Hyperfixating on Ninja Turtles

• “Sweetness, you got a little something here,”

• “When I win, and I will, you gotta give me a prize”

• “CutiewithafatassgivesMikeyakisssaywhat?” • You don't even hear him and end up saying "huh?"

• Obviously none of them work

• He’s starting to get restless and suggests heading topside to get his real plan going

You have somehow managed to woo Donatello, and you end up in a long-term relationship with him. It's a bit different, balancing the work in the city, live and love underground part, but it works. You move in with him, after his insistence to keep you safer, and you become part of the family. You still have an apartment, so you can keep up appearances to family and friends, but you’re hardly there. His bedroom becomes your shared room, and he ends up spending far more time in there than he ever did before you. Live is wonderful as you introduce Donatello to the love and intimacy he’d never had. Your relationship matures into the new normal for the both of you, and it simply becomes your life.

 Years went by and one terrible night, Donatello ended up sacrificing himself to save his brothers, and subsequently, the entire city. He’d been left to handle the bomb that this new mutant crime syndicate had planted in a busy part of downtown and recognized that there was a booby trap on the bomb that would go off if it was tampered with. He was quick, made his calculations, and disarmed the complex system that threatened the city, but at the price of his own life.

 The entire family mourns together. You take time off work but have to lie about who died. There’s a small funeral with close family friends and the tears don’t seem to stop for weeks. You feel hollow for a long time and depend on his brothers more than ever.

 The bedroom now feels empty and you hate sleeping alone. His familiar scent had slowly faded from the room, leaving you with less and less of him. You move around the lair like a ghost, feeling like your spirit has died with Donatello. The couch becomes the place where you end up sleeping more frequently.

 Eventually, you start to ask, ‘What should I do?’ You're not sure if the brothers want you there, living with them, reminding them of Don all the time. You ask them over dinner one evening if they'd prefer it if you leave.

 The three large terrapins all look at each other quietly for a moment and do that silent communication they're so good at and then turn back to you. 

 Leo explains that a long time ago, on a happy night, celebrating something and full of booze, they'd had a talk after you'd gone to bed. Randomly, and happily, Don asked them to take care of you if anything happened to him. They'd all told him to cut that out, it was a joyous night, and he insisted it was important, and he wanted to be heard.

 He told them to promise to take care of you, and keep you, like he did, if they could find it in themselves, and continue to protect and care for you. He explained that if you left, you'd probably eventually drift away, and they'd lose you forever too. He told them to love you, for him, and make sure you're happy. 

 And they had all promised they would.

 Leo continues and lets you know it's all your choice, but if you choose to stay, they'll all take care of you, however you are comfortable with.

 The other two nod, and you start to get emotional. They tell you to take your time. No need to rush such a decision. You're family, though, you always will be, and family watches out for each other.

 With tears in your eyes, you admit that Donatello asked you to take care of them if he ever left too. You doubt it was the same night, but he'd asked once, as you lay in bed cuddled, that if anything happened to him, that you keep tabs on his brothers, for him. That he'd want someone to make sure they didn't all fall to pieces if he ended up leaving them. You'd promised you would.

 It’s an emotional night, and the four of you end up on the couch together, curled up and watching one of Donatello’s favorite cheesy sci-fi movies, laughing with tears in your eyes.

 After that night, you start to let them comfort you more. More cuddles and hugs, and eventually, on a particularly rough night, you end up with Raph carefully cradling you and taking you to sleep with him. He's not Don. He'll never be Don, but it's good to not sleep alone. The familiar feeling of a plastron pressed at your back is so welcomed that you curl up and fall asleep faster than you have in months. It's just to sleep, nothing more.

 They take turns keeping you at night. They all sleep and hold you differently, of course, but the feeling of cooler, scaly skin and the rumbly sound of their large bodies breathing helps you sleep. The feeling of large fingers on your back, or playing with your hair, or simply, slowly sliding a fingertip over the bare skin of your arm is so soothing and calming.

 It helps make the days go by easier at work and with your family. They have no clue your partner has passed because they couldn't know about him. You told them it was a dear friend, but it's not even getting close to how tight your relationship was. You have to keep going, and it feels like you have lead shoes on, but having his brothers close makes it easier.

 After the first year, things get a bit easier, but holidays and anniversaries still hurt. The second year, you are ready this time, and the pain is there, but you've prepared for it. By year three, you've mastered hiding the pain, mostly. Having such solid support at home helps so much, and you're glad you didn't leave.

 More time passes, and you've gotten so close with Leo, Raph, and Mikey. You're a far bigger part of their lives now, and you do help them through it too. You are there for them and understand. Leaving is no longer even something you think about.

 A feeling slowly starts to return to you once you get into this new rhythm. It's been dormant for years, but it's starting to rise. The need to properly physically couple has been growing. You miss the intimacy. Occasionally, when the brothers are out, you sneak off to your room, Don's room, and take care of yourself, but you're starting to need more. It's not the same alone.

 Guilt rises when you start to feel the warm, flushed feeling when Mikey pulls you in tight, or Raph plants a kiss to your crown, or when Leo gives you one of those soft, kind smiles. You're not fixated on a single one more than another, and that also makes you feel a sudden knot in your stomach after the butterflies flutter moments before.

 The worst part is you know you can't hide it from them. You know they can sense it and possibly smell it. You've caught their knowing glances at each other in that silent communication you've never been quite able to crack.

 This goes on for a while. No one speaks about it. No one acts on it, but there's a tension there that everyone can feel. You ignore it the best you can, and they respect your decision, but they've discussed it while out a few times.

 Mikey brought it up first, because of course he is the most intuitive and bold, but Raph and Leo agree they've noticed. They discuss it and make the decision to let you make the first move. They will all respect whatever and whoever you choose. But you make no moves.

 One night, watching a random Nova documentary after dinner, Mikey gets excited and points at the screen. "It's like us!" he says with a chuckle. 

 You look up and give the TV more focus from your book. The documentary is one in a series about human cultures and they're currently talking about the polyandry that still occurs in Tibet up in the mountains.

 "One woman marries a guy and then gets all his brothers too," Mikey scoffs, giving you a careful look.

 You watch the screen and learn about these farmers who require more hands to do labor on these high, mountainside farms. You listen as they translate the ancient, sunbaked looking woman explain that the children’s true fathers are unknown. Her tan, wrinkled face even chuckles. She goes on to explain that it doesn't matter, and everyone just takes care of each other. It makes you blush and smile a little and you give a small scoff. "I guess it is," you concede in a quiet voice.

 You feel eyes on you, but when you look up, they've all turned away. Some things never change. You've learned a few tricks too, though, and catch a few looks between Raph and Leo. Mikey was engrossed in the TV again already.

 That night, you get ready for bed in the big shower, dry off, brush your teeth, moisturize, and get dressed in your pajamas. Passing the living room, you catch Leo's eye and he closes his book and folds his reading glasses. He gets up to follow as you make your way to his room. Everything is so automatic now. There's no schedule, but they all take turns getting you to sleep at night. Sometimes they slip back out, other times they return later in the early morning. Rarely do they stay the entire night with their nocturnal schedules.

 Tonight you think about the Tibetan family and how it is similar to the situation you're in now. You'd chosen Donatello, and now you have all three of his brothers. Your thoughts drift to how the weathered woman on the TV had casually talked about how she doesn't know who'd fathered her children and the insinuation that she'd had sex with more than just the husband she married. It keeps you up a bit longer than usual, and you feel Leo rub gentle circles in your back, until you finally slip asleep.

 A week or so goes by, and the documentary and the woman in the mountains rattles around in your head still. *Polyandrous* The word keeps rolling around with the thought of Raph, Mike, and Leo. It doesn't rub you the wrong way, but at the same time it doesn't feel right. You are... were… Don's. You know he would never have been ok with the idea if he were still here. He got quite jealous and even downright possessive in the spring. You spent that first shared spring practically hidden in his laboratory until you convinced him that you needed a bed and not just the salvaged futon.

 He had made them promise, though. He'd made you promise too. But did he mean like *that*? You have questions that need answers, but you don't want to push the line more than you already are. You keep these quandaries and needs to yourself as best as you can.

 After an evening to yourself was suddenly interrupted by the early return of the three, leaving you scrambling to put your toy away and try to clean up in your room as best you could, there was no question what you'd been up to. You tried to act casual, but your keen eye caught them scenting the air after you passed the living room. Trying not to speedwalk to the bathroom as your face practically glows, you groan and linger in the bathroom. You take a bit longer than usual in the shower and eventually make your way to the couch.

 "It must be pouring out there if you guys are back this early," you say, trying to sound relaxed.

 "Yeah, there was a crazy pop-up thunderstorm and we got soaked," Leo huffs.

 Mike nudges Raph and murmurs, "We're not the only ones," as he wiggles his eyebrow ridges.

 Raph socks him in the arm and grumbles, "Don't."

 Leaning away from his brother, Mike doubles down, "What? It's true. She can smell it when we 'handle business', so why act like we can't tell when she's handling hers?"

 "I cannot smell it when you 'handle business'," you reply curtly, frowning as your face glows again. 

 "Dummy," Raph says, getting up and shoving Mikey. He looks at you and nods towards his room. "Come on," he says, his voice softer, but there's a tightness to it.

 As you follow Raph, you listen to Leo reprimand Mike, who argues that you can tell and swears you've joked about it before. A sigh leaves your nose. You can tell he's 'handled business' before because he acts awkward as hell afterwards if he realizes you're home. You are grateful you cannot smell their turtle spunk like that. 

 "Sorry he's still an idiot at times," Raph says quietly once the door is closed and you crawl into the soft burgundy sheets.

 You answer simply with a hum as you turn towards the wall. Unlike his brothers, Raph prefers to keep his bed in the corner, and you get to be tucked between it and him. Between a rock and a hard place. You almost chuckle. Touching the familiar texture of the bricks, you feel the bed dip as the large turtle quietly slips in behind you. 

 His large firm plastron presses against your softer back and you feel him curl around you a little and his arm carefully slots over the dip in your waist like he does every time you're in his bed. Your hand slides over his and you touch his large, scarred knuckles almost subconsciously. The familiar lines of smooth, raised skin glide under your fingertips. You stare into the dark wall, mind reeling with humiliation still.

 After a stretch of silence, he shifts slightly and quietly speaks. "Ya don't have to be embarrassed," he says in a soft tone that's still deep and rough, “We all got needs.”

 You chuff through your nose as your mouth quirks and pulls tight. You know he's right, but it doesn't make your feelings go away. Eventually you quietly reply, "Y'all being able to smell it doesn't make it easier."

 "Kinda hard not to smell," he replies. You could hear the crooked smile even though you faced away from him.

 His answer makes you scoff again and you shake your head a little on the pillow until you feel him take in a deep breath, his scutes moving, his chest expanding against your back. You swear his arm tenses against you just a bit and it makes you freeze.

 After a stretch of quiet he speaks, his tone a bit tight, as if it’s difficult for him to say. "It's such a powerful smell too. Impossible ta miss. Potent. Messes with the turtle part of yer brain," he shares, his deep voice low and almost impossible to hear. His snout barely brushes against your neck, and you can feel him inhale again.

 You know what he's talking about. Years ago, Don had explained it to you when you asked why he'd huff you before and during sex. He'd used scientific terms mixed in with his own feelings to describe how your female pheromones were detectable to him but undetectable to humans. He told you how it almost itched a part of his brain and triggered hormonal responses in himself. It was a primitive reaction, he'd said, something he was normally embarrassed about, but grateful he could finally indulge in with you. When you told him it was hot, he didn't hide it again.

 Now, feeling the sensation of a warm face breathing you in triggered the Pavlovian response that had been trained over all those years. Heat was building in your veins, and your sex was readying for a visitor. You grip the back of his hand, closed your eyes, and let out the smallest, breathy moan.

 The rumbly groan that escapes Raphael in response made your eyes open again as he gripped you noticeably tighter.

 "Raph..." you hear yourself whisper, a slight begging sound to your voice. You're not sure if you're asking him to stop or keep going. Your fingers hold his hand tight, and you arch against him, tilting your neck as he presses his face closer against your skin.

 "Shhh," he murmurs into your neck, a growl behind his soothing noise. His hand presses against your ribs as he rubs his snout against your neck. "Let me take care of you..."

 As you bite your lip, you open your eyes and feel your body flush. The mix of emotions is conflicting. Your body clearly wants it. The heat rushing between your legs again so fast almost hurts. It's been so long since anyone's touched you like this, let alone triggered this automatic response of arousal. Not since...

 "Raph," you say again, firmer, turning to look at him over your shoulder, but that was a mistake. His hazel eyes, more green than gold, held a piercing hunger that you immediately recognized. You felt him loosen his grip but not let go. He wanted this just as bad as you did, if not more. Your physical responses were not helping him one bit, but you know he wouldn't do anything without your permission.

 Raphael practically purrs your name, a deep, warm tone as his eyes search yours, hopeful, ready to act, but patiently waiting. He watched you like a trained big cat that was ready to pounce.

 Your eyes meet his, full of confusion and question. "I-" you start, and then close your mouth, pulling it into another tight line before trying again. You look away and you can feel him watching, poised. "It's been so long," you finally say in a near whisper, giving his hand a squeeze, "And I don't know if it's…alright, you know?" You look up at him over your shoulder again.

 "It has been a long time," Raph agrees, giving your fingers a careful squeeze back before his thumb rubs back and forth on the back of your hand. He keeps his voice low and as soft as he can, but his deep tone always makes him sound a bit gruff. He knows what you're talking about, that you've not bedded another since Don's passing. They all would have known if it had been one of them or even a human. "Were ya planning on waitin' a certain amount of time?"

 After keeping his eye for a few seconds, you turn and shake your head. "I don't know," you answer honestly. It hadn't been something you'd thought about for years, but now, with Raphael pressed against you, that hungry look gleaming in his eyes, and your own body throbbing with want, it was all you could think about. You got quiet again and turned back towards the bedroom wall.

 Raph remained quiet with you, still thumbing your hand soothingly. He moves his face back up to your neck and takes in another deep breath. "It seems yer body is tired of waitin'..." he huffs near your ear, causing you to gasp and shudder.

 You were both quiet for a bit as Raph continued to softly but insistently nose your neck. You bit your lower lip again and try to focus on a shiny fleck in one of the bricks. Memories were flooding back to when a different turtle was nuzzling you like this, and all the ways the two of you had made each other feel good. Heat rushes to your face and further south. As hot tears threaten to spill, you close your eyes tight. You miss him so much. You miss the physical touch of another, too, and you wish it could be him, but you know that it can't be. But would this even be alright?

 "Let me help you," Raph rasps again, "Ya don't gotta do nuthin' or even touch anything. I'll even keep my shorts on if ya want." The restraint in his tone wavers, but he remains respectful and just continues to nose up near your ear and hold your hand. "I promised to take care of ya, and you clearly need to be taken care of."

 For a while, you were silent. You didn't doubt his words, but you had always wondered how specific the conversation had been between Donatello, warm and happy with alcohol and celebration, and his equally buzzed brothers. 

 "Did he mean like this?" you finally whisper, and you feel Raph pause.

 The room was nearly silent for a stretch. The large turtle had pulled his face from your flushed skin when he stilled. You eventually look back over your shoulder at him, and he carefully turns your body to face him. You roll easily onto your other side. 

 Raph is quiet and looks you over, reaching up to wipe the tear out of the corner of your eye. "Don-" he starts but abruptly stops. He swallows and tries again, "That night, he didn't specifically say anythin' about *this*, but he kept insistin' that we promise to take care of ya when he's gone. He kept sayin' that we should be close in case ya need us. To try not to make ya want to leave because he wanted us to make sure you got everything ya needed here." His gaze had softened, but his eyes were on you.

 *Everything...* you think, eyes unfocused and looking down at the dark plastron of the huge turtle that was touching you in that careful delicate way that always seemed like something they should be incapable of due to their size. You were silently contemplating his words and your emotions for a few seconds until you felt him use a knuckle to graze your cheek.

 As you meet his eyes, he purrs your name again and his look was intense, encouraging, and full of held back want. "Let me take care of you," he repeats in a near whisper and leans in slowly, giving you ample time to pull away or stop him. You didn't flinch or turn, and his lips found the corner of your mouth in a slow, chaste kiss while your eyes flutter shut. He then moves down your neck, kissing and quietly beginning to churr. 

 With closed eyes, hands now pressed against his plastron, you feel that heat rush through your veins again. Each soft kiss felt like it left a warm, tingly patch on your skin as he moves down the side of your neck slowly, breathing you in all the while. When he brushes against a more sensitive spot, you gasp sharply and tense.

 Raphael pauses and waits for you to start to relax before he moves again, a quiet groan escaping his throat. "Ya smell so damn good, gorgeous," he huffs as he continues to pepper your neck with kisses.

 Your fingernails catch in the texture of his wide chest scutes and another small, breathy moan escapes you. You can't help but tilt your head to give him more access. Your noise makes Raphael groan again. Sliding your fingers across his chest, you grip his huge bicep.

 "Should I take that as a 'yes'?" Raph huffs near your ear before leaning back so he can look at you. His deep hazel eyes seem to look into you. Like he's trying to will you into saying yes with just his gaze. He's patient, but he's ready, and clearly hoping you'll let him.

 Biting your lower lip briefly, rolling your reddened lip back out from under your teeth, you nod, subtly, but you do. You're not sure if you can speak, but Raph continues to wait, and you finally muster a small, "Yes... Please."

 Relief and satisfaction flash across Raphael's face as he exhales noisily before churring loudly. "Been waitin' for you to say that for a long time," he confesses before he begins to kiss at your neck more eagerly. You swear you feel him lap the skin briefly. "Just tell me what ya want me to do," he huffs, that deep gruff voice now holding excitement, "I'll do anything ya want."

 Gripping his arm tighter, your eyes close as Raph shifts closer, you can feel your face glowing warm. The throbbing between your legs is getting stronger, a painful fullness that you've not experienced in ages. "T-touch me?" you stutter, voice a ghost of a whisper, but Raph doesn't miss it.

 "Where?"

 It's such a simple question. You want to be touched everywhere. You want to feel the sensation of those big, sure hands caressing and squeezing and holding you all over. But there's one place you really need it. Would it be too bold to ask for him to go right there without taking it slow first?

 Raph leans back when you don't answer. He can see your face is flushed. You try not to look so nervous or needy, but you're trembling. His large hand moves from your shoulder lower down your body. His touches are light and make you shudder as he goes down your arm, to your waist, and then up over the curve of your hip. He watches you as he slowly slips his fingertips under the elastic of your pajama pants, but then pauses, as if to ask "Here?"

 You nod vigorously and swallow, closing your eyes and preparing for what's next.

 The bed dips as Raphael shifts and gets up on his knees. The sheets move over you and off to the side. He gently rolls you onto your back and you gasp quietly as you feel the sensation of your soft pajama pants sliding slowly down your legs. You know you're blushing even more now because you don't wear underwear to bed. With one large hand just above your knee, you feel Raph still, which makes you peek up at him. He's silently asking for permission again, nostrils flaring, but trying to contain himself.

 You give him a quick nod and curl your lips into your mouth as you watch him eye the apex of your legs, guiding you to open up for him. You know you are soaking and swollen and the noise he makes when he catches sight of your glistening sex is more a growl than a groan. You close your eyes tight as your face heats more.

 "Gorgeous," he purrs in that deep, grumbly voice. He spends a few seconds just looking at you before you feel him move on the bed again. He's back at your side, lips back on your neck. "I'm gunna go slow," he huffs, as his hand moves up your thigh. His other arm snakes under your neck, holding you close to him.

 Your entire body is now trembling, feeling warm and flush. With your eyes shut you swear you feel every touch, every kiss, every inch his large hand moves up your leg, even more. Your one hand grips the bedding, the other his thick forearm. A sharp gasp rips from you as his fingers find your mons and brush over the coarser hair there.

 "Breathe for me now, darlin'," he murmurs near your ear.

 You let go of the breath you didn't know you were holding, only to gasp even louder as his one, calloused fingertip brushes against your most sensitive skin.

 Your fingers tighten on Raph's large forearm as his fingertip grazes your slick covered sex. "Raph!" you whine as he continues to kiss at your neck and slowly explore your most intimate parts. You feel him carefully stroke the same areas over and over, as if mapping your sex out and familiarizing himself with you. In your mind, you can almost picture his green digit moving over the swollen flesh, using your wetness to spread your lips apart, gliding over them back and forth.

 "It's okay. I gottcha," he reassures, his other hand repositioning your shoulder and tugging you closer.

 Your heart had been fluttering in your chest, but now it feels like it's racing. With your face scrunched up, lip under your teeth again, it's like your sense of touch has been heightened. You can feel every movement and brush of his finger against your nether lips. When he slips over your clit, you jerk and grip him even harder, a strangled moan caught in your throat.

 A groan on your neck from Raph makes you shudder. "Easy," he huffs, "Yer alright."

 "Please," you pant, turning and looking at him with wet eyes, "Stop teasing."

 He nods with a grunt, and you let out a long, low, needy moan as he slips his finger a knuckle deep inside of you before pausing. Your fingers are gripping him hard, eyes open and unfixed as you pant in shallow breaths.

 "Those noises are gunna kill me," Raph groans, sounding like his breathing is strained too. He waits until you relax a little before he moves again. He knows that if you were able to handle his brother before, you should be able to handle him, but he also knows it's been a while. He doesn't want to rush anything and possibly hurt you. "Ya good?" he asks, examining your face, and trying to check to see if you're ready.

 You nod and close your eyes again, trying not to death grip his arm. He moves in against your neck again and kisses it up and down. Lost in his large, warm kisses, you don't gasp as hard when he begins to move his finger in and out, getting deeper each time, but you do moan and murmur his name instead.

 The lewd, wet noises of his large finger sliding in and out of your warm body are lost to you, but not him. Amid the various sounds pouring from your red, wet mouth, the noise of your soft, sensitive flesh meeting his finger was loud in his ears. His other senses were being flooded with sensual stimuli too. The sight of you writhing next to him, cheeks flushed, face pulled in pleasure. The warm feeling of your soft, small body juxtaposed tight against his firm, large being. The taste of your skin under his lips, clean and human. But the smell. That feminine, salty, delicious scent that signaled your own lust and want. It was so potent and unmistakable. Oh that smell... That was what was driving him mad.

 That primitive, turtle portion of his brain was *on* and his own hormones were coursing through his veins. He wanted far more than just his finger inside of you, but that's not what you'd asked for. He was a gentleman when he wanted to be, and he knew he needed to be one for you now. He could wait. As difficult as it was, he could wait. For now, he'd focus on exploring you and learn what you enjoyed.

 Your tone shifted and a more high-pitched sound left you. "Right there," you pant as the pad of Raph's finger moves and rubs against that swollen patch just inside. Gripping his arm tightly again, you feel your hips rise to meet his hand. "Fuck, right there!" The words sound almost foreign. You've not spoken like this in years.

 Another low growl rumbles from Raph and you can feel it as you press against his chest. He shifts his hips, as if he's uncomfortable, but his finger doesn't stop. A noisy exhale against your neck makes you shudder as you whimper. "That's it, beautiful. Don't hold back," he rasps and you feel him rub his face against your neck again.

 With his finger moving faster in that "come hither" motion, your gasping pants come shorter and shorter. You can feel that climax approaching. Arching up, muscles tense, your words melt into garbled profanity and breathy moans. You're so close. It feels so different from when you're alone. It’s so much better. More real. 

 It had been so long.

 Memories bubbled up that you kept squashed down until you were alone. Memories of different fingers on you. Of a different body pressed against you. A different voice, different noises, different touches, different kisses. Tears prickled the corners of your eyes. This wasn't what you wanted. You try to push it back down. You try to focus on the sensation until you hear another growl near your neck. This one almost pained.

 Raph is struggling. He's trying so hard to just focus on you and not let his hips snap at you. He's fighting instincts and keeping himself in check. His finger moves faster. He's grateful for all his years of knitting. It's been great practice for this. He's not sure how long he can hold back, and huffs, "Come on, gorgeous. I know yer right there." After a deep inhale, he exhales hard against your wet, sensitive neck.

 That tight, stretched, feeling of being on the precipice finally snaps and you feel your back arch up suddenly with a cry before your hips come back down onto the bed, only to arch up again. You're trembling and gasping for air. Bright colors bloom behind your eyelids in beautiful hues that you'll soon forget. Tears formed in your eyes and that strong climax was almost painful. You were swollen more than you had been in ages. You'd gotten so riled up from getting interrupted earlier and then having the sensation of hands on you again. Your muscles continued to throb and flutter around his thick digit. All you could do was gasp for air as the grip of your hand loosened. You weren't sure when you'd dug your nails into his thick arm, but he wouldn't mention it.

 You hear a half-strangled groan as well as the heavy, wet sound you've not heard in years. It makes your eyes fly open and then face him. "Sorry," Raph mumbles, hiding his face against your neck still, "It was so fuckin' hot. I couldn't help it."

 Against your leg, through his basketball shorts, you could feel the unmistakable press of his erection. He'd dropped. He'd been fighting the urge to since he'd taken your pants off and couldn't hold back any longer. Moving from your neck, he looked at you, searching your expression. Were you ok with this? He was still nervous you'd regret it. He hoped, like hell, you wouldn't.

 Still breathing heavily, you look at Raph and try to figure out his expression. He looked a bit embarrassed, his cheeks glowing, but he'd sealed off the rest of his emotions from his face. Looking back down at your hand and flexing your fingers on his arm, you took a deeper breath and met his gaze again. You open your mouth to ask, but before you could speak, he cut you off.

 "Ya don't have to," he said in a very neutral tone. His piercing gaze holds yours for a moment and adds, "This was about you, not about me. I can handle myself later."

 You rub his large forearm, feeling the uniquely bumpy texture only he had. "What if I want to?" you ask softly.

 The sharp inhale gave him away, but the flex of his finger, still inside you, makes you gasp too. Both of you had forgotten, briefly, that he was still there. Raph went to remove his hand from your sex, but you stop him from pulling away completely. "I want to. Together, okay?" you ask, finding confidence now that you'd came. You wanted more, and it didn't feel right being the only one when you both clearly wanted it.

 Raph swallows hard. He wanted to protest, but his instincts wouldn't let him turn down such an offer. It had been quite a while since he'd had someone properly open, and you were experienced in turtle anatomy. He wouldn't have to explain things or get that wide-eyed, surprised look that always happened the first time. He nods, "Together."

 Before you touch him, you shift so you can kiss him, rolling on your side to face him. It didn't feel right to let him do all the lip service, especially before you touched him. When Raph realized what you were doing, he pulled back for a second before leaning in and closing his eyes. The brush of your soft lips against his made you moan quietly, the deep churring from the large turtle matching your sounds. Fingers move from his arm and up his neck as you deepen the kiss. He lets you guide him, matching your movements as your lips part and tongue eventually swipes over the bottom of his upper lip. The groan you were rewarded with spurs you on and gave you more confidence.

 Holding his neck with one hand, the other slips lower and over the fabric of his large basketball shorts. That smooth synthetic, worn from years of use and washing, slides under your fingertips until you graze the side of his shaft. Raphael tenses beside you, and you hear his sharp inhale before his mouth moves over yours again. He gets bolder, lapping at your lower lip before nipping you, trying to get you to let him in.

 When you give in and part your lips, he presses his tongue forward with a thrust that makes you yelp, muffled from having your mouth covered. He's getting more assertive and you counter by sliding your hand up his length. Raph's grip at the back of your neck and upper thigh tighten suddenly and he pulls from your mouth, almost sounding like he's panting. 

 "I didn't tease ya," he growls, nostrils flaring. His eyes gleam, that feral hunger unmistakable.

 Biting your lip, you nod and take it for permission to slip his shorts down. When he figures out what you're doing, he moves to help, shimmying out of his pants quickly. As soon as it's past the waistband, his erection sprang forward, covered in slick, bouncing off your bare thigh, leaving a clear wet spot on your skin. Fingers find it quickly and the barest thrust of Raph's hips pressed him more into your palm. It's anatomy you're familiar with, but different in his own ways. You explore him, learning his thick organ, but it doesn't take you long to begin to move in a way that has Raphael pulling you closer. 

 His lips are back on your neck and shoulder, pressing his face into your skin and huffing your scent again. The churring mixes with growls as your soft hand slides up and down him. It had been quite some time for him, and you'd gotten him so riled up with that delicious smell and all your breathy moans earlier. Rubbing his face into your shoulder, he tries not to sound as needy as he feels, but he can't stop his hips from jerking forward every so often. He needs a distraction or he'll burst too quickly.

 The sharp gasp and stutter of your hand when you felt that big digit move back down and right into your folds is the distraction he needs. Your pace slows as he slides his finger up and down in your velvety wetness. 

 "Together," he repeats in a low grumble before his digit slips back inside you.

 Arching into his hand, you moan again. It takes a few seconds before you take him and properly stroke him again. The hand up near his neck has found his shoulder and the raised scars he'd cut into his flesh years ago slide beneath your palm. Lost in the sensation of him rubbing your G-spot, trying to focus on what your hand is doing, you miss the first few times he thrusts into your hold. Needing to get more friction to his sensitive, flared glans, he almost pulls from your digits before you catch on.

 "Babe, 'M close," he pants, his breath hot on your neck, in a ragged tone you've never heard from him before. It makes you shudder. He's straining, holding back as long as he can. He's not sure if you'll do this again with him and he wants to savor it.

 As you feel your own orgasm building, your hand moves to slide over his wet glans, folding the flare in slightly before dragging back down, pushing it down again as pre smudges over your fingers. The hard jerk from Raph's hips and sharp gasp of profanity against your neck told you that the old trick you knew still works. You can't help but huff out a chuckle. About to do it again, you tense and intake a sharp breath when a jolt of pleasure has you squirming in Raphael's large hand. His thumb is now on your clit, rubbing it in fast, small circles as his crooked finger still rubs your G-spot.

 A rumbling chuckle leaves his throat as he whispers in a hoarse voice, "Two can play that game, sweetheart." His fingers don't stop, and he has you pulled in at the core, eyes wide and watching his flushed-looking face. "Cum for me again," he purrs.

 You gasp and moan. It feels so good to be touched like this. It's not fair how good this feels. Remembering you're still holding him, momentarily distracted by his fingers, you stroke him over his glans again faster as he growls. "Together," you pant.

 The sounds of the two of you breathing in quick, noisy gasps and the two wet sounds of fingers moving over slick coated flesh fill the room for less than a minute before the noises of your impending climax start to get louder.

 “Raph!” you warble, crying out his name with a begging edge to your voice.

 He grunts in a breathy gasp in response, and you can feel his body trembling, holding back, waiting for you. His glans is flared out turgid and firm, pre weeping from the center.

 With another sudden burst of sound, you climax again, loud and pitched, your body jerking next to him. The muscles in your sex throb and rhythmically clench lightly around his finger again, as if trying to pull it deeper inside. The combination of stimulations makes this one more intense. More colors explode in your mind, beautiful combinations of bright hues. You feel like you can’t get enough air in, but your body will only let you sip it, but it’s fine. A warm, soothing sensation envelopes you and rolls through your veins.

 Shortly after you cry out, Raphael thrusts hard and fast into your hand, cumming with a noisy grunting and gasping that he’s trying to keep quiet as he can. Ropes of his seed shoot forward, landing on your thighs and thin shirt, hot and warm as it hits your skin. His large chest expands and he gasps, hands stilling on your body as his mind blanks. It’s the strongest orgasm he’s had in a while. He doesn’t hold himself back like he’s done tonight when it’s just him, nor has he had the pleasure of feeling soft, but sure hands on his organ. It takes him a bit to recover, and he does so by holding you flush against his body, nose finding the side of your neck again and huffing you like an addict.

 The room is quiet except for the sound of soft breathing and Raphael churring. You blink slowly, unsure if you’d fallen asleep briefly or not. With both arms wrapped around you, he had your body as close as possible against his plastron without crushing you. The vibration from his turtley purring goes straight through you. The sound waves move through your ribs and wrap around your body like his arms. It was a comforting, familiar feeling, but the speed was a bit faster than normal, and a bit louder. The fluttering of his breathing tickles your neck where his snout is still pressed up against. Your eyelids feel heavy and they open and close constantly, but slowly, as if they now weigh far more than they really do.

 When you shift slightly, Raphael moves so his lips aren’t pressed against your damp skin and he can speak. “You good, babe?” he asks softly, a hazy sound clouding his gruff tone.

 You respond with a sleepy hum and nuzzle into his hold, searching for skin to kiss, but all you find is plastron. It’ll suffice, and you kiss the keratinous plate.

 “Good,” Raph says, his churring never stopping, and you simply fall asleep like that with him, finally satisfied, the barrier that had been up for years now torn down to allow him to properly take care of you like he’d promised.

~Ɛ>————————————<3~

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Please don't steal my work. Reblogging for others to enjoy is highly encouraged, though🤩

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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.

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