#mnt

Secret Santa, Double Trouble

The lair, as usual in this time of the year, smelled like pine needles, pizza grease, and piss poor decision-making.

That was your first clue that something had gone very wrong.

You stood on a step stool in the middle of the living space, arms raised, wrestling with a string of Christmas lights that had somehow knotted themselves into a glowing, spiteful mess. Half the bulbs blinked. The other half were aggressively green.

Below you, Michelangelo laid back on his shell, holding up the extension cord like it was some sort of sacred artifact.

“Okay, don’t panic,” he said, far too cheerfully. “This happens every year.”

“This happens every year because you refuse to wrap the lights properly,” you shot back, tugging at a stubborn knot. “I swear, Mikey, these things were straight when I grabbed them.”

“That’s what they want you to think,” he replied gravely. “Christmas lights are sentient. Vengeful. Honestly, this is on Donnie for not inventing self-untangling bulbs yet.”

“Wow,” you said. “Bold words from someone who taped a candy cane with duct tape to the microwave and called it ‘festive.’”

Mikey gasped, sitting up so fast he nearly yanked the cord from the wall. “Excuse you. That was conceptual décor.”

You laughed despite yourself, but this was how it always went. You could be mid-complaint, mid-task, mid-why do I now live with four mutant turtles crisis, and Mikey would say something ridiculous, and suddenly it didn’t matter anymore.

He popped up beside you a second later, chin resting on your shoulder as he peered up at the lights. “You know,” he murmured, “if you fall, I will absolutely catch you. Very heroically. Possibly with a fancy spin.”

“You are not spinning with me in your arms,” you said, though you didn’t move away from him.

“Chicken.”

From the couch by your side, Raphael watched the whole exchange in silence, arms crossed, posture relaxed in a way that fooled no one who really knew him. His eyes tracked the wobble of the stool. The way Mikey hovered too close. The way your balance shifted when you laughed at his jokes.

“Careful,” Raph said at last, his voice low. “Stool’s crooked.”

You glanced over at him. “It is not.”

“It is,” he replied calmly. “Left leg’s shorter.”

Mikey frowned. “How do you even notice that?”

Raph shrugged. “I look.”

Before you could argue, Raph’s hand was on the stool, steadying it with quiet certainty. The movement was small, casual, protective in a way he’d never want to call attention to.

Your breath eased without you realizing it had tightened.

“See?” Mikey said smugly. “Team effort. Christmas miracle.”

Raph shot him a look. “You’re still not in charge of decorations.”

“Temporary setback,” Mikey said. “The night is young.”

You finally freed the lights with a victorious tug, holding them up like a trophy. “Ha! Behold. Order from chaos.”

Mikey grinned at you like you’d just hung the star on top of the tree at Rockefeller Center yourself.

Raph’s mouth twitched… just barely.

Somewhere between the blinking lights, the laughter, and the way both brothers’ attention stayed locked on you, the lair felt warmer than it had a moment ago.

Christmas, it seemed, had officially begun.

The rest of the afternoon blurred into a frenzy of holiday prep. Leo orchestrated the tree trimming with military precision, barking orders like a general while Donnie tinkered with a gadget that promised to make the ornaments levitate… spoiler, it short-circuited and sent fake snow exploding across the floor. You and Mikey mopped up the mess, giggling as Raph grumbled from the sidelines, occasionally handing over tools with a grunt that passed for encouragement.

By evening, the lair transformed. Strings of lights draped the concrete walls, casting a soft glow over the mismatched furniture. A lopsided tree stood proud in the corner, topped with a cardboard box star Mikey had fashioned from a pizza box and tinfoil painted with yellow highlighters. The air hummed with the scent of Splinter's eggnog, spiked just enough for you to still handle easily, and the faint twang of holiday tunes piping from Donnie's jury-rigged speakers.

Everyone gathered in the main room, sprawled on cushions and the worn couch. Splinter perched on his favorite armchair, a serene smile creasing his face as his whiskers twitched, he surveyed his sons and their human companion. You squeezed between Mikey and Raph on the couch, feeling the solid warmth of Raph's plastron against your side and Mikey's playful nudge with his elbow.

Donnie cleared his throat, standing at the center like a professor about to unveil a theorem. He held a battered Santa hat in one hand and a stack of folded papers in the other. “Alright, family,” he began, adjusting his glasses with a flourish. “To add some structure to our festivities, and because Mikey begged for it… We're doing a Secret Santa exchange this year.”

Mikey whooped, pumping his fist in the air. “Yes! Secret Santa! This is gonna be epic!” He bounced in his seat, nearly jostling you into Raph's lap.

Raph snorted and crossed his arms tight over his plastron. “Secret Santa? What are we, kids? Pass.”

Donnie ignored him, plowing ahead with the enthusiasm of someone who'd spent the afternoon coding the name-drawing algorithm. “The rules are simple, anonymous draws, thoughtful gifts only, no prank items or last-minute pizza vouchers. Budget's twenty bucks max, sourced from our collective funds, handmade presents are a bonus. No revealing your identity until the big reveal on Christmas Eve night. We'll draw names now and have until then to shop or craft.”

He shook the Santa hat, the papers inside rustling like conspiratorial whispers. One by one, everyone reached in, Splinter first, his draw met with a nod of quiet approval; Leo next, unfazed as ever; then you, pulling a slip that read 'Michelangelo' in Donnie's neat scrawl. Mikey for you? Easy. You already had ideas bubbling, something fun, personal, maybe a custom skateboard decal with a cheeky holiday twist. But you thought it would be nice to get each brother a gift also, either way.

Mikey dove in headfirst, literally, his hand vanishing up to the forearm. He emerged triumphant, clutching his paper like it held the codes to the universe. “Oh man, this is perfect! I'm gonna nail this. Thoughtful, anonymous, mind-blowing. My giftee's gonna freak… in a good way!” His eyes sparkled with manic energy, already plotting. “Do we have glitter? Finger paints? Oh, wait… is edible underwear too much?”

You elbowed him. “Mikey, thoughtful. Not... whatever that is.”

He winked at you. “Thoughtful and fun, sweetheart. You'll see.”

Leo chuckled, folding his draw away. “Just don't turn it into a circus, Mikey.”

“Circus? This is holiday magic!” Mikey countered, launching into an impromptu list, pros and cons of gift-wrapping techniques, debates on whether mistletoe counted as décor or sabotage. He was all in, gears turning visibly behind those bright baby blue eyes, turning a simple exchange into a full-blown operation.

Raph rolled his eyes. “This is stupid. Buncha grown men playin' with names in a hat. I'm out.” He shifted, his thigh pressing firmer against yours as if anchoring himself against the tide of cheer.

Donnie arched a brow, holding out the hat. “Come on, Raph. It's a tradition. Builds camaraderie.”

“Yeah, right. Camaraderie, my ass.” But Raph's gaze flicked to you, then away, jaw tightening. The room waited, the air thick with unspoken challenge. Splinter sipped his eggnog, watching with that knowing glint.

With a huff that echoed off the walls, Raph snatched the hat and yanked out the last paper. He unfolded it slowly, green eyes narrowing at the name. “Fine. Whatever.” He crumpled it in his fist.

Mikey leaned over you to slap Raph's shoulder. “That's the spirit, bro! Secret Santa squad, assemble!”

Raph shoved him away. “Touch me again, and you're drawin' your own name next year.”

You smiled, warmth spreading through you as the group dissolved into chatter. Donnie recapped the rules one more time for good measure, Mikey brainstorming out loud about 'epic reveals,' and Raph... well, Raph just sat there, solid and brooding, his presence a quiet promise amid the holiday chaos.

The next few days passed in a flurry of secretive activity. Mikey had taken to sneaking around the lair with a suspiciously large duffel bag, dodging questions with exaggerated winks and finger guns. Meanwhile, Raph had been unusually quiet, more so than usual, spending long hours in his room, or the dojo, or even just disappearing into the city without a word.

But back in that moment, right after the draw, Mikey's mind had raced ahead like a freight train on holiday express. As Raph crumpled his paper and shoved him away, Mikey flopped back onto the couch, a grin splitting his face wide. Oh. Oh, this is how I win Christmas. He'd pulled your name, just pure luck, or maybe holiday fate, and now he had the perfect shot. Gifts that would make you blush, laugh, maybe even pull him into a mistletoe ambush. No more of Raph's brooding shadow stealing the spotlight. This was his arena, fun, flirty, unforgettable. He'd craft something epic, drop hints like snowflakes, and by reveal time, you'd be seeing stars, orange ones, specifically.

Raph, on the other hand, played it cool in front of everyone. “Yeah, right. Camaraderie, my ass,” he'd muttered earlier, but that was all bluster. The paper in his fist burned with Leo's name… fearless leader, eternal pain in his ass. Thoughtful gift? For Leo? He'd grab some fancy sword polish or a meditation scroll, or whatever. But as the chatter died down and the group scattered, Raph lingered on the couch, your warmth still ghosting his side. He didn't care. Not about some dumb exchange. Not about Mikey turning it into a clown show. Except... he did. The way your eyes lit up, pulling your draw, the laugh that bubbled out when Mikey hyped his plans, it twisted something in his gut. Alone later that night, slamming through a heavy bag in the dojo until his knuckles ached, Raph admitted it to the empty air. He cared. Too damn much. And if Mikey was gunning for you with whatever goofy surprise he cooked up, Raph wasn't about to sit back. Leo's gift was mandatory. But you? You'd get something from him too… anonymous, under the radar. Something real. Something that said what his words never could. He'd hit the city, find materials, and make it himself. No way was he letting his baby brother outshine him.

Neither brother clocked the overlap, of course. Mikey holed up in the kitchen, sketching wild ideas on napkins, scented candles shaped like shells, a playlist of cheesy carols mixed with surf rock, convinced he had the inside track. Raph vanished into shadowed alleys up top, scavenging leather scraps and a small carving tool from a forgotten junk shop, his mind fixed on crafting without a trace leading back. Splinter noticed the tension, a subtle arch of his brow over tea, but said nothing. Leo drilled katas with extra focus, Donnie buried himself in lab tweaks. You navigated the lair's sudden cloak-and-dagger vibe, wrapping Mikey's gift in secret, a glow-in-the-dark skate grip etched with turtle power symbols, while wondering at the hush that followed Raph like a storm cloud.

It started innocently enough, two days before Christmas Eve. You returned from a quick supply run topside, arms laden with tinsel and a fresh stack of holiday DVDs, to find a small package waiting on your bed. No tag, no note, just red wrapping paper tied with a plain white string, tucked against your pillow as if it belonged there. Your heart skipped a beat, curiosity buzzing as you shut your door.

You peeled back the paper carefully, revealing a small wooden box. Inside was a handmade bracelet. It was simple, sturdy leather with a single charm, a tiny, intricately carved turtle shell. The edges were rough-hewn, like it'd been shaped by callused hands in a rush of focus, the leather worn soft from what felt like real use. It fit perfectly when you slipped it on, the weight grounding, the shell charm cool against your wrist. A Secret Santa drop? Early? You glanced around the empty room, half-expecting Mikey to pop out with jazz hands, but nothing. Just the faint scent of oil and city grit clinging to the box, and a warmth that settled deep inside you, untraceable. You smiled, tracing the carving with your thumb, unaware of the green-eyed shadow slipping away, mission accomplished… for now.

The next morning, you woke to the sound of something sliding under your door. A small bundle, a bright orange envelope with little doodles of Christmas trees and skateboards along the edges, and attached to it by a thin ribbon, a quirky keychain. The charm dangled playfully, a miniature skateboard etched with a grinning turtle face, painted in bold orange and green, the kind of handmade trinket that screamed Mikey's chaotic creativity. You scooped it up, fingers brushing the smooth edges, a giggle escaping as you imagined him hunched over it late at night, tongue poking out in concentration.

When you opened the envelope, the handwriting was unmistakably Mikey's, all loopy, energetic, and punctuated with little hearts.

"Yo, Angelcakes! Secret Santa’s got NOTHIN’ on me. Meet me at the skate ramp after breakfast. Wear something cozy. And bring that sweet smile of yours. ;) Your FAVORITE Turtle."

You could practically hear his voice as you read it, the playful lilt, the way he’d wink if he were standing there. The bracelet from last night still sat snug on your wrist, the shell charm catching the dim light. Two gifts? Wait… was Mikey your Secret Santa? But then who left the bracelet?  

Down in the kitchen, Mikey was already in full holiday chaos mode, flipping pancakes shaped like snowmen while singing Jingle Bell Rock off-key. He spun when you walked in, spatula in hand. "Mornin’, sunshine! You get my note?" His grin was wide, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief.

Before you could answer, Raph’s voice cut in from the doorway, gruff and dry. "Yeah, we all got your note. Loud and clear." He leaned against the frame, arms crossed, his usual scowl in place, but his gaze flicked to your wrist for half a second, then away.

Mikey gasped, pointing the spatula at Raph. "You peeked?! Bro, that’s against the rules!"

Raph rolled his eyes. "Didn’t peek. Just heard you scribblin’ like a maniac at 3 AM."

Mikey shook his head in disappointment, dramatically. "My artistic process is sacred, Raph."

You bit back a laugh, watching them bicker, the bracelet warm against your skin.

Raph pushed off the doorframe, snagging a pancake off the stack. "Whatever. Just don’t blow up the lair with whatever ‘surprise’ you got planned." He took a bite, chewed, then paused. "...These are actually decent."  

Mikey beamed. "A Christmas miracle!"

The keychain now dangled from your fingers, its tiny skateboard wheels glinting under the kitchen lights. Mikey’s note burned in your pocket, a promise of whatever wild adventure he had brewing at the skate ramp. But the bracelet... it didn’t match his vibe. Too rugged, too deliberate. Your mind spun with possibilities as you grabbed a plate, piling on a snowman pancake that Mikey slid your way with a flourish.

“Dig in, beautiful. Fuel for the fun ahead!” Mikey said, his voice dripping with that infectious energy. He leaned on the counter, watching you take the first bite, his blue eyes locked on your face like he was gauging every chew for approval.

Raph snorted from his spot at the table, demolishing his stolen pancake in two bites. “Fun. Right. Just don’t drag her into one of your wipeout disasters, Mikey.” His tone was gruff, but there was an edge to it, like he was staking some invisible claim. His gaze dipped to the bracelet again, brief, sharp, before he shoved a fork into another flapjack.

The morning blurred into holiday prep after that. Donnie enlisting your help to debug twinkling lights that kept shorting out, Leo overseeing the tree’s final ornaments with military precision, and Splinter meditating through the noise with a serene expression. Mikey vanished mid-morning, only to reappear with armfuls of garland, winking at you every time your paths crossed. Raph stuck to the shadows, hauling boxes of decorations without a word, his muscles flexing under the strain as he knocked Mikey’s makeshift star off the tree with a sneer and wedged a proper star on the tree top.

Hours later, as the lair settled into a lazy afternoon lull, you wandered into the common area. The TV hummed with some old Christmas special, forgotten popcorn scattered on the couch. There, on the coffee table amid the clutter, sat another package, small, wrapped in festive paper dotted with snowflakes, your name scrawled across the top in bold, looping letters that screamed Mikey’s handiwork. No envelope this time, just the gift, waiting like it had been placed there with purpose.

You picked it up, the paper crinkling softly, and glanced around. Mikey lounged on the arm of the couch, pretending to scroll through his phone, but his eyes snapped up the second your fingers touched the wrapper. He straightened, barely containing the bounce in his posture, like a puppy eyeing a treat.

“What’s this?” you asked, turning it over. The weight felt light, teasing, something fun, no doubt.

Mikey shrugged, all casual innocence, but his grin betrayed him. “Dunno, sunshine. Secret Santa magic? Open it! C’mon, I’m dyin’ here.” He leaned forward, elbows on knees, blue eyes wide and gleaming with barely suppressed excitement.

You tore into the paper, revealing a soft bundle, a pair of fuzzy socks, striped in orange and green, with little turtle faces peeking from the cuffs. A laugh bubbled out of you as you held them up, the fabric plush against your palms.

“Whoa, these are adorable! Wonder who these could be from...” You trailed off, shooting Mikey a knowing look.

He threw his hands up, feigning shock. “No idea! But man, that Secret Santa’s got style. Total artist. Bet it’s someone who knows you inside and out… like, knows you’d rock these while zooming down the ramp later.” His voice pitched higher, the act over the top. “Wow, just wow. This person must really get you. Like, favorite turtle levels of get you.”

From the corner, where he’d been sharpening his sais with methodical scrapes, Raph’s head lifted. His green eyes narrowed, locking onto the socks, then flicking to Mikey’s beaming face. His scowl deepened, a muscle ticking in his jaw as he filed it away, the eager watch, the hammed-up surprise, the way Mikey’s gaze lingered on you like he’d already won. Raph’s grip tightened on the whetstone, the scrape turning sharper. He didn’t say a word, just watched, brooding silence coiling like a spring. If Mikey thought he was the only one playing this game, he had another think coming.

You slipped the socks into your pocket, still chuckling. “Well, whoever it is, they’re on a roll. First the bracelet, then the keychain, now this? Christmas is getting mysterious.” The words hung in the air, innocent to you, but Mikey’s grin faltered for a split second… bracelet? He recovered fast, launching into a rant about how epic the reveal party would be, but Raph’s stare burned from the shadows, plotting his next move in the quiet war neither of you knew was brewing.

The tension simmered under the surface like a pot left too long on the stove. Mikey’s gifts were bright, loud, impossible to ignore, just like him. The socks, the keychain, the way he’d “accidentally” bump into you with mistletoe held just above your heads, grinning like a madman.

Raph, on the other hand, was a shadow. His gifts appeared like ghosts, small, quiet, always when you least expected them. A thermos of hot cocoa left by your bedside after a late-night training session with Leo, still steaming. A worn copy of your favorite book from your childhood, tucked into your bag with a dog-eared page marking your favorite passage from when you were a kid. No notes, no fanfare. Just... there.

Mikey noticed, of course.

“Dude,” he stage-whispered to Raph one evening, elbow deep in wrapping paper, “I see what you’re doing, bro, but you’ve got nothin’ on me. You gotta commit. Where’s the flair? The drama? The romance?”

Raph didn’t even look up from sharpening his sai. “Ain’t about flair. It’s about meaning.”

Mikey tisked. “Meaning?! Bro, meaning is built on flair! You can’t just-”

“Watch me.”

And so the battle raged on.

A few days blurred by in a whirlwind of holiday frenzy, the lair decked out in twinkling lights that Donnie swore were “energy-efficient,” Leo’s impromptu carol sing-alongs that devolved into laughter, and Splinter’s quiet stories by the fire pit that wrapped everyone in a blanket of nostalgia. Mikey’s antics kept the energy high; he rigged a whoopee cushion under Raph’s weight bench, earning a chase through the tunnels that ended in breathless giggles. But beneath the chaos, those secret deliveries kept coming, each one pulling at the threads of curiosity in your chest.

It was late one evening, after a group movie night where Mikey hogged the popcorn and Raph sat just close enough that his arm brushed yours during the scary parts, that you retreated to your room. The day had been long, helping Mikey test out holiday-themed skate tricks that mostly ended in spectacular falls, and exhaustion tugged at your limbs. You kicked off your shoes, flopping onto the bed with a sigh, only to notice a package propped against the wall near your door. It hadn’t been there when you’d left that morning.

Simple wrapping, brown paper, tied with plain twine, no frills or doodles. Your name was etched on the front in careful block letters, the kind of handwriting that looked deliberate, unhurried. You sat up, heart skipping a beat as you untied the string. The paper unfolded to reveal a folded bundle of soft fabric, deep red wool, knit with even stitches that spoke of hours spent in focus. A sweater, sized just right for you, the neckline wide enough to slip over your shoulders without snagging, the sleeves long enough to cover your hands on chilly nights. You ran your fingers over it, feeling the warmth already seeping through, and lifted it to your face. It smelled faintly of leather and smoke, like the workshop where the guys tinkered away their frustrations.

This wasn’t flashy. No jokes, no orange and green colors screaming for attention. But it knew you, the way you shivered in the lair’s drafty corners, how you’d mentioned once, offhand, craving something cozy to burrow into during winter late nights. The fit would hug your curves just so, the red a bold echo of Raph’s bandana, protective and fierce. You slipped it on, the wool settling against your skin like an embrace, soft and enveloping. It hit deeper than the other gifts, stirring something warm and aching in your chest, a quiet intimacy that made your breath stall momentarily.

You stood, smoothing it down, and caught your reflection in the small mirror. It looked right, like it belonged. The bracelet’s rugged charm, the cocoa’s thoughtful heat, the book’s personal touch... and now this. Your pulse quickened, fingers tracing the knit pattern, a subtle shell motif along the hem, hidden unless you looked closely. Raph? The thought sent a flush up your neck, imagining his large hands working the needles, brows furrowed in concentration, all that raw strength turned to something so tender.

Down the hall, muffled voices drifted, Mikey’s laughter cutting through Raph’s low grumble. You smiled to yourself, pulling the sweater tighter, the mystery wrapping around you as snugly as the gift itself. Christmas Eve loomed, and with it, the reveal. Whatever came next, this one lingered, a silent promise etched in every stitch.

You stood there for a long moment, the sweater's warmth seeping into your skin, chasing away the chill of the lair's stone walls. But as you traced the subtle shell pattern along the hem, a puzzle piece clicked into place. The gifts... they didn't align. Mikey's were explosions of color and chaos, the keychain dangling with its goofy pizza charm, the socks patterned with cartoon turtles doing holiday flips, each one arriving with a flourish, like a small surprise party you couldn't miss. Bright, bold, impossible to forget.

The mystery gifts, though? They whispered. The bracelet's rough-hewn wood and leather, sturdy against your wrist. The thermos, appearing after you'd complained about the cold, its lid etched with faint initials that looked like yours. The book, slipped in silently, pages worn from what felt like repeated reads. And now this sweater, knit with a precision that screamed quiet nights alone, needles clicking in rhythm with thoughts.

The timing, too, never overlapping, always spaced just right, like two different hands at work. Mikey's dropped during the day, amid laughter and spills in the kitchen. These others materialized in the quiet hours, when the lair hushed and shadows stretched long. Your heart raced as the realization settled. This wasn't one Secret Santa. Rules were bending, maybe shattering. Donnie's whole anonymity schtick? Only one Secret Santa per person. Someone was ignoring it, going rogue for you. The thought sent a thrill through you, mixed with a flutter of nerves. Who would risk that? And why? Your instincts screamed, Raph.

You folded the sweater carefully, tucking it away, but the questions buzzed like holiday lights flickering to life. Down the hall, the brothers' voices rose again, Mikey's animated chatter about a "surprise midnight snack run," Raph's gruff retort cutting through. You smiled, slipping out to join them, the mystery pulling you closer to the fire.

The next morning dawned with Mikey's energy cranked to eleven. He burst into the common area, arms loaded with a suspiciously wrapped bundle that jingled like wind chimes in a storm. "Rise and shine, bros! Or should I say, rise and unwrap?" He thrust the package at you with a wink, his blue eyes sparkling under the fringe of his mask. Inside, a set of handmade ornaments, each painted with inside jokes from your adventures, one showing you and him mid-skate crash, another with tiny figures tangled in Christmas lights, just like that first tangled mess. "For the tree," he declared, helping you hang them with exaggerated flair, his shell brushing against you as he reached high. "See? Personal touches. Makes the whole lair feel like our holiday spot."

His attention ramped up from there, stealing glances at you during breakfast, draping an arm around your shoulders while critiquing Leo's pancake stack, even challenging you to a mistletoe dodge game that ended with him "accidentally" pinning you against the wall, grinning down with that infectious charm. "Oops. Guess I win this round." Every move screamed effort, playful but pointed, drawing you into his orbit like a comet's tail.

Raph watched from his corner, jaw set, green eyes narrowing as Mikey preened. He didn't say a word about the ornaments, but when you shivered later during a group game of charades, Splinter chuckling at Donnie's dramatic falls, Raph was there. A blanket materialized over your lap, his callused hand steadying it without a glance your way. "Drafty in here," he muttered, voice low and rough, but his presence loomed solid, a wall against the chill. During afternoon training, he paired with you unasked, correcting your stance with firm grips on your hips, his breath warm against your ear. "Like that. Keeps ya balanced." No grand gestures, just him, close, watchful, his bulk a quiet shield that made your pulse stutter.

The air between the brothers thickened, whispered barbs hanging like fog. Mikey shot Raph sidelong looks during dinner, his foot nudging yours under the table while boasting about his latest "epic gift idea." Raph's fork scraped his plate harder than necessary, his knee brushing yours in response, a subtle claim, possessive in its restraint. They didn't clash outright, not with the lair buzzing around them, but the tension hummed, electric and heavy, like the quiet before a storm.

You felt it all, caught in the crossfire of their rivalry. Wanted, god, so wanted, their attentions weaving around you like vines, pulling tight. Mikey's light, teasing pull made you laugh, eased the holiday whirl. Raph's steady anchor grounded you, stirred something deeper, raw. Conflicted? Absolutely. Each glance from Mikey sparked butterflies; each quiet act from Raph ignited a slow burn. As Christmas Eve crept closer, the reveal party loomed, and you wondered if the secrets would unravel or tangle you further in their web.

The night before Christmas Eve, the lair was alive with last-minute preparations. Leo had somehow convinced everyone to participate in a "family talent show," which mostly involved Donnie demonstrating his latest invention (a "holiday hologram projector" that kept glitching into terrifying demonic faces) and Splinter performing an ancient ninja dance that left everyone in awe. Mikey, of course, had planned something spectacular, a one-turtle acrobatic routine set to a remix of Carol of the Bells that he swore would "blow your mind, babe."

Raph, however, was missing.

You noticed it halfway through Donnie’s malfunctioning hologram display, scanning the room for his familiar scowl. He wasn’t lurking in the shadows, arms crossed, rolling his eyes at Mikey’s antics. He wasn’t even brooding in the corner, sharpening his sais like usual. The absence prickled at you, an itch you couldn’t ignore.

Mikey noticed your wandering attention and sidled up, still catching his breath from his backflip finale. "Looking for someone?" he teased, nudging your shoulder.

You shrugged, trying to play it cool. "Just wondering where Raph disappeared to."

Mikey’s grin faltered. "Aw, don’t worry, Angelcakes. Big bro’s probably off doing something super mysterious." He wiggled his fingers dramatically. "Or maybe he’s just scared of my unstoppable holiday spirit."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. Still, the curiosity nagged at you.

Later, when the festivities wound down and the others drifted off to bed, you found yourself wandering the tunnels, the red sweater you were reasonably sure Raph had gifted you wrapped snugly around you. The lair was quiet, the only sounds the distant hum of Donnie’s machines and the occasional drip of water from the pipes.

Then you heard it.

A low, rhythmic thud from the dojo.

You followed the sound, your footsteps silent against the stone. Peeking through the half-open door, you saw him.

Raph.

Shirtless, gearless, sweat glistening on his plastron, fists wrapped in tape as he pounded into a heavy bag with controlled, brutal strikes. His breathing was steady, his expression focused, but there was something else there, too.

Pain. Or frustration. Maybe both, etched into the lines of his face, deeper than the usual scowl. His muscles flexed with each punch, green skin taut over ridges of power, the air thick with the scent of sweat and exertion. You hesitated in the doorway, the sweater's wool soft against your arms, but something pulled you forward. The need to bridge that gap, to touch whatever storm brewed inside him.

You pushed the door open wider, the creak announcing you. Raph's head snapped up, fists pausing mid-swing. His eyes locked on yours, dark, intense, flickering with surprise that softened into something warmer, unguarded when they took you in from head to toe and noticed you in the red sweater. He straightened, wiping his brow with the back of his taped hand, chest heaving.

"Couldn't sleep?" His voice rumbled low, gravelly from the effort. He didn't move to cover up or grab a towel, just stood there, under the dim dojo lights.

You shook your head, stepping closer, the cool floor grounding you. "Noticed you bailed on the show. Everything okay?"

He grunted, turning back to the bag but not hitting it, fingers flexing against the leather. "Needed to clear my head. Mikey's circus was givin' me a headache." He was quiet for a moment, then quieter, almost reluctant he said, "And... other stuff."

The air between you thickened, charged like the moments before a fight. You closed the distance, your hand brushing his arm, solid, warm, slick with sweat. He tensed but didn't move, his gaze dropping to your touch, then lifting to meet your eyes. Up close, you could see the flecks of gold in the green, the way his breathing deepened.

"This sweater," you said softly, tugging at the collar. "It's... It's perfect. Feels like you made it for me." Heart pounding, you waited, the words hanging.

Raph's jaw worked, a muscle ticking. He reached out, his rough fingers grazing your cheek, thumb tracing the line of your jaw. His hand cupped your face, tilting it up, and he leaned in, slow, deliberate, his plastron brushing your chest. The heat of him enveloped you, his scent earthy and masculine, stirring something deep in your body.

Your lips parted, breath mingling with his, the world narrowing to the space between you. His eyes searched yours, vulnerable in a way that twisted your gut. "I..." he started, voice a husky whisper, forehead nearly touching yours. "You drive me crazy, y'know that? All this holiday crap, and all I can think about is…"

He stopped, eyes squeezing shut for a second, then pulled back just enough to break the spell. His hand dropped, curling into a fist at his side. "Forget it. It's nothin'. Just... get some rest. Big day tomorrow." He turned away, grabbing a towel to wipe down, shoulders rigid, the almost-confession lingering like smoke.

You stood there, lips tingling from the near-miss, a flush creeping up your neck. The rejection stung, but beneath it, the spark of what he'd almost said burned bright. You nodded, slipping out without another word, the dojo door clicking shut behind you. Sleep came fitfully, dreams tangled with green eyes and unspoken promises.

The next day dawned crisp and buzzing, Christmas Eve sunlight filtering through the lair's grates like golden confetti through the tunnels. The common area thrummed with final prep, Leo barking orders for the feast, Donnie troubleshooting his hologram fix, Splinter meditating in serene ignorance. Mikey, ever the whirlwind, cornered you by the kitchen counter, a sprig of mistletoe dangling from his finger like a dare.

"C'mon, babe," he grinned, blue eyes twinkling as he backed you against the fridge, the toe of his boot nudging yours. "One little peck for luck? Secret Santa's got nothin' on this tradition." His voice dropped playful, but laced with intent, hand hovering near your waist. The lair's chatter faded, his warmth pressing close, hinting at the reveal he'd been building toward. "Or hey, maybe I'll spill who your Secret Santa is right now…"

A shadow fell over you both. Raph loomed in the doorway, arms crossed, glare sharp as a sai. "Mikey. Back off. We got work to do." His tone brooked no argument, eyes flicking to you, possessive, stormy, before locking on his brother.

Mikey straightened, grin slipping into a sneer, but the challenge sparked in his eyes. "Whoa, easy, Raphie. Just holiday cheer. Right, Angel?" He shot you a wink, but the air crackled, the brothers exchanging a loaded glance, unspoken barbs flying, rivalry coiling tight.

You caught it all, the undercurrent slamming into place like a puzzle locking. The gifts, the attentions, the way they orbited you without colliding… until now. Mikey's flirtation wasn't just play; Raph's interventions weren't just brotherly. They were competing. For you. The realization hit like a warm wave, flushing your skin, stirring a conflicted thrill low in your belly. Wanted by both, pulled between fire and flash, as the Eve's festivities ramped up around you.

The tension between the brothers was now a living thing, crackling in the air like static before a storm. Mikey, ever the showman, had taken to "accidentally" brushing against you at every opportunity, his fingers lingering when he passed you a mug of hot cocoa, his shoulder bumping yours during movie night, his laughter warm and close in your ear. Each touch was a challenge, a dare to Raph, who watched with a simmering intensity.

Raph, on the other hand, had shifted tactics. No more lurking. Now, he inserted himself, his presence a wall of heat at your back when Mikey got too close, his low growl of "Move, Mikey," when his brother tried to slide into the seat beside you. His gifts had grown bolder, too, a hand-carved wooden hairpin left on your pillow, the edges smoothed to perfection, the design unmistakably his. A note tucked into your jacket pocket, Stay warm. Stay safe. Simple, direct, so Raph.

Christmas Eve arrived in a flurry of snowflakes drifting through the sewer tunnel grates, the lair was transformed into a twinkling wonderland of lights and laughter. The family gathered for the feast, Splinter at the head of the table, Donnie’s holograms finally working (mostly), Leo leading a toast to family and brotherhood.

His voice carried steady and sincere, the clink of mugs echoing through the room as everyone raised their drinks, hot cider for you, something stronger for the brothers. The warmth of the feast settled down in your bones, plates piled high with Donnie's experimental holiday pizza (topped with cranberry sauce and mozzarella that somehow worked) and Mikey's chaotic vanilla cookie assortment. Laughter bubbled up, Splinter's eyes crinkling with quiet pride, but beneath the cheer, that electric tension hummed, pulling your gaze between the two brothers at the table.

Mikey sat to your left, his knee brushing yours under the tablecloth, a deliberate press that sent a spark up your thigh. He caught your eye, flashing that trademark grin, his knuckles drumming a playful rhythm on the wood. Raph, on your right, mirrored the contact but with more weight, his arm a solid barrier, his thigh firmly against yours, grounding and unyielding. Every shift of his body radiated heat, his arm occasionally grazing yours as he reached for seconds.

As the meal wound down, Leo cleared his throat, standing with a flourish. "Alright, fellas. Time for the main event, Secret Santa reveals. No more hiding in the shadows." He nodded to the stack of wrapped gifts piled in the center, each one tagged anonymously. The room buzzed with anticipation, Donnie fiddling with a timer on his tablet to keep things orderly.

Your heart kicked up, the pieces you'd been collecting all week slotting into place. The colorful chaos from Mikey, the mistletoe bomb that exploded confetti in your hair, the playlist of cheesy love songs slipped into your phone. The quiet anchors from Raph, the thermos of spiked eggnog left steaming on your nightstand, the carved hairpin that fit your hair like it was measured by his hands. Two Santas, two styles, two brothers circling you like predators in a shared territory.

The reveals started tame, Donnie unveiling a gadget blueprint from Leo, Splinter receiving a rare tea blend from Donnie. Then it was Mikey's turn to hand out his gift. But when the brightly wrapped package with exploding glitter landed in your lap, the one you'd suspected was his all along, the room's energy shifted. You unwrapped it slowly, revealing a custom sketchpad filled with your likeness in fantastical poses, each page a burst of color and affection.

"Whoa, Mikey," Leo chuckled, but your eyes flicked to Raph, whose jaw tightened imperceptibly.

Next came the simpler package, slid across the table by a large hand. Inside, a leather-bound journal, its cover embossed with a subtle emblem, pages already marked with quotes that mirrored your late-night talks. His gaze met yours briefly, intense and flickering, before dropping.

Enough. The tension coiled too tight, demanding release. You set the journal down, standing with a smile that masked the flutter in your chest. "Okay, guys. Cards on the table." The room quieted, all eyes on you. Mikey leaned forward, intrigued; Raph's posture stiffened, ready for impact.

"I've got two Secret Santas here," you said, playful but direct, holding up the gifts like evidence. "One's all fireworks and fun, glitter bombs and doodles that make me blush. The other's... steady. Things that fit just right, like they see me, really see me." You paused for a moment, letting it sink in, your voice dropping a notch. "So, which one of you has been breaking the rules?"

Mikey's laugh rang out, bright and unashamed. He threw his hands up, orange mask crinkling with his grin. "Nahh, Angel! Pulled your name fair and square." He winked, leaning back with zero regret, his eyes dancing over you like he'd won the game already.

Raph shifted, his chair scraping the floor. He didn't look at Mikey, just you, those green eyes stormy, reluctant words grinding out. "Yeah. It’s me." A huff escaped him, fist clenching on the table. "Didn't pull your name. Was s'posed to just be Leo. But... couldn't just watch Mikey hog all the shots. You deserve better than his clown show."

The confirmation hung heavy, and there it was, the glares. Mikey turned to Raph, eyes sharpening into something fiercer, a flash of betrayal in his blue eyes. "Hog? Bro, I'm givin' her the fun she needs. Not your brooding stare-downs." Raph's response was a low snarl, plastron puffing slightly, the air between them thickening with years of rivalry now laced with this new, personal edge. They were competing for you, outright, no more shadows.

You held up a hand, stepping between their stares, your pulse racing with a mix of exasperation and that forbidden thrill. "Hey. Stop." Your voice cut through, firm but soft. "I never asked you to compete. Not like this. Gifts, touches, all of it... I like you both. For different reasons. But turning it into a fight? That's not the holiday spirit I signed up for."

The words landed, diffusing the immediate spark. Mikey deflated, rubbing his neck with a sheepish grin. "Fair point, babe. But... can ya blame a guy for tryin'?" Raph just grunted, looking away.

Leo cleared his throat awkwardly, steering everyone back to the gifts, but the dynamic had shifted. No more secrets, just raw truths.

The rest of the evening passed in a tense but controlled détente. Mikey kept his playful touches light, more for your comfort rather than to avoid provoking Raph, and Raph didn’t growl again, but his presence at your side didn’t waver, a silent claim etched into the space between you. By the time the last gift was unwrapped and Splinter had retired with a warning glance at his sons, the lair hummed with a quiet, restless energy.

Then, as you moved to help clear the table, Mikey caught your wrist, his grip gentle but firm. "Hey, Angel," he murmured, pulling you toward the doorway leading to the tunnels, his blue eyes lit with mischief. "Gotta show ya somethin’. Just you. No big bro interruptions." His thumb traced a teasing circle on your skin, his grin lopsided. "Trust me. It's worth it."

Raph’s shadow fell over you both before you could answer. He stepped in close, his plastron brushing your back, a solid, possessive heat at your spine. His voice rumbled low, barely above a growl. "She ain’t goin’ anywhere alone with you, Mikey."

Mikey’s grin fell away, his fingers twining with yours in open challenge. "That’s for her to decide, bro."

The air crackled, the brothers’ stares locked in a battle older than you. Your pulse hammered, torn between Mikey’s playful pull and Raph’s grounding weight. The choice loomed, but not here, not like this, not with an audience nearby.

You squeezed Mikey’s hand once, then gently pulled free, stepping back to press against Raph’s chest whose arm curled instinctively around your waist. "Later," you told Mikey softly. "Tonight’s about family." His frown faltered for a split second before bouncing back with a forced smile, but the glint in his eyes said this wasn’t over. Raph’s grip tightened, his chin came down to rest atop your head.

"I ain’t backin’ down, Raph. Just sayin’." Mikey said then they were back to glaring daggers at each other again.

Raph’s palm flattening against your stomach, pulling you flush against him in a possessive claim. The heat of his body seeped through your shirt, his breath hot against your hair, a low rumble vibrating from his chest that you felt more than heard. Mikey’s eyes narrowed, his fingers flexing as if itching to yank you back, the playful spark in his gaze now gone, hardening into something sharper, more primal. The lair’s festive glow seemed to dim, the string lights casting long shadows that mirrored the tension coiling between them.

Silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable, broken only by the distant hum of pipes doing their jobs. Mikey’s shoulders slumped a fraction, vulnerability cracking through his bravado, his blue eyes flicking from you to Raph, disgruntled hurt flashing before he masked it with a scoff. Raph didn’t budge, his grip unyielding, but you caught the subtle tremor in his hand, the way his jaw clenched like he was holding back a storm. They were brothers, bound by blood and battles, but this? This was territory neither had mapped, and it left them raw, exposed in the aftermath of their confessions.

You twisted slightly in Raph’s hold, enough to face them both, your hands coming up to rest on their arms, one on Mikey’s wrist, still warm from where he’d held yours, the other on Raph’s forearm, solid as stone. “Enough,” you said, voice steady despite the wild thump of your heart. The words hung there, drawing their stares to you, Mikey’s curious and Raph’s guarded. “I liked both your gifts. The wild ones that made me laugh, the ones that felt like a party just for me. And the quiet ones, the ones that wrapped around me like a hug I didn’t know I needed. They’re both perfect because they’re from the two of you.”

Mikey tilted his head, a slow blink processing your words, while Raph’s brow furrowed deeper, resistance etched in every line of his face. You pressed on, squeezing their arms gently. “I like both of you. Mikey, your energy, the way you light up a room and make everything feel alive. Raph, your strength, how you make me feel safe, seen in ways words don’t touch. But no one’s asked what I want. You’ve been so busy competing over me like I’m a prize that you didn’t stop to think that maybe… I want you both. Together. No more competing, no more nasty glares. Just... us.”

Mikey connected the dots first, his eyes widening as realization dawned, a confused smile creeping onto his face. “Wait... like, sharing? Me and Raph? With you?” He glanced at his brother, testing the waters, the disgruntlement easing into curious possibility. No jealousy flared; instead, his thumb brushed your skin again, lighter now, more exploratory.

Raph was still resistant, his body tensing slightly, a low grumpy growl building in his throat. “That ain’t... We don’t...” But his words faltered as he met your eyes, then Mikey’s, the vulnerability you’d glimpsed earlier surfacing fully. His hand on your stomach softened, fingers splaying wider, not as possessive. The snarl faded, replaced by a reluctant nod, his green eyes darkening with a mix of hesitation and heat. “If that’s what you want... fine. But I’m only sharin’ if it means avoiding hurtin’ you.”

The shift rippled through them, rivalry shifting into something new. Mikey stepped closer, his hand finding your hip, sandwiching you between their warmth. Raph’s chin dipped, his lips brushing your temple in a rare, tender press.

The contact lingered, warm and grounding, sending a shiver down your spine as Mikey’s hand settled on your hip, his fingers tracing idle patterns that sparked heat low in your belly. Sandwiched between them, their bodies pressed close, Raph’s solid chest at your back, Mikey’s leaner frame in front, you felt the dual rhythm of their breaths syncing with yours, the air thick with the scent of pine from the decorations and the faint, musky edge of their arousal mingling.

Mikey broke the quiet first, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, eyes locked on yours with that familiar mischief now edged with sincerity. “Okay, so... if we’re doin’ this, we gotta talk rules. No hoggin’, no sneakin’ off without the other knowin’. And if somethin’ feels off, we say it straight up. I ain’t losin’ my bro over this, but I sure as hell ain’t backin’ down from makin’ you feel good either.” His free hand lifted to cup your cheek, thumb grazing your lower lip.

Raph shifted behind you, his arm tightening just enough to remind you of his presence, the vibration of his agreement rumbling against your skin. “Yeah. Boundaries. I touch you, he touches you, fine. But no pushin’ too far without checkin’ in. And feelings...” He paused, the word rough in his throat, his hand sliding up to rest over your heart, feeling its rapid beat. “I care about you. More than I let on. This rivalry? It came from that fear of losin’ you to him. But if sharin’ means keepin’ you happy, without the hurt... I’m in.” His voice cracked slightly on the admission, vulnerability raw as he nuzzled your hair, the gesture intimate, his breath fanning your ear.

You nodded, heart swelling at their honesty, your hands covering theirs where they touched you, one squeezing Mikey’s at your hip, the other pressing Raph’s to your chest. “I feel the same. You both make me feel wanted, alive in ways I didn’t expect. Mikey, your playfulness brightens my day; Raph, your protectiveness makes me feel cherished. Jealousy might creep in, but we talk it out. No secrets, no fights. And physically... we take it slow, explore what works for all of us.” The words flowed easier than you thought, the heat building as Mikey’s fingers explored more, brushing the curve of your waist, while Raph’s hand ventured south, palm warm against your abdomen, both testing the new waters with careful intent.

Mikey’s smile returned, softer but no less heated, as he leaned in to steal a quick peck on your lips, light and teasing. “Deal. Now, boundaries set, let’s see how this plays out.” Raph grunted in agreement, his own lips finding the nape of your neck for a brief, firm kiss that made your knees weaken, his teeth grazing just enough to hint at the passion simmering beneath.

The tension eased into a charged calm, their touches withdrawing reluctantly as you stepped away, the connection lingering like an invisible thread. “C’mon,” you said, voice breathy, linking arms with both of them, Mikey on one side, Raph on the other. “Secret Santa’s not over. Let’s get back before Leo sends a search party.”

They exchanged a look over your head, not a glare this time but a nod of understanding, the rivalry tempered into alliance. Mikey chuckled, squeezing your arm. “Lead the way, Angel. But after this? We got more talkin’ to do... in private.” Raph’s hand brushed your lower back as you walked, a silent echo of agreement, the promise of what awaited hanging heavy in the festive air as you returned to the common area, the glow of lights welcoming you back to the ongoing exchanges.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of laughter, gifts, and the occasional lingering glance between the three of you. By the time the last of the presents were unwrapped and the lair began to quiet down, the three of you found yourselves lingering near the entrance to your room. The others had drifted off, Donnie to tinker with his latest gadget gifted to him. Leo to meditate, Splinter to his quarters, leaving just the three of you in the dim glow of the holiday lights.

Mikey leaned against the wall, arms crossed, as he watched you and Raph. “So,” he drawled, tilting his head. “Now what?”

Raph shifted beside you, his hand finding yours, fingers intertwining with a quiet possessiveness. “Now we talk,” he rumbled, his thumb tracing slow circles over your knuckles. “Figure out what this looks like.”

Mikey pushed off the wall, closing the distance between you in a few easy strides. His hands came up to rest on your hips, his fingers warm even through the fabric of your sweater. “And then?” he murmured, his voice low, teasing.

Raph’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, but there was no territorial snarl. Instead, his other hand came up to cup your cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle. “Then we see where this takes us,” he said, his voice rough but sincere.

You looked between them, heart pounding in your chest. Mikey’s blue eyes were bright with something heated. Raph’s green gaze was intense, unwavering, the fire in them burning just as hot.

The air between you thickened, charged with unspoken promises, until Raph broke the silence with a low grunt. He tugged your hand gently, leading you toward your room's door, his broad frame brushing against yours. Mikey fell into step on your other side, his fingers grazing your arm. No words were needed; the mutual nod from earlier sealed it. You pushed the door open, the soft click echoing as the three of you slipped inside, the door shutting behind you with a decisive thud that muffled the distant holiday music from the common area.

Your room felt smaller with them in it, the bed unmade from earlier, fairy lights strung along the walls casting a warm, intimate glow. Raph released your hand only to turn you toward him, his calloused palms cupping your face as he leaned down. His lips met yours in a slow, deliberate kiss, firm but tender, tasting of the faint salt from the evening's snacks and something uniquely him, rough and grounding. You melted into it, your hands sliding up his plastron to grip his shoulders, feeling the solid muscle beneath.

Mikey watched for a moment, his eyes widening like he was mentally gathering his courage. Then stepped in close behind you. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling your back against his chest, his chin resting on your shoulder as he nuzzled your neck. “Room for one more?” he murmured, voice playful yet edged with hunger. You nodded against Raph's mouth, and Mikey’s lips found the sensitive spot just below your ear, pressing soft kisses that trailed down to your collarbone. The dual attention sent sparks racing through you, Raph's tongue now slipping past your lips to deepen the kiss, exploring with careful strokes while Mikey's hands roamed your sides, thumbs circling your hips.

It stayed sweet like that for a moment, Raph's kiss turning languid, his thumbs brushing your cheeks; Mikey's embraces light, his body swaying you gently between them. But the tenderness cracked as Raph's hands dropped to your waist, pulling you flush against him, his growing arousal pressing hard against your stomach through his gear. You felt Mikey too, his own hardness nudging your ass as he ground subtly, a soft groan escaping him. The kiss with Raph broke with a wet smack, both of you breathing heavy, and Mikey spun you halfway to capture your lips next, his mouth eager, tongue darting in with playful flicks that made you moan into his mouth.

Raph pressed in from behind, his mouth on your neck, sucking lightly to leave a faint mark. His hands worked under your sweater, palms flat against your bare skin, sliding up to cup your breasts, thumbs teasing your nipples until they hardened under his touch. Mikey broke the kiss to yank your sweater over your head, tossing it aside, his eyes raking over you hungrily before he dipped down to latch onto one of your nipples, sucking hard while Raph kneaded the other. You arched between them, fingers tangling in Mikey's bandana tails as pleasure coiled tight within you.

“On your knees, Angel,” Mikey whispered against your skin, voice dropping to a soft, yet filthy rasp as he straightened, already tugging at his belt. Raph rumbled agreement, his hands guiding you down firmly. The cool floor met your knees as you knelt, the two of them towering over you, their eyes locked on yours with shared intent. No rivalry, just raw want. Mikey moved first, shucking his shorts down his hips, without preamble, his tail lifting slightly as his cloaca parted, his thick cock emerging slick and hard, the purplish length curving upward, tip already beading with precum. He then stared at you expectantly.

You wrapped your hand around him, stroking slow from base to tip, feeling the heat and the subtle ridges along his shaft. It was different from what you were used to, but in a fascinating way. He hissed, hips bucking into your grip as you stroked him. Raph followed suit, his own clothes came off, and in no time, his tail flexed as his cock slid free from its vent, longer, and thicker, with veins prominent under the smooth skin. You leaned in, taking Raph into your mouth first, tongue swirling around the head to taste the salty drip, sucking him deep while your hand pumped Mikey faster. Raph's hand fisted in your hair, pulling you closer as he groaned low, “Fuck, yeah... just like that.”

Mikey's fingers traced your jaw, encouraging, his cock twitching in your stroking fist. “Switch for me,” he urged after a minute, voice strained. You pulled off Raph with a pop, lips shiny, and turned to Mikey, engulfing him in wet heat, bobbing your head as your free hand now jerked Raph in rhythm. They stood close, shoulders brushing, breaths mingling above you as they watched you, the sounds of your mouth working them over, slurps and moans, filling the room. Mikey's hand replaced Raph's in your hair, guiding you, their cocks throbbing under your attention, slick with your saliva.

You alternated like that, sucking one as deep as you were able to handle with their impressive girths, while stroking the other, knees shifting on the floor as arousal soaked your panties. Raph's grunts grew rougher, Mikey's praises filthier, “Suck it harder, babe, take it all,” building the heat until your jaw ached sweetly, their tips bumping your cheeks as you switched again, determined to give them equal devotion in this new union.

The air in the room was now thick with the scent of musk and arousal, the only sounds the wet slide of your lips around their cocks and their ragged breathing. Mikey’s fingers tightened in your hair, his hips giving an involuntary thrust as you hollowed your cheeks around him, swallowing him deeper. His cock twitched against your tongue, his breath hitching as he fought to keep still.

"Damn, Angel, you’re so good at this," Mikey groaned, his voice rough with need. His free hand found your shoulder, squeezing as if to steady himself. "But I ain’t gonna last too long if you keep goin’ like that."

Raph grunted in agreement, his own cock slick and heavy in your hand, his hips rolling into your grip. "She’s got a mouth made for ruinin’ a guy," he rumbled, his thumb brushing your cheek where it stretched around Mikey’s length. "But I ain’t lettin’ her do all the work."

Before you could react, Raph’s hands were guiding you to stand. Your legs wobbled slightly, but he steadied you, his palm warm against your back as he guided you toward the bed. Mikey followed close behind, his fingers trailing down your spine before giving your ass a playful smack.

"Here’s where the fun really starts, babe," Mikey purred, his voice dripping with intent.

Raph didn’t waste time. The moment your knees hit the mattress, he was turning you onto your back, his massive frame looming over you as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your pants and panties. With a sharp tug, the fabric gave way, leaving you bare beneath him. His gaze darkened as he took you in, his tongue dragging over his teeth.

"Beautiful. And all mine," he breathed, the words possessive, final.

But Mikey wasn’t having it. He climbed onto the bed beside you, his hand sliding up your thigh as he leaned in to nip at your earlobe. "Ours," he corrected, his breath hot against your skin. "Ain’t that right, Angel?"

You barely had time to nod before Raph’s mouth was on you, his tongue dragging a slow, torturous line up your slit before circling your clit. Your back arched off the mattress at the sudden contact. Raph's tongue flattened against your pussy, lapping broad strokes from your entrance to your clit, his rough hands pinning your thighs wide open. He sucked your clit between his lips, flicking it with the tip of his tongue, drawing a sharp moan from your throat as pleasure jolted through you.

Mikey's mouth crashed onto yours, capturing the sound, his tongue thrusting deep to tangle with yours in a messy, hungry kiss. He swallowed your gasps, one hand cupping your breast to pinch your nipple, rolling it until it peaked hard. His other arm braced beside your head, his body pressing close, cock still rigid against your side.

Raph grumbled against your folds, the vibration humming into your core, but he felt your focus split, your hips bucking toward Mikey's grinding weight. Jealous heat flared in his chest; he wanted all of you on him. Breaking away with a slick pop, he rose up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes locked on you. "C'mere," he rasped, voice thick, hauling you upright by your arms until you straddled his lap, your knees sinking into the mattress on either side of one of his thick thighs.

The scales on his thigh were cool and textured under your soaked pussy, a stark contrast to the heat building inside you. You ground down instinctively, sliding your wet lips along the firm muscle, the friction sending sparks up your spine. Raph's hands gripped your hips, guiding your rolls, his cock throbbing against your outer thigh, untouched but straining.

Mikey knelt behind you, his chest to your back, lips finding yours again over your shoulder. The kiss was sloppy, teeth nipping your lower lip as his hands roamed your sides, one dipping to circle your clit while you rode Raph's thigh. "That's it, grind on him, Angel," Mikey murmured into your mouth, his fingers slicking through your arousal. "Get that pussy nice and ready."

The slide of your folds over Raph's scaled skin grew frantic, your clit catching on the ridges with each pass, building pressure low in your belly. Raph's breath came in harsh pants, his grip bruising as he felt your juices smear across his thigh, the sight and feel of your arousal making his cock pulse harder. "Fuck, you're drippin' all over me," he groaned, the words guttural. He couldn't take it anymore, the way your pussy clenched against him drove him wild.

With a swift shift, Raph lifted you slightly, one hand fisting his cock to notch the thick head at your entrance. He pushed up in one controlled thrust, stretching your walls around his girth. The burn was intense, a sweet ache as he filled you inch by inch, your pussy fluttering to accommodate him. You cried out into Mikey's mouth, breaking the kiss, nails digging into Raph's shoulders.

Raph bottomed out with a shuddering exhale, buried to the hilt, his eyes squeezing shut in pure bliss. "So tight... squeezin' me so perfect," he muttered, holding still to let you adjust, though his hips twitched with the effort. Mikey pressed kisses along your neck, his hand still teasing your clit to ease the stretch, his own cock nudging your ass from behind as the three of you locked together in this heated tangle.

Mikey shifted behind you, his cock pressing insistently against the curve of your ass, but the way Raph's thick length throbbed deep inside your pussy made it clear who had the lead right now. A flicker of impatience crossed Mikey's face, he wasn't one to sit on the sidelines for long. He pulled back just enough to rise up on his knees, then planted his feet on the mattress for leverage, towering over you both.

"Hey, don't forget about me, Angel," Mikey said, his voice husky with a teasing edge as he gripped the base of his cock, guiding the swollen head toward your lips. Your mouth parted on a gasp from Raph's subtle roll of his hips, and Mikey took the opening, sliding past your teeth with a slow push. The salty tang of his pre-cum coated your tongue as he filled your mouth, stretching your jaw around his girth.

Raph's hands tightened on your hips, holding you steady as he began to thrust up, shallow at first, pulling out halfway before sinking back in, each drag igniting fresh sparks along your inner walls as you slid along his ridges. The rhythm built a steady burn, your pussy clenching greedily around him, juices leaking down to slick his cloaca. "That's it, take it," Raph growled, his voice rough as he watched Mikey's cock disappear between your lips, the sight fueling his pace.

Mikey's fingers threaded into your hair, cradling the back of your head with a firm hold, urging you forward. "Open up wider, babe… just like that," he coaxed, his hips inching deeper, the veined shaft bumping the roof of your mouth. You hollowed your cheeks, sucking hard as your tongue swirled around the underside, drawing a sharp hiss from him. "Fuck, yeah... deeper, you can do it. Relax your throat for me."

You bobbed your head in time with Raph's thrusts, the dual sensations overwhelming, Raph's cock pounding into you, hitting that spot that made your toes curl, while Mikey guided your head’s movements, his praises spilling out in breathless bursts. "Good girl, swallow around me... oh, shit, your mouth's so hot." His free hand traced your jaw, thumb brushing where his length stretched you, encouraging you to take more.

Raph picked up speed, his powerful thighs flexing under you as he fucked up into your pussy with wet, slapping sounds echoing in the room. Each plunge stretched you further, the sweet burn fading into pure ecstasy, your walls fluttering erratically around his length. Sweat beaded around his neck, and slid down onto his plastron, dripping onto your chest as he leaned in, nipping at your shoulder. "She's squeezin' me so good... gonna make me lose it," he rasped, one hand sliding up to pinch your nipple, twisting just enough to send jolts straight to your clit.

Mikey's breaths grew ragged, his grip tightening as he fed you more of his cock, the tip nudging the back of your throat. "Breathe through your nose, Angel… yeah, just like that. Take every inch... you're killin' me here." You gagged softly but pushed on, saliva dripping down your chin, mixing with the mess between your legs. The fullness in both ends had you moaning around him, the vibrations making his hips jerk.

The mattress creaked under the force of Raph's drives, your body rocking between them. Pleasure coiled tighter in your belly, the edge of release hovering as they used you in tandem, their rivalry melted into shared rhythm.

The sounds of skin slapping against skin filled the room, your muffled moans around Mikey's cock, and the brothers' ragged breathing. Raph's thrusts became more erratic, his rhythm faltering as he neared his peak. His fingers dug into your hips hard enough to leave bruises, his voice a rough growl.

"Gonna fill you up, Sweetheart... take every last drop," he grunted, his cock swelling inside you, the veins pulsing against your walls. You came then, unable to hold out any longer.

Mikey wasn't far behind. His grip in your hair tightened as he fucked your mouth with shallow, desperate thrusts, his balls drawing up tight inside his slit. "Shit… gonna cum, babe. Swallow it all for me," he gasped, his voice breaking as his cock twitched violently against your tongue.

Raph came first, a deep, guttural groan ripped from his throat as he thrust up into you one last time, his cock jerking as thick ropes of cum flooded your pussy, the warmth spreading through your core. His hips stuttered, grinding deep as he emptied himself inside of you, his fingers trembling where they gripped your hips.

Mikey followed seconds later, his release hitting the back of your throat in hot, salty spurts. You swallowed around him, milking him with your lips and tongue until he shuddered, his cock softening slightly when he finally pulled back with a wet pop.

"Damn, Angel..." Mikey panted, his fingers brushing your swollen lips. "You're too good at that."

Raph was still buried inside you, his cock twitching as the last of his cum spilled out around him. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to yours, his breath hot and uneven. "You took us both so fuckin' well," he murmured, voice rough with satisfaction.

You were a mess between them, breathless, trembling, and utterly spent. Mikey grinned lazily, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Guess we can make this work after all."

Raph huffed in agreement. "Yeah... guess we can."

The lair had fallen into a peaceful hush, the twinkling Christmas lights strung across the walls casting a soft, multicolored glow over everything. Outside, fat snowflakes drifted lazily in the night sky, blanketing the quiet city in white. The world above felt distant, muffled by the underground sanctuary, leaving only the warmth of tangled limbs and shared breaths in the air.

You lay nestled between Raphael and Michelangelo on the wide mattress, your body still humming from the intensity of what had just transpired. Raph's solid frame pressed against your side, his arm draped possessively over your waist, his plastron rising and falling steadily against your shoulder. Mikey spooned you from behind, his lighter touch tracing lazy patterns on your hip, his tail lazily flopped on the bed behind him. The scent of sweat and sex lingered faintly, but it was overshadowed now by the cozy scent of pine from the Christmas tree in the common room and the faint vanilla from earlier cookie baking.

Mikey nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his lips brushing your skin with a contented sigh. "Y'know, Angel," he murmured, his voice sleepy and playful, "that Secret Santa thing? Totally rigged from the start. But hey, I'm not complainin'. Best draw I ever got." He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through you, light and teasing as always.

Raph grunted in agreement, his fingers flexing slightly against your skin, pulling you a fraction closer. "Yeah, well... worked out alright." His words were gruff, but there was a rare softness in them, a promise woven into the quiet rumble of his chest. He pressed a kiss to your temple, lingering there as if sealing the moment.

You smiled, your hand finding Mikey's over your hip, intertwining fingers with him in a simple, grounding touch. The air hummed with unspoken futures, lazy mornings tangled like this, shared glances across the lair, the kind of bond that defied labels but felt right in every fiber. In the glow of the lights and the whisper of snow outside, it was clear, this was just the beginning of something warm, wild, and entirely yours.

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Cunnilingus

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Let’s go on a weekend trip, he said. It’ll be fun, he said.

You silently huff to yourself, wrapping your blanket tighter around your shaking shoulders.

In every other way, this was a fantastic idea on your boyfriends part. A weekend getaway to Casey’s family cabin in the country, just the two of you and the bright open night in mid October air.

The one problem. You’re ovulating and haven’t had Donnie alone in ages. Both of your jobs and families had kept you busy and you were desperate for some lovin’ from this tall terrapin.

And everything he did only served to turn you on more, even if it was ridiculous. Like now, he’s simply starting a fire in the metal cage on the porch to help warm you. But your mind is stuck on his hands, how he places the logs just right, then ignites the flames and wipes the dirt on his pants.

Gods, you wanted those pants off.

“There we are,” He said, blissfully oblivious to your damp panties. Not for long.

You cuddled into his side, looking out over the lake. It was beautiful here, a rustic log cabin right on the edge of a lake with a big forest surrounding it. The sun had set, the sky a wonderful mix of navy and royal blue with sprinklings of stars among the clouds.

His arm wrapped around you, tucking you close to his warm body. You set your hand on his thigh, giving it a firm squeeze. Donnie kissed the top of your head, pressing his lips to your hairline before moving his free hand to your thigh, giving it the same squeeze.

Turning more toward him, you leaned up and kissed at his collarbones. Nipping and licking at his neck, you hear him inhale sharply. His hand tightens on your leg, his finger running along the inside seam of your jeans.

Letting out a breathy sigh, Donnie leaned down and kissed your neck, making your pulse race. “Donnie,” You moan softly, nails biting into his leg.

He pulled back, unwrapping your blanket and laying it down on the large loveseat you’re sitting on. He pushes you to lay down, looming over you with blown pupils. The fire dances over his skin, making the brown in his hazel eyes pop.

He kisses you soundly, licking at the seam of your lips. You bite his bottom lip, making him moan into your mouth. You smooth your tongue into his mouth, your hands climbing up his chest and arms.

Donnie pulls away, panting. “Let’s take this upstairs?” His breath fans across your face.

You shake your head. “I want you here,” You take one of his hands, the other bracing on the cushion above your head. You put his hands on your mound over your jeans. He groaned at the warmth coming from you. “Right now,”

He smiled up at you, leaning back on his knees to quickly undo your jeans. A breeze washed over the lake making you shiver. Maybe you should head inside-

Donnie slipped his hand under your jeans and underwear, rubbing at your folds. “Oh!” You moaned loud, bucking against his hand. Your face and neck flushed deep red, your hands gripping his biceps.

“You like that?” You nod aggressively, moving your hips in time with his hand. “I was wondering how long it would take you to jump me,”

You blink your eyes at him. “What?”

He chuckled. “You really think I had no idea? You think I accidentally planned a weekend getaway while you’re ovulating?”

Heat flashed through you, the cold October air long forgotten.

“I did it on purpose, baby,” He leaned down and kissed at your neck, sucking on your collarbones. “I’ve got you all to myself for 72 hours,”

“Donnie” You moan, your hands slipping down his jacket covered chest to his pants. You undid the belt and pulled down the zipper. He groaned softly at the movement, rubbing hard circles on your clit. “I need you,”

“I need you too,” He pulled his hand out of your pants and tugged them and your underwear down just below your ass. He grabbed your hips and flipped you on your stomach. He pulled your pants down just a little more before adjusting himself.

Looking over your shoulder you see him take himself out through the hole in his boxers and give it a hard stroke. You whined and gripped the blanket under you.

Donnie leaned over you, his weight keeping you pinned down. You felt the head of his cock tease your folds. Slowly, in a smooth thrust, he moved inside you. You moaned out, sweat breaking out along the back of your neck.

Donnie adjusted himself, spreading his knees over your legs and leaning forward, his elbows on either side of your head.

“Donnie, I need more, please,” You gripped his hand and he intertwined your fingers.

“I know, I know,” He moaned into your hair, thrusting in more. Slowly he moved and out, getting you used to the angle. “Fuck, you’re so wet,”

“I’ve needed you so bad, baby,” You moan, pushing your ass back to meet his thrusts.

“You’ve got it baby, you’ve got it,” He moans with you, thrusting all the way inside you. Your eyes cross as he does it again and again, your thighs pressing together, making him moan at how tight it made you.

Moving your hair to the side, he leaned down and peppered your neck with kisses and nips. You rolled your hips back. “Donnie,” You whine, feeling that band start to build in your lower stomach.

You’re not sure how long the two of you stay like that, watching the fire flicker and the stars glow as he pounds into you. Your thighs burn, you’re covered in sweat and you’re going to cum again. You don’t know how he’s held on as long as he as, but your body is not complaining.

“F-fuck,” His hips stutter as you clench and moan around him, nearly pushing him out. Your back arches and you squeeze his hand hard.

His hand moves to cup your face, turning you to look at him over your shoulder. He kisses you hard, sucking on your lips and stealing the very breath from your lungs. You look up at him, dazed.

“Did you cum?” You rock back and find him still hard inside you.

He shakes his head. “I wanted to make sure you came before I asked if we could go inside, it’s really cold out here,”

You laugh, smacking kisses on his lips and cheeks. “Yes, baby of course we can,”

“Thank Gods,” He murmured in your ear, scoping you up in his arms and rushing the both of you into the house. You couldn’t suppress the giggles escaping you. “I was sure I’d get frostbite on my balls,”

You kissed his neck. “Then let’s warm you up,”

Chapter 1

“Maybe I could be friends with him.”

The realtor gave you a strange look. He had reviewed your offer and took the time to explain the risks of buying the cottage. Considering that you were a single woman in your thirties, you weren’t swayed in the least.

Apparently, there was a 'monster' living in the woods. There had been enough sightings over the years to make it somewhat of an urban legend, and people were scared. You knew this was why no one had bought the place in so long and that it lay nestled in the woods a fair distance from human civilization. This suited you just fine; you needed this—to get away from it all. And if there really was a monster, hell, he was just going to have to get used to you.

With a resigned sigh, he accepted your offer, handing over the agreement for you to sign. A few strokes of the pen, and the place was yours. It was set in a truly picturesque location, with a mountainous backdrop, trees in the yard, and a small stream cutting through the back with dense woods beyond.

Moving in didn’t take long; you didn’t have much stuff—just your clothes and a few boxes of belongings. The cottage was small but cozy, with a combined kitchen and living area, one bedroom, a bathroom, and a beautiful wood-burning fireplace. It was enough space for one, possibly two, and quite modern as well, with electricity and solar panels on the roof. 

For a month, everything was quiet as you settled in nicely. You enjoyed the peace and solitude that the property had to offer. You sketched birds and other small creatures that came close enough for you to see, and you started a small vegetable garden in some abandoned garden boxes. It was Springtime, and the perfect time for planting flowers as well.

You loved the way the sun crested over the mountains, painting them in peachy pinks and oranges on some mornings and the calm whispering wind in the evenings.

As time went on, you began to sense the presence of something or someone. You struggled to identify what it was. It felt unwelcoming, possibly angry or overprotective, like you were trespassing on something. The ‘monster’ you surmised. He knew you were there, but you couldn’t be bothered if he didn’t want you around. You carried on as usual, taking care of the property and showing him that you had respect for nature. 

It seemed to be working. Over time, the presence, though it remained, became gentler and more comforting. One day, you found a blue jay feather, carefully placed on the stump you used to chop wood. After that, you started finding small things regularly, always in the same spot on your stump. Pretty stones, colourful bird feathers, and even a few artifacts like an arrowhead. Every time you discovered something, you carefully picked it up and gave thanks to the one living in the woods. You appreciated these little gifts, as they served as a reminder to you that you weren’t alone.

One day, you were checking the yard when you saw something dart away. It was him, a large, shadowy figure at the edge of the woods. Although you were cautious, you were curious to see if you could get any closer, but the moment you took a step, he was gone, vanishing into the woods once again. This time, he left you a tiny wood carving of a turtle on the stump.

From that day forward, you decided to start leaving him gifts in return. You began small, leaving him an apple one day and then, the next, a muffin you had baked, carefully sealed in a plastic container so no animals could get to it. In its place, you found a tiny geode, placed directly inside the container. You knew it had to be from him.

The stump became the designated spot for exchanging gifts, but you decided to make it a little more attractive. You heaved a flat stone from the nearby river to place on top. Balancing it perfectly so it couldn’t be easily flipped or knocked over, you left the offerings on the surface. A basket of apples, some stones you found wild near the river, a few vegetables from your garden, a small woven pouch of berries, and even some dried cured meats. You wanted to see which one he would take and enjoy the most. So far, meat has disappeared the quickest.

Every time, you’d find something in return, and the gifts became more elaborate and special. You now had a small collection of wooden animals, beautiful stones, and a mason jar full of feathers. After you gave away your little pouch for the berries, a few weeks later, you found a new one made from deerskin. Once, you discovered a pile of chopped wood, neatly stacked in your woodshed.

Sometimes you even caught a glimpse of him, and although you never exchanged a word or got within 60 feet of each other, you were never afraid. Quite the opposite, you felt safe with him nearby. He was kind and thoughtful, you knew this much.

The last thing you left for him was a handmade knitted scarf, a hat, and a set of mittens for Christmas. The weather had been steadily worsening with massive snowstorms approaching. You were safe and had plenty of supplies and firewood (thanks to him) to get through, but you were worried when there was no return gift, and the weather had become too dangerous to check.

On the second day of the storm, the power went out. You were fine, cozily sitting on your couch, bundled in blankets, watching the fire dance through the grate of your fireplace. The last thing you expected to hear was a very hesitant knock at the door.

You got up, using the flashlight on your phone to check outside. It was nightfall with snow, angrily blowing and swirling against your windows. A part of you really hoped it was him. That all your work actually meant something. Heading to the door, you took a look through the peephole, but it was dark—whoever was standing there was just a black blob to you. A BIG black blob. You took a deep breath and opened the door, angling the flashlight so it wouldn’t shine in his eyes. The first thing you noticed was your handiwork—the lovely variegated green you’d used to knit the textiles for him. Your heart skipped a beat as you looked up.

Oh. My. Gosh.

He stood there, shoulders stooped, mittened hands clasped in front of him, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible.

“Hi,” he managed, awkwardly over the wind that was once again increasing in pitch and ferocity. He glanced over his shoulder toward where home would be, if the entrance to his cave system wasn’t buried under 30 feet of snow. “Uh…” Okay, so maybe he didn’t really think this part through. But you were nice, right? You gave him things. He gave you things. You were safe. Right?

He winced, turning away as another gust of wind hit him with a face full of ice shards. You shook off the shock quickly and beckoned him in. This is ridiculous, he needs help! “Come inside,” you all but ordered.

He does as he’s told. What is he going to say? No? He quietly stepped in as you pushed the door closed behind him, battling the storm for a moment before securing it shut.

“Thanks,” he muttered, removing his hat and scarf, and glancing around. The fireplace cast just enough light for you to see him clearly for the first time. He was definitely not human. Green scales and scars covered his skin, along with a red mask tied tightly over his eyes. These eyes, which at first seemed to dart around like a wild animal’s, quickly revealed themselves as clear and calculating, as if drawing a mental map of the cabin that he could see. They quickly find you again, flashing gold in the firelight, and you’re momentarily breathless. “Anytime,” you finally manage, “Are… you okay?”

That was a loaded fucking question. But just for the immediate future, he tried to find a simple answer: “I can’t… get home,” he finally said. “Would you mind, uh, if I just… borrow your shed until the storm’s over? I don’t need anything—"

“No!” you interrupted, appalled. “I mean, yes,” you could hardly be bothered with correct grammar right now. “I mean… you’re not staying in the shed.”

Helping him off with his wet things, you’d been surprised to hear him speak; you weren’t sure what you expected, but human speech was not one of the qualities you thought he'd possess. He was more human than you realized, and you felt a pang of sympathy for those who had called him a monster. This inhuman thing that would make off with their children in the night.

Now, it was he who looked surprised at your sudden invitation to stay with you rather than your shed. He looked as if he didn’t know what to think, quiet, as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Ya don’t gotta… do that.”

“No.” you said again, more firmly this time. “You’re not freezing out in my shed when I have food and a perfectly good fire going.” You’d made some stew earlier, just before the power had gone out, and it was still warm, sitting on the stove. With some gentle coaxing, you led him over to the small wooden table and served him the stew with a piece of buttered bread.

He ate quietly, carefully, with more politeness than you expected him to have. He knew how to use a spoon. This was not some feral creature who’d grown up in the woods. He wasn’t human, but he had been raised as one. Your mind was filled with questions. Where did he come from? How did he come to be here? A careful glance told you that the world hadn't been kind to him. Other than the hat, scarf, and mittens you’d knitted for him, everything he wore was weathered, frayed, and torn with age, like the red mask around his eyes. You were most curious about that, but you didn’t want to bombard him with questions while he was eating. 

“You can take the couch. I’ll be alright in the bedroom.” Truthfully, you had been planning to take the couch at first, but you’d rather he take it and be warmed by the fire. You had plenty of extra blankets to bundle yourself up with.

He was silent for a moment, considering your offer before responding. “You take it, it’s freezing, I’ll be fine on the carpet.” It was a tone that bore no argument. No matter, you could easily ensure he’d be comfortable there too.

After rinsing the bowl with snow and water and putting the rest of the stew in the fridge, you hesitated about what he might like to drink. Finally, you settled on a bottle of water and a few beers. When you returned, you found him awkwardly sitting on a chair by the fire, warming himself. His outer coat had been removed and was hanging on the hook by the door. 

He was an impressive sight to behold. His shell was deep olive and smooth-looking, just like the little turtles you’d seen sunning themselves on logs in the pond near your cabin. His plastron front was yellow and tough, and his skin a brilliant colour of emerald green. The main difference between him and the actual turtles was the number of scars, nicks and imperfections on his upper body. Three awful slash marks marred his shell like he’d been involved in some kind of battle. Maybe with a mountain lion? You didn’t want to ask him about those. It was highly possible he’d been through something traumatic.

He caught you staring and exhaled softly, replying as if able to pull the thoughts from your mind. “I can see ya staring. I know you probably got a lotta questions for me, if you wanna know somethin’ ask.” He was bracing himself for what he could only assume would be a barrage of questions.

You quietly handed him the drinks and settled onto the couch, re-wrapping the blankets around yourself once more. He was intelligent, as human as you were, and although you were very curious about him, you didn’t want to overwhelm him by asking everything that was on your mind. “Did you like the food?”

He gave you a nod, relaxing a bit as the warmth of the fire gently seeped into him. “Yeah... best I’ve had in a really long time, thanks.” He took the top off the bottle and took a long drink. “Been a real long time since anyone got me a beer, too.”

“You’re welcome.” You smile as you crack open your own beer before taking a sip. “I don’t want to ask you too many questions, but do you have a name?” You told him yours before waiting to see if he’ll reciprocate and share his.

“Yeah… the name's Raphael, but friends call me Raph.” He cast a cautious glance your way, as if giving you permission to call him that.

It suited him, you decided and rather than ask him a follow-up question, you just smiled. “Nice to meet you, Raph, thank you for the gifts."

Next Chapter

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