Shipping Central

To think, you're married now.

The word alone makes you elated and dizzy, a laughter bubbling up inside you wanting to pop out. Married. Married.

And to probably the coolest, yet dorkiest, guy on the planet. The one herding you through the bedroom door, wedding dress bunched up in his arms as his hands try to reach and paw at you. You squeal and giggle when he successfully pinches you, jumping away and stumbling forward on your wedges.

"Donnie!" The fire you try to give it falls flat, voice breaking as you laugh and swat his hands away. He's leaning over you, even as you try to get some breathing room, big hands falling over your waist and betting the sides of your dress.

"What?? I can't pinch my wife?" Donnie accentuates the word, wife, nuzzling his snout into your ear and saying it. "I think the one thing I hate about weddings is how I couldn't jump on you mid ceremony."

You twist in his arms, skirt swishing awkwardly between you both. "Oh really? And traumatize your whole family?" He finds his way back into your neck, lavishing wet kisses over the skin.

"Cake would've made up for it." He mumbles, before sucking at the juncture between your neck and shoulder.

"Ah-- fuck," You wince but your arms try desperately to wrap tighter around him. "That cake was fantastic, wasn't it?"

"Not as fantastic as you," Donnie's made his way up to the side of your face, pressing his lips to your cheek. He's still, probably worrying about if he'd ruin your make up kissing you. It doesn't matter, it never did, and you turn your head to meet him with your own kiss. Deep and languid, sighing into it and letting yourself lean against him, hands on his shoulders. He's pulling back with a soft sound, eyes half open. "So damn stunning, you're radiant."

"Resplendent" Donnie kisses your chin, knees bending to crouch down.

"Mellifluous" He travels down your neck again, slow and meaningful, his hands tugging up your skirt.

"Inimitable" He kisses right at the edge of where your breasts and dress meet, his knees on the floor.

"You're just making up stuff now..." Your voice tapers off when his hands find there way up to your panties, fingers tucking into the edges.

"Am not," He's muffled, trying to bury himself right into the top of your dress. His tongue sweeps out to taste your skin, salty from sweat, before he's pulling back, smiling not so far from under your nose. "Sit down and I'll show you what they all mean."

The offer makes your stomach do back flips, his gentle hands nudging you to the plush chair situated by the window, overlooking the barn and moon. You had been married a little further past that, in front of the lake, under a big tree. A picture perfect scene, stamped in your mind.

You can't help it, becoming misty eyed and trying to be demure in your sniffling when you sit. The dress fluffs up, squished between the arms of the chair, and Donnie is shuffling on his knees closer to you, hands finding your ankles again, thumb petting at the straps of your shoes.

"What's wrong?" He asks on instinct, followed by a tease, "you aren't regretting it, are you?"

Even though he jokes, you can still see it, the way his smile awkwardly sits, not reaching. You don't hesitate to cup his face, to drag him closer to you and sprinkle kisses along his cheeks and forehead.

"Never." It's resolute. Final. In a way that eases any doubt, this was what you wanted. "I've dreamed about this and now it's came true, that's all."

The admission makes his own eyes sparkle, huffing through his nose and biting his cheek. "I love you." he mumbles, face close to yours.

"I love you more." You fire back, and the skeptical look his face pulls makes you laugh, loud and open. "You're so cute, I can't get enough of it."

"I'll show you cute," Donnie grumbles with no true ire. His hands start pulling your legs apart, "Spread your legs, and prop em up."

"You don't want me to take this off first?" You let go of him to pull at your skirt, watching him drag your legs up, up, up, knees resting over the arm of the chair. Your hips strain, just a little, but a big hand petting the inside of your thigh takes your mind off it.

"No, I wanna do that," Donnie kisses your knee, his cool breath making your skin tingle. "Let me just keep you in it a little longer, yeah?"

It's so easy to just let him, humming sweet when he trails further down your leg with his mouth and hand. You can't help the way you hold your breath in anticipation, chest tight and body stiff, waiting. The skirt of your dress hilariously hides him from view the closer he gets, and when he's brushing a thumb over the gusset of your panties it's like the touch amplifies, folded over into doubles.

"Feel good?" The little shit, you can hear the way he's smiling. Donnie's barely touching you, feather light. A sudden snap of the garter belt -- forced upon you by April -- makes you jump in your seat, legs jolting.

"Hey!"

"I asked a question, love." Before you can snark at him, like he knows you're about to, he nuzzles right into you, giving your pussy a firm lick through the silk piece. He stays nestled there, touch softening your sharp attitude.

"That does," You sigh, head falling back and trying to scoot closer, your body slumps a bit. It'd be uncomfortable if it weren't for the way he was snacking on you, soaking the fabric. An audible sniff from him buried in between your legs makes you throw an arm over your face, flushed with embarrassment. "Donnie!"

"Sorry, sorry," He mumbles against you, sounding unconvincing. You're about to bitch, throw begging out the window if being a brat would get him to move faster. Your mouth is already open, eyebrows pinched, ready to throw a retort sure to get you manhandled, but Donatello surprises you. He's got a finger hooked into your panties, tugging them aside, and laying a soft kiss on your mound, a touch laced with sugar. Sweet and sappy.

"I shouldn't be teasing you, huh?" He kisses down, like he had done to your neck, wasting no more time to finally dip in and taste you. You gasp and he groans, sound muffled into your skin, tongue excitedly focusing on your clit. You have to bite on your knuckle to stop yourself from tipping back and making a sound, knees shaking where they're propped.

"Always taste so good," Donnie breathes, and you realize his hands, petting the inside of your thighs, are trembling. "Amazing, I can't believe it." He's flattening his tongue against you, slurping up any taste collected, moaning when he feels the way your pussy clenches, begging for something -- for him -- to fill it. "Can't believe you married me."

Those shaking hands are at your lips, splitting you apart, showing him the dark sticky pink of you for him to admire. That weird little tick of his where he wants to see your anatomy before he gathers the spit in his mouth and tries with all his might to fuck it into your hole with his tongue.

Your scratching at the upholstery of the chair when he breaches, back arching, trying to get closer so he can hit that spot in you. He drags his palate upwards inside you, his glasses are bumping against you know, the corner of his frames digging into your skin.

"Fuck, wait--" You're flinging an arm over the skirt of your dress, fingers trying to reach the back of his head. One of his own hands meet you halfway, pushing yours back, so he can tuck his fingers into the tight top of your dress, palm kneading through the thick fabric. "don't stop!"

It takes one weak bump of his snout against your clit to have you seeing stars, legs coming up over the arms of the chair to keep him close to you, burying him in your dress. You squeal when he doesn't stop, your hand trying to push him away. It takes a leg tremoring kick to his shell for him to pull off of you, slurping up whatever left he can.

It's a possibility he took your soul alongside it. Brain mushy, slow blinking and trying to process the fact you finished quicker than usual, wondering if you should even be embarrassed that you did.

Donatello finally emerged, eyes bright and a big grin on his face, looking at you expectantly. You realize, as your mind tries to pick itself up and straighten out, tucked between his teeth is that gaudy garter belt. The vividly purple thing that you remembering huffing and puffing about putting on, cursing the traditions behind something so inane. But... between his teeth, where he sits on his knees like a dog showing off it's prize, the piece of fabric is charming.

"Spit that thing out and come take something else off of me."

Ever dutiful, the garter belt is stuffed in the pocket of his sports coat -- because of course the cornball is gonna admit later on that he loves that thing -- and he's getting off the floor.

"Yes ma'am"

I swear I'll write full on smut soon. I know I need to. I just really like oral sex as a concept right now.

Anyway.

Tag List:

it’s usually around 2 or 3 a.m. when you hear the familiar knock on your fire escape.

he never texts first. he just shows up.

first thing he says is “can’t sleep.”

you stop asking why after the first few times.

he always brings snacks he found on the way.

he acts like he came to keep you company but he’s lying.

he immediately steals your couch or your bed without asking.

some nights he paces around your apartment because sitting still feels impossible; other nights he just stares out the window in silence.

you make him tea even though he insists it “doesn’t do anything” but he drinks it anyway.

if you play with the bandages on his arms, he noticeably relaxes.

he likes hearing you talk about random things because it gives his mind something else to focus on.

he’ll grumble if you call him out for needing comfort—> “i’m not here for that” he would say

five minutes later he’s leaning against your shoulder.

he falls asleep faster when you’re touching him somehow.

your hand on his arm is enough.

if you move away after he finally falls asleep, he’ll unconsciously pull you back.

nightmares are common; sometimes he wakes up breathing hard, pretending everything’s fine and you never push him to explain (he appreciates that more than you know).

he apologizes for waking you almost every visit and you always tell him your window’s open for him.

Within moments, it grows louder. Your son has woken. Kwei opens his eyes immediately.

Years of hunting have taught him to wake at the smallest sound. Before becoming a father, that instinct meant danger.

Now… It meant a hungry baby.

He turns his head. You are still asleep beside him, curled under the heavy furs, your face is half hidden against the pillow, your breathing slow and wonderfully deep.

He watches you for a moment. Dark circles still rest underneath your eyes. Your body is healing, but not as quickly as either of you hoped.

Pregnancy had been difficult, the birth had been harder. Some days you smile and laugh as though nothing happened, but other days, he finds you asleep sitting upright because you tried so hard to stay awake with the baby that your body simply stopped listening. He hates those days. Not because you complain.

Because you never do, you always apologise instead.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him whenever he catches you struggling. “I’ll be alright.”

He wishes you would stop saying that. Because you do not need to apologise for bringing his son into the world. Another cry comes from the small cradle beside the fire.

Kwei glances back toward you.

You do not stir, not even a little.

He has learned the difference. Usually, even before the baby begins crying properly, you wake immediately.

Tonight… Nothing.

You are completely exhausted. His chest tightens. He slips carefully from the nest, making sure not to disturb you as he crosses the room.

The crying grows louder.

“I know.” His voice is low. Calm. “I hear you.”

The tiny bundle kicks impatiently underneath the blankets. Two bright eyes blink up at him, Kwei cannot help the small movement of his mandibles.

His son always looks so serious. Even while crying.

“You have your mother’s lungs,” he mutters quietly. The baby answers by crying louder. “I understand.”

He bends down carefully, one enormous hand sliding under the tiny body with a gentleness that still surprises him.

Months have passed, and he is no longer afraid of holding his son.

The first time, he had barely breathed, convinced he might somehow break him. Now the movements come naturally.

Strong arms. Gentle hands.

The baby settles against his chest, wrapped securely in one arm while Kwei reaches for the bottle you prepared before falling asleep.

“I know what you want.” The crying continues. “So impatient.”

He sits near the fire before offering the bottle. Immediately, the crying stops and Kwei lets out the quietest breath.

“There.”

The tiny hands wrap clumsily around the bottle, more interested in drinking than holding it.

For several moments, the only sound is the crackling fire. Kwei studies the small face before him.

Months old.

Growing, already stronger than he was when he first came home.

“You frightened us.” The words leave him quietly. “So small.”

His thumb brushes carefully across the baby’s soft skin.

“Your mother carried you through every season.”

His eyes drift toward the nest.

You have not moved. Still finally resting.

“I watched her become tired.” His voice grows softer. “I watched her smile anyway.”

The baby blinks sleepily, drinking without understanding a single word.

“She was sick in the mornings and sometimes at night. Sometimes all day. She said she was fine.” He huffs quietly. “She lied.”

The baby makes a tiny noise around the bottle.

“I know.” Kwei smiles to himself. “I told her the same.”

His gaze returns to you. Even asleep, you look tired. There are moments when he still remembers seeing you after the birth.

Pale. Shaking.

Barely able to keep your eyes open. Yet the first thing you asked…

“Is he alright?”

Not whether you were alright. Whether your son was.

Kwei has never forgotten it. He doubts he ever will.

“You have her heart.” He looks back down at the baby. “Kind.”

His thumb brushes gently across the baby’s tiny hand.

“You will learn from her. You will learn patience. You will need it.”

The baby finishes eating, blinking slowly as sleep begins pulling him away once more. Kwei lifts him carefully onto his shoulder. Large fingers begin rubbing slow circles across the baby’s back. The tiny body gives a quiet burp.

“There.”

He cannot help the quiet chuckle that follows.

“A mighty hunter.” Another tiny yawn. “So fierce.”

The baby’s eyes flutter closed. Within minutes, he is asleep again.

Kwei remains where he is.

Holding him, while watching the fire and watching you.

His home.

Years ago, he believed strength was measured by trophies hanging from walls. By scars. By victories.

Now…

Strength looks different. It looks like a woman who gave everything she had to bring new life into the world. It looks like a tiny child sleeping peacefully against his chest. It looks like choosing to stay awake so the person you love can finally rest.

He stands up slowly, walking back toward the cradle, he lays his son back onto the soft furs, adjusting the blanket until only his small face remains visible.

The baby sighs. Kwei watches him for another moment before returning to the nest. You are exactly where he left you.

One hand tucked under your cheek, hair falling across your face, he kneels beside you. Carefully brushing a few loose strands behind your ear. You make the smallest sound.

But you do not wake up. You only lean instinctively toward his touch. He slips back under the furs, wrapping one arm carefully around your sleeping body.

You move closer immediately, almost unconsciously, pressing against his warmth with a quiet sigh that sounds more content than anything he has heard all day. Still asleep, you whisper something he almost misses.

“…thank you…”

His eyes widen slightly. You never opened your eyes. You never woke up. Yet somehow… you knew.

He lowers his head, pressing the gentlest kiss against your forehead.

“So stubborn,” he murmurs. His hand rest over yours. “You carried him. Tonight…” His eyes close. “I will carry both of you.”

Your son sleeps peacefully. You sleep even deeper.

And Kwei stays awake for just a little while longer, listening to the steady breathing of the two people who have become the greatest purpose of his life.

Only when he is certain that both of you are resting peacefully does he finally allow himself to close his eyes, knowing that, for one night at least, you have been given the gift of uninterrupted sleep.

~Masterlist~

Mikey is the least subtle. Hand him a brush and he’d be “OHHHH YEAH RIGHT THERE” while doing the little wiggle/shimmy. Everyone else would roast him mercilessly … until it’s their turn.

Donnie insists it’s “for shell maintenance and hygiene.” But the second someone gets the brush into that perfect groove near the edge of his carapace, he’d go completely still because moving would mean the brush stops. He’d deny it was enjoyable.

Leo tries very hard to maintain his dignity. It lasts about thirty seconds before he’s quietly leaning back into the brush with his eyes closed. If anyone points it out, the session is immediately over because he has a reputation to maintain.

Raph claims he doesn’t need help and could “just use a wall.” Five minutes later someone’s giving his shell a proper scrub, he’s grumbling the entire time, and if they stop too soon he mutters, “… Didn’t say you could quit.”

I also love the mental image of them having a scrubbing station in the lair. It’s ostensibly there to knock grime out of the grooves after patrols. But everyone knows it’s also because shell scritches are ridiculously satisfying. Mikey is the only one with zero shame about how much he enjoys it.

And the shimmy is mandatory!

in other words, i made the mistake of listening to Basille's 'Icarus' right after re-watching this wretched movie, y'all

Leo: 

I’d like to believe that Leo, in private, genuinely finds the idea of overpowering people intriguing. He’s learned to do better, KNOWS how to do better when it comes to controlling his attitude– but you give him some leniency with it. 

In the scenario where you and he decide to participate in this—"this" meaning being generous about how much of a sassy, authoritative, commanding turtle he's allowed to be—approach with caution. By God, he takes full advantage.

It’s not like the relationship he has with his brothers. Not ridiculously domineering, no. He knows when to act like an actual man.

But he is a tease. 

“What?” He would sneer. Clicking his tongue, tilting his head, pouting at you when you don’t get your way. 

Again. That’s only in private. He treats you like royalty in the presence of literally anyone else.

I have an idea in my head that he’s definitely the type of individual to enjoy reading books.

Classics, of course, but he gets these (cough) frisky ideas from romance books. No doubt.

That’s where Leo would learn how to do all of this romantic kinky shit to you. No social media, as he’s likely absent from it– maybe visits a few “how-to’s”, but other than that, when it comes to his romanticism tactics; it’s all literature-based.

He’s into begging. Matter of fact, I’d say it’s one of the biggest things he’s into– he loves when the words coming out of your mouth are simply words of want. You want him to do this to you? Him, of all people? You gorgeous being, you. It boosts his damn ego, plain and simple. 

Leo got into this by fault of his own. Blue had gotten his hands on a romantic book that consisted of some fairly explicit adult content for the first time; lord knows how he got it. Probably found it in a trash bin on patrol, the cover looked nice. 

Had no idea what the book consisted of. Picked it up. Couldn’t put it back down. Discovered something new about himself that day. 

It was from then on out he started to hide his growing book collection from his family. Maybe he sets the more acceptable ones out on display… sure. 

In PUBLIC, honor boy is a completely different character. 

He’s respectful. 

Holds the door open, buys you food, aids you with care like no other when you’re sick. Something as simple as a slight headache has him dropping everything to come baby you without having to ask. 

That’s all you have to do: ask. That’s it. 

If you ever get back from a date night, feet tired from wearing heels or a painful shoe all night, you best believe that man is swooping you right up and off of your feet with the shoes dangling in the other hand. 

Leo’s a big fan of back-of-hand/knuckle kisses. It’s one of his favorite ways to show his respect to you, even if he acts the opposite when you’re alone ;)

He just likes getting a rise out of you… tease that man, for God’s sakes. You won’t regret it.

This is just an extra… but he absolutely loooooves helping you zip up your dress. Slowly. Surely. Matter of fact, just follow him to the bedroom, it doesn’t need to be zipped up anyways.

Raph: 

We know that Raph hates being excluded from decisions, major or minor. 

That’s why it’s his number one priority to make your voice heard. 

He WILL make sure that you stand out in a group setting. That man is used to being left out of group conversations. If there’s one thing he can do to show his attention, it’s giving you his own undivided attention; even if that means forcing the rest of the group to listen to what you have to say. 

He doesn't care if he has to fight to do it. By all means, speak your truth.

When it comes to people that aren’t his own dearly loved and immediate family, Raph is more of a socially anxious being! Contrary to popular belief, yes. It’s true. He may come off as a hot head… probably because yes. He is. But the dude knits in his free time. He hates people. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again… I’m almost 99% he’d be on the introverted side if he were to be publicly accepted. 

Speaking of knitting! 

Gift giving is his looove language 💕

When winter rolls around, he’s knitting you a blanket and you don’t get a choice but to use it and KEEP it. 

When Spring rolls around, he has you bring that blanket back to the lair so he has some sort of scent remnant of you. 

It’s really no surprise as to why he wants it. 🙃

On a different topic, I’m also a firm believer that he’d be allllllll over kissing the scars on your body. 

So what, you think they’re ugly? He has them too. He thinks they look cool. But oh, they look so much better on you. 

Stretch marks. Scars. Injuries of the like. They show a journey and he is so unbelievably down to prove it to you. 

Speaking of proving things to you…. 

Raph likes loves when you speak out against him. It gives him all the more reason to take your two hands in his giant green one and use that shit against you. 

You wanna talk about how much you hate your body? How much you think people hate you for who you are? How shitty of a s/o you think you are? 

Try saying or proving any of that when one hand is grasping two of yours and the other is over your mouth. 

You’re not able to say anything, regardless. Your mind is too busy on other things ;) 

Like Raph’s voice, for one. He’s vocal! And is WELL aware. 

Spring, he despises; he misses you too much. However, he never allows you over, as he is far too terrified of harming you. 

Because he has no control over his actions for the week (at most), you’ve been tasked with staying home. Spring, in its entirety; SUCKS– but Raph will be a trooper for ya’.

It’s only about a week’s length where spring fever hits him like a train. Yeah. A week’s length is all you have to stay home… without him. 

So. Before that week starts, he gives you the worst hickies known to mankind. 

They’re deep and purple. He only does it so when he sees you again, those feelings come flooding back! It’s like his season, but he’s aware this time. Hell yeah! And he’s got his girl for this round! 

As long as you don’t cover them up, Raph treats you just fine. Unless you request otherwise. He’s down for anything you ask of him… Red is desperate. 

Donnie:

There’s no telling when a spicier mood will hit him.

But there are signs…. and one is a dead giveaway.

It’s around three in the morning, one night. You decided to stay over at the lair with your genius boyfriend and his family; it was getting late, anyways. 

There’s shit scattered all over the lair. As you trudge to grab a snack from the fridge, you manage to step on THREE things: Mikey’s Stuffed Animal, trash that Leo had begged Raph to pick up, and an aluminum wrapper of a strawberry Pop-Tart pastry that Donatello had been particularly fond of. 

Speak of the devil. (He’s such a deep sleeper, how could he have heard you?)

Donnie’s voice, laced heavily with sleep, floats from the doorway. 

The turtle in purple (and probably sweatpants) would mumble a silly question about why you’re up so late. He approaches, warm hand finding your waist as he leans past you to retrieve his prized juice box from the fridge— pausing before he realizes why you were probably in this exact spot, too.

"Would you like ‘n orange or an apple?" He sleepily murmurs against your forehead, pressing a kiss there before pulling back and wrapping his arms around you.

You don't answer, too distracted by how his thumb traces circles just above your hipbone, the scaly finger sending shivers through your sleep shirt.

It’s not with any intention at first. But… it does grow into some.

He likes how warm you feel against him. He likes how he can use you as a headrest. He likes how he can just think about you and nothing else on his mind. None of those stressors from his work are present in his mind just yet, he’s too focused on you.

Donnie, who is most often perceived to be “in-the-mood” after a long day at work, is actually most often “in-that-mood” when he wakes.

He’s been snoozing for a bit and has nothing on his mind. He’s zoned, he’s sleepy, he’s cozy… and you’re warm… come here, will you? 

Donnie's fingers continued along your waist, calloused skin tracing the hem of your sleep shirt. His body remained pressed against yours, weight shifting as he buried his face deeper into your shoulder. You could feel the slow, even rhythm of his breathing against your neck, warm puffs of air raising goosebumps along your arms. 

You felt his lips press against the curve where your shoulder met your neck, lingering there, hot and damp. 

A little noise– soon discernable as a moan– slipped out from your lips. 

You’ve got two seconds to decide whether you want to go back to his room or let him lift you up on the counter before he decides for you. 

(someone remind me to post a mini one-shot for that scenario someday. it’s sitting in my drafts)

When Donnie IS of a more conscious state, there is no scenario that man loves more than having you in his lap when he works. 

Any time you walk by, he’s waving you towards him with a finger. Or a nod of his head. 

You can straddle him, cuddle him, sit in front of him while he works. Donnie doesn’t care. As long as he gets to hold you. 

His hands will drift. Waaaaay further than they should be allowed to with that lab door of his wide open. 

When he’s awake, he’s very into overstimulating the shit out of you. But he’s, and, this is hard to explain or put into words— nice with it? He talks you through it. Makes sure you’re okay even though you’re seeing stars while he whispers to you. Is pecking kisses upon kisses down your body. 

And, of course, helps clean you afterwards. 

When he’s sleepy, like previously mentioned; he likes sitting you on top of his thigh once you get back in the bedroom. He gets to watch you receive pleasure all while being able to control how much you get and when. What’s more to love? 

His sleepy voice, that’s what. It’s raspy and his voice cracks more than it already does on the daily. Hell, it makes you want to be the one helping him out.

He won’t let you. He takes you in his arms and conks back out instead. 💤

Mikey:

Mikey always loved parties. Even better— he loves taking you to aforementioned parties.

Even if it’s not your thing, he sticks with you the entire time. The sweet tangerine turtle will place his hand on your back ever so slightly, wanting nothing more than to ease you mind of this rambunctious place; oh, what’s that? You want to ditch and get some fresh air? 

Say no more. 

He's already found the perfect place, temperature-wise. If you've made a statement about being too warm, great! He's already found a secluded place with just the right amount of breeze to keep you comfortable. Too cold? Mikey's jacket is coming straight off of his waist and straight onto your body.

He has this way of making you feel like you're the only two people there, even in the middle of a thousand-person crowd. 

He'll lean in close, breath warm against your ear as he whispers some ridiculous commentary about the people around you. Mikey is great at distracting you. Making shitty experiences seem bearable for what they really are.

He looooves taking you on solo walks around the venue you're in; he pays EXTRA attention to what makes you light up as you walk past. If there's a specific vendor... for example, a dessert or drink stand if you're at a party, you best believe that man would watch his wallet run dry if it meant seeing you happy. 

He's not the kind to take you out to an ice cream shop and only buy YOU something because YOU were hungry. He'll get something, too! Probably one of those seasonal flavors that sound goofy... cereal milk? That one screams 'Mikey' to me.

As the night becomes too much, and the moon carries on, you two have probably found your way back to the lair. Or, your apartment. Whichever. 

Of course, when it's just you two and Mikey's attention is on you, he goes from crowd-pleaser --> pleasure-giver.

Contrary to popular opinion, he’d take it slow!

Even if he’s been with other people before, if that’s a general headcanon of yours— you’re one he genuinely cares about. Mikey’s been eyeing you for ages. Now, he’s finally got his hands on you. Slow and steady, he’ll take it— unless asked otherwise. He wants to remember this remember you.

Mikey LOVES taking the lead, and generally prefers it, but only if you explicitly offer it. He will never force a thing, but if you give him the reins, you aren’t getting them back unless you ask nicely 😂

This doesn’t take away from the fact that he also loves when YOU take the reins! Please. By all means, tell him what to do. He is not going to complain. You may actually get him to listen for once in his life 🤷‍♀️

Mikey is a huge (!!) fan of praise; if you compliment him or tell him how good he is at being in charge, he'll work even harder to ensure you're taken care of, confirming that he's earned the position you gave him.

 Looking into it, maybe this comes from him being the youngest! He likes being able to take authority, especially when it’s in something he’s good at with someone he loves.

Reciprocal touch and reassurance are absolute musts for him; he needs to feel you reaching back just as much as he’s reaching for you. If you run your hands over his shell or pull him closer, he practically melts. He’ll often ask if he’s doing a good job or if you’re enjoying yourself, not out of insecurity, but because your verbal and physical confirmation acts like straight gasoline for him. It sets him on fire, gets him going, it’s his fuel. Seeing you lose yourself in the moment because of something he’s doing is the ultimate ego boost for him, and he’ll reward your praise with even more focused attention.

The aftercare with Mikey is legendary and arguably his favorite part of the whole experience. 

He’s a total cuddle bug. He will WRAP HIS LIMBS around you like a koala and refuse to let go. 

He’ll bring you water, of course, find your favorite snacks, and maybe even put on a silly cartoon just to keep the atmosphere light and cozy. He’ll then pepper your face with tired, happy kisses and whisper about how much he loves you until you both drift off. :) 

And then he’ll wake you up with his snores. Because I know he does. He absolutely does.

<3

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