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dontlookatmytmntcollection · 3 months ago

Text

Falling

RaphaelxReader (one fem pronoun)

Warnings: explosions, falling, near death experience, shoulder trauma, needles, emotional turmoil, I think that's it? If I missed any let me know?

You scream and plummet six feet before a hand wraps around your forearm. There's a ripping pain in your shoulder as you feel it dislocate, and you scream again and slip, dropping again before he grabs your hand.

You watch your shoes tumble down the steel framework of the future bank and corporate office center, and disappear in the mushroom cloud of dust concealing the first three floors. The acrid smell of motor oil coats your tongue and the inside of your nostrils sting as the C4 continues to burn away. You choke, and his hold tightens.

Balancing himself on a cross section of steel girders, his other hand is braced against the corner of a concrete platform, as what remains of the supports for the roof on this side of the adjacent building are making craters in the packed foundation eighteen stories below.

He growls through gritted teeth as the structure shudders again, and the screams of the civilians on the platform above add to the cacophony. His body is burning, the support of a rooftop bar full of panicked patrons resting on one arm.

One of Vern's "Beautiful People Parties," and apparently Karai was upset The Foot weren't invited. One small brick of C4 and the Southern wall of the top floor of the swanky apartment building came tumbling down. You'd been on the roof when it collapsed, and had managed to grab hold of a waiter before the poor kid took a dive, but the stool you'd been holding on to broke and Raphael barely caught you in time.

Your gaze shifts back and forth between the platform and him, and he can see the gears turning, see you working out the logic, and his eyes are screaming at you to stop.

Please... He begs silently, Live the lie with me... Believe there's no way to save them... Believe it isn't them or you...

Reality settles like a block of ice in your stomach. Raphael is the strongest person you've ever met, but even he has it's limits, and bracing over 6000lbs on one arm is likely one of them. It's you, or the 40 odd people above and whoever else might get hurt on the platform's trip to the ground.

Drawing a shuddering breath, you try to speak, but no sound comes out, "It's okay..."

"Please..." He chokes on the word, bile rising in his throat, this can't be happening.

"It's okay..."

He shakes his head, eyes pleading. He attempts to say your name.

You smile up at him, you hope bravely, and squeeze his hand. You can't say it. You can't speak. You look into his eyes, teary and terror-wide, you can't let him choose you, and you know he knows that.

You let go.

The scream that tears from Raphael's throat shatters the night, and the building shudders again, almost making him lose his footing before he braces his now empty hand against the platform above. He squeezes his eyes shut, praying to whatever God might listen that he would wake up, and screams again.

You're falling in free space. There are several thick moments where all that exists is the wind rushing past you. Or you rushing past it. You have the gruesome thought that if you can land head-first, maybe you won't feel it, and you limply attempt to shift your body in a direction, but your body won't respond, as if it's already accepted the landing.

You take one last deep breath, you're not sure if that's the right move, but you imagine in a few moments it won't matter, when there is a heavy impact against your side. All of the air rushes out of you and you're... still falling. A thought drifts by that hitting the ground should have hurt a lot more, and you wonder for a moment if you're dead, before you feel another softer, impact, and you're set safely down on the packed earth foundation.

Michaelangelo grabs your face, physically pulling your gaze to his with a serious expression.

"This is gonna hurt and I'm sorry." He says in one breath.

White fire shoots through your shoulder as he resets your arm with no more warning, when it's over you collapse into him, whimpering and breathing hard. He holds you, rubbing your back with one hand as he fishes around in his backpack with the other. Pulling out a small syringe, he uncaps it with his teeth and injects the local anesthetic into your shoulder.

In seconds a warm numbness envelopes your arm, and a strangled sob of relief, pries itself from your throat. You're grateful Mike knows not to give you too much warning when he needs to do something like that. Processing what's about to happen first is sometimes worse.

The night air is filled with another anguished roar and both of your faces turn skyward.

It takes almost fifteen minutes for everyone to move into the safety of the building, and another ten for Donatello to brace the platform enough that emergency crews could safely get to fixing things once they arrive. Raphael is present for none of them.

Running on autopilot, the world seems apart, separate from him. Vision hazy, sound muffled, as if he's watching his body interact without any real input. His head is spinning. None of it feels real.

You... fell.

No.

He dropped you.

No.

You let go.

He watched you fall.

But the roof fell too, sending tables and chairs plummeting down after you.

And he had to grab it.

There were so many people.

He'd watched you fall into a cloud of dust, the ground obscured.

He's too afraid to look now that the dust has cleared.

He hears sobbing and prayers of gratitude from within the building, and he hates them. He's never regretted saving lives before, and the feeling turns his stomach.

He would have let them die.

You would have never forgiven him.

He swallows down the sick as he makes his way to the ground slowly. He'd have to... collect you. He can't just leave you there.

It feels wrong. It feels... normal. He sees the reflection of passing emergency lights in wet asphalt and it's almost comical.

Shouldn't it all be over?

Ending?

Shouldn't the universe be raging? Tearing itself apart? The fabric of reality falling to pieces?

You're...

This... isn't.. normal.

Why does this feel normal?

Why is everything okay when everything is so not okay?

His hand slips, sending him tumbling down two floors of the steel framework before he catches himself. He holds tight to the beam, trying to slow his breathing. He hadn't realized how hard he was shaking.

He grits his teeth and chokes down agony. He has to get to the ground. He has to find you.

If the humans found you they'd take you away.

--You're already so far away.--

Somewhere he couldn't get to you.

--Would it really make a difference?--

Releasing the girder, he ignores the warping of the metal where he'd gripped it, and continues scaling downward.

He'd bring you home.

--Why?--

It's getting cold out.

--She's already cold.--

It's supposed to rain again before morning,

--You don't have to do this.--

and he knows how much you hate being cold.

--Please don't do this.--

His phone fell when the supports did,

--You don't want to see this. You don't want to see her.--

and Donnie was making sure the building was safe for everyone else,

--Not like this.--

so he'll have to do this himself.

--Please.--

He touches down on packed earth littered with glass and concrete and splintered wood, looking only at the rubble beneath his feet.

He doesn't want to look.

He doesn't want to see you.

Broken.

Lifeless.

Staring into nothing.

Odd angles and empty eyes.

He doesn't want to have to put you back together enough to carry you home.

Every breath is a war in his chest and he closes his eyes, squeezing them shut and gritting his teeth, steeling himself for the task ahead.

"Raph!"

His eyes fly open wide and he looks around wildy.

"Raphael!"

He turns just in time to catch you as you "totally didn't jump into his arms right after getting my shoulder reset, Donnie, I don't know where this other tear came from."

He catches you without a thought and pulls you into him. "Fuck," He sobs, burying his face in your shoulder and holding you probably a little too tightly. His whole body is shaking with relief and it's all he can do to remain standing. He pulls back and looks you over frantically, "are you okay?"

"Yeah," you half-laugh, half-sob, nodding and grinning up at him, "Mike caught me."

He looks over your head for a flash of orange, finding him in conversation with April and Leo. Mike looks up and catches his eye, smiling warmly at his brother's grateful expression before blowing him a kiss and a wink, and earning a snort and an eye roll in return as Raphael's snout returns to the hollow of your shoulder, and his arms wrap probably a little too tightly around you with no intention of ever letting go.

....

I haven't decided. Will there be a part 2?

Tag List:

@thelaundrybitch @the-cauldron-witch @fyreball66 @ninnosaurus @tmntngl @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos @zagreustomb @ramielll @silverwatergalaxy @gornackeaterofworlds @daedric-sorceress @sophiacloud28 @iridescentflamingo @milykins @sacred-holy-light @celeste-clearwater-06 @pheradream-15

#this was sOOO cute 😭#youre cooking with these my god

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dontlookatmytmntcollection · 3 months ago

Text

Memory

RaphaelxReader

Warnings: Amnesia, Angst

(this is so tropey and self indulgent that I was almost too embarrassed to post it, thank you @the-cauldron-witch for giving me the stones. Apologies in advance. 😅)

"What are you to me?"

You freeze, your pen stopping mid-letter. For the last week you'd been trying to figure out how to answer if he asked, and you were still at a loss.

Don't think for him, Donnie'd said, the memories are there, he just has to form the connections. They'll be stronger, and this will go faster, if you let him do that on his own.

He knows he shouldn't be asking, but every time he looks at you he feels like he's missing something important, and the way you look at him sometimes... he can't bear it.

"We should, um," you clear your throat, looking very intentionally at the paper in front of you, "we should really focus on this analysis. The more data we can feed Donnie, the sooner he can figure out of there'll be any serious lasting consequences to this."

"I'm missing three years of my life, I'd say that's pretty serious," he quips, humorlessly. You still haven't looked up at him. Jaw tight, measured breaths the only thing keeping your hand steady. You'd been keeping it together for the last two weeks, you couldn't break now. Least of all in front of him.

Six hours trapped in a reinforced refrigeration truck. He only survived because of what little body heat you could offer, but you'd both nearly died. You woke a few days later, in the infirmary, your hands still raw and recovering from frostbite, but Raphael... didn't.

For fifteen days, no one knew if he was going to survive. You didn't sleep. You couldn't eat. You wouldn't leave his side. The number of arguments you and Donatello had about you resting were in the double digits. He might lose his brother, he wasn't going to lose his best friend, too. The only way you agreed was by dragging the couch beside the cot Raphael was laying in.

When he awoke he couldn't remember much of anything. Slowly, over the course of the next week, memories drifted back like smoke. He remembered his father, his brothers, April, his best friend, Casey, that dumb ass, Vern, but not you. The last three years are still a blur and none of it makes any sense.

He looks at you like a familiar face at the grocery store. Like something is digging at the back of his mind, something important, but he can't quite place you. He looks at you with curiosity, even attraction at times, but the love that you built and fought for, through death and distance, is gone.

You inhale, before the pen begins to move again in your hand. He reaches up and stops it.

"Y/N..." The familiar feeling of his hand around yours, his thumb gently brushing the hollow of your wrist, makes your chest ache and your eyes fall closed.

Tears glitter at the seam of your eyelashes, as the words slip free unbidden, barely louder than a whisper, "I miss you..."

His hand stills, there it is again. That feeling, understanding just outside his reach, he's pulled to you and he doesn't know why. Everything you do affects him, and right now, you're crying, and he would tear the world apart to see you smile again.

You inhale sharply, pushing yourself to your feet and pulling your hand from his, leaving the pen on the table, "I need to go."

"Y/N, wait," he begs, quickly, standing, "please, I-"

All of your faculties are being used to keep you in one piece. You don't even have the ability to attempt any kind of excuse. "I'll be back tomorrow night. We can finish the analysis then." You shove your laptop into your bag and zip it closed, slinging it over your shoulder, before you rush out of the lair to echoes of him begging you to stay.

You barely make it home before you collapse by the couch and weep. Three years. Three years just gone.

You pull the deep red blanket he made you last winter off the couch and wrap yourself in it, in him, in his scent, because it's the only thing of his you can wrap around you.

You let yourself cry. Mourn. Since he woke up, you've been shoving everything down and away.

This is not about you, you'd scolded yourself.

You'd reminded yourself it must be worse for him. He's probably terrified, losing so much time must be scary as hell. And you'd kept it together. Every time he looked at you with that question in his eyes. Every time he said "hey" and kept walking. Every time he touched you... and let go.

But you've reached your breaking point

The feeling of his hand on your wrist was so familiar, and you were pulled back into lazy evenings in bed, the sunset painting your skin, as the two of you found any excuse not to get up for work. Comfortable, safe, warm. Things you haven't felt since before all of this started. And it was all too much.

Violent sobs rip through your body, as your heart rages in your chest. It's not fair. You'd already been through so much. Fought so hard. And, for him... none of it happened. The bone-deep love and connection that had become so vital to both of you, was ripped away, and you were the only one left bleeding.

You don't notice the soft landing beside the window.

He just stares at you for a moment. He's overcome with the need to catch you up, hold you to him, and do whatever he has to do to fix it.

"It's important, isn't it," he says finally, quietly, "what I can't remember."

You gasp and stand up, clumsily, hands flying to your eyes and wiping pointlessly at tears as you turn away, "You shouldn't be here."

"See, I'm not so sure about that." He steps forward slowly, "because..." His eyes fall on a carved wooden rose, and he pauses. A craftsman can always recognize their work. His eyes begin to scan the dimly lit room around him.

No photographs, but all around him are little things made by his own hands, his favorite books and movies, this place doesn't just feel familiar. It feels like home. His eyes return to yours as he continues his approach.

You fall back against the wall as he advances, "Does Donnie know your here? You really shouldn't be out running around the city by yourself. You're still recovering, it's not... safe." Your breath hitches as your back hits drywall.

He takes your hand gently, holding it just like before, caressing the inside of your wrist. Your jaw clenches, and your eyes sting. As he invades your personal space, your body reacts on instinct, head tilting up, hand against his chest, and his responds, gripping your waist and pulling you into him, breathing in deeply a scent just on the edge of his memory.

"That's what I'm missing, isn't it," he asks softly, tears darkening the fabric around his eyes, "that's what this feeling is... love."

Your heart twists, and you can't breathe. You're trembling with loss and grief and you don't want him to stop.

"I love you," he says, almost in wonder, holding your gaze.

It's like a bullet to the chest and all the air rushes out of you. Tears stream freely from your eyes and you draw a shuddering breath. "You don't even know me," you say, and you swear you don't mean for it to come out as bitter as it does.

He flinches, stepping back, but not releasing your hand. The shame and guilt are instantaneous. None of this is his fault. You look down and away, unable to meet his amber eyes, "I- I'm sorry," you manage, "I-"

"You're wrong."

You look up through tears as he steps forward again, pulling you closer. A hand comes up and cups your cheek as the one around your waist tightens, and he looks down at you with an intensity you haven't seen in weeks.

"I may not know your face, or remember... anything about you, but..." His eyes close and his hand slides into your hair as he dips his head and touches his forehead to yours, "I remember... this," he continues breathlessly, gripping your hair gently, "I remember this feeling... Your skin... against mine. Your scent..."

It's there. He can feel it. Just beyond his reach. He's been grasping blindly. Needing you and not knowing why, needing to feel you under his hands, against him.

The hand at your waist slides to your lower back, pulling you closer. "Help me," he pleads, eyes shut tight, all focus trained on you, voice thick with hope and desperation, "please... help me remember."

Donatello's warnings burn to ash within your memory as his mouth claims yours in a searing kiss.

It's clumsy at first. Demanding. Desperate. Like a dance he doesn't quite remember the steps to. He holds too tightly, moves too stiffly, but you open to him anyway, and a warm wave of sunlight flows into him.

He was so cold. He's still so cold. He can't remember the truck but he can remember the cold. Seeping into him slowly. As time dragged on and his body heat waned he'd grown so tired so quickly. He could still feel it. Frost on his edges. He's tried everything. Heated blankets, hot showers, gallons of tea. He's been trying since he woke up, he just can't seem to get warm.

But where his skin touches yours, it's like holding the sun.

Your heat floods into him like warm, golden light. Like the dawn. Pouring into the deepest, coldest parts, and filling him completely with that feeling. Love. And there you are, beneath the melt. As vital and familiar as his own heartbeat.

His kiss softens, his hold becomes more sure, familiar. It takes you a moment, but you realize, between kisses, he's whispering, "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..." He holds you the way he always has, and he kisses you the way he always has, and soon your crying too hard to kiss him back.

He holds you tight against him, pressing you against his chest, kissing your hair, apologizing over and over as if any of this is his fault. You cling to him desperately, afraid that if you let go it won't be real, that he'll forget you again. You squeeze your eyes shut tight, afraid that you'll be wrong, and you'll look up into his, and you'll find only questions.

His hold tightens and his eyes burn. He's angry. This is unacceptable. Unfair. He got played, and he was supposed to die in that truck. What the Oroku fuckers didn't count on, what they never count on, is you. You'd pressed yourself against him, sharing what little warmth you could. By the time the others found you, both of you were unconscious and hypothermic, but still alive, Raphael's large body wrapped tightly around yours. You'd kept his heart beating. Just like always.

He pulls back and attempts to raise your chin to meet his eyes. You resist. He can smell your fear, feel the pounding of your heart under his fingertips.

He rests his head against the side of yours and speaks your name softly, in the same voice that has pulled you peacefully from sleep a thousand times. Another sob escapes you and you curl into him tightly, before a few moments pass and you unfurl, your eyes raising to meet his.

The weight of his gaze settles on you and you never thought you could be grateful to see such depths of pain within him, but within the pain was... everything else. From the depths of despair to the heights of ecstasy, every moment of the last three years was a storm inside his eyes.

You can see the naked rage, swirling in the tempest, and it mirrors your own. Those responsible would be dealt with, later. Now, you reach back behind him, and he dips his head to make it easier for you to remove his mask. You toss it aside, and he presses his forehead to yours. You rest your hands on either side of his face, tracing the familiar scars, and you can feel his shuddering exhale.

"I love you."

"I'm sorry."

"Raphael-"

"I didn't mean to-" His breath catches on a sob, and you pull him tighter against you. Burying his head in your shoulder, he wraps his arms around your waist and breathes deep. If scent is the strongest sense tied to memory, he would bury himself in you. He would never forget again.

....

I know this isn't how amnesia works, okay??? I KNOW the plot here is swiss cheese!!! but it got stuck in my head and now you have to deal with it too, so there.

...

Tag list

#i like this idea A LOT 😭#this is gold op thank u

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dontlookatmytmntcollection · 4 months ago

Note

Bayverse Donnie with F!Reader (she/her)

"You think I like being like this? Every time someone fucking touches you I want to rip their hands off!"

"I...I don't want to stop. Please don't ask me to stop."

Happy holidays 💙❤️💜🧡

Oh boy yes!!! This is a great one! Let’s get it, goes without sayin’.

Rated Explicit

He hated what his overworked brain could cook up some nights, the tension that settled in his muscles whenever that nagging little monster in his head told that ‘he didn’t deserve this’.

Because Donnie’s always been a little too in tune with what he is, what he looks like.

Compared to you? You who somehow found your way in under the safety fence around his heart. You who somehow wanted to be with him and settle.

It was settling, he knew that sooner rather than later you’d wake up from your fugue state and realize this isn’t a life worth living for with him. What could he provide? Not all the typical things a partner should, he couldn’t walk out and take somewhere, he couldn’t meet your friends, he can’t marry you…

He hates how everyone gets to touch you out in the open, out in your normal life away from the violence and the secrecy.

Donnie swallows a lump in his throat when he sees Casey pull you into a hug, the free affection he could supply not just down here but up above in your real world with your real life. It’s not even about Vern and how he grabs your hand after a high five and laughs. He hates to admit that he’s thought about every other set of normal hands that have touched you throughout your day, every perfect palm that could connect perfectly with yours, each of their five fingers running a path across your body.

God, he hates how much you’ve been touched by perfectly normal beings.

There’s that little monster again inside of him, calling him a freak, a monster, you’re ruining her life, Donnie, what makes you think she’s going to stay? Why would she want your imperfect, disgusting—

“Hey? Are you alright?” You ask him, arms draped around his neck from the back of the couch, a set of beautiful arms he’d want to be his noose any day.

“Y-yeah, just a little tired.” Lie, he was gonna stay up until the migraine took over or the exhausting did him in first.

“Then let’s sneak are way back to your room and lie down.” You kissed his cheek, nudging him by the shell to get up. Everyone was still mingling about so it was easy to slip away.

He entered his room that he shared many nights with you, it was hard to fathom it was only his now. Every little corner held something of yours and on nights you couldn’t stay over he found comfort in your lingering scent.

“You aren’t alright are you?” He caught your voice muffled from the shirt you were taking off, showing off skin he could pick out from a hundred yards away. How acquainted he was with each blemish, freckle, scar…

“Is there anything from your ex boyfriend that you preferred? …liked I mean, or that he has that I don’t?” This is a Pandora’s box and from the way your eyebrows shoot up he knows it’s a bad idea but Christ he’s floundering.

“Absolutely nothing, why are you bringing him up?” You tossed your shirt aside, kicking off your shoes next and progressively becoming more aware that Donnie was holding back a giant wave of something not good right now.

“I’m just trying to make sense of something… I know why you both broke up but you were with him, there was an appeal at some point.” He wants to look away, drop the conversation but his hands feel tense and his skin itchy.

“There was an appeal before I found out who the real him was, appeal went away pretty fast if you ask me, baby why are you—“

“What’s the appeal here?” He motioned to himself, to his form, his face, his everything. “Because I can’t see it for myself, I don’t know why you’re here…with me.” His voice felt lumpy, crackling like a detuned radio.

You stood stock still, shocked at his words.

“What’s bringing this on? I haven’t spoken to that asshole in years, Don. What appeal? He has none, I’m with you.” You took a step, he took one backwards.

“You’re going to want things I cannot give you even if I would sell my soul for them. I—I can’t give you kids, or a normal home, or marriage, for fuck sake look at me, where does this make sense??” He sat down aggressively on the bed, he needed to concentrate on something else than your worried face. With shakey hands he began to untie his boots.

He saw your feet first, through the thin film of tears, god he didn’t want to cry now.

Gently you took his glasses off and set them on the night table.

“What’s going on? Tell me the truth, why are you acting like this? Why are you bringing my ex up all of a sudden to fight—” The deep concern, the frown lines on your forehead, he had you so damn worried.

“You think I like being like this? Every time someone fucking touches you I want to rip their hands off!” He didn’t mean to blow up but this hand bubbles, seeped over the mug and now there was no stopping it.

“I’m never going to understand why you would rather waste your life away with a monst—“ he felt your hands shoot up and cover his mouth.

“You are not a monster, Donatello, and if you ever use that stupid word to describe yourself ever again, I’m throwing a wrench at your head.” You let your hand slip away, instead you cupped his face. “I’m with you because I love you, you were my friend first and now you’re the most important thing in my life, and none of this is going to stop my feelings.” You rubbed your thumbs affectionately around his cheeks. Donnie’s gaze fell, eyes still red from holding back tears. He pressed his face against your sternum, and once you felt those large armed enclose around you, you hugged him tight.

“I—I’m sorry, I—fuck,” He sighed against your skin, finding comfort in your flesh as he often did.

“It alright, just please don’t ever question how I feel, okay?” You kissed the top of his head, letting yourself be pushed closer to him, he needed this, needed the physical reassurance. “I love you, Donnie, I love you so much.” You carresed him, cheek against the top of his head. Donnie’s hands found the back pockets of your jeans, hooked his fingers in and began to shove them down.

He needed more, he needed you and you knew it.

“I…I don’t want to stop. Please don’t ask me to stop.” He kissed each words onto your stomach, bit the periods onto your flesh and he dragged your underwear down as well. Effortlessly he picked you up and placed you on the bed with another feverish kiss that sent your head spinning. He bit more of those pleads onto your neck, grinding himself between your legs with intent of having your scent on his clothes forever.

It was messy, desperate and filled with longing. You somehow pushed down his pants with the heels of your feet and told him, gently and with need that you wanted him inside of you.

And he could never say no to you, he could never deny you a single thing.

So when he slipped in to the heat that he belonged to, to the woman that could drive him to burn the world at a moments time, he could feel a little less self hatred.

Your moan, long and aching, always a task to adjust to his size but never an unwelcome burn, blessed his ears. He needed this, he needed you inking those words and sounds with each thrust.

Donnie watched transfixed, enamored with your flushed skin and hooded eyes. Watched as your hands reached for him when he sat back on his knees. He hooked an arm beneath you and held you against him as he thrusted upwards with every intent of fucking these awful thoughts out.

“Fucking—Love you,” Donnie’s lips pressed against your own, the intimacy of spilling his love against your own lips too much for him. You moaned against his mouth, moving in tune with him to chase the high. ‘I love you’ you mouthed as you felt your voice be replaced with another lustful moan. Donnie half smiled, drunk off of your scent and deep into how perfect you felt wrapped around his cock. He held you like that, arms secure around you as he fucked the first load into you just as you came with a tightening and broken wail.

When you felt your back against the blankets and felt him continue to thrust, pushing past the oversensitivity, you knew he needed more.

He needed so much more.

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dontlookatmytmntcollection · 4 months ago

Note

Just read Mikey’s mating season, would write one for Raphael?

of course i will, anything for our boy in red! i will say that bay raph in particular is hard for me to write, so i hope this is decent

again, it's a lil spicyyy 🌶️ reader beware!

The first time it's brought up, Raph absolutely refuses to allow you to spend his season with him. Won't even have the conversation. Not even Mikey can convince him to just talk to you. It takes a literal act of God to force him into it- stranded in your apartment together while a late snowstorm rages, just as his season is starting.

Raph is naturally afraid that he will hurt you. But what he doesn't tell you is that he is afraid of the vulnerability. Raph's season is a highly emotional time for this passionate guy. He knows that he'll be more open- generally the first sign that his season is starting is when he admits something to one of his brothers that he doesn't actually want them to know. So forced into close quarters with you, alone- he's afraid of what he'll say, afraid that the depths of his feelings will drive you off.

He is shocked that when the time comes, his anger doesn't overwhelm him the way it normally does. Instead, it is his love for you that takes over. He finds himself feeling incredibly affectionate. He even chirps for you. (Once it's over he's mortified and you have to swear that you'll never tell anyone ever). The sadness he associates with this time? Again, all gone, because you're here.

The cuddling is real and it is. Frequent. Raph doesn't like to let you go and will often carry you around if you need to move from the bed. But good luck getting him to agree to let you leave the bed. He likes you there and he does not want you to leave. Surely he can go get whatever you need? You belong in his arms, as far as he is concerned.

So, Raph. Once you get him on board, he has rules. These are non-negotiable, because not following them could possibly result in him hurting you and that Will Not Happen. The biggest rule is that you cannot tease him. Teasing riles him up like nothing else and if he loses control and hurts you... no. It Won't Happen. He'll lock himself in a different room and take care of himself before he'll let you break one of his rules.

However, that doesn't mean that it's not a good time for both of you. It's hard at first, because Raph is so afraid to let go, but once he does? Once all that passion is set free and focused on you? It is absolutely some of the most intense lovemaking you've ever experienced in your life. And that's what it is- lovemaking.

All of Raph's affection and tender feelings take over, and he is intense but so gentle at the same time. When it's not mating season, he can be rough sometimes, although never more than you can handle. Not so during mating season. Even when he's pounding into you, driving you wild as you writhe under him, he doesn't hurt you. The only bruises you come out with are in the shape of his hands on your hips.

He is surprisingly quiet when he fucks you. Everything in him is so focused on you that he barely notices his own pleasure. He does chirp a lot, and when it happens the churring practically vibrates the whole bed. He prefers to draw sounds out of you instead. There is a certain dark chuckle he gives that warns you that you are about to get loud. He loves to quiet down so he can catch the nearly silent gasp that comes out of you when his fingers hit that spot deep in you.

He becomes an anxious mother hen when it's over. He hovers. It's a little maddening but he needs you to indulge. He needs to be able to make sure that you're okay, that he didn't hurt you. He is of course worried for no reason, you're fine. But he's still a little cuddly, so you enjoy indulging him.

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head bonks: @yorshie @avery73 @justalotoffanfiction @thejudiciousneurotic

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dontlookatmytmntcollection · 4 months ago

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I cannot stop thinking about how much Leo would adore domesticity help

Fuckin.... dishes. Cleaning the table after a family meal, his family in the next room all happy and full, and seeing you wash a plate off in the kitchen, and he just implodes a little. Any time you offer to clean up he's right there with you, wiping up crumbs and collecting dirty lasagna dishes from the stove and packing up the leftovers. It's like meditation and a little like cocaine, he thinks, the way he doesn't think he'll ever get enough of the way you look doing something so normal. He's microdosing on a normal life, and then you crack some dumb joke neither of you will remember in five minutes but he'll remember the warm, bubbly feeling that goes with his laugh until the day he dies.

Laundry, too. Folding your towels so you don't have to, thinking about how nice the warm, soft fabric feels on his hands, thinking about how much it feels like your smile. Looking up at you from across the pile of freshly-dried clothes and trying to match the way you fold your shirts and letting out a sheepish laugh when you try not to laugh yourself at his attempts.

Straightening up, scrubbing surfaces, organizing clutter, fucking cooking (which is a whole other post)- he just eats up every second of it, because it's safe. It's calm and comfortable. You're letting him into your life or helping him with his, you're taking care of a problem together, you're a team, you're his partner.

And when you let him help you? You're tired from work or dealing with a flare up or depressed or overwhelmed and you let him break down the boxes littering your floor and pick up the dishes that seem to multiply every time you blink? You trust him with your things enough to let him take over part of your to do list? His ass is in heaven. He hates that you're not yourself but he fucking loves feeling useful and he wants nothing more on this planet than to be useful to you.

Then he's hit a wall some time, right, he's exhausted and stressed and can't take one more instance of bullshit or he'll just crumple like a tower of blocks, and you offer to take care of some task for him. Maybe it's just making his tea or maybe it's putting equipment away in the dojo or maybe it's being an extra set of hands for Donnie in the lab so Leo can meditate instead. And this man feels it physically. It's like a hot bath or that perfect stretch after he wakes up. You put a hand on his shoulder and he looks at you and you smile, and say I got it, and he gets hit with such a strong wave of I love you that he has to take a second to get himself together.

In summary Leo's an acts of service bitch and in this essay I will-

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dontlookatmytmntcollection · 4 months ago

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Bite Down On This

Title: Bite Down on This Day: Febuwhump 2024, Day 3 Prompt: Bite Down on This Fandom: TMNT 2003 Word Count: 1431 Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating: T Characters: Raphael Warning: NA Summary: Raph’s taken a hard hit, leaving him with some of the worst pain he’s felt in his life, thanks to a dislocated hip. Notes: I might have watched several videos on how put a hip back in place before writing this ^^; ff.net || AO3

_________________________

Bite Down on This

A guttural, pain-filled scream forced its way out of Raphael’s throat as he hit the edge of the rooftop, his plastron grazing it, his hip taking most of the hit, and went skidding across it. The pain from the hit was blinding. But what was worse was that it wasn’t ending. Raph had taken hard hits before, but the pain usually faded at least a little. But this? No. His brothers were over on the other rooftop, still fighting, and Raph could barely comprehend that through the pain radiating from his hip.

His hands went to his leg, partially on instinct, and he let out another painfilled cry as they touched it. No good. He couldn’t touch it. He couldn’t move it. He couldn’t make it do anything. And the pain was some of the worst he’d ever felt—and he’d experienced some pretty bad pain before.

Something thudded on the rooftop, and Raph forced himself to look towards it. The big Foot Ninja, the one who had hit Raph with enough force to send him over here, had joined him. Raph bared his teeth at him, but he knew that he didn’t stand a chance against the man. Not right now. Still, he gripped his sai and, trying to breathe through the pain, he let out a growl.

The Foot Ninja was not intimidated. He walked towards Raph, and held up the axe he carried, clearly intent on bringing it down. Raph grimaced. No. No! He wasn’t going down like this! He flung his sai, but with the pain he was in, his aim was off. Instead of it hitting the man in the throat, one caught him in the arm, and the other grazed his neck. It made the man fall back slightly, but only enough to pull out the sai and raise the axe again.

And Raph could do nothing but pant in pain.

Suddenly, Leo slammed into the Foot from behind, sending him tumbling away from Raph. Within seconds Mikey and Don were there, too, barreling the man down and making sure that he wasn’t going to get up to hurt Raph or any of them again.

Raph watched from where he laid, breathing heavily and shaking from the pain.

“Raph!” Leo whirled and ran over to him. “Raph, where are you hurt?”

“M-my leg,” Raph ground out. “My h-hip.”

Leo’s eyes quickly traveled down to Raph’s leg, and he grimaced. “Think you can stand?”

“I… I don’t think… I can move, Leo,” Raph said.

“We can’t stay here,” Leo said, moving around to reach for Raph’s shoulders, clearly intent on moving him. “Let’s at least get to some cover—”

“Don’t move him!” Don’s voice rang out sharply across the rooftop.

Leo startled. “But Don we need—”

“I know, Leo,” Don said, but his face was grim as he looked Raph over. “But we can’t move him yet. If I’m right, Raph’s got a dislocated hip, and without the proper equipment, we’re only going to make it worse.”

“Something tells me we don’t have the proper equipment,” Mikey said, putting his nunchucks away.

“We definitely don’t.” Don was already kneeling by Raph, looking at his leg. “And this definitely looks like a dislocated hip, from the way his legs are different lengths. Looks like a posterior dislocation—the femur, the leg bone, pushed backward out of socket—seeing how his foot and knee are rotated inward.”

“It hurts—like—shell,” Raph said, through gritted teeth.

“Alright, Don, then what do we do? We can’t stay here,” Leo said. “The Foot will be back soon, and we’re in no shape to keep fighting, especially not with Raph down.”

Don looked at Raph’s leg, looking, somehow, even more grim. “Logistically? The easiest thing to do would be a reduction—putting it back into place. Physically? The quicker we do it, the better, because of less damage, but…”

“But?” Leo prompted.

“But we don’t have any painkillers to give him and doing that is going to hurt. A lot,” Don said.

Leo was quiet for a moment. The Foot had been chasing them all night. They’d beaten back one patrol, but it was likely that another would find them soon. And they were in no shape for another fight.

Leo’s face settled into a firm look, and he looked down at Raph. “I don’t think we have any other choice,” he said.

“Raph?” Don asked.

Raph was pale, sweaty, with pain playing across his face. But he nodded. “Do—do what… ya gotta…”

Don nodded and set to work. “Okay. But Leo, Mikey, you’re going to have to help me. Leo, when I tell you, I’m going to need you to put pressure here,” he said, indicating a spot just above Raph’s leg, “so that the hipbone doesn’t move.” Leo nodded and moved into position.

“Mikey, you’re going to have to help hold Raph down. And not just when I’m doing the reduction, but even when I’m manipulating the limb.” Mikey nodded, and moved to where he could put most of his weight on Raph.

“Raph…” Don reached into his bag and pulled out some rags that he quickly rolled together. “Bite down on this. Trust me, you’re going to need it.”

“I need it now,” Raph said, but he let Don put the rags in his mouth, already starting to bite down on them.

Don looked up at his brothers, taking a couple of deep breaths, but nodded. “Alright. Here we go.”

Don worked his forearm under Raph’s knee, and Raph tensed, letting out another cry of pain. Mike pressed down on him, keeping his brother still. Slowly, Don moved his brother’s leg until his thigh was ninety degrees to the rooftop, and his calf was bent at a ninety-degree angle. Raph let out muffled cries of pain as this happened, biting the cloth and trying to breathe. Mikey kept him pressed down to the rooftop and kept a quiet stream of encouragements and chatter going.

“Alright, Raph, I’m going to need you to do your best to relax,” Don said.

“Relax?” Mikey said, and Don shot him a look.

“Relax this muscle,” Don said. “It’ll go back in easier if the muscles are relaxed.”

Raph was breathing heavily through his nose, but he nodded. With enormous willpower, he did his best to relax that leg and that hip as much as possible. Don waited until he was sure, and then nodded at Leo. Leo put his hand on Raph’s hip, causing another noise of pain to come through the rags. Don, kneeling for the leverage he needed to do this, counted.

“One. Two. Three.”

On three, he moved, twisting the leg so that the femoral head popped back into the socket. Raph felt nothing but pain, and even through the rags he was biting down on, his scream echoed across the rooftops. As soon as the hip was back in place, though, his whole body sagged, and he gasped for breath.

“Good job,” Leo said, even though his face was pinched in sympathy for his brother.

“I’m not finished,” Don warned. “I need to make sure it went in correctly.”

Raph nodded faintly, and Don proceeded, making sure that Raph’s legs were the same length, and that he had a safe range of motion. Raph let out little noises of pain as Don did this, still biting down on the rags. Don let out a sigh of relief, and carefully laid Raph’s leg back down which Leo and Mike took as their cue and got off of Raph, too, Mikey taking the rags from their brother’s mouth.

“It seems to have gone smoothly,” Don said.

“That will have attracted a lot of attention,” Leo said. “Don, can we move him now?”

Don nodded. “Yes, but carefully. We don’t need to let him put pressure on that leg yet, at least as much as possible, and he’s going to need to rest it.”

“Well, that’s going to make getting down from here and walking home fun,” Mikey said, peering over the edge of the roof.”

“We’ll make it,” Leo said. “Raph, are you ready to move?”

“No,” Raph said, already struggling to sit up, “But I’ll do what I’ve gotta.”

Carefully, the brothers helped Raph up and towards the edge of the roof. It was tricky, but Raph too stubborn to give up. Carefully, and as quietly as they could manage, the brothers slipped off into the night and down into the sewers, leaving behind the remains of a battlefield, and the echoes of Raph’s muffled screams.

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dontlookatmytmntcollection · 4 months ago

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“Anime ending credits” with bayverse. Cause.

#goals #very beautiful art

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dontlookatmytmntcollection · 4 months ago

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The Kitchen Window (pt. 5)

Bayverse! Raphael x Fem! Reader

desc- (vannie's been missing for weeks. when her savior returns her in a broken state, it's your turn to do the rescuing)

warnings - angst, violence, themes of animal abuse, slight nsfw

word count - 3.9k

READ PREVIOUS PARTS HERE - one - two - three - four

It's hard to come to terms with the way you feel about Raphael. When he's not around you physically, he's taking up your every waking thought. It's just so abnormal, the way your paths had crossed and led you to a point where every little thing you do, is in thought of him. To a point where you lay awake, staring at the ceiling and thinking of him, and the nights you get to see him, you come up with almost every excuse to have him stay at your window just a little longer.

Why was this so, so difficult? It was a complicated thing, the situation at hand. It should feel freeing, and light. But with the circumstances of you being a human and Raph being, well… Raph, it's stressing you out. Not even the fear of rejection, but what might happen if he’s reciprocating the same feelings. Where do you even go from there?

Raph’s hard to read. You can see the emotions always conflicting on his face, but what he’s thinking is a whole other deal. Even though he’s friendly, he’s closed off. Talking about things that are bothering him just isn’t something he does.

On top of this dilemma comes another issue that’s been eating at your insides.

Vannie’s missing.

The first day, you think nothing of it.

It’s been a long day at work, and she doesn’t come to greet you at the sound of an opening door or the shake of her food bowl. Maybe she’s hiding somewhere, under the couch or your dresser. But you’re surprised to see she hasn’t curled up in your bed with you when you wake up the next morning. Vannie always does that. Something could’ve spooked her, but was it so bad that she would hide in fear all night? You can’t find the time to look for her rushing out the door to open up shop.

After another day, is when you really get concerned. You practically flip the apartment inside out searching for your cat, opening cabinets, upturning the little furniture you own. All the while calling her name and shaking one of her favorite toys to coax her out. She doesn’t come. This was really, really bad. Had you left the window open? Did she slip out of the door when you were leaving for work one morning?

After you’ve given up on looking through your home, you turn to the few neighbors you have, knocking on their doors. All of them pitifully shake their heads and tell you they haven’t seen her. Most of them didn’t even know you owned an animal.

It’s an empty, hopeless feeling that’s breaking your heart. She was the only thing you had to come to after a tireless day of work. Every day has dragged on meaninglessly. You’re slow to close the cafe each night, knowing Vannie won’t be perched on her cat tree in the corner of your living room while she waits for you to step inside.

When you go to hang a “missing pet” poster, it looks so insignificant in the sea of all the other pictures of lost dogs and cats that are plastered onto the light post. You spend each day tirelessly waiting at the kitchen window for your baby to come home.

One night, Mikey swings by. His usual friendly and excited smile wipes clean off his face when he sees your tired eyes, puffy and red from crying through the glass. You open it, wiping at the snot dripping from your nose.

“Woah, angel.” He’s leaning down and looking toward you with caution, “What’s wrong?”

“V-Vannie,” you have to swallow the frog in your throat to keep from sobbing all over again, “Vannie’s missing. I can’t find her anywhere.”

Empathy is swimming in his eyes.

“Aw dude,” Mikey grabs your hand from the window and gives it a comforting squeeze, “I’m sorry. Didya’ put up posters and stuff?”

You nod, and squeeze back, with a sniffle.

“Hung them up everywhere. She’s been gone for over a week. I don’t know what to do.”

“I’ll tell the bros if you want. We’ll look for her on patrol.”

You sigh, and give him a watery, weak smile.

“Thank you Mike. You’re the best.”

He winks.

“Anytime sweet cheeks,” he looks down at his phone, “I gotta get going, but don’t worry, We’ll find your kitty!”

Mikey blows you a kiss and scales your fire escape.

That night, it’s just a little bit easier trying to find rest. Bless those boys, always looking out for you. The next morning you receive a text from another unsaved number. You know it’s Raph.

[sorry to hear about van]

[i’ll find her for you]

You smile at your phone.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

A few more days slug along, before you see one of the brothers again.

It’s a night you’re supposed to be sleeping, with work the next morning. Instead, you’re laying on the couch, phone being the only light in the dark living room, and scrolling through the hundreds of pictures of your sweet kitty, through tear clouded eyes. A video of her playing with a hair tie in your empty bathtub pulls a sad little whimper from you. You miss Vannie so badly. It’s been almost two weeks since you’ve seen her, and it worries you what she’s been doing, if she’s hurt, or an unthinkable other outcome that you immediately shove out of your head and lock the door on anytime it crossed your mind. Life’s been full of interruptions lately. This next one shouldn’t be a shocker, but it is anyway.

Tick.

You almost miss the noise. A few seconds later, it comes again.

Tick-ting.

You turn to look at the window. Another small rock clicks against the glass and bounces off onto the fire escape, and it calls you to get up and investigate. By the time you get there, another pebble flies at you, and it makes you flinch. It comes down below from the dark alleyway. You open the window.

“Hello?”

Mrowr.

Your heart drops.

“Vannie?”

You see the huge figure of one of the turtles stepping forward, and in their outstretched hand, is your cat. Her grey fur is soaked with the rain that’s starting to trickle outside, one ear laid back in fear and confusion.

“Oh my god. Raph, you found her!” Like a fumbling idiot, you scramble over the sink and push yourself all the way out of the opening, feet landing lightly on the metal platform. The summer rain immediately hits your hair and skin. Raphael doesn’t move. Something feels off.

The way he holds her out into the light, keeping the rest of his body in the shadows. His labored breaths can barely be heard over water tinking off every surface it can reach.

“Raph? Are you okay?”

He doesn’t respond.

“Raph, come here.”

You watch him. He doesn’t want to, you can tell. The way he pauses and then staggers forward on a limp foot makes your eyes widen with concern. He grunts. Then you see the deep red stains that covers his outstretched arm.

“Holy shit.”

It’s hard to make out his face. Raph’s trying his best to hide it, leveraging the darkness, down where he’s swaying unsteadily.

“Raphael, what happened?”

He just gruff’s out in response, animalistic, and pained.

“Come up here. Please.”

He sighs. The lowering of his arm, with Vannie still clutched safely, indicated his surrender. He slinks forward under the fire escape, and you feel it wobble as he ascends it. It’s slow, interrupted with strained, deep breathing and huffs of discomfort. Your face contorts from that of uncertainty into dread. Suddenly, you’re not so worried about your lost cat anymore. Raphael steps onto the scaffolding with you. He loses his footing against the slick metal, and his bad leg gives out underneath him, falling to one of his knees. He yelps with a snarled lip, all the while, Vannie held safely against his chest.

“What the fuck.”

His arm isn’t the only thing nearly coated with blood. You can see it glinting in the faint light of your kitchen and moon peeking through thin clouds, spattered across the rest of his upper half, running from his nose, and down under his mask, being washed away by the rain. He’s got new, fresh cuts, almost white from how deep they go into his skin, and dark patches of skin that seem to be bruises.

“You-“ His voice is guttural and hoarse. He swallows thickly, “You ain’t gotta look at me like that.” Raphael spits a little blood from his mouth.

“What happened?”

He turns away, instead of answering your question. Vannie claws her way out of his hold and clambers into the window with record speed, desperate to get out of the rain.

“Cat did it.”

Even in this horrendous, battered up state, he has room for jokes. Idiot.

“I’m not kidding, Raph.” You take a step forward to better look at his injuries, gently grabbing his jaw and turning his head to look at you. You can’t tell if it’s the rain or tears collecting in his eyes.

“Come inside.”

Next thing you know, you’re guiding Raphel gently up the staircase to your floor, straining under his body weight while he leans against you for support. He stumbles through the door, tracking rain and dark red into the carpet. It’s the least of your worries right now. Raph trudges to the tile floor of your kitchenette, and slumps down to sit on his butt. It’s still dark in the space, but you can’t bring yourself to flick on the light, worried it’ll hurt his eyes, and even more focused on his countless injuries. You don’t even know where to start.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He continues his streak of silence, just looking down at the floor with an empty, tired glare, while you stand to go get a towel and clean wash-rags. The rain drones outside, getting heavier. You don’t speak to each other while you dry the rain from his skin, and then gently scrub away the blood with warm water. He allows you to clean him up without quarrel, if it means not having to tell you how he sustained such horrific injuries. You’re seated on your knees, between his legs on the floor, close enough to feel Raphael’s breath leaving his nose and cool your warm face, and catch the scent of warm summer rain and iron on his skin. He flinches when the rag dabs over one of the deep scratches above his collarbone.

“Sorry,” you look up to see his eyelids heavy, and brow scrunched in a painful expression, “It’s not gonna feel great.”

He knows, of course, and lets you continue tending to the wound with a hand that’s as gentle as it can be. It’s quiet, once again. The downpour is happy to fill its space.

Your hands softly graze over each bruise and welt that he’s gained. Each rag is soaked with lukewarm water and the rusted tint of blood, then tossed to the side to be replaced with a new one, until all of Raph’s verdian scales are clear and dry. You don’t have a fancy first-aid kit like Donnie’s. It’s a Tupperware container filled with different sized bandaids and a nearly expired tube of neosporin. It would have to do until his brother could get his nifty, medically inclined hands on him.

This is so intimate. Centimeters away from each other’s warm bodies, in the dark, while you reach to stick a bandage over a little slice on the side of his cheek. So close it feels like a dam is about to crumble into pieces. You have to speak to keep yourself from doing something stupid.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” you say, so quiet, it’s almost a whisper, “But-“

“They had her.”

You pull away to look into his eyes. They’re swimming with some intense emotion between anger and shame, a deep green glinting in the soft light.

“Who did?”

“I don’t know. Some douchebags,” he’s recounting the confrontation in his head, and looks down at his scratched knuckles, “They were tormentin the poor thing.”

Raph remembers ducking between a few alleys on his patrol that night. He’s climbing the side of an old warehouse where he usually sticks out, high above most of the city. The fifth floor is occupied with loud laughter and rap music that blares through the broken window. A bunch of men and women drinking and smoking, resting on old furniture and crates that had been left a long time ago. He thinks nothing of it, already trying to continue up the building, until he hears a yowl.

He doesn’t want to believe it’s Vannie, that they’re gathering around and dunking in a bucket of old mop water, but her missing ear and red collar around her neck confirm his worst fears. She’s trying to claw her water from their grip, but their numbers and strong tattooed arms overpower her, and they shove her under the surface again.

Raphael is filled with a blind rage that calls him to jump down through the window and threaten them with a loud voice. He recalls the overwhelming sinking feeling in his gut when their numbers grow even larger, jumping down from crates and out of dark corners of the huge room.

“They had a bunch a’ crowbars. Pocket knives. Shit like that.” He doesn’t want to look up at your face. He can already feel the despair setting in your features.

He was overpowered so quickly. Metal bats and steel toed shoes hitting his thick skin, blades cutting, while some of them held him down by his arms and sitting on the back of his shell, plastron pressed helplessly to the concrete floor. He cries out for his brothers, while the group of ruthless attackers steal his weapons and use them to barrade down on him. It was the thought of you crying for your cat that finally pulled him from the floor in a white-hot anger, throwing them off and falling backwards.

It was all a blur from there. Ruthless punches thrown and cracking against their faces. Just his bare, bandaged hands landing blows onto anyone and everyone that crossed his path. Raphael had practically blacked out. Nobody was getting away with it. Even the ones that tried to scramble away became a lost cause if he caught them in the corner of his eyes, dragging them by their legs and hauling them into piles of rotting wood and brick walls.

You watch as he shivers through the memory.

By the time Raphael is through with the assemblage of delinquents, he’s still pumping full of adrenaline and unfathomable rage, heaving out deep breaths with a bloody spittle collecting at the edges of his lips. All were lying unconscious or crying out in pain for their absent mothers, and any who got away were lucky enough to slink into the protective shade of the corners. The edges of his vision are still fuzzy. He can feel his racing heart in his head, and the trickle of blood down the sides of his face and arms. He’s not sure if most of it is, or theirs.

“I dunno if I killed any of em’. But I was so fuckin angry.”

Raph scoops up a cowering vannie from the bucket, then turns to her main assailant, trembling on the cold floor and cradling a (surely broken) wrist.

“You think you’re tough, huh?” He sneers down at the man, who has a blackened eye, “Hurtin’ a poor animal who did nothin to ya?”

Raph dumps the dirty contents of the bucket onto him, then kicks his side.

“You’re a worthless piece of shit, is what you are.”

Afterwards, he opts to take the stairs all the way down, limping on his bad leg, and make the trek to your apartment.

He’s pulled from his hateful trance, to look at where you’re staring up at him with watery eyes.

“You saved her.”

Raph seems surprised it’s all you have to say. Nothing about beating her captors to a pulp and leaving them for dead. A tear rolls down the side of your nose. His eyes widen with worry.

“You saved my baby, Raph.”

“I-I just,” he swallows thickly, “I know how important she is to ya,”

It’s amazing. The way the room is so dark and yet all of your senses are in tune with how every muscle moves under his thick skin. How he’s expected you to be overwhelmed with fear and push him away from you, with the worry that he’s this angry monster that he’s been hiding. Instead you’re thanking him. That means more to him than he could express. He hates the silence now, hates the way he’s so awkward and how he doesn’t know the right way to respond to your gratitude. He’s adjusting to lift himself off the ground.

“I gotta get back to-“ Raphael forgets about going back to the lair. He forgets his lame leg. All the cuts and bruises, and saving Vannie. You forget about the fear of rejection and what comes next. The sleepless nights that have been holding you awake at their mercy. Instead you’re both tuned into the way you lift yourself up on your knees and grab his face and pull him down.

It’s a short, unexpected kiss that doesn’t break past your lips, faces smushed together, like puzzle pieces that don’t fit quite right. And then you pull away, both so surprised at it, that at first it doesn’t register. On the outside, your hands are frozen, hovering just above his jawline, in pure idiocy at the idea that you just did that. And in your brain, you’re beating yourself senseless, because what the fuck were you thinking??

How fucking ridiculous.

Raph’s eyes are the widest you’ve ever seen them, flicking between your own. He’s breathing heavy, mouth slack, and the wordless reaction is freaking you out. You swear you can hear his heart thundering under his plastron. Or was that you?

It’s then that he grabs you right back and pulls you in for a much more calculated, breathless kiss. You lean into it, desperate and nervous, and grabbing the tails of his bandanna to bring him as close as possible.

This was happening. It was a thing.

You and Raphael sitting on the kitchen floor, with his shell pressed into one of the lower cabinets, and borderline making out. What would your mother think?

You’ve always been used to Raph’s soft touch, anytime he’d fist bump you through the kitchen window or brush past your arm. That was not him now.

His huge hands are tangled in your hair and at the nape of your neck, and he’s drinking you in like water. You’re pressing him further into the cabinet door intoxicated over the way your teeth and noses slightly graze past each other. His tongue slipping into your mouth makes you shudder and you huff. Raph’s easily pulling you up into his crossed legs.

This gentle giant was no more, firm and intentional with every move he makes. He doesn’t shy away from moving further into your touch and kissing you deeper. You can feel his mouth curl into a smile when you gasp. Your hands are everywhere. traveling up the tough texture of his plastron, to his beyond muscular shoulder, where one roughly grazes over a bigger cut. Raph pulls away with a hiss.

“Sorry!” You squeak out. It’s the first you’ve spoken since kissing him senseless. He winces but the recovery is swift, and he looks up at you with pupils blown wide, black eating away at their beautiful color, fluster evident at the warm tint to his face.

“Nothin’ I can’t handle, sunshine.”

The nickname makes your stomach do a summersault. You smile, out of breath.

“You’re hot.”

Stupid! What the hell is wrong with you?!

“You kiddin’ me?” He laughs, “You’re fuckin’ gorgeous.”

His voice is a low growl, and he pulls you in once again by the back of your head. Back to it, I guess.

If the window hadn’t been open, it would surely be fogged up by now, with your heated breaths floating up from the cool floor. This was great.

Unanticipated, and weird, but just so great. You have to push off of each other to stop from going any further than you already have, both sweaty, breathing heavily and grinning like you just won a Grammy. It takes a while before one of you can catch your breath. Raph nudges your shoulder.

“You’re my first kiss.”

He flashes you a five star grin with flared nostrils. You match it. It shouldn’t surprise you that much, but it does anyway.

“Yeah?” He nods, “Well, you’re my first good kiss.”

You see the pride roll over Raph in a wave.

“That good, huh?”

You shove his face away playfully when he gets close.

“Now that I think about it, it was mediocre.”

The turtle ruffles your already disheveled hair.

“Whateva. You loved that shit.”

Oh you did. The evidence of him enjoying just as much is the prominent arousal just under his naval, and you’re trying to avert your view. He catches it and his eyes blow wide, trying to quickly readjust the way he’s sitting.

“Ah! Heh-uhhh-“ Raph coughs into his fist, and then drags an open palm down his face in immense embarrassment, “Sorry! Sorry. I should probably, uh, get goin’”

It makes you giggle like a teenager. Raph’s bad leg hasn’t crossed either of your minds until he tries to lift himself from the floor and it gives out under his weight again and he shouts.

“There’s no way you’re getting back to the lair on that. Something’s probably broken.”

“Yeah, no shit,” he snorts. You jump to his aid, slipping your arm under his for support and help raise him off the ground.

“You’ll probably need to stay here for the night, until Donnie can check you out.“

The thought of having a sleepover with the guy you just sucked face with for 20 minutes is so exciting.

“Are ya sure?” Raph sounds unsure while you guide him down onto the couch.

“You can sleep here. I’ll text Don to come over in the morning.”

He lays back onto the cushions and lets you grab him a blanket and pillow from your room, tucking him in and placing a light kiss on his red-banded forehead. You slide down onto the carpet to be eye level where Raphael’s head is snuggled into the pillow.

Vannie meows, the first you’ve heard from her since she came in through the window. Her tiny head peeks over the back of the couch. You both watch with soft smiles as she curls up, purring, on Raph’s chest.

He flinches a little when your hand slips into his larger one and gives it a squeeze.

“Thank you for bringing her back to me.”

“Anytime sunshine.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

The next morning, Donnie has successfully picked the lock to your front door, heeding to your late night text. He does a double take, and then snorts with an incredulous smile, seeing you passed out on the floor, his older brother on the couch and Vannie still sleeping soundly on top of him while he snores.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

BAM, YOU GET A BIG OL' KISS

HERE'S PART 5 EVERYONE!!! I SINCERELY APPRECIATE ALL OF YOUR SUPPORT AND PATIENCE ON THIS PART, I REALLY STRUGGLED WRITING IT LMAO 🩷💓💕

Also, I came back to this page with 260 followers and I opened it this morning to 410??

I really do not deserve such incredible support from all of you wonderful folks 😭🙏🩷💓

I'm not sure if I'll add another part, which will most likely be a little epilogue, but PLEASE LET ME KNOWWW !!!!

Don't forget to REBLOG and let me know if you want to be a part of my taglist so you don't miss out on any of my TMNT works!!!

LOVE YA BABES 🩷💓💕🫧🧼🌸

taglist - [ @ladyofparchments @well-its-not-human-anymore @raphaelsrightarm @chiliiscereal @milkytheholy1 @moxfirefly @raphsgrl @leosgirl82 @thelaundrybitch @rheawritesforfun @imthegreenfairy86 @aurora-the-kunoichi @angelhazeisaweirdo @raisin-shell @fyreball66 @redsrooftopprincess @milykins @ahhhhhhhhhfuck @quitecontrary-to-mary @the-cauldron-witch @brins-rogers @yelocaltrashcan @pheradream-15 @asillysimp @miranexx @cinnamonskiss @le0n-ardo @silveritydreams @goldenflowerdragon @loveshrubs @glitterystarfishfestival @supersleepyslowpoke @floflodoesart ]

#ive loved reading this story omg 😭#gold

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