TMNT x Reader Imagines // Book Two.

Stressed Out Smut (Michelangelo x Reader)

Imagine Michelangelo being stressed out.

Life as a ninja turtle is getting to him. As a wise puppet once said, it's not easy being green.

You've got wild gangs to fight, alien invasions to avoid, evil masterminds to outwit, and a dozen other problems. It's getting to be too much for the turtle to handle, he has to find a way to unwind.

And there's one sure fire way to do that, one person that can help a turtle out:

Y/N.

Michelangelo knows that his girlfriend is so willing to help, in anyway he asks. So he isn't embarrassed when he calls you up and tells you exactly what he wants. Not embarrassed at all. And when you say yes, he's excited.

Imagine Michelangelo sneaking out of the Lair late at night, slipping out of the sewers and onto the surface.

He makes his way to her apartment, he knows the way. Leaping over buildings and across rooftops, he makes it there in record time. Maybe it's his imagination that speeds him up.

Mikey thinks all about what he wants to do, what he's going to do.

He thinks about her beautiful body, those breasts and legs, those playful hands.

Oh, he has so many plans with those hands.

Imagine Michelangelo reaching your window, already wide open for him.

The turtle pops in easily, tripping on the windowsill and falling face flat on the floor. But he's up again in a second, flipping to his feet and being greeted by his beautiful lady.

There you are, smiling at him.

That perfect body wearing just what he wanted. That little thong hanging on your hips, bright yellow and orange stripes decorating it.

"You ready, big guy?"

"Aw, shell yes, baby!"

The lights are flicked off, leaving the two of you in the dark. Your lips and nails glow bright neon orange and you hand him a paint brush.

Let the fun begin, he thinks.

Imagine Michelangelo watching as you bend over, pulling your thong down your legs. Tossing them away, you pick up a small silver paintcan, popping it open.

Mikey quickly strips down, tossing his gear away.

He picks up a paintcan of his own, stirring the neon pink liquid.

"Come here, baby. I wanna make art outta you."

The paint brush skids down your shoulder, smearing the paint across your skin. You do the same, neon green on his chest. The turtle laughs at the feeling, taking another can.

Neon blue.

A line across your collarbone, bright blue dripping down between your breasts.. You shiver as the cool liquid falls down your body, the drop reaching your belly button.