"is That My Shirt?"

"is that my shirt?"

summary: a collection of the various times you and luke get caught wearing each other’s clothes OR three times you denied wearing luke’s clothes and the one time he completely owned it.

word count: 1.6k

featuring: 3+1, aphrodite!reader, crop top luke & the headcanon that each cabin has cutsey chb themed shirts

one: luke’s gray zip-up

the dining pavilion is always the quietest in the morning. at least it normally is, but you overslept today. somehow you missed all your alarms, the ruckus of all your siblings waking up, and silena and drew’s fight over whether or not the other stole their makeup. so no one really blames you for walking into the pavilion well after the start of breakfast. 

“could you at least look a little more put together?” carmen, your sister who values tidiness in all aspects of her life, asks as you take one of the only open seats at the table. 

you look down at your outfit: high-top converse, denim shorts, a camp half-blood shirt, your camp necklace, and a gray zip-up to combat the unexpected chill of the morning. not too shabby, you thought, especially considering the fact that you even managed to tame your bedhead and put on some basic makeup. 

“i am put together. aren’t i?” you respond, reaching for the mug of hot coffee damien slides your way. 

“you look fine,” he assures, but his eyebrows furrow as he focuses on your sweatshirt. “is that new?” he continues.   

“what this?” you ask, pointing at the material. 

“yeah. i’ve never seen it on you before,” he continues. 

“don’t you know, damien, that it’s luke’s. he’s like always wearing it,” drew butts in. “they’re like a thing now, or whatever,” she continues, waving her hand as if swatting a fly. 

you huff at her annoyed tone, and the fact that you’ve been called out by your younger siblings. in an attempt to defend yourself you say, “it’s not luke’s. it’s mine.”

drew, damien, and carmen all open their mouths to object, but they don’t have the chance too because luke leans over from the end of the hermes table: “i’ve been looking for that sweatshirt everywhere, but you can keep it. it looks better on you anyways.”   

you feel your cheeks heat up, and luke has the audacity to send you a wink before turning back to his breakfast.

two: luke’s blue flannel pajama pants

friday night sleepovers were basically an aphrodite tradition at this point. what started out as a self-care night full of facemasks, manicures, and gossip sessions for the older campers quickly turned into an all-cabin sleepover complete with a movie, pillow fight, and fort. 

you’re sitting between peter and rosie, the ten-year-old twins from fairfield, connecticut. the two of them were polar opposites; rosie was talkative and outgoing, while peter preferred the quiet and keeping to himself. it was surprising to everyone when he sat next to you and watched intently as you painted his sister’s nails. 

rosie was yapping away, telling you all the details of her day. you were humming along, occasionally adding in an “oh yeah” or “really?” when needed, but for the most part, you were focused on not smudging her nails. peter was leaning against your side, fighting sleep as he listened to his sister. 

“i remember these pants,” he interrupted, fingers tracing the blue, white, and black pattern on your thigh. “luke was wearing them when i had that nightmare about fractions,” he finishes softly, a small bluish coating his pale cheeks. 

“was this the time one third was crushing you?” rosie asks, leaning forward to be closer to her brother. 

peter nods timidly and rosie springs into action, mumbling words of comfort. you, on the other hand, are completely rigid. your back is as stiff and as straight as a board as you look straight ahead, trying not to make eye contact with any of the siblings your age seated around you. carmen opens her mouth, a mischievous twinkle in her eye, but you snap your head in her direction. 

“don’t say a word,” you threaten. 

one look of your vicious glare has her miming zipping her lips. 

three: luke’s ac/dc shirt

this is the third time luke’s sifted through the stack of shirts in his dresser. it’s also the third time he’s come up empty handed. he huffs in frustration, running a tired hand down his face in annoyance. between the overflow of campers, keeping connor and travis in line, and now losing his favorite shirt, luke castellan is at his wit’s end. 

“has anyone seen my ac/dc shirt? y’know the one with the tour dates on the back?” he asks, looking around the cramped cabin. 

several people shrug. some of the younger kids start asking what ac/dc even is, and he does not have time to go into that right now. a few people offer to look through their stuff, saying maybe someone mixed up the wash, but the general consensus is that no one has seen the shirt. 

luke groans in annoyance. he’s starting his fourth attempt at finding the shirt when penelope, one of the younger unclaimed campers, tugs on his cargo pants. luke crouches down to her level, placing a comforting hand on her back while prompting her to talk to him. 

“i think i saw someone else wearing it,” she whispers, shyly twirling around the hem of her cotton dress with a butterfly pattern. 

“who?” luke asks, a little too loudly and abruptly. he clears his throat, taking a deep breath, before repeating much calmer, “who was wearing it, penelope?”

“that girl you like,” she answers, gently kicking the toe of his red converse with her bright pink twinkle toes. 

luke smiles softly at her, rubbing her back. “thanks pen. i knew i could count on you,” he answers. 

penelope giggles at his words, “but you didn’t even tell me to look for it!” 

“but you’re so smart you knew i’d need it,” he praises, ruffling her hair good-naturedly. 

once she runs off, luke leaves the cabin. he’s on a mission to find you, but most importantly, he’s on a mission to find his ac/dc shirt. after a series of questions, and some misguided directions, he finds you standing on the shore of the lake, surrounded by a variety of nymphs, demigods, and satyrs. 

you meet his gaze once he calls out to you, and watches as the color leaves your face. 

“how did you even get this?” he asks, taking some of the fabric between his thumb and forefinger once he’s within reach of you. 

you scoff at his words, “this is mine.” 

luke huffs, crossing his arms in annoyance. he watches as your eyes briefly flicker to his biceps before meeting his brown ones. 

“really? and since when do you buy your t-shirts two sizes too big?” he asks, smirking confidently. he’s got you now. 

“um since i wanted this as a beach coverup. it’s not rocket science, luke,” you answer. 

luke licks his lip, annoyance flickering across his eyes. “name five songs then,” he demands. 

your mouth falls open. “why are you such a guy?” you ask, frustrated.

“if you love ac/dc so much that you’d buy one of their shirts, name some songs,” he continues, but his voice has turned teasing. 

he watches as your nostrils flare and you ball your hands into fists at your sides. it’s cute.

“fine!” you agree. “there’s thunderstruck, and highway to hell, and that one about sex.”

“which one about sex?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “there’s multiple.” 

“all of them!” you shout. “there! that’s five.” 

luke rolls his eyes, but still wraps his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into him. “if you want my clothes, all you have to do is ask,” he whispers into your hairline before placing a soft kiss on your skin. 

one: your pink camp half-blood crop-top

“have you seen luke today?” silena asks, catching up with you as you walk from the strawberry fields towards the archery range. 

“no why?” you ask curiously. 

her smile tells you everything you need to know; it’s wide and luminous, but her pearly white teeth seem to twinkle with the knowledge she’s withholding from you. 

“oh. no reason,” she says, before trying to skip away from you. 

you grab her shoulder, pulling her back towards you. “silena, what did he do?” you ask. 

silena giggles this time. “it’s nothing really, just. gosh, your boyfriend is so handsome, did you know that?”

“yes i did,” you start, “but why are you smiling and giggling like that?” 

she laughs again, “i think you should check the volleyball courts.” 

you hate athletics, but you’ve never sprinted to the volleyball courts so godsdamn fast in your life. when you arrive, you’re not surprised to see the hermes boys and apollo boys playing a beach volleyball match. most of them are shirtless and sweaty (and the entertainment for about twenty other campers) but luke is on the only one with his shirt on. you don’t think much of it, until he jumps for the ball and you get a good look at the color; his shirt is light pink. it’s also very tight around his broad arms and shoulders, hugging the muscles nicely while also showing off his toned abdomen. 

you watch as he turns to high five some of his teammates after scoring a point. his brown eyes meet your intense gaze, and he smiles widely at you. he has the audacity to flex and shout, “like what you see, babe? i figured this color suited me.” 

you roll your eyes at his words, shaking your head side to side as you walk over to him. your fingers trace the collar of your his shirt, gently nudging against the clay beads of his camp half-blood necklace. luke visibly gulps, and you smirk as your gazes connect.

“i think you should keep this,” you whisper, trailing your finger down his chest. “it looks better on you than me,” you finish, stepping away from him.

😁😆😂🤣🤣🤣

FNAF SB x Frozen AU that I thought of on september of 2022 at 3:36 am

It's a long one, so I'm putting the rest of it under a cut. In the order I drew them, so there are like 2 artstyle changes.

Enjoy.

A year ago these scenarios had me rolling in bed cackling for one hour, trying not to wake my family with my laughter as the scenes came to my mind one after another.

I had left out a couple of scenes undrawn because those weren't that funny and as I drew the panels the rest of the scenes started to look more bland than the previous one. So I'm stopping it here.

Can we do a picrew chain? please?

Take this uquiz

Do this picrew

this is pretty accurate except I dont have blue in my hair

nf for all ofc but ill tag my friends

@3-kids-in-a-trenchcoat @esotericisnotdead @river-blue @samijami @kirby-impostor @genderfcker @destructivelynch @moonsfavoritedaughter @vermilion-love @chocolate-cake-enthusiast @logicallyanxious9z @lunarsands @icefireanimates @that-one-furry-sky @selenadoom @davvero-annoiatx and anyone else who stumbles appon this!

He has always been and always will be my favorite turtle 🫶

Hi hope you're doing well. Who is one of your favorite turtles? Mine that Ive somehow connected with emotionally is Raphael . I understand some of his frustration of fitting in .Me as a person with a mental disability I got bullied for it .I felt I never fit in anywhere.

Yay! My first ask!

I'm so sorry you were bullied because of your disability, so was I and it sucks. I really hope things are better for you now.

♥️🧡💙💜

Raphael is my first love, and you never forget your first. One of my earliest memories is of the 1990 movie (I was around 4, so I dont remember much). I remember seeing him cry and being really upset. When he fell through the skylight I was inconsolable. My father had to fast-forward the movie and prove to me that he was going to be okay.

When I was little, I just wanted him to feel better. As I got older and understood him more, I loved him more. The passionate one, the artist, the one that loves so much and so fiercely that he has nothing left for himself.

I didn't grow up in the best home and was pretty much left on my own most of the time. He sort of became my sanctuary. He gave me a home and a family and the validation and support I desperately needed. I knew that as long as I had him I'd be okay.

A lot of the rest is really hard to explain. Like April mentioned in my Damnit drabble, there's this gravity... I always come back to him (even though, now that I'm an adult, he would 1000% not be my type).

I've had plenty of other paracosms (yeah hi, mental fuckery here, too 🤪 ), some that have lasted for 10+ years. Even when role-playing with others, this is one that I only made the mistake of bringing up once, because, lets face it, we are a very specific kind of fandom. It's taken a long time for me to get the courage to make the things that happen in my head tangible. My partner and I have been together for 15 years and I'm only now becoming comfortable enough to talk semi-openly about it. But Raph has always been there waiting for me to come home.

I always do. ♥️

I LOVE HIM SOOOOOO MUCH 😳❤😍😍

Bruised

18+ THIS IS SMUT.

We in angst town baybee! Hurt\comfort because am soft. Bayverse Raph x reader. Aged up as always.

TWs: domestic violence, strong hints at strangulation, hints at previous sexual assault, dissociating\panic attack

Cloaca references.

Written for @turtlecleric

Special thanks to @yorshie and @avery73 who's wonderful brains I picked for Raph Opinions and who helped me brainstorm immensely. This fic would not exist without them.

It happened again. It always happened again. One perceived misstep, a bad day, the wrong choice of word at the wrong time; it didn't actually matter. It never mattered. He was violent because he chose to be violent. Because he wanted to be. He wanted to hurt, and he got away with it. People liked him. They liked him a hell of a lot more than they seemed to like you, because it didn't seem to matter what he did to you. They always chose him. Maybe you just didn't love him enough. Maybe if you loved him, really loved him, he wouldn't want to hurt you. Maybe he knew you didn't love him enough - knew you had eyes for someone else. Feelings, too.

With a heavy sigh, you release yourself from your musings and rise from bed. Fixating on how shit your life is wouldn't make it any less shit. Besides, you'd see him today. Getting dressed, you fantasized a little about what it might be like if he loved you instead. What it would have been like if he had chosen you first, before Gabe had. It was … indulgent. Decadent. The mere concept of being loved for real. Tenderly.

It was torture.

Shaking out your limbs, you free yourself from this worse line of thought. Pulling on an oversized hoodie, you sink into the comfort of its weight - into the comfort of invisibility. If the marks that litter your arms, your throat, can't be seen then maybe you can pretend they aren’t there. At the very least, you can try.

You look forward to the day ahead, pushing those more painful musings to the back of your mind as you head out. It had been too long since you'd been able to spend a full day at the lair. Not since your relationship had started to get more serious. Gabe had taken to monopolizing your time, getting violent if he discovered you'd gone to see a friend without telling him or spending too much time with other people. But that didn't mean you couldn't sneak time with them wherever you found the chance.

It has become something of a subconscious routine at this point, sneaking quietly into the dojo to watch Raph train after Gabe had put his hands on you. Something about the way he moves when he's in his element, the precision and control in his powerful strikes when he's focused, makes you feel secure when everything else feels unsteady. When Gabe turned your world upside down, Raph made everything right again.

Today, though, you were not so lucky.

“Hey, Angelcakes!” Mikey's joyful voice calls to you as soon as you step foot inside the lair, his body bounding towards you in greeting like a giant Golden Retriever puppy whose favorite person had just arrived. His arms are around you before you can get a little distance, before you can shut him out, and you have to hide the way you wince when his strong arms wrap around your bruised ribs and *squeeze*.

“Hey, Mikes. You're in a good mood today.” You barely manage to contain the pained sound in your voice, and if he's noticed he doesn't call attention to it.

“Of course I am! My favorite girl is back!” His voice is so *excited*, so *happy to see you* that you can't bring yourself to be disappointed that he'd intercepted you on the way to your usual routine.

A raspy sounding laugh escapes you as you hug him back. “It’s good to see you, too, Mikes.”

He pulls back, a suspicious squint as he studies your face and looks you over. “Is everything okay? Your voice sounds … wrong.”

*Fuck.* He wasn't supposed to pick up on that. *He's going to find out*. Mikey might be a goober, but he's not an idiot.

“Oh, yeah.” You smile reassuringly at him. “I had a cold a little while ago, and I can't quite get my voice back.”

His squint narrows, and for a moment you're afraid he doesn't believe you, but then his face lightens once more. “You should've gone to Leo, babe! He's got, like, a million teas. I'm sure he could give you something.”

“You're right. I'll have to ask him later.” You reply, guilt curling up in your chest at the knowledge that you've lied to him about something so important, and he *believed* you. It makes you abandon your usual routine, following Mikey back to the couches instead of slipping off silently to the dojo where you know Raph is training.

Mikey has noticed the way you always slip into the dojo first, and he has no shortage of ideas as to why that might be. “No Raph time today?” He asks slyly, a hint of mischief in his grin as he looks at you from his spot on the couch.

For your part, you feign ignorance at his question. “What, I can't hang out with my favorite youngest turtle?” You ask him coyly.

Mikey’s sly smirk cuts straight through your coy reply. “I see you, angelcakes. Your first stop is always slipping into the dojo. You’re not as sneaky as you think you are.” His sly smirk quickly morphs into a knowing, evil grin. “Those puppy dog eyes you get when you ogle him are a dead giveaway, too.”

“I do not ogle him, Michelangelo.” You argue, however the blush on your face lets him know he’s right on the money.

“Oh, you definitely ogle him, angel.” Mikey responds, getting off the couch to crowd your space in that annoying-little-brother way he’s so fond of. “I’ll bet you’d like to do a lot more than that, too.” He says lowly, his voice suggestive as he waggles his eyebrows at you.

“Don’t be crass, Michelangelo.” You scold him, a hint of embarrassment to your voice.

Mikey’s eyes positively *gleam* with mischief at the sound of your voice. “Oh, you *do* want to do more than that!” He practically squeals.

“You know what, maybe I *will* go find Raph instead.” You respond, voice deadpan as you turn to step away from him.

Michelangelo practically leaps off of the couch after you, eager to continue his teasing. “Oh come on, Angelcakes, don’t be like that. I’m just saying that you’d *like it* if Raph -”

His voice dies in his throat instantly at the sound that comes out of you when he grabs your forearm. He’s never heard you *whimper* before.

There’s an impossibly long moment of dead silence that stretches between you as the two of you stare wide-eyed at each other - you like a deer in headlights, him like a hawk on the hunt.

“Angel.” Mikey’s voice comes out firmer than you’ve ever heard him before, his entire body perfectly still in a way that screams danger.

“Mikey, no.” Your voice is unsteady, your response too quick. You know it’s too late, but you can’t help it - you don’t want him to piece it together, don’t want to see the look on his face when he does. “It’s fine. I’m fine, it’s nothing.” You try to twist, to pull your arm away, but his grip on your arm is unwavering. Somewhere in the back of your mind, the sound of a door sliding open and shut again registers, but your focus is entirely on the youngest turtle in front of you and the way he’s looking at you like he *knows*.

Mikey doesn’t put as much emphasis on the importance of proper form and technique as Leo or Raph, but it’s a mistake to think that means he’s not just as fast or as skilled as they are. In one swift motion he has your sleeve hiked halfway up your arm, and the both of you freeze. Your eyes are fixed on him, preparing for a reaction, but his eyes are still fixed on your damaged skin. He isn't moving. It feels like your breaths are coming at a million miles a minute. Neither of you fully register the sound of footsteps moving through the kitchen behind you - or so you think.

“Raph.” His voice is shaky as he calls out to his brother, and if you thought you were afraid of Mikey's reaction before, you are *petrified* of Raphael’s.

“*No.* No, Mikey, *please*, no -” you try to shush the youngest brother, but it's too late.

Raphael walks in, annoyance on his face until he sees the two of you. His brows knit in confusion, and he opens his mouth to ask what Mikey wants, but then his eyes finally land on the now bared arm you've been trying to pull from Mikey’s hold. His jaw snaps shut, and you feel your breath stall in your chest.

The waiting is the worst part. He is silent for one impossibly long breath, and then he is pushing Mikey out of the way to take your wrist in his massive hand. His eyes are still fixed on your bruised skin, silent rage building behind his gaze as he *stares*. You’ve never seen Raphael this still. Never seen him this *angry* before, and that was saying something. Several moments go by, and none of you move. It feels like you can’t breathe, like you’re suffocating under the scrutiny of his gaze on your marred skin.

“Say something. Please.” You beg quietly, voice tinged with fear and anxiety as you brace for the rejection you're certain is coming. Who would ever want *damaged goods* like you? Certainly not Raph, who values *strength*.

“He thinks he can beat on *my girl*?” Raphael snarls.

For the first time since you’ve known him, it’s *Raphael* that sends your world spinning on its axis. Before you can ask him if you heard him right, his hand is off your skin and he’s *gone*, running out of the lair faster than you’ve ever seen him move and leaving you standing there frozen in place.

“Mikey?” Your voice is quiet and shaky, barely above a whisper. “Mikey, *what did you do*?”

“What did *I* do?!” His voice is incredulous as he stares at you. “What do you mean, what did *I* do? I’m not the one who left a *bruise* on your arm.”

Mikey instantly lowers his voice the second he sees you flinch. “Hey. Hey.” He calls to you softly, finally moving to pull you into a gentle embrace. “It’s ok, Angel. It’s going to be okay.”

Your body can’t seem to relax as he pulls you against his plastron, his hand running softly over your hair. You’re trembling. “He’s going to hate me, Mikey.”

“Angel, why would he hate *you*?” Mikey's quiet voice asks in disbelief.

“Because it's *my fault*, Mikey. He hurts me and I can't stop him. I let him hurt me. I'm too weak to make him stop. I'm weak, and Raph values strength. He's seen how *pathetic* I am and he's going to stop wasting his time on me.” The tears are hot on your face as you speak.

For once, Mikey doesn't have anything to say. He wants to tell you none of that is true, but he doesn't think you'll accept it - not from him, anyway. He's not the brother you need to hear it from. He wants to comfort you, to tell you some magic words to heal your heart, but no words come. So he simply holds onto you instead. Quiet murmurs as he guides you to the couch once he notices your legs shaking, soft reassurances that Raph is coming back and that everything will be alright. You're still tense at his touch, and for the first time in a long time Michelangelo realizes that you're *always* tense when someone touches you - anyone but *Raph*. He wastes a few moments in self-pity, thinking about how he should have *noticed*, how he should have seen it because he's the *emotional* brother. But those thoughts don't help you, and they can't undo what's been done. You don't need his regrets right now, you need his brother.

*Where the fuck is Raph?*

Mikey does the only thing he can think of, and sends his brother a text.

Raphael can barely hear his phone going off over the sound of the blood rushing in his ears, the *crack* of bones shattering beneath the pressure of his hand. This *bastard* thinks he can lay hands on his girl? He thinks he can leave a mark on your arm like that? Well, Raph will just have to return the favor - *in spades*.

The screaming stopped an hour - and several bones - ago. All that's left now are pathetic, ragged whimpers. Small, wet sounds and the cracking of bones breaking.

And the sound of his phone going off.

‘She needs you, bro. Now,’ is all his younger brother sent. It's all he needed to send. Raphael casts one last sneer at your boyfriend - no, your ex-boyfriend - before he leans down close to his face.

“You stay the fuck away from *my girl*.” He snarls, and then he's gone into the night. As much as he'd love to keep hurting that bastard, he had more important things to attend to. He'd planned to kill him - to make sure he never touched you again - but he'd have to settle for a thorough maiming.

*You* were more important than his vengeance.

When you see him, he's covered in blood. You hadn't heard him come back, hadn't realized he was there until he was right in front of you. There's a hollow look on your face that he can't stand, and it only serves to stoke the angry fire burning in his chest. It's like you're waiting for everything to fall apart.

“Hey, darlin’. I'm here.” Is all he says for a long moment. He doesn't touch you yet, still too angry to trust himself to have gentle hands for you. His eyes rove your features, stilling on the bruise that started all of this. The sight of it makes his blood boil just beneath the surface again, and he can still smell that bastard on you. Suddenly, he just needs to do *something* before he leaves again to finish the job. “Come on.” He growls, scooping you up with one arm like you don't weigh anything at all and carrying you with him to the bathroom. Closing the door behind him, he grabs a washcloth and sets you on the countertop beside the sink. His movements are extremely precise and controlled as he goes about wetting the cloth to wipe himself clean of every last trace of your rancid boyfriend, carefully controlled to contain the anger. He's silent, quieter than you've ever seen him, and still absolutely furious.

After a moment, you simply can't take the silence anymore. “Raph?” You ask quietly, your voice even more hoarse than before and barely audible now.

“You don't gotta worry about him anymore.” He says gruffly, scrubbing at the blood on his knuckles.

“Raph -”, you go to speak, but he cuts you off.

“You've been datin’ that piece of shit for a year. How long’s he been hurting you?” He says, his voice sharp with barely contained rage.

“I…” you begin, but your voice dies in your throat as the shame takes hold. “Since… since August.” You admit quietly, your voice so quiet he actually has to lean down a little to hear you - and when he does he goes completely, perfectly still.

August. *Eight months.* That bastard's been beating on you since *August*. Raph’s fingers move to the edge of the countertop, gripping so hard he can hear the tile cracking, cracking, cracking - just like that bastard's bones. He wants to break more of them.

That was when he'd realized he loved you - about eight months ago. When he'd started to call you his girl in the quiet of his own mind. All this time, he'd been *right here*, and you'd picked that bastard. It makes him want to keep breaking things - to break everything until there's nothing left that isn't as broken as his heart right now.

“Why'd you let him do it?” He growls out lowly, hating everything about this conversation but *needing to know*.

“I don't know.” You tell him in that same quiet, broken voice, and the sound of you *hurts*.

“He hits you, and you take it, and all you can say is ‘I don't know’?” He responds, his voice thick and low with the anger he's trying to contain.

You open your mouth to say something, to defend yourself, to tell him that it isn't that simple. It's not like you had just laid down and taken it! But he doesn't give you the chance, too consumed by his own anger and pain to be sensitive right now.

“Why'd you stay? Why didn't you fight back? Why didn't you *leave*?” He asks, his anger boiling over now. *Why didn't you pick me?*

“I don't know! I don't know, okay?! Everything just - it happened too fast! He was nice to me and then all of a sudden he'd just - he'd claimed me and then he was hurting me and I had nowhere else to go, okay?!” Your voice is raw and hoarse and broken in its desperation.

Eight months of this, eight months of him pining after you while Gabe was beating you and you thought you had nowhere else to go. You always had a place to go - you could have gone to him, you could’ve been in his bed, and none of this would have ever happened.

His hands come to cup your jaw, dwarfing your face tenderly between them. “Darlin’, you could have come to me. You could have come home.” His touch is hesitant, tentative, as if afraid you’ll flinch at the feel of him.

There's no anger left inside of him anymore. *Of course* you hadn't known. He'd never told you. He'd been so good at hiding what he felt that he'd gotten exactly what he wanted - you hadn't ever realized his feelings for you. You thought he didn't *want* you, because that's what he'd *made* you think. He hadn't given you the *option* to pick him over Gabe.

“You could have come home.” He repeats softly.

There's a moment where you simply let him hold your face like that, eyes closed as you fight the tears. It's too much - everything is too much, and his words are stuck in your brain. “I did fight back, Raph. I *did*.” You tell him, your quiet voice watery with the tears you're keeping inside. You sound broken, and all Raph wants to do is put you back together again.

“I know you did, darlin’. I know you did.” He tilts your chin up ever so slightly so you have nowhere to look but him. “*My girl*? She's a fighter.” He tells you, his voice soft. His eyes study you carefully, searching for any sign of discomfort - any sign that you're about to pull away. When you let yourself lean into his touch instead, his eyes are impossibly soft on you. “You're my girl, darlin’. You've always had a place here.” There's a quiet sniffle as you press your face into his hands a little more. The way you nuzzle against his palm for comfort, seeking more of *his* touch, fills him with a warm sense of pride.

It's your next words, though, that really do him in.

“This whole time, I wished it was *you* instead.” The words come out of you almost of their own accord, summoned by the way he keeps saying you're *his girl*. “All I could think about was … was how *different* everything would be if it had been *you*. I *wanted* it to be you. I wanted to be *your* girl, not his. I've always been your girl, Raph.”

Your admission is so soft, so sweet, so *heartbreaking.* His arms wrap around you like a fortress. All this time, all this pain, all this *wanting* when he could have been *having*. When you both could have. It *shatters* him, and suddenly he needs to see - needs to *know* how badly he's fucked up. He finishes wiping away the last of that bastard's blood, unwilling to let any part of him touch you ever again, and then his massive arms are scooping you up against him to cradle you against his chest. His feet are moving before he's even really conscious of it, carrying the both of you to the safety of his room. It's not until he hears the soft click of his door closing that he sets you down, reaching behind him to turn the lock as he studies you carefully. His eyes take stock of every inch of you, checking you over for any sign of discomfort, any indication that you don't feel safe.

There isn't any. Your eyes are still nervous, still filled with disbelief that any of this is happening - that your nightmare is *over* - but you look more at ease in his presence than he's seen you since all of this started hours ago.

A giant, gentle hand comes to cup your cheek as you look at him. “I need you to take off your shirt, darlin'. I… I need to see what he did.”

His voice is so quiet, filled with something so genuine that you can't help but do as he asks. You're tired of hiding it, anyway. Tired of covering for Gabe and all of the ways he's failed you - all of the ways he's hurt you. He doesn't deserve your protection, and you won't be giving it to him anymore. Still, your hands tremble when you reach for the hem of your sweater. Not quite able to bear the look on his face when he sees, you turn so your back is facing him as you pull first the thick hoodie and then the worn tee shirt you're wearing away from your body to reveal the extent of the damage. Your hands pull your hair up and away from your skin so there's nothing left to obstruct his view but your bra.

There is absolute silence for one long moment before you realize that it isn't silent. Raph is *growling*, the sound so low you can't even hear it. You can feel it, though. Feel the way it reverberates through your bones, the way it rolls through your chest like waves of thunder. Casting a glance over your shoulder, you see the intense way his eyes are roving over your body, taking in every single mark before his gaze meets yours and he gestures with his head for you to turn around so he can see the rest of it.

Everything stops the moment his eyes land on the handprint around your throat. Neither of you move - you're not even sure that he's breathing anymore. You're certain that you aren't.

When he finally breaks the silence, his voice is dangerously low. “I should have gone back - I should have made him hurt *more*.” His hand reaches for you, gentle fingertips sliding their way carefully over the mark as if to cover it with himself, to erase it. He can still smell that bastard’s scent on you and something primal in his brain *snaps*. He's pulling you in to him by the waist before he even knows what's happened, curling down to press his face tenderly against the hollow of your throat and nuzzle against the bruise there in an instinctive display as he leaves traces of *his* smell there. He needs to do it more - needs to leave his scent on you *everywhere*. Needs to cover you in *him* until there's no trace of that bastard left.

“Raph?” You ask him quietly, your hands instinctively coming up to rest on his chest.

He rubs his face gently against you for a breath more before answering you. “I'm gonna fix it, darlin'.” He murmurs softly into your skin, his lips brushing feather-light over the handprint on your throat with every syllable. His mouth drags over the bruise, pressing gentle kisses over it, up the column of your throat to the underside of your jaw before he speaks again. “Gonna make it so there's no trace of that bastard left on my girl.” His hands are trailing along your body, his touch so light it's almost ticklish as he slides his face along your skin to find the next mark and cover it with his scent.

The tender way he's touching you, the way he's *claiming* you, is so at odds with everything you've experienced that for a moment you're entirely overwhelmed. It's too much - too much and yet somehow *not enough* all at once. He's touching you like you're something *precious*. You don't realize you're on the verge of tears until a shattered gasp escapes you.

His head snaps up at the sound, eyes checking you over intently, and the loss of him on your skin makes you feel so *empty* that all you can do is grab desperately at him.

“No, please.” Your voice comes out pleading and desperate and broken. “Please don't stop, Raph. Please.”

Raphael is a strong man. A fortress. The shield that protects the ones he loves. Despite that, he finds himself wondering if there's a man alive strong enough to resist you when you sound like *that*, because he sure as hell isn't.

“Shhh.” He soothes, his voice low and deep. He wraps a large hand around your wrist, bringing your bruised forearm to his mouth. His gaze never leaves yours as he brings your skin to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss there and nuzzling his face along the point where your veins lie just beneath the darkened skin. Raphael is consumed with the need to paint over every mark, every bruise, every hurt with traces of him instead. You can see in his eyes that he's staking his claim over you, replacing every hint of Gabe with strokes of him so that there can be no mistake. You're *his girl*. “I’ve got you, darlin’.” He speaks against your skin, lips brushing against you in a way that sends goosebumps down your spine.

His massive hands are impossibly gentle on you, despite the immense power in them. Despite the way he could absolutely *crush* you if he wanted, there's no scenario in which Raphael would *ever* hurt you. All of his strength - all of that power, all of that *deadliness* - and there's nothing in this world that could ever make him turn it on *you*.

“I don't want to hurt anymore, Raph.” You tell him, your voice shaky as you tremble at the way he touches you like you're something precious.

“Nobody’ll ever hurt you again, because you're *my girl*, you hear?” He says, his voice a low rumble against your skin. There's something in the way he touches you, the way he's *laying his claim on you* that is in such stark opposition to the way that Gabe had claimed you, and it's all you can do not to crumble beneath his fingertips.

Gabe had turned your world upside down for the last time, and Raph was here now to make everything right again.

“I want to stop feeling so broken, Raph.”

“Let me fix it, darlin'.” His voice is low, filled with promise as his massive hand cups your jaw, his face coming back in to nuzzle across every mark he can reach. Gentle hands with gentle pressure sliding their way across your skin, cupping around your sides to stroke their way up your low back to the bottom of your ribcage. You've never seen him so singularly focused before, every atom of his being intent on painting himself over every last trace of your monster of an ex. No one's ever *touched you* like this before, and it's almost too much to bear. A dizzying, heady sort of feeling overtakes you with every pass of his face, every stroke of his fingertips, every press of his palms. It's too much, it's too much, it's too much - *it's not enough*.

He's so *focused*. Focused on the *scent. On getting Gabe's scent off of you, on getting *his* scent all over every last inch of you. He's so focused on his task that he almost misses it.

What's *this* scent?

A new smell, this one *all you*. Sweet, and enticing, and enough to lose himself in if he isn't careful. It's dangerous. It's *you*. It takes him a moment to process, for it to register - *you're aroused*. You're *into this*. Into the way he's covering you with traces of *him*. And then he's spiraling. His entire body freezes, rigid as he drags in a sharp breath through his nose, fighting to retain control. He *needs* you, but you don't need this. Not *now*. You need comfort, need to be held, need to be touched with gentle hands like you're something *precious*, you need -

"Raph.” Your quiet voice cuts through the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears. “Raph, please.” The sound of his name on your lips as you plead is almost enough to break him. “Put me back together.”

He can feel his control *shattering*. Raph wants to give you what you're asking for, wants to give you *everything*. He's *desperate* for it - but he won't be like your ex. He won't hurt you, not ever. He won't *take* from you. He needs to be sure, needs you to be absolutely certain.

“Darlin’...” His hesitation is clear despite the hunger in his voice. He wants to *ask*, but he doesn't know *how*. He's never *done this* before.

“I used to imagine it was you, instead. When he'd…” You swallow, not willing to give that particular memory a voice right now. “I imagined what it would be like with *you*. Please, Raph. I don't want to *imagine it* anymore. I want to be your girl, Raphael.”

That's *more* than enough permission for Raph, and he lets his last shred of control fall away. His lips are on yours in a second with a desperate, hungry kiss. It's messy, and hard, and wet, and full of every ounce of *need* in his body. His tongue darts out on instinct and for a moment, he’s worried he’s overstepped, but then your lips part so sweetly for him that he just can’t help himself. He needs more of you. Hands grip your waist, firm but ever so careful not to hurt you - *never* to hurt you - and he guides you back towards the foot of his bed, his tongue surging forward to explore your mouth greedily.

Your legs knock against the frame of his bed and suddenly he’s picking you up, his grip firm and secure as his arms snake around you to keep you close as he maneuvers you up so he can climb onto the bed. Careful hands lay you out beneath him on the mattress, his mouth never leaving yours. He’s pressing your head into the mattress with the force of his kiss, hungry with a primal need for more of you. It isn’t until your lungs start burning with the need for air that he pulls away, his eyes raking over your half-naked form laid on the bed - on *his* bed.

A shiver runs through you at the sight of him there above you, staring intently down at you like a man starved. One huge hand slides its way up from your hip to your ribcage, fingers gliding over the fabric of your bra. When you arch your back a little to grant him better access, he takes the invitation and reaches around to unclasp the thin material, sliding it off of your shoulders and leaving your torso entirely bare for him.

His breath hitches in his throat at the sight of you, drinking you in hungrily until he spots the faint outline of an old mark left behind. A low, dark growl escapes him to know that your bastard ex had left his mark there, too, and he’s nuzzling his face into the plush flesh of your chest to leave his scent and rewrite the story on your skin. You’re *his girl* now, he thinks to himself, darting his tongue out to run it soothingly over the faint mark.

The *sounds* you make at that have him feeling about half-ready to drop then and there. He’s never heard anything like it before, and doesn’t think he can survive if he doesn’t hear it again. His tongue darts out again, slower this time, lingering as he makes his way to your nipple and runs his tongue across it. A low whine escapes you at the feeling, and he does it again, needing to hear it over and over. If you make sounds like *that*, he’ll run his tongue over every last inch of you without complaint. His hand comes to cover your breast, rolling the peak of your nipple between his fingers experimentally. A satisfied grin tugs at the corner of his mouth as he takes in the sight of you, pleased with himself as he earns another low whine from you.

When he brings his mouth down to run his tongue over your other bruises, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses over the darkened skin as he continues teasing your nipple with his fingers, you think you might just crumble beneath him. It feels so much *better* than when you had simply been imagining it was his mouth on you instead of Gabe's. There’s a moment where the thought flickers across your mind, and you feel like you can’t *breathe* - because *what if you’re imagining it*. What if it’s not real, if *none of this is real*, what if that bastard finally got what he wanted - finally *broke you* so *completely* that you’re too far gone to even know what’s happening to you anymore?

Raph can *feel* the way your breath catches in your chest, and something about it is *different* this time. His eyes dart up to meet yours, and immediately he knows something’s *wrong*. Your gaze is distant, unseeing as your entire body freezes, and suddenly he doesn’t know what he’s done wrong but he knows he has to keep his promise - he has to *fix it*.

“Hey, hey, hey, darlin’.” Large hands move to cradle your face so you’re looking at him as he hovers over you. “What’s wrong?” There’s an uncharacteristic tremor to his voice as he looks at the distant, panicked way your eyes fall on his. He asks again when you don’t answer. “What’s wrong, darlin’? Talk to me.” Every muscle in your body is rigid, and he doesn’t know what to do. Part of him is screaming to back away, that he’s scaring you. Another part is terrified you’ll think he’s abandoning you when you need him. He *doesn’t know what to do*. So he just keeps talking, keeps stroking your face. “It’s just me, darlin’. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I did, but I - I’ll never do it again, sweetheart. I promise. Please.”

It’s the ‘I’m sorry’ that catches your attention, makes you focus on his voice. You’re pretty sure you’ve *never* heard Gabe say those words, not for any reason. Least of all for *this*. Your eyes are already on his, but now they’re actively *on him*. His hands on you feel more like a memory, like it’s happening to someone else, and you can hear your own voice quietly asking him for reassurance. “Raph?”

His breath comes out in a rush when he sees you start coming back to him. “There she is,” he strokes your face adoringly, “There's my girl.” He says with a small, relieved grin.

“Tell me…” You can feel your voice in your own chest again, feel your throat as you swallow. “Tell me I'm safe.” It comes out like a quiet plea, and it's all Raph can do to bring his big arms around you and cradle you close.

“You're safe, darlin'. I'm here. You're safe.”

You can feel his hands on your skin now, feel the way his plastron presses against your bare chest. You're back in your own skin, your body yours again, and you use it to raise your hands in a tender caress. “It's not your fault, Raph. I just… I got lost in my own head, that's all.” You explain, wanting to take away the guilt you can hear in his voice when he speaks to you.

“We can stop. We don't have to - we can stop, sweetheart.” He murmurs against your shoulder, terrified that he pushed you too far.

“No.” Your response is instantaneous, the thought of being bereft of the feel of him against you in this moment worse than any of the torture you'd been through before. “Please. I don't want to stop, Raph. I want to feel you everywhere. I want you to *fix it*. Please, Raphael.”

He wonders again if there's a man alive who's strong enough to resist you when you sound like *that*, and he thinks to himself that if there is then he's glad it's not him. He doesn't want to stop, either. He wants to touch you *everywhere*, wants to replace every bad memory with a memory of him. Wants to make you feel good, feel better than you've ever felt before.

*You* kiss *him* this time, and all bets are off.

Suddenly, his hands are *everywhere*, searing a path along your skin. He wants to hear those sounds you made earlier, wants to know what other sounds you can make for him, wants to know that he's doing it right. He wants to be the *only* thing you can think about in this moment.

To his credit, it's working.

Your mouth matches his, hungry and desperate and tender all at once as your lips slide against each other. A nip at his bottom lip and now it's your turn to be enraptured at the sound that comes out of *him* - something low and rumbling and *animal* that lights your skin on fire. You want to know how to get him to make that sound *more*, make it again and again and again. Something delicious occurs to you then, and you gently press at his shoulder to encourage him to roll over, to let you try something.

Curious, he follows your lead and rolls to his back, his strong hands bringing you with him to straddle his lap. Pressing a kiss to his lips, you nip at his bottom lip again. This time, when he makes that rumbling churr, you can feel it where your clothed core is seated on his plastron. A spark of heat runs up your spine at the feeling and your whole body shudders, earning a smug grin from Raph. He opens his mouth to comment, but the feel of your mouth pressing open mouthed kisses and little nips along the side of his throat makes his jaw snap shut, the words dying in his throat and being replaced by a deep growl. Your lips travel lower, exploring the skin at the junction of his neck and shoulder. Hands that seem far too small and delicate on his massive frame push gently at his gear, encouraging him to take it off.

He obliges quickly, his eagerness more apparent than he wants it to be but unable to hold himself back as he sits up a little to unbuckle his straps and pauldron and slides them off. His motions are hurried, not willing to keep his hands off of you for longer than necessary. The sight of you on top of him, bare chested, your now messy hair falling to frame your face has him feeling a little breathless. Adjusting yourself so you can slide your way down his body, you start trailing kisses along his plastron.

Once it's clear where you're headed, clear what your *intent* is, he reaches down quickly to pull you back up to his eye level.

“Not this time, darlin’.” He pants out, a primal part of him positively screeching at the knowledge that he's *stopping you*, but he has to keep his wits about him. He knows he isn't… typical, that his anatomy isn't what you're used to, and he's afraid he'll scare you off before he's had a chance to show you just what he can do with it. A chance to win you over first. Besides, this first time isn’t about him. When he hears the way you whine, a low chuckle escapes him. “Next time, sweetheart. I do my job right, there'll be *plenty* of next times.”

The urge to pout is strong, but quickly overpowered by a desire for *more* as he presses his mouth to yours again, tongue sliding into your mouth as he rolls to place you beneath him again. Taking a cue from your own ministrations, he moves to press open mouthed kisses along your jaw. When you make that low whine he likes so much, he knows he's onto something. Tentatively, he scrapes his teeth over the edge of your jaw. It's louder, this time. Encouraging him on. Happily, he obliges. His hand comes up to cradle your nape, adjusting the angle of your head to give him better access to your throat as he dives back in and presses a hot trail down your throat with his mouth, his tongue dragging a thick line across your pulse and making you shiver. *This* sound is higher, less a whine and closer to a *whimper*, and he's determined to pull more of it from you.

You can tell he likes the way your breathing has gone a little ragged, likes the effect he's having on you. And, god - so do you. It feels so *good* with him. He's a quick study when he wants to be, you think to yourself. His free hand slides down your side to rest at the waistline of your pants, tracing gentle patterns along the edge of your hip with his fingertips as he continues his assault on your throat. Somewhere in the back of you mind, you had been concerned about the mark on your throat and the way it aches, but he's so mindful of it - so careful and gentle and *tender* - that all it does is tingle faintly when he runs his mouth over it softly. Your focus has zeroed in on what his fingertips are doing there on your hip now, hesitantly exploring, and you arch yourself ever so slightly against him. His fingers dip below the waistline of your pants, running along the top edge of your panties for a moment. He's hesitant, as if silently asking for further permission, and you grant it to him eagerly. Your feet press against his mattress to lift yourself up, giving him the space he needs to undo your pants and slide them down your thighs with your panties.

It's decadent, he thinks, the way you look there on his bed. Naked, hair splayed around your head like a messy halo, lips puffy and well kissed as you look at him with open adoration in your eyes. He could get drunk off of the sight of you like this. “You're so beautiful, darlin'.”

You feel a little silly that out of all of this, everything that's happened so far tonight, it's Raphael calling you *beautiful* that brings a blush to your face. The feeling doesn't last long, though, because he's got his mouth on your chest again and your entire body feels positively electric at the sensation. Is this what it was supposed to be like? All this time, is this what you could have had? Suddenly, an overwhelming feeling of having *missed out* washes over you, but it doesn't last long. Too distracted by the sensation of Raph’s tongue flicking out over the hardened peak of your nipple, his large hand kneading your other breast as his fingers toy with that nipple too, the thoughts simply drain from your mind like water through your fingers. When he finally begins to trek lower, pressing kisses along your abdomen, he makes sure to keep his hand where it is. He likes the way you respond to his calloused fingers rubbing against your sensitive skin too much, wants to keep hearing what it does to your voice when you whine for him as he makes his way down.

Teeth scrape gently over your hip, causing you to jolt slightly at the sensation with another whine - this one more high-pitched. He can smell your arousal even stronger now, and it takes everything he has not to simply dive in like a man starved. Instead, he presses little kisses and nips along your inner thigh, teasing you as he gets closer and closer to your core.

Raph pauses, hovering over the spot you want him most, his hot breath fanning across you and kicking that sweet, heady scent back up at him. His eyes flicker to your face for your reaction, needing to be absolutely certain. When he sees you looking down at him, eyes half-lidded and biting your lip in anticipation as you snake a hand down to grip at the tails of his bandana, he has the confirmation he needed.

You're pretty sure there's fireworks going off in your veins when he presses the wide expanse of his tongue against your entrance and *licks*, tracing a slow stripe along the entirety of your entrance and up to your clit. His tongue is large, just like the rest of him, and it works you over slowly. Again and again and again, licking that slow stripe along your entrance to flick over your clit and back. Over and over, until your head falls back and a low moan tears its way out of your throat. You can *feel* the way his eyes are studying you, absorbing your every reaction and reveling in them as he learns what you like. Everything he does is slow, almost achingly so, building your anticipation and arousal as much as he can.

Raphael wonders briefly whether it's possible to get addicted to this, before deciding that he doesn't actually care if it is. That's fine. He can be an addict, as long as you're his fix. His fingers are still playing with your tits as he lets his tongue press inside of you at last, and the sound that earns him has his eyes rolling back for a second as his hips jerk into the mattress involuntarily.

Your own hips jerk to meet his face eagerly, and he takes his free hand to hold you in place. “Don't be greedy, darlin'.” He murmurs against your folds, and you outright whimper at the loss of his tongue inside of you.

That deep, animalistic churr starts up again at the desperate little sound you make, and you can *feel* it when he presses his mouth back to your slit and slides his tongue inside. It's too much, it's all too much, and the sensation sends you rocketing over the edge faster than you've ever come before. His tongue doesn't stop, and neither does that churr, as you ride out your high against his mouth. The feel of your walls fluttering against his tongue has him dropping eagerly for you, his cock sliding out and pressing against the fabric of his shorts. He has you pressed down so firmly with his free hand that you can't even buck your hips for more, can only lie there and take it as he laps at you. His own hips have no such restraint, and he's grinding himself against the mattress almost instinctively as he urges you towards your next orgasm. Your fingers grip hard at the base of his mask, nails scratching a little against his skin, and it only spurs him on. He doesn't let up even after you finish, his thick tongue fucking into you over and over and over until your eyes roll back and a pretty little keening moan falls from your lips as he brings you over that edge a second and then a third time.

He *definitely* likes *that*.

It isn't until you start whimpering that he slides his tongue out, kissing your entrance gently as he looks up to take in the sight of you. “How'd I ever get myself such a pretty girl?” He muses with a grin, his eyes soaking up the way you practically glow from the release he'd just given you.

Your eyes track his every movement as he brings one of his large hands to his mouth, using his thumb to swipe firmly at his bottom lip, wiping away the wet mess you’d left there. A tremor runs through your entire body at the sight.

His eyes don't miss the way you respond to the sight of him, and it makes something in his chest puff with pride. Knowing he has that kind of effect on you is outright *dangerous*, the kind of thing that could drive a man to think he's invincible. But then you're tugging gently at his mask tails, urging him to come back towards your face, and he knows he's not invincible. How could he be, when you're his biggest weak point? He hauls himself up, shoulder muscles rippling as he prowls over you like a big cat.

The sight of him is something to behold, and you can't resist tugging him down to press an adoring kiss to his lips. There's a tender moment where you're just kissing him, arms wrapped around his neck to keep him close. But you can taste yourself on his lips, and it's only fueling your arousal.

“Raphael. I want you. Please.” You murmur softly against his lips.

For a moment, you think maybe you've said something wrong because his entire body goes completely still. Every muscle in his body is rigid, and you're about to say something to let him know it's ok, you don't have to, when his hips stutter and buck against you and suddenly you can feel just how *badly* he wants you, too.

There's something like embarrassment on his face when he looks at you, and you can tell he's debating something.

“It's -” he tries to start, but the nervousness in his throat chokes the words before he can get them. He wants to *warn* you, to tell you what to expect, but the words won't come. He screws his eyes shut and takes a deep breath before trying again with a different tactic. “Just - just don't look, okay?” His eyes open to meet your gaze, pleading with you to listen and sighing in relief when you nod.

“Tell you what. You keep that handsome face right here where I can kiss it, and I won't look at anything else.” You tell him playfully, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

His mouth seeks yours in an instant, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. He shifts to slide his shorts off, kicking them to the floor before settling himself between your legs, the both of you fully naked now besides his bandana. He likes the way you tug at the tails of it to guide him and to anchor yourself when he makes you feel so good you feel like you're floating.

There's a sharp gasp when you feel his cock slide over your entrance. It's big, bigger than you're used to, and suddenly you're *very* glad he had enough knowledge to prepare you with his tongue first. He ruts against you a few times as he kisses you, coating his length in your slick before he pulls back just enough to line himself up with your entrance.

His pupils are blown out as he looks at you, the green of his eyes practically gone as he grips his cock and rubs the tip of it against your folds, earning a whine from you that drives him on. Slowly, afraid to hurt you - afraid you'll change your mind - he pushes inside. The moan you make at the feel of him let's him know that changing your mind was never even on the table.“*Fuck*, darlin'.” He moans in response.

It's awkward, and unsure, and it takes him a moment to find his pace, but it's still better than anything with Gabe had ever been. Despite his inexperience, his *instincts* know what to do, how to make you come undone for him. He's a fast learner, too, taking everything he's already filed away and using it to his advantage. He knows he won't last long - you feel *far* too good for that - but he's determined to give you one last high before following you over that ledge. When your hand reaches up to pull at the tails of his bandana again, he can't stop the churr that comes out, can't fight the need to scent you again. He buries his face against your throat, growling at the thought of anyone else ever having touched you, leaving his scent all over you. When he feels you clenching around him in response, a high-pitched keen working it's way out of your chest, it's all he can do to tumble over that edge with you.

It takes a while for him to ride out the waves of pleasure, and the way he keeps fucking into you keeps you hovering right at the furthest frayed edges of your own high. When he finally stills, finally comes down from his own high and pulls his face back from where he'd buried it against you, it's all he can do to look at you.

If he thought you were glowing before, he's pretty sure you're positively radiant now.

Your hands are reaching up, petting his face as he wraps his arms around you to pull you in close as he shifts onto his side. Neither of you speaks, simply curling into each other for a long moment. Raph presses his face back down to your throat, breathing deep to find only his own scent mixed with yours now, and a contented hum radiates through him. He runs a hand over your hair, nuzzling against you affectionately.

“That's my girl.” He says softly, and he can't help the way he smiles when you press further against his plastron to nuzzle him back. “That bastard's never gonna touch you again. Nobody will ever hurt you again.”

There's a moment of silence as you let his words wash over you, before a spark of worry lights in your chest. “Raph, what exactly… did you do?”

His arms tighten around you as he remembers the wet crunch of bones breaking. “I taught that bastard a lesson.”

Your chest tightens with worry. You'd kept the turtles secret from Gabe, never trusting him with that knowledge. Now he knew, and there was nothing to keep him from making sure everyone else knew, too. “He's going to tell people, Raph!”

“Yeah, well, let him know what it feels like to have somebody beat on him and nobody believe *him* for a change.” He grumbles. He made sure there wasn't any evidence. There was no reason to worry. “In the meantime, we'll get your stuff and we'll move you in here, where you belong. Don't worry about him anymore, darlin’. You got better things to think about now.”

It was so obvious to you now. How blind you'd been from the fear and the pain to have not seen it before. Of course you had somewhere to go. You were Raph's girl, after all.

Taglist: @luckycharms1701 @thelaundrybitch @thejudiciousneurotic @khayalli @desceros @gornackeaterofworlds @mxalmighty sorry if I missed anyone! I lost my taglist doc again.

Two oof the best things in the world

Moon 🤝 Cowboys

Always work great together

Shut Eye AU Moon [remade]

This guy really needed a new reference-

So i present to you the renewed reference sheet of shut eye moon!!

uhm

💥