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afreakingdork · 4 days ago

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Soft Spot - Chapter 46

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader

I've got heart eyes for @shardkn1ght 's chapter art!

Rated: Explicit

Warnings/Tags: Romance, Established Relationship, Married Couple, Married Life, Aged-Up Mutant Ninja Turtles, Villain Donatello (TMNT), Love, POV Second Person, Babies, Pregnancy, AFAB reader, Vaginal Sex, Rough Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Fertility Issues, Pregnant Sex, Pregnancy Kink, Reader-Insert, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Cum Eating, Turtle Noises (TMNT), I have a Biology Degree and I’m Using it, Menstruation, There WILL NOT be any Miscarriages, Depression, Postpartum Depression

Synopsis: First comes love. Then comes marriage. Then comes the next step about as smooth as the others arrived. The baby-oriented sequel to Weak Spot.

This chapter totally wasn't me going off the rails and I wrote it only because @mothmans-left-nipple waited so, so long for their request to pop up! Yeah, that's it! Also HUGE SHOUTOUT to freetalkn657 who totally freaked me out by guessing this week's chapter plot and made me think my whole system got hacked!

Also available on Ao3

First 💜 Previous

LAST WARNING FOR THE 🍋 UNDER THE CUT. MINORS DNI!

While you had been as unhurried as discussed, the baby monitor came to life not long after you last spoke. You had still been casually making out when you were startled away from your mate by the first withered sounds of your baby waking. Othello had found his sleep satisfactory and wriggled with refreshed needs.

You became painfully aware of your sticky state and floundered away from Donnie to wash up.

Your husband hadn’t followed.

When you returned and wrestled through a new shirt to get your gurgling baby, you couldn’t help but eye him from where he was sat. He was knelt in that same puddle of both your makings and not cleaning up or tending to his son as you thought he would have in any other scenario. The most he had done was take down his ninpo barriers, but that had been it. It took multiple promptings from you before he animated and it was from there he remembered his parental duties. He cleaned and tended with his usual care, but there had been a clear shift.

It seemed odd that a taste of milk would change the man.

You saw it next when it was his turn to feed Othello. He always monitored to make sure his son was comfortably eating, but this time he was hyper-focused on the bottle. You were on edge in the background when you should have been taking your break. It wasn’t like you thought Donnie would do anything to rob your son of food, but you couldn’t help but feel strange. Some of your worries appeared founded after Othello had his fill and, instead of wiping your baby’s mouth with a towel like he usually did, Donnie did a quick flick with his thumb which he brought to his lips.

His eyes promptly rolled back.

It was then that something that had been obviously missing struck you.

He had completely thrown out his declaration of reaching pleasure without you.

With a slight grouch that you tucked away from your bond, you mulled it over. You had executed your little doctor role-play for a variety of reasons. Boosting bodily morale had been at the top of the list, but another, and in your opinion the most important part, was it was the first time you had been cleared to be properly intimate. Bonding with your husband had always been different than with your son. Othello was a new person who you needed to learn to interact with. Practicing with him was rapidly becoming more natural, but you didn’t need repetition with Donnie; you needed to remember.

You both had long learned how to maneuver one another and had found each other again within your new roles. With that established, the fleeting touches since then had more meaning. The only problem became the obvious cap. You were still very much healing. Dr. Kuro’s recommendation to stave off sex was marked for at least six weeks, but for your c-section you had been benched for twelve. For that same reason, you and Donnie hadn’t planned anything so intense, but you had figured there would be something a little more in store for you than some fondling of chest.

You didn’t dislike the imbalance.

Sucking him off was a treat.

It was just obviously strange.

Donnie was stubborn about you reaching climax first.

Milk had somehow circumvented that.

Why?

You thought hard between your parental switch-offs. You tended to Othello with a flighty mind. While observing your similarly hybridized son, you thought about the difference between his reptilian parts versus mammalian. While he was gestating, there had been a question about him breastfeeding. Parts of him weren’t designed to accept milk. There was once a chance that he might not have had the drive to take it. It seemed odd to you now that you hadn’t planned enough for the case that he hadn’t, but then Othello had chosen breast milk as his preferred nutritional method from the moment he was born, so it was hard to consider the alternative.

Would Donnie have?

Your husband didn’t remember being that young, but he had clearly survived several years on his own, in the wild. There was a time that he had wished he could recall, but there was nothing to do. It wasn’t as if the residents of the lake he lived in took records. By the time he was found, he ate solid foods like fish whole. From what you gathered from Splinter, the Hamato were about the same. They were mutated around a scale of ages and apparently only Mikey had been young enough to need supplemental formula, which he had liked to drink via a sippy cup.

You thought harder.

Donnie had never shown a particular preference for dairy. He ate it about as much as he did anything else with his renewed palate. It had been years since he had started his quest to try all the foods he had never been allowed to and he now had some preferences. A big glass of milk was not among them. You couldn’t really recall a time when he had ever taken a drink like that straight. There were no chugged milk moustaches in your memory and you were sure that was an image you wouldn’t ever forget.

What else was there?

Your boobs, you guessed.

When Donnie was in his heat, he basically ignored them. You both agreed that it was probably related to the reptilian drive behind his season. Turtles and the like weren’t species that had the necessity for mammaries. You guessed the same could be said about you as a whole, but Donnie’s usual brain found all of you attractive. You were his clearly branded mate and the reason he had a heat in the first place. Whatever contradictions that fostered were mixed up much like his DNA and it was pointless to probe through.

So why this vice and why now?

Your afternoon had been whittled away and you were preparing to pump. You had a primed seat on the couch to watch as Donnie monitored tummy time. Othello was obviously becoming stronger each session and your mate worked to make the time stimulating for him. He did so often by placing Othello down with his supporting towel on the bed and then ducking off one of the sides. He was a purple wrapped whack-a-mole of a creature that would pop up and catch his son’s attention. The intrusions caught Othello’s eye and he worked his little frame while trying to reach for his mysteriously disappearing father.

Donnie started up the game while you got the flange in place. It had rapidly become a learned motion and since the threat of engorgement was seemingly behind you, you took your pumping time as slivers of peace. Associate happy memories and make your breast a happy place or whatever Dr. Shah had said. You saw a glimpse of Donnie popping up and Othello’s eyes went wide at his manifestation.

You tempered your smile and the machine turned on for its rhythmic thump.

Donnie ducked down.

Othello grappled with his missing father.

You played a medley in your head that you associated with jack-in-the-boxes.

Donnie would pop like a weasel and cause his son to realize he existed once again.

Time stretched on and you looped the song.

Othello lost sense that he had been waiting and started to look for the next closest thing.

The canopy around the bed was pinned back and he trailed it, though he couldn’t lift his head very high.

He saw the absence of color as something.

Not Donnie.

Donnie hadn’t moved.

He was still crouched.

Your head tilted where you watched.

It was reaching a point where your husband should look simply because he was supposed to supervise this time with your baby.

The first trickle of milk leaked into the container.

Donnie’s head snapped to the side with the attention of a wild animal.

You saw his profile.

He wasn't looking.

He listened.

If he had ears you bet they would have pivoted toward you.

He was taking in a wide field of vision.

Waiting.

Be it for predator or prey, you weren’t sure.

He found what he was looking for as he disengaged for a moment to peer up at Othello.

Slow and subtle so your son wouldn’t notice.

As soon as he was sure his progeny was alright, Donnie finally looked toward you.

Not at you.

You recognized his destination instantly.

It wasn’t your exposed chest.

It was the capture unit.

The one currently filling with milk.

You slid back some.

The back of the couch clipped his vision and you watched his head swoop outward to chase the view.

Your eyes narrowed as you moved your torso firmly out of his sight line.

It took Donnie a few aborted moments until he realized and looked at your face.

He saw the full weight of your displeasure.

You thought that would have been the end.

He was caught.

He would apologize.

Instead, he turned back and continued to encourage his son to work his tiny muscles.

That was unlike your husband.

Your husband may have liked to avoid truths he didn’t care for, but he always yielded when caught.

Something was up.

You were going to breach the subject as soon as you finished pumping. You had a feeling you had to put away the tantalizing object before you would get a reasonable answer out of him. You switched breasts around the time that Othello grew frustrated with what he wasn’t able to do. Donnie promptly scooped him up and leaned him against his pectoral scutes. Your son languished against an upright position and made little pouty sounds. Donnie patted his carapace and encouraged him much like a personal trainer supporting a brand new gym member.

Othello would grow stronger.

These things took time.

You finished the extraction process and moved to the kitchen. You felt Donnie track you where he was still cradling his son, but you didn’t give him time. You focused on switching out the milk to its longer term bag storage and went through the motions. You poured, sealed, dated, and switched stock. You were a one man grocer with a single item you created that went from tit to table. It was a joke you liked to make as you turned and were startled to find your husband holding the yet to be washed pump. You had very much caught him in the indisputable act as his head was tossed back along with the device to get even a droplet of the residuals to run via gravity.

“Y/N!” He chirped as if his tongue hadn’t been sticking out at the ready.

You were slow to fold your arms.

Donnie readied himself to relinquish the bottle when his coveted bit of milk finally dripped out.

He lurched forward on unconscious drive to catch it like a falling snowflake, but you got in the way.

Donnie came within a centimeter of bashing his head into yours, but his eyes were glued to the single wet mark on the floor.

“Donatello.” You ground out.

“The waste…” He mouthed.

“What are you doing?” You used a finger to lift his eyeline to yours.

He fought to look, but, when he did, he cataloged your displeasure. “My heart…”

“No pet names.” You held out your hands expectantly for your baby, who was still clutched to his chest like an afterthought.

“Ah…” Donnie passed him off.

You took Othello with you as you left. “Lick the equipment. I don’t care. Just wash it.”

You didn’t watch whatever he chose. You kept your attention with your child and tried not to hold onto your anger. You weren’t even exactly sure what you were mad about. You sought comfort in Othello’s hands and squeezed them for reassurance. He watched his fingers disappear and appear within your own with a wobbling form of fascination. His attention span would soon wane, but that wasn’t like your husband’s.

Donnie was staunch.

Donnie was focused.

Donnie was lethal in his execution to get what he wanted.

He wanted milk.

That wasn’t inherently a problem, but his attitude about it was.

There was a clatter in the sink that said dishes other than the pump equipment were being cleaned.

Donnie was taking a step to apologize.

That was fine, but you wanted to talk.

“Think you’ll always be this honest?” You whispered to your son.

He didn’t obviously react to your voice.

“Othello?” You adjusted his weight.

He blinked a little lower, then sort of in your direction.

“What are you thinking about?”

You poked his cheek and that got a rapid eye blink.

“You’re tired.” You spoke his realization. “It’s all those push-ups, huh? We gotta get you ready for state fitness tests.”

His lids sank.

“Why don’t you sleep? You can. You want to rest with me?” You swayed.

One of his hands found your shirt and held on.

The last of your irritation leaked and you leaned your cheek against him.

You hummed.

A soft, formless song.

You felt him relax.

This was his cooldown, you thought.

You dreamed up exercise mixes for him.

The smells of food coaxed you from your dreams of a baby gym.

You looked to see Donnie quietly sautéing something.

You wandered over.

He gave you a quick glance and continued to work.

You saw a combination of frozen items being mixed fresh with spices.

A hearty meal sounded good.

Something simple.

Something tasty.

You whisked Othello away so the scents wouldn’t be too oppressive and eventually put him down around the time Donnie was plating up. Dishes were set out and for the first rare time in awhile, you could both participate in a dinner. You sat together on the couch and your first words were far from your earlier concerns.

“We should play Othello music.”

Donnie thoughtfully chewed.

“What kind do you think is best?”

You discussed.

You forgot about the talk you wanted to have.

You became too entrenched in genres.

You worried over whether you should have put headphones on your pregnant belly.

You debated volume and timing until you eventually took to research.

That captured the brunt of your husband’s attention through Othello’s next cycle of care.

He spit up quite a bit during his next burping which completely negated your earlier washing up. You went to take a proper shower. When you emerged from the steam, you entered a gentle melody. Donnie greeted you with a joke about the real expert you should have consulted with. In time, the computer lit up with a S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. icon acting as his own one man band. Your eldest’s avatar nodded to you as he played the music you heard. You found Othello laying in his crib and staring up without seeing as he listened to the sound.

You stood beside your husband and watched him long past when your baby had dozed off.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. bowed for his performance, wrote a speech bubble that said he would be ready for the next, and logged off. You signed to ask Donnie about getting some sleep near a proper bedtime. He nodded at the prospect, but felt his own pull of the shower. You urged him to go and tucked in preemptively. It felt like a long time since you had the willing option to choose your sheets. The cotton felt cool against your skin and while you hoped to wait up, you gave into microsleep before Donnie returned.

He came to you like a dream.

He wafted a warm clean scent and pressed up behind you like a hot water bottle.

A chirp warbled sleepily against your lips.

He kissed the bulb of your shoulder and nosed your neck affectionately.

You stretched out so he could better mold himself to you and peeped your satisfaction.

Dotted kisses lined the column of your neck.

Your breath was the next heave out of your mouth.

A quiet but curious churr rolled against your ear.

You nodded against him.

His hand tested your hip.

You reached back to hold his head.

He nosed you until you turned to kiss him.

Under the guise of a press he found your hem.

It hiked up and he ghosted over your belly.

He took great care around your scar and headed south.

Here it was.

He was waiting for a better time.

That was like him.

Very much like your husband.

You could excuse his craving if he had a plan.

Waiting must have been tough.

He skirted your waistband and you arched.

Fondling in bed.

How long had it been?

The last proper time you had insertive sex, you guessed.

That red scare had been ages ago.

Everything was right.

He just needed to get his hand a little lower.

He snuffed along your collar and fought your shirt.

Him tasing your mating mark was good too.

You tipped your head to give him better access.

He adjusted your shirt with a pull from within.

It exposed your shoulder and he nibbled along the edge of your skin.

You whined softly.

His hand shifted to return its journey.

You were ready and chewed your lip.

It shot the wrong direction as it went straight up to palm your breast and you felt your expression fall with your mood.

“Okay…!” You elbowed back into him while minding his tough plastron.

He was caught milky-handed as he squeezed.

You rolled right out of his grip and around to face him. “You’re stuck with me. Explain the milk thing. Now.”

He blinked once over his lost chance, twice as he registered your irritation, and a third time that you instantly read as him preparing a speech.

Of course.

He had taken all this time, probably when he was in the kitchen, to cook up more than just some dinner.

Your eyes narrowed.

“Ahem.” He spoke the throat clearing instead of doing it. “My dear-You see, this is an extension!”

You watched him evenly, but were internally grateful that he still recalled your earlier ban on pet names.

“It is… my desire for you! Consumption. The one only you sate.”

You followed him with a slow nod.

“I’m… pressured by scarcity.” His gaze was twitchy.

Unsettled.

You charted the ping pong of it.

It never stayed in one spot for long.

He felt your eye and forced it to you.

He grimaced.

You soured.

“I want you…” He seemed to admit.

He leaned in.

It was a little too telegraphed.

You ignored his advance.

A small trickle of frustration hit your wedding ring.

From where he was trying to hide it.

Your displeasure flared. “Donnie, why are you trying to sugarcoat this?”

He held out for a single second longer before he limped into you. “I want to say the right thing or else I’ll be deprived further.”

“What…?”

“Fix. I want to fix this. I don’t understand why you reject this as you have other bodily fluids. This one is produced for the express purpose of nutrition!”

You had to think for a moment before the recollection of what those other fluids he was talking about hit you.

You pushed him away before you realized it.

You both stared at each other with the new distance.

You closed the gap in an instant to keep from yelling outright.

“This is not like the piss thing!”

“Of course not!”

“Why would you say it is!?”

“I’m saying you are being stubborn in a similar way!”

“Versus what, Don!? You drinking all my milk? Our son needs it or did you forget?!”

“I would never! That is precisely the issue!”

“Scarcity! Sorry!”

“There is a limited supply by design. He consumes the largest portion. There is the necessary backlog to keep stocked. If one then adds in how the resource itself will not be produced long term-!”

“I get it! I only have so much milk and it’ll only be for a little while! What I don’t get is why you’re obsessed.”

“I just explained why!”

“All that is enough to forget about me?!”

That got his attention and you watched his thoughts fully halt. “What?”

You felt immediately flushed and turned away. “I don’t-!”

“You think I’ve forgotten you!?” He gave chase.

“No… Not really.”

“Elaborate.” He nudged you. “I beg you.”

“You didn’t…” You wrestled with yourself.

This time he kissed your shoulder in only a soothing manner.

You felt the brunt of your embarrassment soften.

He dotted kisses toward your neck, but never made contact there.

“You’re always focused on making me feel good…”

He nodded in a nuzzle.

“But now you’re using the little free time we have to…”

He paused and you felt his gaze twitch with connecting dots. “Get milk.”

“Yeah…”

He made a frustrated sound as he sank against you. “I see.”

“I don’t just make your new favorite drink.”

“Of course not.”

“I’m not a vending machine.”

“No.”

You felt a smile tug at your lips. “My eyes are…”

He appeared up over your shoulder to give into them. “Up here.”

“You’ve heard that one?” You sent him batted lashes.

“I saw it on a t-shirt from one of the events we attended.”

You chuffed lightly. “Which one?”

He pondered. “The…?”

You weren’t sure.

“It had a skeleton.” He struggled. “Halloween related?”

“A skeleton on a boob shirt?”

“Black light.” He perked up.

“The black light art gallery!”

“We received sketchy tickets.”

“That’s how they get people in off the street.”

“Online marketing-” His brow furrowed.

“Wait, tell me about how you were ogling someone’s chest.”

“Not their chest. The shirt.”

“The shirt that presumably was across a wide chest.”

“It had…” He grappled before he brought up his hand.

You watched as a pen manifested in his hand and he doodled out a relatively accurate looking skeleton. He then botched a head of hair on the skull. It looked wild from his ninpo pen in the dark of your room. He brushed outward with a flick and drew two grotesque looking eyeballs pinched in each of the skeleton’s raised hands along with the text he had quoted.

Your mouth rounded at the rendition.

“There was no leer. The design was akin to this. It had a myriad of colors.”

“Tie dye?” You looked at him.

He shrugged.

You waited a moment.

He evaluated his piece and clearly wished he could change it to more than purple.

You hugged him.

His ninpo broke apart and flitted around you.

“We’re okay now?” You asked into his plastron.

He scooped you up onto his front and rolled onto his carapace so you could lay atop him. “I will make corrections.”

“And I can make time for you to-!” The word caught on your lips.

He watched you openly.

Your eyes widened as you fought saying it.

“What?” He had no idea what troubled you.

“Nothing.” The image of him pressed to your chest assaulted you.

“What?” He repeated himself with clear disdain.

Not milking you.

Not trying to desperately wring you dry.

An imaginary Donatello sucked from your teat with all too much tenderness.

You mechanically untethered yourself from your husband and fell onto your side of the bed.

He followed with some worries pressing your bond.

How would you ever properly breastfeed again?

Othello didn’t like to take from the source.

In that way, you were glad for his preference, but what would happen with your next kid?

Despite it being way too soon, the thought of a second bowled you over.

“I’m okay. I swear, I’m okay!” You crawled out of bed by letting yourself slide out from the covers and onto your knees.

“I have doubts!” He followed your exact path.

You scrambled on your hands and knees until you heard the clunk of him hitting your plane.

You spun around.

“Stay back! This is your fault!”

He gawked for a moment before you saw his beak twitch.

You slammed your legs shut after they had come apart in your struggle.

He dropped his center of gravity and his gaze into a leer. “The arousal is my fault then?”

“From earlier!” You twisted around to flee.

He caught your ankle.

You squeaked as you were dragged straight under him and he caged you in.

“Why is it fresh then?”

You turned your head away as that was all you could do.

Donnie dropped close to scent your neck. “My heart, what are you imagining?”

“N-not-!”

“Not what?” He tilted close enough that you could feel his breath against our cheek.

“Not you…!”

“Me?” His lids were poured on thick.

Nothing.

Donnie was never embarrassed by anything of this sort.

You faced him.

He waited.

He would probably be ecstatic to hear.

Didn’t it go against what you had just worried about?

You felt like a damned double standard.

“You…!” Your voice felt too loud.

Donnie didn’t seem worried.

“You…” Your face burned. “You… nursing…”

You could hear him blink.

“That sounds terrible. I have no idea what I’m thinking. I don’t think that’s hot! It’s chemicals, right? My hormones are weird. This isn’t normal. I don’t know. I’d like to get up now! I’m totally not thinking about the long term effects. Breastfeeding hurt so much before and now I’m-!”

Donnie removed himself so fast you felt your words trail off.

“Yeah… Um… That…”

He gave a soft grunt as he stood.

You watched him dumbly.

He offered you a hand.

You took it with delicate fingers.

He pulled you up to your feet.

As soon as you were upright, he gestured toward the bathroom.

You glanced at it and back toward the bed.

“I didn’t need to go. I was… running. From my own thoughts.”

He insisted with a small tug.

You followed him with your head hung.

He got you inside, closed the door, manifested a portable screen version of your baby monitor, reviewed that Othello was still sleeping, and then lifted you up to sit on the counter so he could review you. “While I’m titillated by the prospect, I’m troubled by your explanation.”

You lightly pressed his plastron as he felt too close. “I mean, yeah. You saw all those pamphlets. Breastfeeding is the most wonderful feeling in the world. There’s no other way to feel closer to your baby. That’s why lactation specialists even exist. It’s why we did the roleplay with one. If it wasn’t so important then-!”

He sighed into you.

It felt like a grating tone and you stopped.

He sent you a soft gaze. “It is not a requirement.”

“I know.”

“Othello has a preference. We’re respecting such.”

“I know!”

“You’ve done nothing-!”

“I’m perverting it!”

His gaze opened up.

Yours shrank. “That’s… it. I want to blame you, but this is me. You gave me the idea, but what I do with it isn’t because you made me think that way. I’ve been struggling with breastfeeding so much and here you are, you love the milk and know the gentlest way to get it, because of course you do. You’re like the most reassuring partner ever and I’m trying to latch, I hate that wordplay by the way, onto anything that will make these…”

You sent up claws toward your breasts.

“These stupid… things feel… okay for a second…”

He took your hands down into his.

You fought with pointed fingers, but he held on until you loosened.

“May I pose you a query?”

“Lowball me? Something easy…?”

He nodded.

You gave him the go ahead with a tip of your chin.

“Did you feel stimulated from the times you did nurse our son?”

You exhaled sharply. “I felt…”

You put yourself back there.

“It was hard. I was terrified. I thought that I couldn’t feed him. That I had failed at something my body was supposed to do. Then when he finally latched, I felt relieved. It worked,but then I-! There was… all those dark clouds and the engorgement hurt. It hurt so much. My nipples ached all the time. More than when I was pregnant and…”

He squeezed your palms.

You breathed out slowly. “No. I was not stimulated.”

“I… can only go off logic.”

“Right.” You cracked your lids enough that you could see the sharp line of his plastron through his tank top.

“I believe context is of particular importance.”

“Sure…”

“We determine the content of what we do.”

“Yeah.”

“If I may return to those pamphlets?”

You checked with him.

He tilted his head to enhance his question.

“What about them…?”

“They detailed what you described to an extent. There is an inherent glorification of the process, but I believe there were other takeaways.”

“Okay…?”

“On the list of reasons one may find it difficult.”

You nodded as you remembered the long bullet points on one particular trifold.

“There is often chafing, cracking, and sometimes bleeding from the nipple. A child doesn’t know how to latch, let alone limits. They are trying to get food quickly, in the only way they know how.”

“One mentioned biting…” You recalled.

His head bobbed in agreement. “There is no delicacy. The routine suction and sensation often causes feeling to dull by design. There is a certain level of pain that, yes, chemicals attempt to offset. Bonding hormones as described. Those that help parents forget the tedium in favor of encouraging further procreation.”

Your posture loosened.

“I, however…” His gaze switched to targeted, but he was searing the look into your eyes.

Your toes bumped his legs.

He chanced leaning in. “I am of clear bias, but can create an environment that is sweet and sensual. Catered to your pleasure. With all you’ve dealt, if I can offer a positivity where there has been strife…”

“I’m not…”

“Not ruining the act of breastfeeding because it is not related. The concept may share a name alone as the transfer of milk.”

“So, in the future…?”

His eyes flashed.

You shied away.

You felt him apologize through your bond.

You leaned into him.

He kissed your cheek. “When we have another…?”

“I won’t…”

“Based on what we’ve learned, I feel safe in the determination that you will not be stimulated in the way of which you worry. Your concerns should lie elsewhere by those odds. Our next will have their own conundrums. No two children are alike, but I can say for certain that even if you breastfeed our next…”

He held the sentence to impress it upon you.

You kissed him lightly.

He didn’t return it enough for a full press, but languished against you.

“The experience will be unique. Disparate. Without association to anything we’ve done. There’s no act too perverse because we are both not doing anything such and the two events have no correlation.”

“What we do is… a little dirty.”

“But irrelevant to the greater conversation...?”

“Yes.” You agreed.

“Good.” He stood straighter as the matter was settled and allowed himself to toss his head back in euphoria. “A second supply! How will it taste? Ah, the possibilities!”

“You’ve barely tasted the first.”

You saw his shoulders sway before you understood why.

His head came down with his eyes shined up in excitement.

He wiggled around his hips, where you knew his tail was wagging out of control from the speedy swish against his sweats.

“Did I say you could have some…?”

“You’ve implied.” He immediately stopped.

You pretended to debate.

You watched his being fall straight into desperation.

He fought himself.

His earlier words about fixing the situation replayed in your head.

“How sweet-?”

“More so than honey. Ambrosia. Nectar that lowers me to the status of pollinator that I may partake in your sweet flower!”

You plastered your hands over his mouth. “Donatello! How!? How can you say that with a straight face!?”

He smiled wide against your hands, breaking the seal. “It is the truth.”

“That’s not what I was going to ask!!”

He hummed curiously. “Apologies. Please. Ask again.”

You kicked slightly and bumped his legs.

He kissed your palms until you were pliant enough that he could take your wrists and remove your hands. “You needn’t worry, dearest. No judgment.”

You boiled in place. “How…?”

He unobtrusively waited.

“How sweet… can you be…?”

You felt time pass in the skips of your heart.

“How… sensual…?” You eyed him.

The moment your gaze made contact with him he cheeped loud and ecstatic.

You both sat in the echo of the bathroom.

“May…”

He closed in.

“I…”

He ghosted against your lips and to your ear.

“Show you…?”

You nodded so fast that friction burned between your cheeks.

He kissed the heated flesh and you felt a twitch of his hands already at your shirt’s hem. You shot him a sharp look, which he leaned away from. He held there, clearly not moving forward without your permission, and you loosened. He held only a pinch of your top and you tucked in close to dot kisses beside his head. He leaned into the touch right up until you licked into the junction that he usually liked scratched.

You felt his skin light from the intensity and he darted away to clap a hand over the skin.

You watched him openly.

“Perverse…” He seemed to grapple with the meaning of the word.

“See what I mean…?”

“Yes…” He turned the hold into a rub. “Let us be clear.”

“Okay.”

“Is what we seek dual purchase in nature?”

“I think so?” You breathed. “I feel…confused-”

He perked up.

You stopped him by bringing yourself to attention. “I get what you’re saying about breastfeeding a baby and you… doing… that.. being different, but my feelings about this…?”

His head dipped to encourage you along.

“Do I find it exciting…?” You thought for a moment and corrected your speech. “Perverse-”

Donnie watched with an open expression.

“-because the last time we did this was in a sexual sense? Or is it just being close to you?? Or that I know you’ll make me feel good, you always do, and the thought that I finally will when it comes to all this boob nonsense makes me feel that way???”

“A lot.”

You nodded. “It’s a lot.”

He encroached on your space. “We’ll find out together. I will further differentiate this experience. Make our intent clear.”

“When… I don’t even know what that is?”

He nodded and bowed his head right into your chest. “We’ll find out together.”

You waited with a tear of goosebumps and thought he would try some huge gesture.

“You’re in my care.” Instead, he held for a long moment until he turned to obviously listen to your heart. “I promise whatever route taken will be in your best interest. Not immoral. Us. Right as our love.”

The pitter patter picked up.

You relaxed.

He tested your hem again.

You moved with him.

Together you got your shirt off.

Despite the occasional leak, you had taken this night, of all nights, off from wearing your nursing bra.

Donnie kept his eyes firmly on your face.

It helped.

You felt seen.

You felt his attention.

His hands stroked down your sides in a comforting way.

He waited until you would have oozed in place had you not been sitting way too close to a sink that you did not want to drop into.

He captured your lips.

You pulled him close.

He came straight to you.

You shook with his churr and smiled against him.

He met press for press until he drifted.

You felt his reluctance to do so, but he had a clear goal. Tracing at a downward angle, he lined up kisses in a path along your jaw. It followed down the bone structure until he ran out around your throat. He drifted around muscles there, following new ley lines of your veins. They took him down to your collar where he found your bone structure again. The set protected the cavity that made room for your heart. He found your sternum for its purpose of keeping that safe and led down until he was right between your breasts.

You squirmed with memories from earlier that day.

He scolded you with only his gaze as he looked up.

You saw the severity.

How seriously he took this, your care.

You felt compelled to give him a single nod.

He exaggerated a kiss to your skin before he trended to the left.

Instead of pocking this destination with kisses, he led with his beak. He coasted lightly over the skin until it tingled. An anticipatory feeling cropped up that blossomed across your breast. It spread out in tingling waves not unlike your letdown, but a totally different feeling. You weren’t releasing the reserves of your milk to feed your baby. That feeling was completely absent. What was in its place was squarely your mate and how he wanted you.

He pressed lips, large, to the slope of your breast and sat there. He exhaled for wafts of warmth that trickled through the tissues. He heated each little follicle until you were thoroughly and satisfactorily toasted. Only when you were lulled by the balminess did he kiss downward. The trail picked back up one tiny peck at a time until the final mark had to be your nipple.

He breathed out steam a second time and you could sense the moist particulate of him grab at your skin.

There was no big moment.

No nom.

No gulp or grab.

He barely moved and, in a tepid opening, took your nipple between his lips. It occupied a shallow space where the heat barely roused it and he kept you squarely away from his teeth. It was less of a hold and more of a loose greeting, which he met with the very tip of his tongue in a slow handshake. You shifted against the porcelain of your counter and he loosely tented his arms around you as he settled into what you knew was going to be a long duration just like this.

He swirled his tongue at an achingly slow pace. You saw dancing visions of loose chamomile powder barely held together by gauzy tulle. The fabric allowed for water to penetrate, but not for the bits of flower to be dispersed. You were steeped there with your nipple blossoming from the gorge. It sopped up the fluid that your mate supplied and plumped as a result. It peaked and pointed amongst the tender temperatures until the first quiver went down your leg as you had to move something.

The corners of Donnie’s lips turned up along with his eye contact. You sucked in sharply as his licks slowed and you noticed only amongst his swimming pupils that he hadn’t sucked once. If he got any milk from this, it was nothing more than evaporation from the higher temperature he had set. He watched you make the connection and leaned in further.

In slow engulfing, he branched out.

He encompassed the land of your areola and gave it a similar treatment.

It was nothing like any of the beatings your breasts had taken.

From him or more.

There was no pull from the pump’s suction.

No gnashing from your son’s gums.

This was your husband tasting you and not what came from you.

You.

What you already had.

Soothing the skin that had known ache for too long.

He ventured further with his large mouth.

Engulfed more.

He never did more than lick.

Swiped his tongue over your flesh in long drags until you felt he must have seasoned the very biome on your epidermis.

He released with swipes and his hand came up.

He helped wick away the excess saliva to save you from cold skin. He warmed you with a hand that was too hot on its own and you realized that he had tucked it against your back for this purpose. He was parboiling himself to be your compress and made good use of the real estate he could achieve with a single palm. He pulled a blanket of fingers over your breast tissue and returned to the tip where his apparent nectar resided.

He didn’t create a tight seal.

He rounded his mouth out around the bud.

He swiped his tongue a few times to ease the tension.

He placed it between the curve of his tongue and the roof of his mouth.

He gave a bare suckle.

One you could barely hear.

You felt it coax deep.

Your breast was thoroughly warmed and the muscles were loose.

The letdown happened in a new way.

Didn’t rush to feed or sate.

It loosened from deep inside and toward where he encouraged.

You knew the moment Donnie tasted it because he groaned so loud you could feel the reverberation from the counter.

You spread your legs then and he stepped right into the new space.

Adjusted accordingly.

Sucked gently.

Sweetly.

Tenderly.

You went slack over him.

Poured over his being.

Met his warmth and his churr.

Almost felt sleepy until he nibbled lightly.

You shuddered.

Comfort was a quotient, but not the entire equation.

He wanted more.

Something yours.

The hand still at your back rubbed.

Found more flesh to soothe.

It felt counter intuitive to wake you up, but you also arched.

Tried to give in to both.

Wanted both sensations and were caught in different directions.

You let your head roll back.

He scooped up the part of your breast he covered and rubbed.

Not milked.

Pushed into the tissue and outward.

Into your chest.

That large grip of his.

Where his fingers tantalized in their reach.

How far they could go.

He chirped with his mouth full.

You lolled down to look at him.

The intensity was still there.

He wanted something.

You reached out for his cheek.

In a swap you could track, he slipped your index finger into his mouth for the same suck.

A demonstration.

It went immediately southward.

You solved for x right then.

He had spelled out his work on your skin.

He was going to go down on you as soon as he finished here.

A whine caught in your throat and he awarded your good math by moving to your right breast.

The process repeated.

Now that you knew the solution you squirmed more.

He didn’t scold you in the least.

He followed you.

Chased your skin and kept the same tepid pace.

Ran the water in a warm stream that poured down between your legs.

They were stuck to you when he finally pulled free. You saw a clear glimpse of what you now labeled as milk drunk Donnie. He let the rest of whatever he had sucked from you roll down his throat via gravity. The last sip he would get for this session, he audibly switched gears for his next favorite taste. It was still patently you and he had you hoist yourself up on your limbs. They wouldn’t support you long, but long enough to get your pants and underwear out from under you in one sticky sweep.

The porcelain was heated by your body when you landed on it bare.

A synthetic squeak crackled from somewhere.

Donnie rose to attention and looked to the side.

You dully chased him to find he was looking at the miniaturized baby monitor screen that was still floating at the ready.

Othello’s brow clearly scrunched.

He was waking up.

A wave of sadness slid down your frame.

You felt Donnie’s adrenaline spike.

You reached out to comfort him.

It was okay.

This was what it was like to be parents.

You meant to say it, but you heard a piano note.

It lingered as it was held in place and there was a static that said it was coming through that unseen speaker attached the monitor.

Another note played.

Unsure, like the author didn’t know how.

It couldn’t have been S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.

You felt compelled to look elsewhere for the source.

Donnie had one finger pressed into the counter and the other held in a neutral, but ready position.

He thought long and Othello’s eyes screwed shut some.

Donnie played.

You watched his fingers play imaginary keys and the music corresponded.

It wasn’t flowery like his speech.

It was soft, simple, and child-like.

A beat.

One note, a second note.

A nursery rhyme.

In repetition.

A tune that swayed on an even keel.

Othello loosened.

A new sound from Donnie’s thumb added in a deep tone.

A support.

The sounds spoke to one another.

Formed a gentle conversation and a backdrop lullaby.

With a twist from his little limbs to get readjusted, Othello drifted back off.

You stared at his form, waiting for a reversal as the song continued on repeat.

Once it seemed obvious your son had absolutely gone back to sleep, you turned to Donnie with your joy.

He looked like a wreck.

He was clearly anxious about what he had done and what he was still doing.

Trying to keep time with an instrument he had no idea how to play.

“Slow it down…” You urged him.

He couldn’t speak for fear of messing up, but you felt worry wash up from your bond.

“It worked, you gotta end it…”

Donnie’s lip quivered as he timed out the beats with presses to the counter.

They slowed incrementally.

Counted out like seconds until he hit one last deeper note to end it off.

There was silence.

Quiet.

Othello was still in place.

You pulled your mate straight up to your lips and kissed him.

Congratulated him on a multitude of levels.

It took several presses before he could accept.

You kissed him past that.

Until your tongue was the one coaxing his.

He remembered his goal.

He broke from you with a nip.

You giggled.

“Shall I begin anew…?” He feigned a debate.

You spread your legs open for him and let your scent decide that for you.

“Right.” He dropped straight to his knees in reverence.

You scooted right to the edge.

“I love you.” He said simply.

“Me too…” You managed.

He kissed your knees.

Found old trodden lines that he had long mapped out.

Set course for a glistening slit and stopped just shy.

He found your awaiting gaze and pressed importance into your bond.

You placed a hand on top of his head.

He churred loudly.

You encouraged him forward.

He led with the tip of his tongue and tasted you.

You felt a groan that had to be louder than the first.

You were sure the ranking switched.

He had forgotten.

You didn’t blame him.

You had lost enough of yourself throughout the recent changes.

Your toes curled as he switched from laps to intent. He was no longer licking up your slick, but burying into it. Channeling it along with his own moisture to a specific hole, one you hadn’t minded with anything other than sterile equipment for months. He shoved his tongue in before an upward drag took him to your clit. He toyed with the bud, not unlike your nipple, but the sensitivity was nigh in comparison. Below were fresh nerves that had been preserved and you ground onto his beak.

He pulled you clean off the counter to sit on his face.

You felt his teeth without threat along with pressure and your hands flew down. You dug your nails into his mask as a pathetic stronghold and rocked. He balanced open palms around your thighs in case you tipped too far one direction. He swayed for a more stable position that took his knees apart instead of holding all of you up with his neck alone.

He licked into you heavily.

You cried between that and the pressure you created.

He rumbled, his oxygen cut off, and he switched to withholding as you enveloped him. You rode him where he could do little more than be a peg for you to grind down on and his churrs said he liked that best. You shifted forward, feeling the cartilage of his nose press up toward your clit and he nudged his chin into the motion to get his tongue buried deep. He quirked it, finding your inner walls past tight rings of flesh and you sobbed.

Openly.

Something other than tears leaked down his face and darkened his mask.

You didn’t hold back.

You locked your heels into his shell and rolled all your body weight onto him.

Your heart beat out of your chest.

His churrs acted as a huge rumbly vibrator head.

You rode straight into your orgasm and screamed out your euphoria for reaching it.

You caught it with both hands.

Bent over it.

Held it in place.

Until the delirium of all you had done on your already exhausted body caught up and you slipped.

Donnie caught you.

Gulped down air the moment his beak was free.

He sputtered and was soaked in your unique scent.

“R-record…” He blabbered.

You scarcely heard as you slid wet right off his face and dragged slick down his clothes to ooze into his lap.

“Record…” He repeated like it was important and his head hit your shoulder.

A broken one, you thought as you hugged him as tightly as you could.

(Check out behind the scenes for this fic and more on my Patreon. You can follow me there, here, or the tag #softspotfic for updates)

Back from vacay, the stress persists, but thankfully my betas @tmntxthings and @unrestrainedhotsoup are so cool with me writing vent fics instead of actual chapters.... Gotta get back to work! 💪

#softspotfic #rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt x reader #rottmnt donnie x reader #donatello hamato #donnie x reader #rise donnie #rise donnie x reader #rottmnt donatello #rottmnt Donnie #me #my fanfiction

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