LOL These Two Right Here!

LOL These two right here!

These give me life . !!!,

The Dumpsterfire of Mikey

Finally, my wife I mean my iteration's Donatello. Please squint at his battle shell and pretend you don't see any imperfections I'm too lazy to fine tune it anyway. Softshell Donnie W

All the ladies want D, he's a chick magnet.

Random Turtle Thought on My Mind Today

Basically NSFW (18+ only)

He can't help it.

The flutter of shallow breath that dances within his lungs. His heart strumming so hard beneath his plated chest, he half wonders if you can hear it. If you can feel its force under your touch, as you press your palm against his natural armor to steady yourself. Droplets of water collecting where your hand rests on him as you lean even nearer, rinsing the shampoo from your hair. The confines of your small shower pushing your bodies so close together, you're not far off from being flush against him.

And his legs tremble at the mental image of you there with him. Of how sensual you must look right now.

His eyes are shut. Just as he promised you he'd keep them. But he doesn't need them open. He already knows what he would see.

Your bare form. Water dripping from your curves like rain. Head tilted back. Lips parted. Wet hair draped like silk down your back. Throat open and exposed. More water coursing over the smoothness of your flesh; tauntingly tracing the expanse of your figure the way his fingertips longed to. Of your breasts, hanging free. Pert nipples only a hair's breadth away from licking the keratin adorning his front.

He can't help it.

It's too close to his season. And he's been enamored with you for months now.

Your weight shifts as you lean away, hand slipping down his plastron while you straighten; eliciting a full body shiver he hopes you don't notice.

Instinctually, he follows. He has to be close to you. Keep you close to him. So very close. He feels he might go insane if you drift any farther from him.

He can smell where he's scented you. Just under your jaw, where he had nuzzled into neck. The most primal part of his mind likes that you smell like him. Wants to paint more of your body with more of his scent. To mark you. Claim you. With maybe more than pheromones.

The giggle you let slip free causes an eruption of butterflies in his gut. He can feel your lips, upturned in a grin. You're happy. Welcoming. Accepting. Curious even, maybe, to see how far he'll go.

It breaks his resolve not to touch you.

One hand, trembling with some far-off voice in the back of his mind telling him not to, cups against the swell of your backside. Calloused fingers kneading the plump flesh, earning him a breathy gasp from your throat. It spurs him on. Pressing forward, his tongue finds your pulse; water now pouring over his head and into his mouth as he seeks to kiss you.

He didn't want your first time together to happen because of season.

But he can't help it.

Flared nostrils catch the unmistakable hint of excitement from you. You're stretching back, granting him access wherever he wants to venture. Pushing into him, making clear you like what he's doing. Soft hands, so much smaller than his, holding tight to his arms. Keeping yourself close to him. So very close.

Like maybe something will break inside you if he doesn't keep going with what he's starting.

Mouths working against one another's, his hips shutter as his waist, practically of its own will, wants to find your body. To know where you are. How to align himself with you. So he can join himself to you. Just the way nature and desire tell him he needs to.

One arm comes to brace his weight against the wall, the other goes wandering. Hand pressing hard into your skin as the need to touch you drowns out any other thought in his mind.

With a nudge of his nose, his tongue presses past the seal of your lips. You moan into his mouth. His hips buck sharply in response. Curling his pelvis and squatting down lower lines his body up to where he needs to be.

Now sounding breathless he confesses he's swollen and aching for you. Asks for your permission to drop. To stroke himself between your legs. To make you his in every way he could right now - caught between the water diluting your silken core, his mass against the constraints of the tight space and the way he was growing desperate listening to your pleading whimpers for more.

"Please," you whisper in the gasp of a breath.

And that's all he needs.

You rise to your tiptoes to better squeeze his leaking member between your thighs. Grind back into him as it drags back and forth against your petals. You want this to happen. Want him. To give yourself to him. To share something so intimate, there'd be no going back.

This isn't how he wanted this to happen. But it's feeling better than he thought it would.

Your fingers are gripping into his scaley muscles as best they can. Pulling him close. Keeping him against you.

He's inhaling each and every wonton sound slipping free between your plush pout meeting his.

There's no fighting it anymore.

It's too close to season.

And he can't help himself now.

He's too far gone now.

Lost to his love for you.

@luckycharms1701 @yorshie @justalotoffanfiction @celticvix @writinandcrying @donniesgirlie @gornackeaterofworlds @thelaundrybitch @sophiacloud28 @iridescentflamingo @the-cauldron-witch @tmnt-tychou @thepinkpanther83

And we love them

I only have sketches to offer 😔😔🤲

Some random interactions with Raphael ^^ I was too lazy to add details to the human or color these overall shdjd

Sorry for the watermarks. Had to slap something on top

(and also characters are adults. Just putting this out there too just in case)

Oh yea, the carrying one on bottom left is referenced from Sylus' Lost Oasis memory from love and deepspace

Check out some expressions from prev post

^^