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oozedninjas · 4 months

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"Adore you" is an understatement

Summary: Making out goes out of hand, and Raph takes your V card.

A/N: I've been asked a lot for 2007 Raph, pretty general things, so I made this small piece! Enjoy :)

18+I MDNI I 2007 verse I The reader is a virgin, Raphael isn't I both are 25 I established relationship I virginity loss

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The roughness of his thumb grazes over your swollen lips, and you bite him. He hisses, grasping your chin to capture your mouth. His kiss offers another glimpse of how much he hungers for you.

With inhuman strength, Raphael brings you on top of him. He gropes your ass roughly, drawing a whimper from your lips. The heat builds in your belly as his hands trail up, lifting your dress in the process. His palms on your back make you shiver, You adjust over his thigh, surrendering to the instinct of grinding over it shamelessly, greedily. Raphael groans, his tail lining between his legs, throbbing, slowly exposing his hardening cock.

"Take it off," he says, short of breath, tugging your dress.

You comply, hardly noticing the swift movement in which he takes off your bra along with it, too busy admiring the glistening pre-cum sliding down his shaft. Slick pools between your tights.

You ditch your underwear, mouthwatering at the sight of his length, slightly curved, now all hard and wet for you. Raphael is about to nuzzle his face between your perfect breasts when you push him, forcing him to fall over the soft cushions of your bed as you strip the red bandana off his face.

He gazed up, stunned. “Doll?”

Raphael barely has time to speak. You place yourself on top of him, moaning at the soft, rosy skin of his shaft against your bare cunt, and you carefully jerk over it. Raphael growls, head falling back, jaw clenching. Fucking pretty. His hands fly to your hips, digging.

You build the pace as you need it: hot, fast, tight. You feel him reaching out, and you slow down enough for his finger to slide into your drenched hole. You gasp, eyebrows furrowing before picking up the moves again, balancing your weight, palms over his plastron as you kept fucking your clit over his slippery dick. You moaned unabashedly, enjoying how he matched his finger thrusts with your grinding. Blazed tingles run through your body, boiling.

Your face is so erotically hypnotizing. Fuck, you're not usually this worked up by fingering alone. Something's different. Raphael withdraws his hand, and you whine aching at the emptiness. The steady grasp on your hips refrains any movement.

“Hey, wait. Why are you-”

"I want to go further," you breathe, urgently.

He eyes you, unable to hide the fire stirred by your words.

"How further?"

Usually, he'd finger fuck you, biting and nibbling your tits until you climax, and you'd suck his dick in return. Other times you'd just gotten off by dry humping. However, you've never had anything close to penetrative sex, you weren’t ready yet, and he's always been too sweet about it. But just now, the thought of his cock pounding relentlessly inside you makes you quiver in the best ways. Right there, you know it.

"All the way."

"Are you sure?" he gasped.

"Yeah," you panted.

No sooner the words left your mouth, You begin lining him up with you, cunt clenching at the feeling of his firm, hot length on your hand.

"Whoa, wait," he blurts, "You'll hurt yourself."

“I can take you.”

Raphael chuckles, mouth closed. It rings deep and holds a tint of mischief that sounds sexy on him. He effortlessly rolled you down, now your back against the mattress, soft pillows under your head. You scarcely have time to react before he steals a fervent kiss. His tongue twirling with yours is fucking amazing.

"I know you can, but I don't wanna hurt my lovely doll," Raphael smirks at you, pushing your legs open to settle between. “Let me do it.”

“Please hurry,”

His smile widens, shooting a teasing glance your way as he pokes your entrance to insert his finger. It slides in smoothly, despite its thickness. He watches it disappear inside you, bewitched by the sight. After a couple of gentle thrusts, Raphael pushes in another finger, hurtfully slow. You squirm when he curves them at the right angle.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he manages under his breath.

Raphael works them up, in and out, for what it feels like forever. Just when you think he’ll torture you into pleading, he pulls away, not wasting a single second to line with you. The tip of his cock is somewhat triadic, rounder on the base, wide and it feels kind of gummy.

You gape as he enters you slowly, carefully. A loud, desperate moan rolls off his lips. You grip his shoulders, unawarely digging your nails. It isn't as painful, yet it still stings as it stretches you. Raphael grazes your forehead with his own as he bottoms out.

"Easy, if it’s too much we can stop," he reassures, his breath staggered.

You suddenly hate you're the only inexperienced one. It's embarrassing. “No, just a second, I just need- a second,” your voice trembles.

He processes your answer, urgently clinging to reason as your hot walls close around him, so tight, so right to fit him.

“R-Relax, take a deep breath,” Raphael instructs.

He sucks on your neck, licking a long stripe over your pulse line to the base of your jaw, slightly nibbling. Your eyes shut at the feeling, and a soft sigh glides from your lips.

"Hmn- I’m fine, go on."

“You sure?” He rocks himself softly, tentatively.

You clench around him. The delicious squeeze tears a groan off him, right against your neck.

“Yeah,” you breathe.

Raphael lowers himself near. His plastron presses over your breasts. It feels fantastic over your nipples. You arch at the contact, aching for more.

His hooded eyes don't leave your face: gently warm cheeks and watery eyes. You look beautiful.

"Ah— I'll make this so good for you," he pants, picking up the pace, "I'll ruin you for anyone else," he continues, slurring his words as his mind burns alongside him.

You’d gladly let him, you want to say so, but you can't think. His perfectly curved dick kisses your sweet spot deliciously.

“Hmn— there! right there Raph, please!,”

You don’t even care for the desperate sound of your trembling voice or how your words seem to splice together. Raphael obliges. You spread your legs further, allowing the base of his plastron to work your clit along the way. Your rational thinking numbs as you chase the growing coil building in your core.

A deep, animalist growl falls from his throat as your nails digg to the top of his shell, your back arches, mind vanishing into some place where there's only room for ecstasy. You're loud as you come, you don't care.

Raphael’s pace grows sloppier as the pulsations of your warm cunt trigger his peak.

“Nnm— fuck,”

He pulls out abruptly. The emptiness hurts just for a few seconds before hot, sticky loads dampen your torso, splattering up to your chest.

He falls beside you, catching his breath. You linger in the after-bliss until his voice brings you back.

"I'll clean you up. Give me a sec," he asserts before motioning off your bed.

"Just use my dress," you say, tiredly and zero percent willing to lay without him for a single solid second. "Let's take a shower in a few minutes."

He heeds. Once cleaned up, you snuggle into him, enjoying his welcoming embrace.

"Did it hurt too bad?" Raph questions.

"No, it was good,” you lengthen the word. It makes him smile. “I don't know why I waited this long to do it. Did you like it?"

Raph laughs lightly, incredulously. "Of course I did. Did you?"

"Fuck yeah,"

You both share an endearing giggle. He cups your cheek.

"Altho, I thought you would want your first time to be fancier."

"Fancier?" you repeat with a quirked brow.

He propelled himself over his elbow to have a better angle of your face. You allow the movement, reclining over the soft pillows as you look up at him.

"Yeah, you know, candles, roses, and stuff," he said, averting his gaze.

You laughed, whole-heartedly, gracing his cheeks with both hands.

"I only wanted to be with you. Nothing else matters."

He gave you the brightest of smiles, and it reached his eyes so beautifully that your heart almost stopped straight there.

"I fucking adore you, doll."

#tmnt smut #tmnt raphael #tmnt 2007 #tmnt 2k7 #rapahel 2007 #tmnt x reader #tmnt rapahel x reader #tmnt raph x reader #tmnt 2007 raph #tmnt 2007 x reader #raph 2007 x reader #tmnt

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kathaynesart · 3 months

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Idk how to word this well, but seeing all of the holiday special prequel stuff with the turtles is making me so emotional because of the fact that we know how things end up.

Like, every time I see Donnie being Donnie, he's great and I love him so much... and that just makes it hurt more to realize that, hey, this is the same Donnie that we see captured by the krang and self-destructing to protect his family.

Or the recent drawing of Leo carrying Cassandra. It's hard not to look at it and go: oh hey, look at that fully intact right arm made of actual flesh. Mm-hmm. Yeah, that's not there anymore.

Or, Raph. Just.... just Raph. RAPH.

I guess basically what I'm trying to say is that seeing the turtles at this point in the story hurts because I love them so much. And not that it didn't already hurt the first time to see things like Donnie' final moments, or the resistance finding Raph... but now it just hurts so much worse, to have that knowledge already in our heads in conjunction with seeing a younger future Donnie listening to loud music as he monitors a mission, or a younger future Raph reassuring Cassandra. The more I love them, the more it stabs me directly in the heart!

Yeah, I totally get that. It’s interesting how there’s this sort of… disassociation between what was, what is, and what will be. Like even the fact that these Mad Dogs are the same silly boys from the tv series (not just some alternative universe version of them) still shocks me. It’s literally them. And whenever I remember that, it makes me really sad.

As I’ve gotten older this sad nostalgia has become a more prevalent, but actively ignored aspect of life in general. I really wanted to capture that feeling with this Holiday Special as well. To show the links between the show we know and the future we only saw a painful glimpse of.

In the end I guess the real message I want to spread if any is to cherish what you have in every stage of your life. Because those mundane moments may be the ones you come back to over and over again in the distant future.

#getting emotional over turtles again #rottmnt #replica #Q&A

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luckycharms1701 · 3 months

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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

#bayverse raph #bayverse raph x reader #tmnt #talking tag #theory tag #mating season #say it together now: SOFT RAPH SOFT RAPH SOFT RAPH #sorry if you were expecting something a little spicier. that'll come don't you worry #i just can't see raph allowing himself to be rough when he's not in complete control #i'm not 100% happy with this but i never feel completely happy when i write raph #so i hope it's okay

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desceros · 24 days

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tries to sleep, fails, gets melancholy, copes by writing purple turtle fic donatello/reader, gn!reader, rated t, 1.6k. insomnia, friends to.... friends, (were you ever just friends? are you something more? what is love if not friendship shifted an inch to the left?), yearning, yearning, yearning, yearning—

Donatello is sleeping.

Hefting a fatigued sigh, you hover in the doorway to his bedroom for a moment. Staring at his face, taking it in. He’s gotten unfairly handsome as the years have gone by. Beautiful, even. Pretty angles, sharp defined lines, dark seductive eyes. Like this, unmasked, slack in sleep, it’s free for you to look as much as you want. More than you can during the day. A little secret thing just for your own heart’s keeping.

…Best friends shouldn’t want to stare at each other like this, you think with an ache.

It’s late. You can’t sleep. Lying down has provided nothing but racing thoughts you can’t quiet. Things to do tomorrow. Things to say when you see someone. Things to write down if you can hold them until the morning. Things, things, things. So many things in your head, ten thousand little voices like little snowflakes in your skull. Each small, powerless; but together, a force too mighty to outrun.

And Donnie is sleeping. Normally he’s awake. Fiddling, poking, prodding, studying, twisting, cracking, bending. Available to draw you into sleep. Always soothing, petting your hair, cooing at you until you drift off at last to the dulcet sounds of his low rumbles.

But not tonight. Tonight he sleeps, pretty in his sheets even as he’s all sprawled out and drooling. Cute. He’s cute. He’s cute and close enough to touch but so, so far away that you know you never will. Not like that. Not like that.

It’s late. You can’t sleep.

Slowly, not wanting to wake him, infuriated with yourself just at the thought that you’d risked it by lingering as long as you have, you peel away from his door frame and sneak into the living room. The couch greets you again. Inviting, soft. It smells like turtle ass. Popcorn. Movie night. It smells like family, like home. Scratchy beneath your cheek. You’ve been meaning to get them some new pillows. The way Mikey had laughed so hard he’d snorted his drink. Leo’s squawk when it got all over him. The weight of Donnie’s arm on your shoulder when he’d leaned on you while laughing until he got the hiccups. His cologne, new, smells nice. You should tell him tomorrow.

(You can’t tell him. There’s no way for a best friend to look at the other with pupils shaped like hearts and be the same. You can’t tell him.)

Heavily, you sigh. It’s late. You can’t sleep.

You sit up. Get up off the couch. Stretch a little before exhaling and walking around a bit to try and work off some of this excess energy. The darkness of the living room isn’t so much, anymore, what with how your eyes have adjusted. You can see the pieces of the evening strewn about. A pizza box that Splinter’s going to find in the morning and yell at the lot of you for not throwing out. Raph’s teddy bear, leaning against the other couch where he’d been pretending he hadn’t been using it to hide his face in the scary parts. Mikey’s cup, half-full, forgotten in Leo’s panic to find paper towels. And—

—Donnie, standing in the doorway, bleary-eyed, arms folded.

“Why are you awake?” he asks, voice tumbling over your ears like rocks on a riverbed. Guilt strikes you like a blow. He’s exhausted. You’ve woken him up.

“I’m sorry,” you say as an answer, tangling your fingers in the shirt you’d borrowed out of his closet. The shirt you always borrow. The shirt that’s half yours, now.

Donnie’s quiet. You sink your teeth into your lower lip and hope he’ll shrug and go back to bed. Maybe, if he’s lucky, he’s got enough sleep juice in him that he’ll drift right back off and forget this happened.

He doesn’t. “…Can’t sleep?”

The guilt burns your skin like sand in the wind. You smile and pretend. “I’ll be okay. Go back to bed, Don. You need it more than I do.”

He doesn’t.

“…Please?” you try again.

You’re met, instead, with a sigh. He rubs the back of his head where his mask would tie if he were wearing it. Lets his arm fall to his side—ah, except no. He’s holding out his hand, palm outstretched, inviting you to come close. When you don’t, his beak wrinkles. “Come here.”

You take a few steps closer, but don’t take his hand just yet. “What are you doing?”

“Just come here,” he says again, curling his fingers a few times in an imperious grabby command. You come closer. He opens his tired eyes in a squint, mouth dipped into a frown, and his gesture gets more demanding. “Come here.”

Stepping closer, closer, closer, finally you get within range. You realize he wants your hand the moment he loses patience with you, watching as he rolls his eyes and reaches out to encircle your wrist with strong fingers. They eclipse the bones there easily, tugging as he turns, pulling you out of the living room.

“Don—” you start to protest, but he stops you with a breath.

“Stubborn,” he accuses, though there’s no heat to the word. The scoff is thick on the back of your tongue—Donnie of all people calling you stubborn—but you don’t let it out, knowing it’ll be too-loud in the pitch night.

He pulls you into his room, the very room that had been such a sweet siren song to you earlier. He pulls you towards his bed. He pulls you in behind him when he settles in. He pulls you beneath his blanket. He pulls, pulls, pulls, until your chest is flush to his plastron and his arm is around your waist and his breath is in your face and your heart is in your throat.

It’s late. You’re not going to be able to sleep.

“…Go to sleep,” he says after a few seconds, doubtless able to feel the way your pulse is like a hummingbird against his skin.

“Sorry,” you say in lieu of—anything else. You don’t dare try to say another word, unsure of what exactly would tumble out instead. Perhaps a sweet poem about the texture of his skin against yours. Maybe a lament that he feels the need to tuck his thigh between yours so so so close to where you wake in a pool of sweat dreaming of his touch. Or possibly a whispered confession that tastes like lightning and blood and sugar all at the same time; that you want this but not this, you want this but more.

Gently, a forehead bonks against yours. Dark eyes open and meet yours, centimeters away. He studies you, and you watch the gears turn. More slowly than usual, lethargic even, because of his slumber.

“You’re thinking too much,” he murmurs. Dumbly, you nod. “Need to talk about it?”

“…Yeah,” you admit, then, “…but I won’t.”

He doesn’t like that. A frown mars his beautiful, beautiful face.

“Why?”

You swallow the incredulous laugh, the kaleidoscope of responses. They’re all irrelevant, impossible to share, save for one. “You should sleep.”

Donnie’s hand tightens, fingers curling in his—your—shirt in the small of your back. “So should you.”

“Yeah.”

“…”

“…I don’t understand.” The confession, rare, makes you sigh.

“…I don’t either,” you tell him. And you don’t. Why did you have to feel this way for him? Why couldn’t it be someone easier that stole your heart? Why does it have to be the one person you can’t stand to lose? Why does he have to be so comfortable touching you like this and making it hurt even worse? Why can’t you stop feeling this way?

Why can’t you sleep? Why can’t you sleep?

His fingers unfurl from your shirt. His hand dips beneath the hem, finding the skin of your back. Slow shivers spread like little earthquakes as he strokes along your spine, tectonic caresses that ripple and destroy. It's familiar enough a touch that you don't stop him; unfamiliar enough that it rends you inside out.

Donnie leans in. Ghosts his lips along your jaw. It’s not a kiss; you’re just friends, after all. But it’s a sweet caress that feels good, all the way to where he lingers at your ear, whispering there, quivering at the touch that's too close to something else to be fair. “Close your eyes.”

You have one rule: listen to Donatello. So you do; you close your eyes, let his nails drag down your back, let his mouth press warm into your pulse, let his chest rumble with churrs that fill the night air with something akin to a lullaby. His legs curl around yours, mixing, confusing, making the separation of you disappear.

It’s… maddening. You hate this. You love him. You love him so much. You hate that he can do this so easily.

“Shhh,” comes the gentle coo against your skin, like he can tell you’re pulling away from his intent. You obey that, too. Donnie says to be quiet, so you quiet. Thoughts, movements, words; all of them fall away at his beckoning. “Just like that. Good.”

Good, you think, feeling a little fuzzy. It feels good to be good for him. God. You’d be so good for him—but no. None of that, now. Not when you can pretend that these little presses of his lips are kisses. That the thickness of his thigh pressed to your shorts means something. That his hand scratching lines in your skin is something meant to claim as much as it is to calm.

“Making me work for it tonight,” you hear him mumble, half-conscious of the words, not sure if they’re real or part of a dream he’s built for you. “Good job, sweetheart. Just like that.”

More brushes of his mouth. A slow glide of tongue. A lovely dream, you think, finally letting your muscles go slack. A dream of a Donatello who would hold you like this, talk to you like this. A Donatello who is more than just your best friend.

It’s late. Finally, warm and held and pulled into a sweet dream, finally, you sleep.

#me slurring with a voice thick with sleep: two best friends that are in love but too close to tell and so they dance like leaves in the wind #forever brushing close. darting about like little butterflies. gossamer wings catching the light and enchanting one another w each breath #but too close. too close. you can't see the scope of a painting when it's the single strokes that catch your eye.#.....................it's almost four in the morning. im sure there are errors but i shan't be fixing them now. have it as it comes #tmnt #rise #donatello/reader #my fic #rating: t

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