrance. It's big, bigger than you're used to, and suddenly you're *very* glad he had enough knowledge to prepare you with his tongue first. He ruts against you a few times as he kisses you, coating his length in your slick before he pulls back just enough to line himself up with your entrance.

His pupils are blown out as he looks at you, the green of his eyes practically gone as he grips his cock and rubs the tip of it against your folds, earning a whine from you that drives him on. Slowly, afraid to hurt you - afraid you'll change your mind - he pushes inside. The moan you make at the feel of him let's him know that changing your mind was never even on the table.“*Fuck*, darlin'.” He moans in response.

It's awkward, and unsure, and it takes him a moment to find his pace, but it's still better than anything with Gabe had ever been. Despite his inexperience, his *instincts* know what to do, how to make you come undone for him. He's a fast learner, too, taking everything he's already filed away and using it to his advantage. He knows he won't last long - you feel *far* too good for that - but he's determined to give you one last high before following you over that ledge. When your hand reaches up to pull at the tails of his bandana again, he can't stop the churr that comes out, can't fight the need to scent you again. He buries his face against your throat, growling at the thought of anyone else ever having touched you, leaving his scent all over you. When he feels you clenching around him in response, a high-pitched keen working it's way out of your chest, it's all he can do to tumble over that edge with you.

It takes a while for him to ride out the waves of pleasure, and the way he keeps fucking into you keeps you hovering right at the furthest frayed edges of your own high. When he finally stills, finally comes down from his own high and pulls his face back from where he'd buried it against you, it's all he can do to look at you.

If he thought you were glowing before, he's pretty sure you're positively radiant now.

Your hands are reaching up, petting his face as he wraps his arms around you to pull you in close as he shifts onto his side. Neither of you speaks, simply curling into each other for a long moment. Raph presses his face back down to your throat, breathing deep to find only his own scent mixed with yours now, and a contented hum radiates through him. He runs a hand over your hair, nuzzling against you affectionately.

“That's my girl.” He says softly, and he can't help the way he smiles when you press further against his plastron to nuzzle him back. “That bastard's never gonna touch you again. Nobody will ever hurt you again.”

There's a moment of silence as you let his words wash over you, before a spark of worry lights in your chest. “Raph, what exactly… did you do?”

His arms tighten around you as he remembers the wet crunch of bones breaking. “I taught that bastard a lesson.”

Your chest tightens with worry. You'd kept the turtles secret from Gabe, never trusting him with that knowledge. Now he knew, and there was nothing to keep him from making sure everyone else knew, too. “He's going to tell people, Raph!”

“Yeah, well, let him know what it feels like to have somebody beat on him and nobody believe *him* for a change.” He grumbles. He made sure there wasn't any evidence. There was no reason to worry. “In the meantime, we'll get your stuff and we'll move you in here, where you belong. Don't worry about him anymore, darlin’. You got better things to think about now.”

It was so obvious to you now. How blind you'd been from the fear and the pain to have not seen it before. Of course you had somewhere to go. You were Raph's girl, after all.

Taglist: @luckycharms1701 @thelaundrybitch @thejudiciousneurotic @khayalli @desceros @gornackeaterofworlds @mxalmighty sorry if I missed anyone! I lost my taglist doc again.