You also need to be 18+ to follow. The boys are always aged up in all of my pieces. I write for the 2014/2016 turtles and for Bigby Wolf from The Wolf Among Us.
I’m a slow writer so please just be patient with me.
My AO3 account is under the same username (Raphaelsrightarm) This is the only other place I post my work
This has been in the back of my mind for a while now. So I figured I’d try getting it out. While this doesn’t mean I’m “back” back, it doesn’t mean the few good folk on here shouldn’t (hopefully) enjoy this. For the foreseeable future I don’t feel like I’ll be taking request but you can maybe catch my own doings here and there.
But on with the show.
Rated Explicit (18+ only)
You feel you’ll go out of your mind at this rate.
All the staring.
The quiet little gestures.
His passive resistance.
You’ve remained glued to your spot for so long. Hoping that maybe somewhere between weeks in the months of the years you’ve known him, that he’d crack.
Leonardo doesn’t crack easily you’ve gathered.
He hardly moves. He doesn’t allow his eyes to betray him. His hands remain within eyesight, but it’s in the subtle clench of his knuckles. The way his hands ball up and quickly stretch exposing the veins.
While he smiles sweetly, almost submissively at the sound of your voice. You know he doesn’t show this to just anybody. He doesn’t allow himself the luxury but god dammit, you can see that he wants to drink you in.
You’re liquor to him, addicting and burning.
You’re oil to him, never quite mixed with the water he floats upon.
You’re pornography to him, a hidden treasure for when he’s too far gone.
So why does it ache so much to open your mouth? To make a move. To peel back that layer of protection he’s been so steadfast in building.
Because he could still reject.
He could push away your pulling aura.
So when you stand next to him during the group picture April insisted on taking. Feeling the cold of his skin so close to your arm. Your little hairs sticking out to somehow feel something of his. You don’t think, don’t linger on the possibility of rejection. Because when your pinky reaches for his palm, gently caressing his hand, begging for permission you somehow only whisper in your mind…
You hold back the gasp as his own finger wraps around yours.
It’s tentative and charged with electricity.
He’s a knife.
You chance a look at him from the corner of your eye and watch his throat bob. The tension in his broad shoulders, the shakiness of his irises. The fight to turn and stare right back at you, to cut you with his blue eyes and inquire if his fantasies have become fact for once.
When you feel an arm around your shoulders as everyone screams cheese, it takes your entire will to muster your designer smile. Leo seems to do the same, a defeated retreat from the prize.
You still feel him weeks later. The way the top of his hand rubbed against your own.
What you’d give to have that palm right now between your legs, trying to rush the blood to your brain and drowning you in the ecstasy he could give. You wonder if he’s done the same? Have you driven him insane all these months? Made him question every waking moment of his life?
Are his pretty beaten hands wrapped around himself right now?
Is he begin for you?
Is he dying for you?
Somehow this all comes to fruition one evening. Another night with your friends. Celebrating another big win.
You get sent to the supply closet to get something (because at this point you forgot what) and as you rummage through a box, that tiny bulb swinging around you like a halo. You feel that rush when the door opens.
A hand reaching and gripping the back of your neck and pulling.
Lips.
At the shell of your ear.
You gasp.
Leo feels mortification sink deep.
But before he allows the logical side to quick in, you grip the fabric of his pant leg.
“Don’t-“ you hold him there, silently begging him.
Leo let’s out a breath he’s been holding since his feet took him to you.
Several heartbeats pass, tension building and swirling around both your souls. Somewhere between bravery and madness you grab those hands press those palms around you.
And hold on for dear life.
Presses you against himself like a security blanket. Greedily inhales and exhales you. You’re shaking but god Leo is shaking worse.
He slides down you, comes to his knees and watches you turn around his embrace and watch him as he lets his vices win this time.
It’s the way those eyes look up at you, apologetically, fascinated, tormented.
His stomach drops when you cup his face, fear overwritten his features.
He looks weak, he knows it.
But to you? To you he’s the most beautiful creature. Gentle features, eyes as blue as the sky. Lips surprisingly warm, hesitant and yet needy. He’s kissing back just as your hands run across his cheeks and neck. Lips molding, desperation kicking in because now he’s had a taste. Now he knows what paradise tastes like.
His hands fall to your hips, gripping as he leans up more, still tall enough on his knees for your comfort. When he feels your moan, captures it inside his throat; he knows he’s done for.
Weakened by you.
Overwhelmed by you.
He can hear himself panting, the blood inside his veins pumping. How your sounds pick up the more he kisses you back.
You smile against the corner of his mouth as he grabs your waist and stands up with you in his arms. The contents inside the supply closet rattle to the ground but his hold is bruising and the prospect of his hand marked on your flesh make you euphoric.
Leo’s tongue and yours.
His nails digging into your rear, yours at his neck.
His teeth meet your bottom lip.
He’s hard and rubbing against the spot of your underwear.
You should stop, lead him into something more understandable.
But the greedy little creature inside of you chants ‘more!’ Just as he moans into your mouth for the twentieth time. A sound hitches in the back of your throat when you feel something warm gush and connect with your wetness.
You’re doing this to him.
You’re causing this.
He’s cumming for YOU.
That desperate point of no return is there, the two of your skating down it. His kissing is erratic and out of sync because his eyes are going wide.
His locked to your own blown out pupils.
He wants to apologize, to stop but your hips just rubbed up against him just as you start to cum. His name seeping out of your wet parten lips.
What do you think the turtles think when they see the contrast of their skin colour against yours? It could be in an innocent moment when they look at your hands interlocked, or maybe a little spicier as they watch their hand trail down your abdomen.
(I hope you don't mind me dropping in, I love your writing and thoughts so much!)
Oh!!!! Stop it! You're making me blush! 🤭🤭🤭I'm so glad that you're enjoying what I write. It makes me happy to know that I can brighten someone's day - even if I've never met them!
I never mind any one dropping in. It only ever makes me smile. Promise!
Now on to this yummy idea.... Seriously, it's delish.... I wrote this as a turtle of choice piece since I firmly believe all four would think/feel nearly the same as each other on the matter.
Random Turtle Thoughts...
It's not so much actual thoughts anymore. More like a feeling that makes gravity seem heavier, the air thicker now. Almost as if he's remembering the sensation of the weight those thoughts burdened onto his heart.
When you first came into his life, he hadn't dared let fancy get a foothold. He was very well aware of just how unlikely the two of you getting together was. Of how miniscule the odds of you finding him desirable were. But then you started making what he interpreted as advances. Blowing his mind right out of the lair when his own were well received - if not outright welcomed. With each lingering touch, each time you sought to remain in his company, every text and phone call - hope at the possibility crept its way in, only to latch firmly, painfully, unrelentingly inside.
That first kiss though. That first confession. It had felt like a dream, rocketing him into the stratosphere to perch on cloud nine and revel at the glory of the sun rising on a new chapter in his life. That's when the thoughts struck. Not a second after he came down from his high.
The contrasts between the two of you, so inescapably obvious. The roughness of his scales catching against your velvety skin as your arms slid from around his neck. Your hands, so soft and gentle, so full of love, small and delicate and so very easily broken in his monstrosity of a grip. The realization of his towering height as opposed to yours as he gazed down upon you bore deep into his chest. Things he's always known, suddenly felt like a cage on what should have been a rush of freedom.
He never breathed a word of those thoughts to you. He'd sit with them, allowing them to chew away at his sense of security. This had to be a dream built upon a deck of cards, ornate in structure, but feeble in stability. Surely, it was only a matter of time before it ate at you too. Just how different he was. Huge. Hard. Mutated. How long could you look past his dark, green hue, speckled with even darker scales? It ate at him. Made him hate the fact he couldn't be more like you. More like what he was convinced you had to want. Forced him to dwell on the crippling understanding his happiness came with an expiration date.
Yet it never came. Much to his surprise, you only grew closer to him. You'd touch him, watch him, kiss him, make love to him and hold him close as if not a fraction of difference existed between you two at all. And those thoughts began to slip. Their footholds chiseled away with each moment he spent belonging to you. After this much time, he actually managed to forget that he had ever feared not being human with you at all.
But there were times, the fact he was a mutant turtle, would sock him square in the gut.
A few sweet kisses, catching fire and becoming a hungry fire, causing him to rush you to the bed to douse the flames... Hundreds of times now, the two have you have been tangled together this way, except this evening, the flash of his green skin, foreign against the pale beige of yours, made his body uncomfortably heavy. And you can see it in his eyes. The way his awareness slips from your naked form pressed in tight against him, back into the recesses of his memory.
He doesn't actually think the words. But he is aware he used to. The sense of being out of place, even though he's lying on his very own bed, fills him. It's like he's standing just behind himself, looking in, to see what the world made true. It makes him heavy. Not so much sad, but resigned. This is his reality. That he should be so different from you.
The feeling is about to sink him to the floor when you catch him in the midst of his fall. He's never said the words to you. But you know that he used to think them. Used to worry. And the power of those thoughts often embed themselves within our bones. Even if we never think the words themselves, their weight is always there. You know he carries it with him every where he goes. Know that he probably always will.
So you press yourself in as close as you can. Pulled his eyes up to meet your own. Poured your love into him through a kiss. "You are my gift," you speak to his soul. "Made just as you were meant to be. I love every single ounce of you. Inside and out. So just think of how we are now. You, wrapped in my arms, I in yours. I'll be the gentle to your rough, the light to your dark, and your security blanket when you're scared. That way you never have to worry about whether or not I love what I see, when I look at the gift I was blessed to receive."
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I hope this was what you were hoping to see! If not, message me again and I'll take another stab at it. Thank you again for the thought. I loved it.
Raph grumbles to himself all the way from the fridge, where he's snagged himself a beer, to the armchair where he drops himself. He's forcing air out his nostrils, trying to calm his breathing. Tries to focus on the liquid as it slides down his throat with each drink. One. Two. Breath. Three.
It's not helping.
He presses back farther into his chair. Spreads his legs a little farther apart. Props his elbows out over the armrests. Trying his best to make himself more comfortable.
Maybe that'd help him settle.
He's just pissed right now. Patrol sucked ass. Couple of dumbasses trying to get in the mix solely for the sake of catching it on video resulted in the muggers getting away. Flared nerves from disagreements over the calls made tonight didn't help. Fuck tonight.
He was just ticked. He just needed to calm down.
You couldn't muster a kind greeting to the brothers as you passed each of them in your silent pursuit to find Raph. Raw tears were too close to the surface. You could only nod in acknowledgement of them as you passed. Today had been a vicious bitch. But you wouldn't give those fuckers who'd given you so much hell today the satisfaction of breaking you down. So, fists clenched tight at your sides, you march about the lair to find him.
He wanted to be happy to see you. Honest to pizza gods he did. Wanted to give you a smile and greet you affectionately. He couldn't force himself to do it though. And you didn't offer a kind greeting to him either.
So he just watches you; mossy green eyes stitched with molten gold nearly glowing with roiling emotions just beneath the surface.
You wanted to smile at him. Wanted to feel giddy and wrap your arms around his neck. Pepper his face with sprinkles of kisses laced with giggles. Like you normally did. But you didn't have the heart to do it. If you let loose of the anger you were clinging too, you'd lose it. You couldn't. Wouldn't. No, you needed to keep your foul mood.
Raph says nothing as you snatch a blanket from the stack. Doesn't make any motion to invite you in as you draw closer. Neither opens himself up nor closes himself off as you begin to climb into his lap. He just sits still.
It's not exactly easy, to climb up into his lap, even though he's much bigger than you. You grunt and huff in irritation as you twist and wiggle, pulling the blanket up after you. Trying to find just the right way to sit, with no help from him.
An elbow presses against a fresh injury. Raph bares his teeth and growls.
He loves you. With all his heart. But he doesn't have the patience for this right now. He hasn't calmed down. He can't give you what you want.
You give a rumble in imitation of his growl back, but you freeze so as not to hurt him any more. He shifts under you. Growls again.
Another rumble of your own in response. You can't give him what he wants right now.
Glares at one another might look like the two of you are ready to fight to outside eyes. But this is you. This is Raph. He recognizes you're asking to please not be pushed away. To please have him pull you close. You understand he's asking for a minute. He needs a chance to just breathe. Just let go of what's got him riled up.
You don't ask. He doesn't ask. And that's okay. Neither of you are really interested in talking about it. Not now at least.
He shifts a little more. You wiggle again, trying to get comfortable. Another growl, though this one softer. You look up to him in silent apology. His gaze sweeps over you, gathers you're not actually mad.
The smallest gesture of reassurance he can offer right now, Raph's expression softens. And he stretches out to press his nose to yours. You accept, tears hot in the corners of your eyes, pressing back. Your hands cupping his face and holding him there.
A brief moment of stillness. Then with a deep sigh, one you know isn't directed at you, he falls back. And you nuzzle in, head tucked up tight under his chin. A strong arm encircles you. Brings you in tighter. You sweep your fingers in gentle strokes across his chest.
Slowly, delicately, he unwinds. And droplets softly fall from your eyes. This goes on a few moments more before he nudges you with his nose, causing you to turn your face up to him.
Lips press surely into yours. Volumes of all the things you both want to say communicated through the deepness of this kiss. Then, pulling fractional away, you both say, as you have so many times now, words so well known they might as well be engraved on your tongues.
[April has been kidnapped]
April, to Shredder: So, what’s going on between you and Krang? I’m sensing some tension.
[Later]
April: I didn’t sense any tension. The Turtles were just taking a while to rescue me, so I wanted some entertainment and I figured they were a good start.
