#I love it storm! 💚

[quotemenevervore]

Honestly, dissaponted that I couldn't get the lyrics in (i had things to do) but here's Ivy :D

(I have no experience with colors- i thought coral was a blue)

:OO

I love it! She looks exactly like how I imagined her! Thank you so much for this drawing!

[gikijet]

Spicy, Sweet, or Sour?

[pad-paper-pen]

have a messy modern Perrine sketch while i overthink my other project 🫎

bonus concept for cole cuz i might try everyone else but no promises q:

[potatoesmoomaddie]

I propose a slogan for Kaleidoscope

“After the storm there needs to be a double rainbow”

Please consider using this hashtag for every Kaleidoscope post of yours if you enjoy

[sunsetsandsunshine]

~ 𝚂𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚢 𝚂𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 ~

💚💜 𝙶𝚒𝚏𝚝 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚏𝚘𝚛: @charismakat 💚💜

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚐𝚒𝚏𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚠𝚎𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚖𝚊𝚣𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙺𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝙻𝚎𝚎!𝙰𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚠. 𝚂𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚜𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚑— 𝙸’𝚖 𝚊 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 😭💔. 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜, 𝙼𝚈 𝙶𝙸𝚁𝙻 𝙰𝙿𝚁𝙸𝙻 𝙳𝙴𝚂𝙴𝚁𝚅𝙴𝚂 𝚂𝙾𝙼𝙴 𝚃𝙸𝙲𝙺𝙻𝙴𝚂 𝙵𝚁𝙵𝚁 💖💝💘💗˚*• ̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊·̩̩̥͙

𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: 𝙵𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: 𝟺,𝟷𝟺𝟺

𝙻𝚎𝚎: 𝙰𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚕 👩🏾‍🦱💚

𝙻𝚎𝚛: 𝙳𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚎🐢💜

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝙰𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚕 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚗 𝙰𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝙷𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝟸 𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙳𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚙 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚒𝚝! 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚐𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚗, 𝙰𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚕 𝚋𝚎𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚞𝚗𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚢. 𝚂𝚘 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚖𝚊𝚣𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝙳𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚎 𝚒𝚜, 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚊 𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛’𝚜 𝚜𝚞𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚗 𝚞𝚗-𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗.

(𝙰/𝙽: 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊𝚗 𝙰𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚌. 𝙰𝚃. 𝙰𝙻𝙻. 𝙸 𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚠 𝙳𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙰𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚕’𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙 𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗𝚎. 𝚂𝚘 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝙸 𝚊𝚍𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎, 𝚋𝚌 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚒𝚜 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚋𝚝 𝚊 𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛. 𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎, 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜.)

𝙾𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚐𝚜𝚜𝚜𝚜: @shut-up-jo @someone1348 @itzsana-kiddingmenow

@saturnzskyzz @giggly-cloud @savemeafruitjuice @cedarrthefluffylee

@rice-cake-teen10 @titters-and-tingles @veryblushyswitch @tmntalways

@pocky-dragon @my-l0v3r-v3rse @jamiesgotchu

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚃𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍…𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙱𝚕𝚎𝚞𝚐𝚑. 𝙸𝚏 𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚓𝚊𝚖, 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚕 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍/𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢 ;)

𝚃𝚆: 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎’𝚜 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑𝚑𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚒𝚝!!!

̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙻𝙴𝚃’𝚂 𝙶𝙾𝙾𝙾𝙾𝙾𝙾𝙾𝙾𝙾𝙾𝙾𝙾𝙾𝙾𝙾!!!˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

“April, you gotta focus…”

“I am focused!”

Donatello crossed his arms along his plastron, glaring at his older sister as his eyebrows knitted together in annoyance. “Alright then. If you’re ever so focused like you say you are…then riddle me this: what is that phone doing in your hand?” The softshell turtle asked, pointing to April’s phone that was in the palm of her hand. 

The girl looked away sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck and not even bothering to say a rebuttal to the question. The younger teen sighed impatiently, pinching the bridge of his snout.

The two siblings were currently in April’s bedroom, sitting on her carpeted floor along with some papers and folders scattered around them. The two were wearing their pajamas— as it was night time when they decided they should meet up and study. Well…for April to study.

The girl in question wore a black t-shirt with green checkerboard pants, and also wearing a bonnet for her hair along with her signature green glasses. Donnie on the other hand wore his signature purple hoodie, purple leg warmers and as well as his purple mask.

The older one scoffed, quickly sliding the phone underneath her bed and grabbing the history notes that were placed next to her. The girl straightened her posture, pretending to look over the messy notes she took earlier in class, making 'mhm’s' and 'uh-huh’s' here and there.

“What phone?” She asked innocently as if she wasn’t on YouTube a couple seconds ago.

The mutant dramatically sighed, massaging his forehead and laying down on the carpeted floor, his plastron facing up. The human teenager dramatically sighed as well, mimicking her brother’s fall on the floor.

“You can’t blame me for this, Dee! Studying is so freaking boring.” She groaned. “When am I ever going to have to know about these old guys in real life?” April asked genuinely, looking at her notes with the Founding Fathers faces on it before shivering, putting the pictures of them face down. The turtle teen sat back up, giving her an unamused eyebrow raise.

“April…”

“No! Like seriously. Let’s be real for a second here, Don. Who the absolute hell is gonna randomly come up to me and say: Who was the guy that led the battle of Ft. Sumter?” She said as she sat up as well. The softshell turtle blinked at her, then blinked at her once more, slightly tilting his head to the side in confusion. 

“Your…history teacher?” He stated, chuckling a bit. The girl threw a nearby pillow at her brother as he laughed, catching it and throwing it back at her. “Besides him!” She groaned, putting the pillow to the other side of her.

The purple banded turtle sighed, “Riri…I know this is atrociously boring for you but you got to at least make an effort here. This is your last grade of the 3rd semester!” Donnie stated sternly, reaching into his backpack and pulling out his computer that he brought with him when sneaking into the other's apartment. The older sighed, crossing her arms and glaring at the floor stubbornly. She absolutely hated when Donnie had a point.

Which was usually 99.9% of the time…but still!

April rested her cheek in her palms, “I have a 88% in History though…” She pouted, trying to reason with her brother that they didn’t really need to study so freaking hard to delay the ONE bad grade she’s about to get.

And anyway, if she flunked this test, what’s the worst it could bump her grade down to? An 84? Possibly a 80? Yeah…no. She’s completely fine with those odds for sure.

“Besides, it’s in two days.” The human girl said, getting up from where she was sitting to go on her phone again. Donnie huffed, now starting to grow annoyed at his sister’s lack of motivation and focus. “The test is in two days and yet you still don’t know the 8th amendment…” The younger spat, glaring at his computer screen as he began to type more harshly by every passing word he typed.

“…Isn’t that the one which gives us the right to keep and bear arms?”

“That’s the second amendment…the eighth amendment is not being able to give cruel or unusual punishments.” Donnie explained whilst rolling his eyes.

Oh sweet pizza supreme in the sky…April was so screwed for this test…

“I was close enough…” The older groaned, going over to sit next to the other, leaning on his shoulder. “What’re you doing, anyway?” She asked, poking the purple banded teen’s cheek as she saw the evident scowl on the younger one’s face. The softshell rolled his eyes once more, pushing his sister slightly but with no real force to it.

“I’m looking at you’re grades, actually.” Donnie said in a very calm voice which only worked to his benefit as April’s eyes bulged like saucers. She grabbed the young genuis' laptop, looking through the tabs to actually make sure he was on her school app and he didn’t just hack in and steal her account.

“Wha— since when the FUCK did you have access to my grades, Donatello?” The older teen asked, looking at the younger as if she was .2 seconds away from hitting him with her bat from here, all the way to New Jersey.

“I’ve always had access to your grades.” The younger teenager shrugged, trying his best to ignore his older sister’s very angry tone. “Your username is April and your password is O’Neil…both in caps. It wasn’t really that hard to figure out, sis. It’s literally your well-known catchphrase.” He chuckled.

“Your password for all of your electronics is literally Bootyyyshaker9000! You have no right to talk about 'bad passwords.'” April scoffed, raising an eyebrow at Donnie who only laughed more at her retort, taking back his computer. “Touché.” He nodded.

“But the reason why I’m under your school account in the first place is because I’m looking over your notes and I have made digital flashcards based on most of them. You’re welcome.” The softshell explained, showing the other teen the flashcards he’s made. The eldest to laughed fondly, “Alright, Mr. Tech wiz. Show me whatcha got.”

“Let’s see…” The taller teen mumbled, scrolling through the flashcards before settling on one to ask his sibling. “Okay…who was defeated in the Battle of Gettysburg?” He asked, looking up at April only to find a nervous expression plastered on her face…an expression translating to 'I dunno what the answer is.'

“Abraham…Lincoln…?” April guessed in a small voice, knowing she was completely 100% wrong in every which way but couldn’t help at least trying.

“Wrong; obviously. But…you already knew that. The correct answer was Robert E Lee.” Donnie stated before looking down at his computer, searching for another flashcard. The softshell was about to ask another question but before he could muster up a word, he saw his sister’s facial expression.

No longer smug. Nor bored.

She was…blushing?

“Something wrong, Riri?” The younger asked, finding the flustered state of his older sister completely hilarious. The girl in questionn cleared her throat, rubbing the back of her neck before looming at her sibling again, “Are…Are you sure that’s his last name…? The…Robert dude you just mentioned.” The older asked as the softshell looked back at the computer, re-reading the text. “Mhm. I’m positive. That is what it says. You can look him up yourself if you’d like.” 

April groaned for probably the millionth time, putting her face into her palms. Because…Lee? Fucking really? This Robert E Lee guy couldn’t have picked a better last name for himself? He HAD to choose that as a last name?

Donnie shook his head fondly at his eldest sibling’s flustered state, searching for more of the flashcards he pulled up on his computer. Preferably more about this Robert E Lee fellow.

This embarrassed state of the eldest was a very rare sight— kind of like a once-in-a-full-moon sort of thing. So Donnie would do what any good sibling would do in this moment and enjoy the literal hell out of it while it lasted.

The purple cladded teen smiled, “If you were too much in…a mood to study, you could’ve just told me, April.” He giggly joked, which only caused the older to bury her face into her hands more, muttering a quiet 'shut up', but with no real venom behind it. The softshell chuckled, scrolling through the flashcards before pausing.

Holy mother of Pearl…hold ON a freaking second.

Now that he thought about it, it made so much sense that April was in…a mood. No wonder she was so unfocused! Either he’s completely over-analyzing this whole…situation or April’s just being a drama queen instead of just asking him to help with her whole…situation. Either or.

But he was going to bet his money on the first guess.

Suddenly, Donnie was snapped out of his thoughts as April grabbed his shoulder’s and started to shake him back and fourth somewhat in an aggresive manner. She sighed, noticing the pure surprise in the softshell’s eyes that he was now in fact out of Donnie-land and back on Earth.

“Oh thank God…I thought I was going to have to whack you with my bat to get you to respond.” April joked. But the purple banded turtle knew damn well (definitely not because of past experiences) that his sister would not hesitate to use her bat if she needed to.

“Anyways…we should take a break.” The girl said suddenly, trying to change the subject. The younger teen raised an amused brow, knowing exactly what his sister was doing and decided to play along. The turtle let out a a small laugh, “We took a break ten minutes ago.”

The eldest rolled her eyes, crossing her arms across her chest a she huffed, “So let’s take another one!”

Donnie pinched the bridge of his snout— he was so SO close to punting April out of her apartment window…head. first. Oh sweet Gram-Gram up above have mercy on him.

The duo had just spent thirty minutes just arguing back and forth whether or not they should study…but they haven’t even truly studied yet! If they couldn’t get back on track soon, Donnie would fear he would be here all night…which…he wouldn’t really mind, of course. He loves spending time with his sister but he has more important things to do than help her study.

Like watching Bridgerton for example!

…Don’t judge him…

But anyway— April needed to start getting these facts in her brain ASAP! The test was in two days for crying out loud. And Donnie knows that April studying at the very last minute would not always give her B+'s and solid A-'s…much to the older’s disagreement.

“Y'know…I actually have an idea to help you with you’re sudden lack of motivation towards studying, Riri…” The younger smiled, trying to keep his tone as monotone as possible but couldn’t help the cheeky smile spreading across his face. The human girl raised suspicious a brow, not liking the sudden change of tone and facial expressions from her little brother.

That goofy little turtle was up to something. And April just KNOWS she’s going to be the victim of whatever he was planning.

“What’s this idea of yours, little brother?” She asked, suspicion clear in her voice as her chocolate brown eyed narrowed at him. “For it to work, can you sit directly in front of me so your back is facing towards yours truly?” The mutant asked, voice still very calm but his expression clearly mischievous. April’s suspicion only rose as her younger brother spoke…but did as she was told, sitting in front of him so her back was facing his front.

“Okaaaaay…? Now what? Any more instructions?” The girl asked, her suspicion being replaced by genuine confusion. The younger teen snickered, “I think it would be better if I…use an example.” He explained.

“Let me just think of a random question…oh! During WWI, what did the British manufacture and poison?” The young genius asked, waiting for his sister to answer. He couldn’t see the other’s expression as of right now, but he could just tell by her body language that she had absolutely no clue. The older rubbed the back of her neck, shrugging, “Psh…uh, I dunno…guns…?”

Donnie paused for a moment, trying his best to cover up his laugh with a cough. The younger wiped a happy tear from his eye before fixing his posture, putting the computer to the side of him. “I’m sorry…guns? April, how can you poison a GUN?” He asked, trying to understand the logic behind his eldest sibling’s answer.

April groaned, “Dude I just said I didn’t know! It was the 1600’s or something! Who’s to say they DIDN’T poison guns?!”

The softshell’s left eye twitched, “WWI takes place in the 1800’s…”

The chocolate brown eyed teen turned around to her brother slightly, “Are you sure about that?” (John Cena reference goes crazy…)

“YES!!!”

“Alright alright! Jeez…no need to shout. Heard you loud and clear, Houston.” She mumbled, resting her cheek on her palm because…

Houston, she definitely had a problem.

Her Civil War test was in two freaking days and she barely even knew what century it took place in. She was screwed. She was the definition of the word screwed.

And anyways, tenth grade sucked major ass anyway. Flunking one History class wouldn’t be so bad. But April knew damn well Donnie, along with Raph, Leo, Mikey, Splinter, her Mom and literally everyone else in here life would not let her even touch an ounce of flunking.

She sighed, “…How is this supposed to be helping me again? Because this is literally the same tactic we’ve been doing but instead I’m facing away from you.”

The young genuis hummed knowingly, looking at the computer screen behind him, “You got the question I asked wrong, correct?”

“I…mean, yeah. Why are you askiEEEEK—!” The girl shreiked, hugging her middles as her younger sibling randomly poked her in the ribs. She turned her head around once more, glaring at the taller teen, “Donnie…what the actual fuck?” She seethed.

Which, in retrospect, that tone would’ve had the young genuis running for the hills any day…but today was not that day.

“Okay…so here’s what we’re gonna do, sis.” The younger one grinned cheekily, “I’ll ask you Civil War questions from the flashcards. If you get a question right, nothing happens. But if you get a question wrong I’ll have to tickle you.” He finished like it was the most casual sentence to say.

“How is that fair?” April huffed.

“This studying tactic helps you with you’re current mood AND helps you study more. It’s pretty fair if you ask me.” The softshell snickered.

“I hope you get run over by a car when you’re heading back to the lair…” The eldest grumbled, turning back around to face away from the taller teen.

The other barked out a laugh, finding this whole situation completely and utterly hilarious. “Love you too, Riri.” He smiled, “Now! Shall we get started~?”

“Do I even have a choice at this point…?”

“No…not really!” The purple banded turtle shrugged, going onto the computer to pull up a question. April giggled slightly, trying to stifle her laughs by covering her mouth. Donnie snickered at the adorable sight, poking his sister’s side, “I haven’t even tickled you yet and you’re already giggling up a storm…I wonder why that is…”

“Shuhut uhup yohou Megaha-mihihind looking thing...” The smaller teen grumbled, swatting at the other’s hands as he merely chuckled, “Alright…in what year did the Civil War begin?” He asked.

The glasses wielding teenager thought a bit, “Well…you said earlier tonight it was started in, like, the 1800's…”

“Mhm. So what year?”

“Like…1855…?” She guessed, which resulted in Donnie carrying out his promise as he to tickle her underarms. The older let out an inhuman shriek, clamping her arms down as she kicked her feet on the carpet, “DOHONNIE!!” She shouted through her laughs.

“Hm? What’s up? You need something April?”

“STAHAHAP IHIT!” The smaller teen cried out, squirming back and forth. The softshell rolled his eyes fondly, “You’re just a couple years off. C'mon, just guess.”

“1843?!”

“Higher…” Donnie commented as he scribbled his nails on the sides of her neck. The human girl shrieked, scrunching her shoulders as her back fell against the turtle’s plastron, “1865!!!”

“Lower…that’s when it ended. But you’re still super close.” The mutant stated, moving his fingers down to tickle at her sides. April shook her head hugging her middles as she banged the balls of her feet harder on the floor, “1864???”

“Lower…” The turtle said as he gave one quick squeeze to her hips. The girl jolted, letting out a loud, hilarious and genuine scream as she laughed, “1861!!! IHIHIT’S 1861!!! DAHAHAMMIT *squeal* STAHAH—!!” The human teen covered her mouth in surprise, blushing profusely at the noise she just let out.

The mutant couldn’t help but giggle in amusement, happy and somewhat shocked at the noise that escaped his sibling’s mouth, “Awe~! Okay, now that was straight up adorable.”

“ShuHUT UHUP.” The girl threatened, still hugging her middles which Donnie couldn’t help but chuckle to. “I do not know why you are so hostile towards me. My tactic is helping you!”

“Lihihike hehehell ihit ihihihis…” April grumbled. The young genius raised an amused brow, crossing his arms, “When did the Civil War start?”

“…1861…” She mumbled.

“And when did it end?”

“…1865…”

Fucking smartass…

“Point taken…” April huffed as she glared to the side, crossing her arms as the taller teen pulled up another question, “Alrighty then. What fort did Confederate General P.G.T Beauregard fire on to officially start the Civil War?”

The girl blinked, “…What fort? Like…a pillow fort?” The turtle jabbed her in the side, resulting in a loud squeal from his sister. “IHI’M BEING SERIOUS, YOHOU ASS!”

Donnie feigned a fake gasp, wrapping one arm around April’s chest, keeping her arms in place as the other hand worked its way down and tickled all over her stomach.

The eldest let out an ear piercing scream, kicking her legs on the floor even harder. “I’ll ask again: What fort did Confederate General P.G.T Beauregard fire on to start the Civil War?”

“IHI— *squeak* DAHA— *hic* FUHUCKIN DAHAHAMMIT!!!”

“Mmm…nope. That’s not it~!”

“DEEHEEHEE!!!”

“I’m barely even touching you!” Donnie scoffed, “To think what would happen if I—”

“FAHAH— *hic* FAHAHA— *squeal* FOHORT SUHUHUMTER!!! IHIHI— *hic* DOHOHON!!!” And just like that, the taller teen stopped yet again as he scrolled on his computer. “Cahan Ihi gehehet breaks at leheheast?” April giggled out. Donnie chuckled at the question, “This right now is your break. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

Oh God up above that little walking talking green beanstalk will be in a world of hurt after all of this was over…

The purple banded turtle released April from his embrace, “This is an easy one. Who was elected—”

“LIHINCOLN! ABRAHAM LINCOLN!!!” The girl shouted immediately, letting out a huge wave of relief wash through her…that lasted, like, a good second and a half before she felt fingers poking her in the back, causing her to flinch involuntarily. “IHI ANSWERED COHORRECT, YOHOU FOHOHOUR EYED FREEHEEK!”

Donnie let out a satisfied huff, resuming to scribble at the elder’s underarms, “Well first things first: Your wearing glasses right now. So I don’t even know why your setting yourself up—” April squirmed so frantically that her glasses fell off of her face. The softshell turtle couldn’t help but laugh at the sudden action that played in front of him, “I stand corrected.”

The girl wheezed softly, a small tinted blush spreading on her face, “YOHOU— *squeak* THIHIS IHIHIS CHEATING!!”

“Hohow is this cheating?” Donnie asked innocently, tickling the other’s underarms harder.

“NAHA— *hic* IHI GOHOHOT IHIT *hic* RIHIHIGHT!!!”

“Oh. My apologies then.” The taller teen said, chuckling as the other in front of him grumbled curses and threats here and there. “Okay…what was the CSS Hunley?”

“…Thehe whahahat…?”

“I talked about this several times…” The turtle mused, his finger inching excruciatingly close to April’s hips. The eldest held onto her little brother’s wrists, shaking her head back and forth as loud cackles echoed around the room, “IHI REHEALLY *hic* *hic* DUHUHUNO! DOHOHON *squeal* PLEHEASE *hic*!!!”

“Oho don’t you even. You should have been listening to me when I was explaining this to you!”

“IHI WAHAS IHI *hic* WAHAHAS!!!”

The softshell chuckled at the retort, tasing April in the side causing her to let out a goblin-like shriek. “Wohoah…I’ve never hear that noise before…” The smaller teen wheezed out a tired laugh, slumping against her brother’s plastron.

Maybe instead of just flunking this test she could just simply pass way right here right now. The younger rested his chin on April’s shoulder, giving her a knowing look. She gulped in giddy panic, small giggles escaping her mouth once again.

He wouldn’t. He would never…oh, who is April kidding?! Of course that windshield wiper look-a-like would…

“We’ll skip this one. The answer was a submarine. We literally listened to Yellow Submarine by The Beatles to help you get the jist of it…” The softshell sighed knowingly, “This is an easy one…”

“Whose military genius and personality is often credited with holding the Confederate Army together?” The softshell asked, wiggling his fingers near April’s sides in an anticipatory manner.

“STAHAP DOING THAHAT!!!” April yelled. “I’m not doing anything! You’re going to get it wrong anyway so I’m just participating in the inevitable.” The young genius said, putting his hands in his lap and smiling down on his computer. More nervoud giggles escaped the other’s mouth, wanting to absolutely punt her little brother right here and right now.

Because believe it or not, she did actually know the answer to this question…since the answer was that dumb Robert E. Lee guy.

And worst of all, Donnie knows she knows the answer to the question. He just wants to be a little shit.

“Times up, O’Neil~!”

“WHAHAT!?!? YOHOU NEHEVER *squeal* SAHAHAID IHI *squeal* WAHAS TIHIMED!!!” The eldest squealed.

“Well I did just now, didn’t I?” The younger one teased, pinching the spot where April’s side met her hips. “OHO YOHOHOU— *squeak* FUHUHUCKIN SHIHIHIT!!! MY *hic* GOHOD! NAHAT *hic* THEHERE!!!”

“Aw but why not~? Is riiiight here better~?” The purple banded turtle asked innocently, tickling his sister’s hips mercilessly. The girl lurched her back up out in hopes that she could at least buck Donnie off of her, but the younger turtle only smiled and continued his attack as he drilled his fingers into his sister’s hips.

April screeched, “DEEHEE!!! YOHOU LIHITTLE SHIHA— *hic* NAHAT *squeal* THEHE HIHI- *hic* PLEHEHEASE!!!”

“D'aww~! Is my tough big sister too ticklish for this~? I think she is~!” Donnie teased. “STAHAP STAHAP!! YOHOU *squeal* GEHET *hic* OHOHOFF OHOF *hic* MEEHEE!!!”

“Oho my banana pancakes…I forgot how ticklish you are despite your usual tough teen demeanor…” 

April screamed in laughter, “DOHOHONNIE!!!”

“Yes, my beloved older sister whom I love dearly?”

“STAHAHAP *hic* IHIT NOHOHOW!!!”

“Then what’s the answer~? I know you know it~!”

“OKAHAHAY! OKAHAY!!! THAHAT RAHA— *squeak* THEHE ROHOBERT *hic* GUHUHUY!!! DEEHEE COHOME OHOHON!!” The girl laughed, happy tears welling up in her eyes slightly. The taller teen stopped, letting the other slump against him as she giggled tiredly. “So~! Based on everything we’ve gone over tonight…could you give me a quick little summary on what we went over?”

April rolled her eyes, adjusting herself so she was facing her little brother again. The softshell grabbed a Sprite from April’s mini fridge at the bottom of her bed, tossing her one of the soda’s.

The elder teenager basically chugged the drink, putting the empty can to the side, pondering her answer a little bit before saying, “The Cihivil Wahar staharted in…like, 1861 and ended in 1865. Basically, Confederate troops fihired on Fohort Sumter— which ihihis in Charleston Haharbor. Sohouth Carolina could nohot put uhuhup with a federal fohort blohohocking aha sea port—” The teen paused, looking at her brother in pure shock as the other just smiled back at her.

“…Holy fucking shit. I sound like yohou explaining sohohome gadget ohor something.” The girl chuckled out. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” The purple cladded turtle said, crossing his arms amusingly.

April chuckled at the gesture, resting her cheek on her palm again, “Yeheah…I guess. Thanks fohor the help, Deehee…”

“Anything for my big sis!” The softshell smiled, turning to close his computer. “We should do these study sessions more often! It helped you know more about your topic and it helped you with your current mood.” He grinned teasingly.

“You’re out of your damn mind.” The eldest glared, crossing her arms as she scoffed at the offer. But the younger did 100% take notice that she didn’t deny the suggestion by any means.

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙵𝙸𝙽˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙ 

(𝙿.𝚂.: 𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌, 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐!!!)

[wrestleicons]

[beskar33]

Im so freaked about the rain now, I just need him to hold me tonight & let me be his nervous little purse dog. Never really cared til these past few storms catching me super unprepared and tons of my stuff getting ruined. I know I sound crazy to everyone outside this space but I'm so grateful I have him here. I can only be intimidating & carefree for so many hours of the day before I need to curl up and have a Moment lol. I love him lots and really appreciate him, giving him a million hugs n kisses. I'm very tired and a tiny bit lonely sometimes out here, but feel much better with him beside me, even if it's only in spirit & plushie form.

It's so nice to have his company, like wow I adore him & having a person who's lived in my mind for so long I can converse with him, I'm just so amazed how much I can love/interact with a person on the other side of this realm. My guardian angel! Nuzzling my face into him like a happy puppy :')

He's so special to me I have no words that fully express it......ugh don't show him this post I'm shy..

[napping-sapphic]

<3 storm hugs 🫂 (if u want em)

Thank you for the storm hugs!!! 🫂🫂🫂😭😭❤️❤️❤️!!!!

[silverselfshippingchaos]

i swear on all that i am that i'm not into him.

... even if i have been thinking about kissing him all day

[satorusugurugurl]

I love your work so much! I always read it every time you post !! Can I make a request on how JJK men would react to their girl having a voice kink?? It would be insane 😭😭 Thank you so much!!

Voice Kink?!

Summary: JJK men, find out about your voice kink 🥴

Characters: Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Nanami Kento, Choso Kamo

Word Count: 4,242

Warnings: smut, public play, dirty talk, oral sex, N-Nanami’s stern voice, whimpering, lots of moans and language

A/N: As someone with a voice kink, I loved this nonnie. 🥴 love it, unekfkrkdkdm moan in my ear talk dirty to me! 🌶🌶🌶 please enjoy!! 💚

Gojo Satoru:

Gojo yawned as he opened the door to the condo you shared. It was in the late evening, and from the smell of cooked food, he knew you were home. He didn't even bother calling out that he was home, as he'd just texted you in the lobby that he was on his way up. What mattered to him now was taking off his uniform and a hot shower.

Approaching the bedroom, Satoru rubbed at the stiffness in his neck before a groan from the bedroom sounded. A groan that was deep, guttural, and not him. Before he could storm in, another voice sounded, a woman that wasn't you. And it was narrating? Peeking his head in, he watched you folding clothes, your cell phone on the nightstand playing an audiobook.

‘I approached the god of war, gently touching his chest.

‘Stop!’ he shouted, ‘If you don't get out of my sight, I will fuck you’

Satoru blinked, goddamn that male actor was playing the part well and snarling and growling in a deep guttural moan. The narrator went on to describe in detail how the male character was fucking the main heroine. You seemed unfazed by it, folding some of Gojo’s blindfolded and placing it to the side.

‘Your tight cunt is hugging my cock’ The male narrator announced, causing you to stiffen. ‘Do you like that~ hmm? Like when I fuck you, stuff your pussy full of my dick?’

You shifted, rubbing your thighs together, breath coming out in soft gasps as you glanced at your phone. Satoru knew what was going on with you instantly. You were wet. His sweet, innocent girlfriend was wet over a man’s voice growling and groaning, which left him feeling jealous and horny. Do you like it when people groaned and growled? Using their voice to describe what they were doing.

Satoru could easily do that.

You shifted again, whimpering softly before a large hand grabbed the back of your neck. You squeaked as you were bent over the bed, another hand yanking your shorts down. Turning slightly, you stared at Satoru, who was unzipping his pants.

“Satoru, what are you—”

“I'm just going to stuff this pretty cunt full of cock.” he growled, leaning down, rubbing the tip teasingly over the folds of your pussy. “You’re already soaking wet.” His voice vibrated in his chest as he leaned over your body, his mouth against the nape of your neck. “Does hearing someone talk nasty get you dripping? It makes that tight hole throb, begging to be filled and pleased?”

His breath was hot against your skin, sensing a shiver down your spine. “T-Toru~” You felt a slick running down your thigh as Satoru began grinding his cock over your tight entrance.

“The fact that your cunt is drooling all over my fat cock confirms that my sweet girlfriend is secretly a slut.”

“I-I—”

“You what? Go on,” he learned next to your ear, growling into it, causing goosebumps to rise down your arms, “speak up.”

You rocked back, pushing the tip of his cock inside you, causing Satoru to moan. “Yes, yes, I like it when you talk nasty.” your boyfriend laughed out loud, his cock sliding inside of you.

“Good fuckin’ girl~” The bed creaked, freshly folded clothes falling to the ground. “Fuck~” he groaned into your ear, “fucking yes~ mhmm what did that character say~?” your walls clenched, “ ‘Your pussy is hugging my cock~’?”

“Ngggh!” you cried out, fisting the comforter, eyes rolling back as your walls twitched in happiness at his voice. “T-Toooru!”

“No, he said something else that made you rub your legs together.” His teeth grazed over your earlobe. “What~?” Thrust. “Was~?” you cry out, eyes rolling back. “It~?” Satoru shoved his entire cock into you, humming in pondering thought. You were cock drunk, drool pooling underneath you as you panted. “Oh, right!” He pulled out before slamming back in with a snarl. “Something along the lines of—do you like it when I fuck you.” His mouth was against your ear again. “Stuff, you pretty pussy full of my cock?”

It was a combination of the thrusts and his words that had you cumming, legs shaking, buckling as you gushed all over him. Seeing you cum that hard had Satoru laughing in satisfaction as you twitched and tried pulling away from the oversensitivity of just how hard you had cummed. Satoru tilted his head, pouting in faux concern as you tried to stand.

“Awe~ was that too much for my sweetheart to handle~?” Crawling onto the bed, you shook your head with heavy gasps. “Noo~? Oooh, my little slut wants more~?”

“Fuck me~ fuck me, please!” you were so wet and horny, and Satoru just made one of your fantasies come try in a matter of seconds. “Please, Toru! Please!”

“Well, how could I deny my pretty girl when she begs so pretty~?” you glanced back, watching him strip down to nothing. “Face down, baby~ I'm gonna fuck you stupid~”

Geto Suguru:

You were a little buzzed, and your husband was soooo hot. So, of course, you were feeling more than a little needy. You were pulling him down a dark hallway away from the bustling party you were at. He inhaled sharply as you pushed him up against the wall.

“Just what do you think you're doing~?” he questioned in a low, sultry voice, sending shivers down your spine. “Princess?”

“Need you~” you cooed, dipping your hand into his black jeans, smirking as he inhaled. “Need you so bad, Sugu~.”

He groaned deep in his chest, the sound going straight to your pussy. “Princess~ we can't right now~ not right here.” He tilted his head back briefly, watching you blatantly disobey him. Your fingers played with the band of his boxers, causing another hiss to leave his lips. “Princess—”

His tone was much more stern now, leaving you a wet mess. Your husband watched you pull your bottom lip between your teeth, nibbling down with a whine. He hummed, cocking an eyebrow as your hand stilled, thighs clenching together. That was a peculiar reaction. Suguru hadn't even said anything remotely dirty, yet here you were, rubbing your thighs together with flushed skin.

“What was that reaction?” he asked with a smug smirk. “Huh, did you like me growling? Being stern?” His hand shot down, grabbing your wrist and pulling it out of his boxers. “Is my pretty princess wet over the sound of my voice?”

“W-What—no! I am not!” you denied, despite your sticky arousal coating your lips and panties.

“Oh, is that so?” Suguru moved, slamming you against the opposite wall. “Then you wouldn't mind me checking, would you~?” he purred, leaning next to your ear.

You tried to keep your composure, tried to maintain the little dignity you had. But Suguru groaned in your ear, a deep guttural sound that had you melting like chocolate. A shaky sigh left your lips as he slid his hand up your skirt, fingers brushing over your unsurprisingly soaked panties.

“Ooh~ so not only are you a horny little slut. Getting off to the groans and breathless words leaving her husband's lips.” he pressed his index and middle finger over your clit, rubbing it slowly. “But you're also a liar~”

“N-No, I-I ahh~ ah fuck—” Geto smirked, “I-I am not.”

“Oh, but you are.” Fingers are hooked under your panties, pulling them to the side. “I asked you point blank if you were wet.” A single finger slid into your soaking cunt, “you said no~” his finger hooked around your g-spot, rubbing it fast; your arousal was wet squelching sounds. “And listen, you can hear~” Suguru purred, hot breath moving strands of your hair. “Just how fucking wet you are.”

“F-Fuck—“ your voice cracked, fingers fisting into his dress shirt. Suguru admired the helpless whines you were attempting and failing to hold back. “Oooh fuck~ oh fuck, fuck.” Now, Suguru wasn’t a sadist, but you were trying so hard to keep quiet, and he wanted to hear you break.

He was doing what any good husband would do. Slamming his fist against the wall next to your head, he increased his speed. “Mmmm~ nnngh fuck~” he groaned right into your ear, making you shiver in turn. “Ah~ fuck so wet~ so fucking wet and tight~ my princess is going to cum~ during a work party. Nasty little girl~” You threw your head forward, burying it in his chest.

“S-Suguru—I’m go-gonna cum.”

“No, you aren’t. You’re going to squirt.”

“S-Sugu!” Your walls clamped around him as he put more pressure on that spot you loved.

“Are you gonna scream for everyone to hear?.” With a curt nod, your mouth opened to do so. This won you a glare from your husband. “Oh, no, the fuck you aren’t!” His snarl, the way he possessively smothered your screams with his mouth in a dominating kiss.

You came hard, body convulsing as you squirted. Suguru was swallowing your moans as he helped you ride out your orgasm. It isn’t until you’re literally leaning all of your weight against your sturdy husband that he pulls his drenched fingers out of you. A devilish smile is plastered against his face as he sticks his fingers in his mouth, licking them clean.

“S-Sugu, fuck—“ Is all you can manage to breathe out, fisting his shirt.

“Done lying~?” His tone is condescending as he helps steady you, grabbing your arm and looping it in his. “You most definitely got off to the sound of my voice.”

“Yep.”

Your husband stops and stares down at you. The faintest hit of a smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth. “Ooh oh, so now that you’ve cum you’re able to answer?” Rubbing your face against his arm, you let out a happy whine of confirmation. “Oh, I hope you’re not too tired.” His voice is suddenly against your ear as he leans down. “Because I can use my mouth in a merit of ways other than talking my slutty wife.”

You left the party without telling anyone where you were going. But when you came back in on Monday, the bite marks were all they needed to see. You and Suguru had your very own after-party, one that was one million times better than the stuck-up work party had been.

Nanami Kento:

“Jujutsu Sorcerers are shit!” You stood to the far side, watching your boyfriend talk amongst Gojo and Itadori.

The young man was stunned, speechless, jaw-dropping eyes wide as a little “Huh?” Sounded from him.

“Then I worked for a typical company, and one thing I learned.” You focused on your boyfriend, who crossed his arms over his chest. His broad muscles strained against the tight-fitted tailored suit he was wearing. But it wasn’t the suit that was causing heat to pull between your legs. “Is that working is shit!”

Nanami was so damn hot when he raised his voice so suddenly like that. You listened to him ranting about how he picked the lesser of two evils while you were debating on how to smuggle him away. You had to give him a smooch, gnaw on his chiseled cheek, rip all the fabric off of his body. If it weren’t for Gojo and Sukuna’s vessel being right there with Nanami, you would have begged for him to take you right there on the fucking floor.

Just as your dirty fantasy started to reel in your mind like a film being broadcasted on a projection screen, Nanami caught your attention with his words. “—please don’t believe that I’m not of the same mindset as Gojo. I do trust and have faith in him.” You felt sick at his praises for the man constantly getting under his skin and teasing you for dating Nanami.

“Ughhh-“ Your eyes narrowed as Gojo smirked, pleased with Nanami’s words. “Gag me with a spoon.”

“But I do not respect him!” Nanami roared, stern voice making you squirm as Gojo gasped in shock.

“Never mind, gag me with your cock.”

The second that Gojo left with Itadori, you went in for the kill. You snuck up behind your boyfriend, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down to your height. He peered at you through his glasses, his eyes focused on yours as you ran your hand down, unbuttoning his suit jacket.

“What do you think you’re doing?” That same stern tone that had your legs shaking like Jell-O was thick As you trailed your delicate finger over his blue button-down shirt. “We’re on school grounds still.”

“Do I look like I give a fuck?”

Part of Nanami was curious to see what exactly you had in mind. Well, the other half of him, the half that liked rules and regulations as he had just told Itadori, had his hands gently grabbing your wrist, stopping you from moving forward. He might as well have thrown a bucket of ice water on you.

“Kento.” You fought against him, trying to unbutton the shirt that was constricting over his chest. “Let me touch you!”

“No, anyone could walk on us at any given moment, love.” You stomped your foot down, trying to free yourself from his grasp. “My god, what has gotten into you? Did you suddenly get hit with a curse when I wasn’t looking? One that makes it impossible for you to control yourself?”

There it was.

That stern, deep tone of his voice, the one that was laced with frustration and pent-up rage. The same tone that had you willing to do anything and everything for this man. If he asked you to suck his cock you would. If he asked you to marry him right at this moment, fuck yeah you would. He could even go as far as to ask you to have his babies, and you would still say yes as long as he continues talking to you in that tone of voice.

Denial would only get you so far in life. Sometimes, honesty was the best policy. He wanted to know what he got into you. You’d tell him to be upfront and honest. Perhaps in doing so, he would give you a reward. Reward him inside of you.

“I love hearing your voice.”

Nanami slowly reached up, removing his glasses. “You like hearing the sound of my voice?” Now that he was distracted, you slowly ran your hands back up, running them over his toned chest to where his abs were hidden under the fabric of his ironed shirt.

“I love it, especially when you get all angry~”

“Mmm, is that so?”

“Yeah~ what are your thoughts? Going to do with this information.”

Fucking you against one of the pillars is precisely what he did with the information. You tried to call out, but his hand clamped over your mouth. Only allowing his heavy breathing to fill the chamber you both occupied.

“You're nothing but a dirty slut.” He snarled, his hand clamping harder over you. “Getting off on my yelling? In front of one of my co-workers?” you nodded, eyes rolling back as Nanami slammed his cock against your g-spot. “So shameless, so dirty.” He held the same tone he had when speaking the Gojo and Itatori, and that just got you off even more.

“M-mmmphm!” you cried out softly.

“You better not get any of your arousal in my suite. Do you understand love? I don't want to leave here with wet pants.”

That was a lot for him to ask, especially when he was slamming over and over against your g-spot. He knew you would squirt all over him if he did this. But part of you was eager to see what he would do if you blatantly disobeyed him.

“Mm! Mmhn!” you cried out, doing your absolute best to rock against him, to stimulate your g-spot even more. “Nnngh!”

“What's this?” Nanami purred, pulling back just a bit to watch your feeble attempt atfucking yourself harder against his cock. “Trying to cum? I recognize how you’re rolling your hips.” he pressed his forehead against yours, eyes gleaming behind the green spectacles on his face. “Trying to hit that sweet spot? The same spot that makes you squirt.”

“Mhmm!” You proudly confirm his suspicions.

“Ah, I see.” he shrugged, “Fine, do what you want. Just be aware that there will be consequences if you disobey me.” He growled deep in his chest with a sinister smirk.

“M-mm?” You furrowed, not liking the tone of his voice now.

Nanami watched as you began, shaking your head, deciding that this might not be the best course of action. But your boyfriend decided that you had sealed your fate already. All he did was smile at you, a very sadistic, knowing smile.

“Ooh, please, by all means.” he slammed forward, gritting his teeth, “Let me help you~!”

The head of his cock slammed straight into your g-spot over and over. You couldn't help but scream as the pleasure was like lightning shooting through every nerve of your body; muscles spasmed as your toes curled; even when you withered and jerked, Nanami didn't once remove his hand.

“Work is shit,” Nanami’s hot breath fanned over your ear, “Jujutsu sorcerers are shit.” his voice was so deep, so full of rage, that you found yourself longing for him to direct at you. Because damn beautiful voice, how do you sing star. “But you, god fuck, you are the embodiment of everything good in this world. You make it possible for me to continue putting up with all the shit we go through.” with a whimper, your eyes focus on his hidden behind the green lenses of his glasses. “You make life special.”

With his words and his words alone, he made you cum untouched. Nanami did not need to play with your clit, or move his hips in a certain way. Just hearing him speak to you the way he was had broken you. Your scream was muffled by his hand, your head tilted back as your eyes rolled into your skull, and unfortunately, you squirted all over his pants.

You barely had a chance to recover before Nanami was gently placing you on the ground. You leaned against the pillar for support as you owed your boyfriend’s gaze to look at the crotch of his pants. There was a specific look in his eyes, one that didn’t say he was disgusted or found the intensity of your orgasm to be distasteful. No, you knew the dark, hungry look in those brown honey eyes hidden behind the lenses. Nanami wasn't turned off; he was just getting started.

“Hmm, it seems you were incapable of following a simple command. Tsk,” he stuffed his wet cock back into his boxers before zipping up his pants. “I tried to warn you not to do what you did. Instead, you made quite a mess of yourself and me. I hope you’re ready to face the consequences when we return home.”

Your mind was willing, and so was your body. But you knew that once Nanami was done with you, you wouldn’t be able to walk. Honestly, it didn’t seem like much punishment but more like a reward. Or you would gladly get on your knees to receive.

Choso Kamo:

Out of all of the partners you had had in the past, none of them had been as quiet as Choso was. Your sweet, innocent boyfriend was constantly covering his mouth with both hands, holding back his moans. You had initially thought it was adorable, watching him biting down on his lip, covering his mouth, just holding back those sounds. What you had thought was cute had been driving you crazy.

You wanted to hear the sounds he made. You wanted to know how good you were making him feel. Did he feel good, or was he putting up with you for your sake? These thoughts often plagued your mind until the pressure was too much.

“I want you to moan!” You broke out, causing your poor boyfriend to drop the gallon of orange juice he held.

“W-What?”

“I said I want you to moan!”

“Right now? Like when we're not doing stuff?”

You scrubbed your hands down your face, shaking your head. “No! I mean, when we're doing stuff, Cho.” A faint flush dusted his pale cheeks. “I just—” you sighed, “sometimes I feel like I'm not doing a good job or that you're merely entertaining me. If you’re not enjoying yourself, I would feel terrible.” Your cheeks burned with embarrassment over your request. “I’m sorry, I just—”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Choso rushed to your side, his arms wrapping around you. “You make me feel good. Really good.”

A surge of relief rushed through you. “O-Oh, okay. Then why are you so quiet?” Chosi stiffened, his whole face turning a deep shade of red as he looked away. “Cho?”

“I-I—-oud”

“Huh?”

“I-I’m too—” he mumbled again.

You sighed gently, grabbing his face. “Choso baby, I can't understand you when you mumble like that.” with a deep breath, Choso nuzzled his face into your palm.

“I’m too loud.”

His confession had you blinking in stunned confusion. Too loud? How did he know that? You were the first person he had ever been with.

“Who told you that?”

Choso looked as though he wanted to crawl under the couch. “Y-Yuuji, he said I was super loud. S-So I assumed that not everyone liked hearing people moan, so I try to stay quiet.” Everything made perfect sense now. You sighed happily, tilting your head back.

“Baby, there's nothing wrong with moaning when it's just us. But when you're alone, and Yuuji’s around, it's best to stay quiet during your uh—private time.”

There was a certain glint in his eyes, one that made your heart and pussy flutter. “Really?” You nodded slowly, dropping to your knees.

“Yep, now make some pretty sounds for me.”

Five minutes and a few reminders for Choso not to cover his mouth was all your sweet boyfriend needed to get into the mood. One hand held the crown of your head while the other gripped the counter in the kitchen. His eyes were focused on you while you stared up at him, trying to focus on him but fuck it was famn near impossible with how good he sounded.

“A-Ah! F-fuck!” he gritted his teeth, eyebrows furrowed as he whimpered. “Oooh fuck, fuck, fuckin’ so good!”

“M-mm.” Moaning around his cock you slid a hand into your shorts, gently rubbing your soaking pussy.

“Oh my god, oh my god~!” Choso cried out, his blush spreading down his neck to the tips of his ears. “Fuck! Y-Your mouth is s-so good!”

His voice cracked, it tucking cracked. Hearing that had you bobbing your head faster while you gagged down on his cock. Choso sounded so good, better than any porn or audiobook you'd ever listen to. You were going to have to beg for him to send you an audio of him jerking off because this was so fuckng hot!

“N-nngh! P-please,” he begged prettily, sending a chill down your spine. “Ooooh fuck please, can you go deeper?” the tentative tone had you fulfilling his request without a second thought. Relaxing your throat, you took him as deep as you could, only stopping as you gagged just a bit before repeating the action. “Ooooh~! Oh~ haaah!”

Your hand in your shorts moved faster as you continued deep-throating Choso without a second thought. Hearing his whines had you so wet you could feel the sweetness seeping into your pajamas. God, you wanted to destroy him, milk him dry, so that’s exactly what you would do.

“W-Waaa! Fuck! H-Honey, wait—” Choso's face scrunched in horny panic. “P-Please wait! Please, I-I’m g-gonna cum in y-your mouth!” What a sweet boy, trying to warn you when he didn't realize that's exactly what you wanted. Pulling your slick fingers out of your shorts, you used your wet fingers to caress and massage his balls gently. “Mnnngh!!” his hips bucked forward, both hands gripping the sides of your head as he began thrusting. “I’m sorry! I'm sorry! Too good!” your eyes watered, tears spilling out and running down your flushed cheeks. “I’m c-cumming! Oooh fuck~ ooooh fuuuuuck! Fuck! Fuck!!”

Thick hot cum fills your mouth and slides down your throat. You put in the best effort, trying to swallow it, but there was a lot. You yanked yourself back, gasping for air as cum, spit, and tears fell to the kitchen floor. You gasped, shifting as Choso cried out, stroking himself, milking the last of cum out against your lips. Leaving you a white messy scene.

“Oooh fuuuck~” Choso stumbled back with a grunt, leaning against the counter. “Ooooh my god, oooh god.”

“Choso.” Pushing yourself off the floor, you grabbed his hand. “Bedroom now.”

“O-Oh, okay.” he followed you without complaint.

“Ooh and Choso.”

“Ye—” he choked on his words as you sat on the bed, spreading your legs and revealing a large wet spot on your maroon shorts.

“Moan that loud in my ear~”

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart

[adragonprinceswhore]

Rumours l Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x (Ex)wife

"You’d like to pretend that the performances got easier as time went on, but that would be a lie. Each night, you're forced to sing Aemond’s self-pitying words; ‘if I could, I’d give you my world’. You had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes each time. What made him incapable of ‘giving you his world’ when you were together? He made it sound like he had no part in your divorce, like all he did was try and love you while you broke his heart. Fuck that. He broke your heart. And he kept breaking it. Every fucking night he made you sing his martyr complex bullshit."

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, mature themes, angst, smut, individual tags for each chapter

Chapter I: The Chain

Chapter II: Go Your Own Way

Chapter III: Dreams

Chapter IV: Never Going Back Again

Chapter V: Silver Springs

Aemond's POV: Storms

Chapter VII: Landslide

Chapter VIII: Rumours

A/N: A fic inspired by Fleetwood Mac's 1977 album Rumours.

Hope you enjoy 💚🩵

[macfrog]

twin flame sex on fire chapter eleven

thank you all for being so patient and kind, and loving this story no matter how terribly long i take with it. anyway, here's wonderwall. (shout out to @bageldaddy who saved this on numerous occasions lmao)

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: doing it with a broken heart is harder than it looks.

warnings: age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), workplace relationship, imbalance of power dynamic, reader's a Real Tough Kid she can (not) Handle Her Shit, kale!!!!!!, alcohol consumption, cursing, soft!joel, fluff and angst. angst angst angst angst

word count: 7.7k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 💚

Five days lasts a year.

So it feels, anyway, when you spot Martha from the corner of your eye – pulling her coat on and hooking her purse over her shoulder. She tucks her peroxide blonde layers behind her ears, gives one last check of her makeup in a compact mirror, and looks up.

“You coming?”

It’s five thirty on Friday. You haven’t said more than two words to Joel since you walked out on him, Monday morning.

She knows by now – Martha. Or at least, she has a pretty good idea.

You haven’t told her, as if you’d even be able to begin explaining it all. But she pieced it together by herself, didn’t she? You’re hardly subtle. She figured you out less than five minutes after you stormed out of his office, fists balled and face tight with rage.

She says your name, and the sound is muffled. Distorted by the sour backwash of that feeling: the hot temper which dissipated so quickly into an ache behind your ribs all day.

You finally look up. “Huh?”

She fixes the collar on her trench coat. Flattens her thin, merlot lips and says, “Let’s go, kid. It’s been a long week.”

And that, you think, might just be the understatement of the fucking year.

She slips her arm through yours in the elevator, and you don’t protest. It’s not like she’d let you go even if you tried to shake her off – but there’s a comfort to it. Something sweet; soft and motherly. Martha’s not often this affectionate.

You want to slot your cheek on her shoulder. Ask her how long her worst heartbreak lasted. Ask if that’s even what this is, if you can give a two-month hurricane of sex and secrets enough power to split you open this badly.

Ask her how long until the gnawing in your chest eases. How long until you’re finally able to look at him again, without wanting to cuss him out – or run into his arms.

But you stare ahead, swaying with the dropping elevator, wrap your arms tight around yourself and swallow shallow breaths of her rosy perfume.

Your reflection splits in two, pulled apart by the rumble of the doors. Something akin to a growl from between Martha’s teeth.

The skeleton of the lobby sears behind your eyes, every surface bleeding gold. Silver arrows of rain pelt against the windows, slicing through the blazing sunlight. Dark figures shake umbrellas open at the doors; others yank their collars over their heads as they run to cars.

A gaggle of square suits separates to let you pass, black material shining and soaked through. Nodding to both of you, your names dripping from their lips as they load into the elevator.

Under the canopy outside, Martha hoists her purse over her head.

“Monday then?” she yells over the drumming rain. And without waiting for an answer – because she isn’t so much asking as she is telling – she totters off through the drizzle towards Alan’s Volvo.

One last glance over her shoulder, a wink as her six-inch heels swing into the car. Like a Bond girl, off to wrangle her preteen into eating his vegetables.

You call a cab, leaning against the building to watch the clouds roll overhead.

Two words. That’s all you’ve managed to force over your tongue.

Sure and okay. Both uttered between teeth, as though your body might be trying to hold them back. Mundane and fucking meaningless; pushing by everything else you want so desperately for Joel to hear. How could you? Why would you? I think I hate you, you know that?

I hate you and I miss you so much that it makes me hate you all over again for it.

He’s doing as you asked, at least. He’s following your rules. No looking, no touching, no talking.

To a point.

He is still talking – saying a little more to you than you are to him. You’re allowing it, given that he is still your boss and they’re only ever boss things to say. Schedule this meeting, look out that old file. Pick up his drycleaning when it’s mid-afternoon and he spots your boredom from across the office.

But he never comes near.

Not anymore.

He doesn’t brush by, stealing a giggle when his elbow nudges your waist. He doesn’t order you lunch, then wait until you’re sat opposite him in his office to eat together.

He doesn’t kiss you as soon as the elevator doors close. He doesn’t perch on the edge of your desk to steal snacks and gossip with you and Martha. He doesn’t play with your hand, he doesn’t hold you by the hips, he doesn’t whisper dirty jokes and sweet nothings in your ear.

He keeps his distance. He acts like your boss again.

And – Jesus. You’ve never wanted to hate him so much in your life.

“Waitin’ for a cab?”

“Shit –” You twirl, rain flicking from the tail of your coat.

Joel takes your arm steady. His grip is so familiar, so safe you feel yourself melting into it already. “Easy, easy,” he says, his voice much the same. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you there.”

“You didn’t, you…Yeah,” you sigh, “I guess you did. What did you say?”

He smiles. It’s weak, humored, but completely unsure. “I just asked if you’re waiting for a cab.

And goddamn it, just the sight of him this close thaws you from the inside out. It’s like warmth against the wound, softening you like the creases by the corners of his eyes.

“Yeah,” you start, “I just called one. Figure there’s traffic.” You gesture to the bodies scurrying down towards yellow cabs.

Joel tosses his thumb over his shoulder, pointing to the sleek Rolls by the curb. The rain bounces off its roof. “Rand can take you, if you like. Save you waitin’.”

“Oh, no. No, I’m good, thanks.”

“I’ll take your cab,” he clarifies. “I’ll take the cab; Rand can take you home.”

“Really, Joel,” you reply, hugging your purse. “It’s okay. I’ll be okay. Thank you.”

He nods, looking down. There was – there is – nothing he wants more than to look out for you. There’s probably nothing that stings more right now, than the fact you won’t let him.

He makes to leave, then hesitates. Hands in his pockets, he turns back and says, “You ever need anything, just let me know. Alright?”

Your lips flatten. “Mhm.”

“I mean it.”

“I know you do.”

“Alright,” he says. “Okay. I’ll see you Monday.”

He strides off towards the Rolls. So much cooler than the suits scrambling around him; dipping his head as he slides into the backseat, fixing his tie before he pulls the door closed.

The car doesn’t move until yours arrives. Until he’s seen you run over, settle in the backseat. Rand pulls out behind as your driver sets off; turns in the opposite direction at the first set of traffic lights.

You watch as it shrinks into a speck from the back window, wondering if Joel’s watching you, too.

The driver tuts and shakes his head. He flicks his fingers to the windshield, some comment about this goddamn rain and ain’t let up for five goddamn days.

You fish your phone from your pocket, turning the weight of it over in your hands like turning the dilemma in your mind. Thinking up something like, Hey, I was gonna order food in tonight. Wanna come over?

Something like, Or not, if you don’t feel like it.

Sorry, I don’t even know why I’m –

The screen lights.

Your heart jumps to your throat.

The driver rambles on, “…said it’d dry by Wednesday – well, you can’t trust a damn one of ‘em…”

Your eyes are glued to the name onscreen.

Joel headers the first notification. And the second. A text, then an email.

Your thumbs hover over the messages for a few seconds, vision blurring around his name. Frantic circles while you decide whether or not you actually want to read them. But it gets the better of you – morbid curiosity – and you tap on the text.

As quickly as it leapt, your heart plummets.

Forwarded Jean-Marc’s email, in case you need it. Have a good weekend.

Three, four, five times. You read over it five fucking times before it sinks in. Switch to your emails, where Joel Miller sits proudly at the top of the list.

“Why are you…?” you mumble, blinking at the screen. Salt stings across your waterline. “You – you fucking…”

It boils through your veins, pools in the pit of your stomach. That ache winds again, twisting around your ribcage.

Anger.

Anger, and…something much worse.

You bite hard on your lip, refusing to let the tears spill over. Your heart hammers against your chest. Your fist balls, like tightening around the leash of a misbehaving dog, pulling it back into place.

Your voice is barely a whisper.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Steam slowly swallows your silhouette whole. In the mirror, you shake the shell of the office from your shoulders, watching as she disappears entirely behind the heated glass. Relieved just to see her go.

You sob under the scorching stream until your skin prunes and your head throbs. You order in food and burrow deep in your couch to pick at it.

Drowning in the same hoodie he once pulled over himself – his landscape of a body, strong as rock and soft as the earth. The material unwashed, still smelling of mint and men’s cologne.

You thumb through the chick flicks on offer: all perfect grins and power couples; the commercial dream that is a two-tone poster with a quirky, conversational title. And then, worse: the breakup movies.

Women flat-out in bed, picking from a tray of chocolates. Two-day pajamas and three-day bedhead. Slumber parties to burn love letters and gauge out their exes’ eyes in photographs, swear themselves off men and then down heavy cocktails until they puke.

Then – the epiphany. Right before some pop rock track from the noughties sends the heroine off into the sunset. The I’m better off without him, or Maybe he wasn’t so bad moment.

Love truly exists, after all. Roll end credits.

“Oh, fuck off,” you mumble, chewing wetly on popcorn. “You’re all bullshit, anyways.”

Maybe you’re just fucking miserable. You liked the bullshit, two weeks ago.

Blake Carter – he was chocolates in bed and feminist handshakes. He was one night at your mom’s, one night at your best friend’s, then back in your old place before the week was out.

This is different. It’s like a sickness.

Rotting from the inside out. Deep in your chest, a fierce fever spreading from the split, the empty cage of ribs. An anxiety which gathers and festers in the barren corners, like teetering along a wire with no idea how high the drop really is – only that you’re not going to make the landing.

How were you ever going to make the landing, letting go of his hand like that?

You manage three mouthfuls of a greasy hamburger, then shove the bags across the coffee table. Too sick and too unsettled to eat without feeling it roll around your stomach in a furious tide.

You ever need anything, just let me know.

Asking for help is not something you do. Not since you were sixteen, and even before then. There is nothing – nothing, you swore – a man could offer you that you couldn’t go find yourself.

But then – then, you found someone who wasn’t looking for you to ask. Didn’t want or expect you to need him for anything, only wanted you to know that he was around if you ever did. Being near you was all he ever really gave a shit about.

You found someone who was on your tail every time you looked back. All your running, all the times you swore you wouldn’t let him catch you. And there you were – turning to make sure he was still trying.

He was. He was always trying. He’s the closest anyone ever came to proving you wrong.

And now…he’s letting you go.

If you had the energy to laugh, you’d laugh. You’d march back into the bathroom and wait for your reflection to clear again, just to point your finger right in her face.

The same woman who walked away from Blake Carter and his heirloom diamond ring; from Sundays forcing down quiche Lorraine at his parents’ house, and pretending to enjoy bouncing his nephew on your knee.

The same woman who left that diamond ring on his bedside table, packed a bag full of clothes, and fled the apartment before he could plead anymore.

The same woman who had seen the entire thing as a bird breaking free from her cage, in the end.

You understand it now.

You spend long enough in that cage, long enough planted on your feet – you forget how to use your wings.

The weekend is slow and sleepless.

Your sheets wind up a twisted mess each night. Kicked to the foot of the bed, cocooned back around your shoulders, then whipped from your body again when you feel too hot, too smothered.

He’s all over your apartment. Dozing in the reflection of the TV screen, bass voice reverberating off each wall, kisses in the clinking of mugs.

Each night, you stare blankly at the ceiling. Sleep becomes a tide you float on the surface of, pooling across your stomach and only ever wetting to your ears. Face skyward, bone dry. Desperately waiting for a wave that never intends on turning.

Come Monday, you’re running on something like four hours sleep and as many coffees.

Martha recognizes it instantly, the way she fawns. She hasn’t let up all day. Not since you walked in this morning, looking like shit and avoiding Joel’s office at all costs. She’s spent more time staring, delivering snacks, making sickly-sweet conversation that hurts your teeth – than she has actually working.

And it was touching. Until ten o’clock.

Joel has two assistants for good fucking reason, it turns out.

“I do not understand a goddamn word I’m reading…” Martha flips the Cosmo she stole from you last week. “The hell is a retrograde?”

Your head tilts. “Do you even know which sign you are?”

Her thin, penciled brows quirk. “Taurus, but I don’t like the way this bull’s lookin’ at me.”

She wiggles her mouse before the monitor switches off, then prods a shard of cucumber with her fork. The rain scatters across the window at her back, dragging golden shadows down her blazer.

“Did you eat today?” she asks.

“Mhm,” you lie, “This morning. Before you came in.”

She chews suspiciously. “Liar.” She offers you the salad bowl. “Eat.”

“Martha,” you push it away, “I’m not –”

“I don’t care whether you’re hungry.”

She thrusts the tub towards you, cherry tomatoes trembling.

“Martha.”

“Eat.”

“I’m not gonna eat your salad, will you stop –?”

“One bite. Just one.”

“I don’t even like –”

She’s holding out a forkful. “Eat the damn –”

“Get a drink with me.”

She halts, greens dangling in front of your face. Her expression twists, loosens, and then twists into bewilderment again. “Pardon me?”

You sigh, deflating into the leather. “Stop tryna force feed me salad, and get a drink with me.”

“On a Monday?” She scoffs. “What’s the occasion?”

“I don’t…I don’t have one,” you groan, pushing to your feet. “At least, not a good one. I just need something a little stronger than kale.”

An all too familiar click over your shoulder plucks her attention. Her eyes flash across the room.

She tracks Joel from his office over to the water cooler, a forced smile when he must glance up. Her eyes snap back to yours at the trickle of water into his mug.

Please? you mouth, and she grumbles.

“Joel?”

His voice is strained; he’s bending at the cooler. “Yep?”

Martha links her arm through yours and forces you to turn. “You mind if we take a long lunch? We were thinking of trying that wine bar up by the golf course.”

Joel lingers on the other side of the office, sipping from his mug. He’s almost unrecognizable: no bear left in him. Declawed, toothless. Dark crescents like the shadows of a bruise beneath his eyes, the ghosts of smile lines on his cheeks.

“Wine bar?” he asks. “Didn’t even know there was one up that way.”

“It’s new,” Martha says, popping the lid back on her salad bowl. “Alan told me about it. Says it costs an arm and a leg, but apparently, it’s worth it.”

He wanders over – hesitant, like approaching the desk of a wild animal. You can feel the heat of his stare on you when he replies, “’s nice up that way. Take the afternoon. You need a ride?”

“All good,” Martha chirps. She squeezes your arm. “I’ll go call a cab.”

She drapes your coat over your shoulders, then twirls off in the direction of the elevator. A girlish little strut, quietly pleased with herself.

She’s deliberately leaving you stranded. Both of you.

Joel steps back when you move. His breath catches in his throat. He slips a hand in one pocket, and says, “Be nice to have a relaxing afternoon.”

“Yep,” you choke, elbow brushing against his. “Nice to have some girl time, I guess.”

“Oh,” he sniffs, “I was talking about me. Empty office, two of you off my ass. Peace and quiet.”

You smile, feeling the weight of him rock gently against your side. “Hilarious,” you murmur, glancing up at him.

He stares straight ahead, sunlight catching rare amber in his eyes. Smiling to himself, calm and content, he says, “Have a good night. I’ll see you tomorrow,” and turns back for his office.

Your chest twinges as he closes the door behind him. A tight fist around your vocal cords.

“See you tomorrow, Joel.”

Oasis is a trendy little bar out west, which looks anything but its namesake. All exposed brick and smirk of silver pipework, industrially rustic and injected with the silky scent of wine and wealth.

Exactly the type of place you’d go to get over your millionaire ex.

Martha slinks in like she’s made of the place. Coat loose over her arm, hips swaying and heels clicking. She hops onto a stool at the bar, drums her glossy nails on the varnished wood.

You settle awkwardly into the stool beside her, prodding at what turns out to be a very real cactus. You jump at the sharp prick.

A waiter behind the bar clocks you, and laughs to himself.

“Nice, huh?” Martha asks, scanning the place. The low-hanging lights, the spill of foliage from the rafters. She seems to fit into it a whole lot better than you do.

“Sure,” you mumble around your fingertip, “Are you buying?”

She rolls her eyes. “You asked me out, remember?”

“I was thinking some two-for-one cocktails dive, not the fucking Ritz, Martha.”

“Call it a pick-me-up,” she says, accepting a menu from the waiter. “We’re treating ourselves.”

You pinch your fingertip, watching a scarlet bead bloom from the wound. A satisfying sort of pain, a tender break your hands won’t stay away from. You squeeze until it balloons into a trembling bubble of blood, then swipe the cut clean. Squeeze, then swipe.

Martha orders some vino she says she’s always wanted to try. Two glasses, because when the waiter looks to you to take your order, you’re still staring at your bloody finger.

He slides the drinks over and smiles politely, eyes daring to meet yours only twice. He’s handsome: chiseled jawline and the smudge of a dimple on one cheek. Chin speckled with stubble, shorter and blonder than you’d like.

Your fingertip throbs, and you look down to find it closed in your fist. You take a gulp of wine.

Martha smacks her lips and hums. “Not half bad,” she says, and then slots her glass next to yours. “Alright,” she clasps her hands, “What is it? What’s been goin’ on?”

You spin the base of your glass, staring at the swirl of honeysuckle. “I just needed some air and…wine.”

She buys it about as much as you do.

“Only one thing in the world that makes me need air and wine,” she says. “A man.”

A laugh flutters from your chest, as if by accident. As natural as the sun splitting the clouds. No thinking about it, no forcing it.

Either the expensive alcohol works fast – or Martha does.

She lifts her nose, like sniffing out the truth. “Come on, no bullshit. Why’d you ask me to get a drink?”

It rolls from one shoulder to the other in a tired shrug. You’ve no fucking idea why you asked her to get a drink.

The office was becoming claustrophobic, bursting with the grief of it all. Joel was nowhere to be seen and yet everywhere you looked. Here’s the wall he’d kissed you against, there’s the spot you’d first shaken hands.

Here’s all of it, really: the shame and the anger and the heartbreak all knotted together. Holding yourself back from doodling hearts on his sticky note messages, busying yourself with shredding instead of nosing around his office.

No bullshit, you were about to scream. Martha’s just the first person you laid eyes on.

Her and her fucking kale.

“Because,” you summarize, “I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing anymore.”

Her eyes are wide, serious. She’s hooked already. “With Joel?” she asks, sipping.

“With any of it,” you reply. And then, hearing her properly: “What do you know about me and Joel?”

She swallows quickly. “He hasn’t told me a word, I swear,” she says, “but I wasn’t born yesterday. Paris was always a solo trip, darling.”

You massage your forehead, grumbling into your palms. “Jesus Christ,” you whisper. There’s a heavy ache blooming behind your eyes.

Martha smiles. “I thought it was sweet. He’s never been serious enough about anyone to take ‘em over there with him. But,” her eyes ladder down your figure, “I’m guessing it didn’t work out.”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“Okay,” she squints, reading you, “And are we relieved? Are we hurt? Angry?”

“We are four and a half coffees Monday morning, and a wine bar Monday afternoon.”

“Got it,” she says, face stony. “That little shit. You need me to yell at ‘im?”

You lift your wine, shake your head. “I did enough yelling at him last week,” you admit. “It wasn’t just him, anyways. He fucked up, but it was the both of us.”

Martha nods, and you both take a long drink.

She taps her nails against the swell of her glass. “I thought you two were really great together,” she says – polite, pensive.

The least Martha you’ve ever heard her.

“You did?”

She nods. “You just always had this camaraderie. It was palpable. From the moment he met you, he was different. Better for it. I don’t know when you were…whatever you were, but –” she takes a deep breath, looking off past you, “– I know I liked it when you were.”

It’s not something you ever considered, even in the thick of it. What it might look like from outside, this little love affair: promises whispered into coffee mugs and glances stolen from behind paperwork.

It was never a secret – at least, not one either of you were trying to keep. It was just…yours. You and Joel. Two names etched at the bottom of a birthday card, no room for anyone else’s.

And if anyone did find out – Martha, Rand, Jean-fucking-Marc – they felt more like collateral. Just the landscape, the backdrop for your fated meteoric crash down to Earth.

God, it felt good to fall.

Martha sighs, dabbing a knuckle at the corner of her lips. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” she says, gently. “I’m sorry things didn’t turn out the way you hoped.”

Your eyes drift across the room. The waiter pours a deep red wine for a silver-haired couple over by the window. The man’s thumb surfs back and forth across his wife’s knuckles, dipping to circle the ring on her third finger.

The split in your skin opens again, your nail pressing clumsily into your finger. A tiny wave of pain rocks through the tip.

“Yeah, well,” you sniff, “Shit happens, right?”

“Sure does,” she says, and holds her glass out.

You cheers, the clink piercing the bumbling jazz in the air. The wine thrashes against the side of the glass, and you gulp back a sour mouthful.

“He sent me an offer for a job in Paris,” you confess into your drink. “That’s what our fight was about – the fact he didn’t want me to go. Then on Friday, he sent it anyway.”

“Paris?” Martha straightens in her chair. It’s easy to tell her, easy to pretend it’s some third-floor gossip when she reacts the same way. “That’s big,” she says. “Are you gonna go for it?”

“No,” you admit. “It’s with that guy Jean-Marc.”

Her upper lip curls, a bend of burgundy. “You can do better.”

“I guess,” you frown, “if I were looking.”

“You’re not looking?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

It twists in your throat. A million answers which fizzle into nothing at all on your tongue. Because because because –

“Who would read all of Joel’s boring emails?” It comes with a smirk, which drops as quickly as you realize Martha’s expression isn’t shifting.

“I would. And he’d find a replacement for you eventually. Not half as good, but…”

“Ha,” you stare at her, “Funny.”

“I’m not kidding. “I’m not,” she adds, when you roll your eyes. “It’s about damn time you realized you’re head and shoulders above all this.

“Maybe,” she continues, with an almost bloodthirsty interest, “Joel didn’t let on about Paris because he thinks you’re better than that, too. You don’t think he sees your potential? Hell, I do. You’re too good to be making coffee and taking minutes.”

Tell me something I don’t know, you think.

Joel’s never been quiet about how he feels about you – professionally or otherwise. He said as much in his office last week: I didn’t want to lose you. Those exact words kept you up all weekend, for crying out loud.

Sure, Joel sees something in you. Assistant, colleague, friend, not-friend. It’s not enough to stop the need you have – pinhole pupils hunting, blood jumping in your veins. Like it’d kill you to catch your breath, to shake your hackles and loosen your muscles.

Watch, watch. I can answer your questions before you’ve even come up with them. Watch, watch. I can show up early and leave late, barely pause for breath in between.

Watch, watch. I can break your heart and make it look just like mine.

You squirm under Martha’s glare.

“I don’t…I don’t even know what else I’d do,” you garble, playing with your hands. “I like this job. I’m good at this job. It’s…it’s –”

“– comfortable,” you say together.

“And that’s exactly the problem,” Martha nods, “You’ve outgrown it. You’re nothing but a monster in red bottoms now, baby – too scared to find something that fits you better in case it turns to shit. So what if it does? Is it the end of the world?”

“Feels like it right now,” you reply. She’s cloudy, blurred behind the ocean of tears teetering along your waterline. “And this is barely even a breakup, never mind failing at a career.”

She chuckles, shaking her head. “You think you’d be the first? The last? People fail at things all the damn time. Better to do it now, young as you are – little elastic band of resilience and nerve.”

“Poetic,” you scoff.

She tilts her glass and her head follows.

“Listen to me,” she says, leaning in. “Do not spend one more second paralyzed by fear. I know you’re scared. You’re supposed to be. One day, you’re going to miss the time you gave enough of a shit to feel this fear.

“It’s like electricity in your veins. Everything’s so intense, everything hurts ten times worse and feels ten times more exhilarating. You think something might bring about the end of the goddamn world, and then the sun comes up the next morning just to prove you wrong.

“And Lord almighty, you are going to get it wrong. You’ll say the wrong thing, trust the wrong feeling. You’ll make the same mistakes over and over again. But Jesus, I’d rather you blew it all to hell and at least learned somethin’, than never did it at all.

“You know what my mom would say? World’s been waitin’ on you, kid. Grab a paddle.”

Another laugh spurts from your lips, tears spilling into your mouth, a crackly, wet sniffle. “What the hell does that even mean?” you giggle.

She smiles and wipes your cheek. “Means dive in. Get your hands dirty. Fall in love, get hurt, grow the hell up. Stop standing in the way of yourself and the things you want. That electricity won’t be there forever – so use it.”

“Use it…” you echo, taking the mascara-stained tissue from her.

“Promise me,” she implores, wrapping her hands around yours, “Promise me that you will.”

It’s not just Martha asking, you know this. She’s the one staring at you like a madwoman, sure – but her plea is echoed by a littler, quieter voice.

She’s nervous, scared. A crumpled math paper in her backpack. Her whole world tipped upside down one Wednesday afternoon, soul cursed forever – or so she thought.

When you reply, it’s not Martha you see. It’s the sixteen-year-old version of yourself.

So you look her dead in the eye, and say –

“I promise.”

The world is hazy by the time you leave the bar. Vignetted, a saffron sunset seeping across the sky. Mingling with the city skyline and losing herself over the horizon.

You totter up the steps to your building and wave Martha and Alan off, twirling inside. The weight of wine heavy in your veins, pulling you from one side to the other, and still – you feel lighter, somehow.

You spent all afternoon giggling, once the heartache thawed and the alcohol kicked in. It felt nice; bubbly and nostalgic, the peachy tint of girlhood.

Swapping stories about your old, ridiculous love lives – Martha’s overall-donned boyfriend in high school, or the guy you went on two dates with last year before realizing he was the same dude one of your girlfriends had ghosted three months prior.

For a few hours on a Monday afternoon, you were fifteen again – and the worst thing that could happen was a pimple sprouting on your chin the night before picture day. All you’d ever know was the shiny film on magazine pages, reading two-week old horoscopes to see if they came true.

You slump against the side of the elevator, head spinning as it carries you home. It’s something like seven. You’re too buzzed to fall asleep, but too tipsy to do much more than roll around your apartment.

And by the time you’re back in your sweats, sunken into the couch, one very final nightcap in hand – you’re too tired to even move.

Promise me, she’d said, wildfire behind her eyes. Martha’s notorious for her talents in convincing anyone of anything, wriggling her own way out of any circumstance.

This felt different.

She’s just your colleague. At best, a passerby. Technically – going by her track record with almost everyone else in the company – she doesn’t have to take any more interest in you than the parking attendants in the basement lot do.

But she took your hand and led you out of that office without thinking, the second she understood. She bought you drink after drink, and slapped your hand away when you tried to pay. She listened to you, dried your tears, and then kicked your ass into gear.

By all standards, she was the best first date you’ve ever had.

And promise me, she’d said.

It starts as a joke. Humoring her, humoring yourself. A dare whispered to you by the tinkling of ice in your glass. Innocent curiosity, mixed with a dash of Martha’s good influence.

The perfect cocktail of chaos.

Your first online search brings up so many results that it dizzies you. Marketing executive and project coordinator, business support manager and production lead. They blur into a gray fog, a taunting swirl on your laptop screen.

“Jesus,” you mutter, mouthful of wine. “What the fuck do I…?”

Business and art. That’s what you know. One you’ve been in long enough that you reckon you could do it with your eyes closed – and the other…your little pipedream.

‘s not stupid, Joel had said, that night by the river. Not a pipedream, either.

And – fuck it, maybe you ought to listen for once. Stop standing in the way of yourself and the things you want, and all that.

You dig your knuckles into your eyes, letting the spatter of stars clear your vision, and start again.

A second search threads together a list which feels a little cleaner. A little more you. Sophisticated websites with sleek designs, smooth wording which makes it feel like you’re being sold something.

And so what, if you are? Maybe you’re looking to buy.

You click through image after image of bright offices and beaming staff, sipping sharply through your straw. Wide-eyed and slack-jawed, unsure whether the lightheaded feeling is from the rosé, or the promise of a successful career and competitive salary. Memorizing brand manifestos, learning company values like prayers passing through your hands.

It’s manic. Crazed. Like you’re stood on the brink of an abyss, thick fog kissing your ankles.

You laugh to yourself. This must be the fucking electricity.

Promise me. And what can it hurt, anyway, turning in an application form? Who says it’ll even go anywhere? They might take one look at your resume and laugh you all the way into the trashcan.

Or – they might see what Joel sees. What Martha sees. For the love of God, what you see.

Your resume looks much the same as it did four years ago – still molded into the shape of the kind of girl you thought Joel Miller, CEO might like to meet. And he did, very much so. It’s just – he met all shapes of her. Even the ones she tried to hide.

He found them all out, eventually.

Your thumb pauses, hovering over the mousepad. A slow guilt slithering over your shoulders, coiling deep in your gut. You think of Paris; those streets you walked down with Joel on your arm. Talking, laughing, spilling secrets and keeping them, too.

Your shadows are probably still on those avenues. Your reflections still bobbing in the Seine. Kisses hidden behind steam-coated mirrors, bodies joining in a darkened hotel room.

It twinges some, deep in your chest. A little numbed, what with all the alcohol and – well, Martha. But it’s still there. The same wound you’ve had for twelve years now.

It’s there. It will probably always be there.

So – fuck it.

You’re grabbing a goddamn paddle.

It’s been a quiet, fruitless week. No calls, no emails, no messages written in the stars.

Which is probably a good thing, given you were more than a few glasses of wine deep – and still on some kind of high from Martha’s speech. God only knows what kind of shit you were filling those applications with.

Nothing quite like liquid courage and a broken heart, right?

The light from the Xerox flickers, swiping memories from that afternoon back and forth. Martha’s hand locked around yours, the perfumed wine she kept buying. The waiter with the dimples, Joel’s Have a good night I’ll see you tomorrow, the pine air freshener in Alan’s car.

Things have mellowed, settled in your stomach. The world is back to beige – as plain as it always was before that night of tequila and AC/DC. You’ve made peace with it, this idea of letting go. Letting him go.

Martha – soapbox queen, microphone in one hand and glass of Sauvignon Blanc in the other – has checked in every day since. Expectant eyes from across the room, treasure chest emails full of job ads she’s collected.

Anything? she texted this morning, with six praying emojis. One more since yesterday, two since the day before that.

But no – nothing, for almost eight days now.

Maybe that’s for the best.

Maybe you can swallow back the knot of misplaced disappointment, slip back into your heels and forget any of it ever happened. That fire Martha struck so effortlessly, snuffed by a cruel, cold wind.

His knuckles on the door scatter your thoughts.

“Hey,” Joel says, leant against the frame. “Everything okay?”

“All good,” you reply. “What’s up?”

He looks…frustratingly good. Like he’s pieced himself back together. Sharp and smart, brand new. And yet – warm, homey, in all the places only you know to look.

Your fingers flinch by your side, as though they’re seeking him out. You want to run them through his hair, through his beard. Want to straighten his tie, smooth the shirt over his chest. Breathe him in and feel him melt under your touch.

Feel him change, feel him soften – just for you.

Only for you.

He floats over, hands in his pockets, and perches on the desk by the copier. “Exciting stuff,” he muses, tapping the machine twice.

“Hm,” you nod, “You’re an exciting man.”

“How was the wine bar?”

“It was good,” you reply. “Little above my price range, but – it got us drunk, so.”

“Did the job.”

“Did the job,” you agree.

“Good,” Joel says, crossing his ankles. “I’m glad to see you a little more your old self.”

Your lips flatten into a smile. “Well, Martha has a way with words.”

He snorts. “Don’t I know it.”

He lingers, then. An awkward air about him. He scratches his nose, stuffs his hands back in his pockets. Sucks in a deep breath, swallows what seems to be a soliloquy of sentiment, or secrets, or something else.

Whatever it is, his nerves rub off on you.

You cross your arms, twist your toe into the carpet. Stare at the paper churning out of the machine, stare at your nails, stare at anything that isn’t the man sitting right in front of you.

But then – he murmurs, as though the words splinter from his tongue, “I had an interesting email this morning.”

The copier shudders at his side.

Your eyebrows lift. “Oh, yeah?”

Joel clears his throat. “Yeah. Pertaining to you.”

And you realize.

You look up at him, the tight knit of his brows. His fixed jaw, the way it flexes as he chews on the words.

“Pertaining to me,” you echo – a nudge.

The light from the machine catches a wet glint in his eye. He blinks it away.

“Request for a reference,” he says.

And – shit.

“Shit,” you hiss.

Fuck.

“Oh, fuck,” louder.

His expression sharpens into a perplexed smirk. “Surprised?”

“Yes,” you start, “I mean – no. No, I just – Shit, I didn’t think they’d…I thought they’d talk to me first. Why didn’t they talk to me first?”

He shrugs. “I know of the company, met the CEO once at a gala. From what I know, she runs a pretty tight ship. Probably just wanted to gauge you before reaching out. It’s okay,” his voice is kind, hushed, “Doesn’t mean you won’t still hear.”

“Oh, Jesus, Joel,” you pull on your cheeks, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean –”

“Woah, woah,” he pats the air, moves so close you worry he might hear the thud of your heart, “No apologies, alright? That ain’t why I brought it up.”

“I just didn’t mean for you to find out that way. I wanted to be the one to – to tell you.”

He stands, hands finding your elbows. Gentle, a little timid. Barely brushing the sleeves of your shirt, and yet your whole body ignites.

“Darlin’,” his voice is serious, “I don’t care. I don’t give a shit, I promise. I mean…” he shakes his head, “…I give a shit. I give a lotta shits. I’m not – I don’t mean that, I meant –”

“I know what you meant,” you whisper.

“Yeah,” he sighs, “you always do.”

You pick a speck of fluff from his tie. He watches your hand, then takes it in both of his. Two big paws wrapped around one of yours, swallowing it whole.

It’s a familiar feeling, staring at the shape of your fingers tangled in his. Two in the morning at your first sleepover, praying Mom will pick up the phone. The first night alone in a new apartment, the babble of reality television for company right until sunrise.

You’re homesick.

Homesick for a man who’s standing right in front of you.

“I just wanted you to know,” Joel says, “that I sent it off just now. Just in case somethin’ goes wrong with the email, it doesn’t go through, I sent it to the wrong goddamn place – I don’t know. I just wanted you to know that it’s done.”

He holds your hand to his chest, his heartbeat against your knuckles. When you don’t reply, throttled by the threat of tears, he gives your wrist a little shake.

“Okay? You in there?”

“I’m here,” you breathe, and your hand slips from his grasp. “Thank you. I’m still sorry. You musta felt a little blindsided.”

His head bobs, considering. “Was a surprise, but a good one. Junior art director, huh? That sounds pretty damn exciting.”

“Yeah,” you reply, relaxing as he settles back on the desk. “Really exciting. Flex those creative muscles again.”

He grins. “You plan on working your way up?”

“Yup. Earn my stripes.”

“Alright, little tiger,” he says, and your heart leaps. “Proud of you.”

A silly smirk on your lips, you give him a tiny curtsy. “Here’s hoping your reference seals the deal.”

Joel laughs. “I don’t know about that, darlin’. It’s pretty shitty.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh, yeah. Talked all about how sarcastic you are, how you forgot the charger for your toothbrush – and then stole mine. Told ‘em about the Bart Simpson socks, force-feeding me Patrick Swayze. The lot.”

“The Bart socks,” you snicker, “They really stuck with you, huh?”

“Sure did.”

You slide onto the desk beside him. “What did you really write?” you ask, leaning in.

Joel glances to you. It should be obvious, with the way he’s looking at you, exactly what he wrote.

“Tell me,” you say, elbowing him.

“I told them…” he sighs, “…I told them not even to think about it, just hire you. They’d be outta their goddamn minds not to. Told them I wouldn’t be anywhere without you – or your Bart socks.

“Told them you’re the best thing that ever happened to this place. The best thing that ever happened to me. And you think – you think you never know what you have until you lose it, whatever that saying is, but I did. I knew from the second I met you. And they will, too. So – I told ‘em.”

The photocopier cuts, huffs, and falls silent. The room is plunged into a suffocating silence. You’re not sure you’re even breathing.

Joel’s arms are crossed protectively over his chest. You want so badly, more than anything, to burrow under them. To wriggle your way into his grasp – because you know he’d let you – cling to his chest, let his heartbeat regulate yours.

Let his entire body become yours; forget which parts are you, and which are him. Crawl into his skin, envelop yourself in him.

You want to cry into him. Hand him back all those mangled shapes of yourself you tried so hard to hoard – realizing now, that he knew what he was doing all along.

He was never trying to break them. He was never trying to hurt them. He only ever wanted to love them.

He only ever wanted to love you.

“Anyway,” Joel says, dusting his thighs, “Why don’t you finish that up, head on home for the day?”

“Uh –” you swipe the tears from your cheeks, “– no, it’s okay. I got a to-do list as long as my arm, and I still owe you, like, three hours from last week.”

Joel watches as you leap back over to the copier, swing the documents under one arm.

“I’m sure the to-do list will keep,” he assures, taking the ream from your clutches. “Go home, clear your head. Wait for that invite to interview to come through.”

“Joel –”

“Look at me,” he towers over you, “Anything urgent is Martha’s job now. She’ll love the drama of it. You want me to email that company back ‘n have them add Doesn’t follow orders to your reference?”

You breathe a laugh. “No.”

“No,” he repeats, brushing by.

All the times you’ve missed him before – landing back home after Paris, sat with some lovestruck financier in a golf club, fighting like kids in his office – and none of them compare to right now. Stood in the copy room, mere inches and yet entire worlds between you.

And Joel seems to know, like he knows everything you’re thinking. He glances over his shoulder, flame in his eyes, and he smiles. All sweet and charming, the real kind that softens him, lightens him.

Everything that makes him yours.

“Go on, git,” he says, heading for the door. “‘fore I change my mind.”

“Hey, wait. Joel?”

He turns back.

Your voice trembles. “How are you so calm about all this?”

His jaw flicks uncomfortably. He considers it for a moment, then says, “If you love something, you let it go.”

You repeat his own words back to him, whispered to you while you lay intertwined on his childhood bed. When they leave your mouth, they sound more like a plea. Fight back.

“But then you’d be losing something,” you say.

Joel shrugs. Earnestly. “Can’t lose somethin’ I never had.”

He doesn’t get it. He must get it. He’s twenty years older, twenty years wiser. He must know, by now. Christ, he had you to a tee two weeks ago.

How doesn’t he get it?

Your chest heaves. Your head shakes.

“You had it. You had me the second we walked into that dive bar.”

[snepfeathers]

their sonas Juniper (big wolf) and Terra (dragon sabercat) are super cool and fun and you should draw theeemmm, just saying ;P

IT'S @bigandsoft 's BIRTHDAY!!!!!!

EVERYBODY WISH THEM A HAPPY BIRTHDAAAAAYYYY 🎉🎊🎈🎂🎁🎆🎃🐉💙💚

[chris-prank]

I’m new to requesting stuff but I wanted to try, and I just binge read everything and it was so good!✨ perhaps you can write something about Atlas being touch starved because his previous owners didn’t treat him very well? Please and thank you 😁 also I’ve been seeing anonymous give themselves little names and wanted to try it

-💚🐺 anon

Thank you for your kind words!❤️❤️ 🥹 Also this is such a good prompt and it’s perfect for Atlas, because this poor boy is indeed very touch starved, even if he doesn’t know it. 

And I love the combination of emoji you chose for your anon name! 😆

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

Atlas’s hair was a bit of a mess, which was quite jarring from his usual well put together self. It wasn’t his fault really. You were the one who had insisted on going out, despite the warning of a potential wind storm, just because you wanted a chance to buy limited merchandise at one of your local stores. Now you two were back home, Atlas having two bags filled to the brim under his arms.

You smiled to yourself as you instinctively reached out to tidy him up. The Android didn’t flinch or move, but simply observed your movements with keen interest. You gently ran your fingers through his artificial strands of hair to put them back into place and ended up unintentionally petting him. As you finally pulled away, Atlas straightened his neck, trying to reconnect your palm with the top of his head. Startled by this, you stopped all together and raised an eyebrow. 

“What’s wrong?” You tentatively asked. 

“It felt nice…” You could hear the confusion in his own voice, as if he never once envisioned that a gentle touch could be this pleasant to him. 

“Do you want more?”  

The Android instantly nodded and so you two ended up on the couch, with him leaning more on you with every stroke of your hand. His eyes were closed, surely to savor even more the feeling you were providing him, and his body kept heating up. After thirty minutes, you softly announced to him that you had to stop, because you didn’t feel the tip of your fingers anymore and your arm was getting sore. 

“Can we do this again sometime?” He asked while grabbing your wrist and nuzzling his cheek against your palm. There was a subtle insistence in his voice, that left little to no place to refuse. 

Now that you showed him such a wonderful feeling, you couldn’t rip it away from him, right? 

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

I’m really proud on how this one turned out 😎

[kingconia]

ROOK, JADE, LEONA AND MALLEUS WITH S/O, WHO IS LIKE NEUVILLETTE FROM GENSHIN IMPACT

(AKA. IT RAINS, WHEN THEY WANT TO CRY)

Malleus Draconia. 💚

— Everyone seemed more or less intimidated by you and your appearance, but Malleus thought that both of you were a lot of alike actually! You acted similarly, and even Lilia joked you being soulmates;

— Your personality and origins were a big mystery for others, and the only person you spoke about it was the headmaster himself. Only after that he decided that it was logical for you to become the housewarden of the Ramshackle, a new opened house just for you;

— Hiding your true identity and being away from your homeland and the same time was hard. Missing something was a challenge already, but not being able to speak with others about that made it even worse. And since you couldn't cry like other humans... The rain started;

— Malleus didn't connect dots instantly, rain wasn't necessarily a rare occasion in their world after all. But, well, it was strange how more often and often it rained now. And, somehow, the weather always matched your mood. So, he decided to investigate himself. By threatening headmaster. Of course, it worked.

•

”I guess, we are more similar than I originally thought,” Malleus offered you a short smile, sitting down on your right side, shoulders pressing together.

”Lizard and dragon, what a wonderful match,” you muttered, but your voice seemed weak. ”I lived a thousands of years, Malleus. I know what grief means. Yet, grieving dead people is one thing, but the lost world of yours is... Another. That is not something I know how to deal with, for now.”

He couldn't relate, but he found it strangely comforting how similar both of you were. The way you were created, the way you thought.

So, squeezing your hand, he said quietly:

”Then, cry, my little dragon. Cry, while it hurts.”

And the rain continued.

But this time it felt lighter. And so did you.

Jade Leech. 🩵

— He found it intriguing how easy you felt under the water, how much you knew about his world, and how quite comfortable you felt, when he was in his true form;

— Though, he might or might not, missed out a lot of strange quirks of yours—for example, staying under water for hours, without needing to breath—due to his poor understanding of humans;

— But as soon as he realised it, he started watching you more closely. That was when he decided to pay attention to frequent rains and storms, too. How strange... He even went that low to provoke you in a fight, to see if it rains now, when you are sad;

— It did. Jade completely ensured himself that whoever you were, you weren't human.

•

”A water dragon?” He looked at you curiously. ”And not a mere one, but the original one?”

As you nodded, Jade felt the corners of his lips curling in a small smile. Somehow, he was more proud of you than he felt anything else. To think, that you practically seemed to be the Underwater Ruler in your world!

”It must be tough,” he commented, stroking your cheek gently. ”To become nothing in our world, when you were everything in yours.”

You shrugged, leaning in his touch eagerly.

”When you live thousands years, statutes stop bothering you, Jade. But I do miss times, when I were allowed to be in my dragon form freely. I miss the ocean.”

”That is why it rains so much recently, love?”

You nodded, and Jade made sure to kiss both of your cheeks gently, before giving a promise:

”I know, it is not replaceable, dear. But I will take you to our ocean. And then, you will be free for a while again. Will that make that?”

And when it started raining again, right after these words, gentle drops changing with more intense ones, Jade knew: this time, it was the tears of happiness.

Leona Kingscholar. 💛

— He felt that something was wrong with you from the first seconds, because the smell was off. It was reminding him of Malleus, but not really? Slightly like Azul's, too, but once again, not too much alike;

— Anyway, Leona had his own suspicions, but he ignored it, because at first you really wasn't that close. For him, you were another minion, and when he realised that you are powerful enough to beat him, he was too mad to care;

— Then, both of you became close, and only then Leona started examining you more closely with each day. He did a lot of researches about sea creatures, trying to understand what he missed out, but couldn't find anything in particular in their world to fit you;

— Much like Malleus, annoyed the headmaster for an additional information, but wouldn't use in against you directly...

•

”This rain is annoying,” Leona hissed, eying you with a poorly hidden expectance. ”I can't nap in the most of the places, because the grass is wet, now.”

You didn't even bat an eye.

”You can always find peace in my arms,” you said in your usual calm tone, not really catching his hint. ”No need to sleep on the ground, Leona.”

”Isn't that strange, though?” He tried again, trying to look as careless as possible. ”You know, in the Afterglow Savanaclaw we have this old saying...”

You raised your brows in a silent question.

”They say, if it rains, then it is the water dragon who cries.”

It was a lie. There was no such saying not in the Savanaclaw, not anywhere else, because his world was lacking a water dragon at all. You knew that, of course. You already sought for finding your own kind here, but failed miserably.

So, your eyes widened in the shock as you stared down at him, gloved hands gripping your cane tightly.

”Well,” Leona looked away awkwardly. ”The water dragon can find their comfort in the lap of the lion, by the way.”

Your breath hitched, when you realised what had he meant.

Leona didn't ask you to start spitting all confessions aloud. He didn't want you to tell stories about your past, unless you wanted to do it yourself. He just offered his company.

”Is that an old saying too?” You asked, trying your best to smile.

”...Yeah. I think so, anyway.”

As you slowly fell on his lap, a forehead pressed to his shoulder, Leona felt first drops of the rain falling on the top of his head again.

Helplessly, he hugged you tighter.

At least, you weren't alone anymore.

Rook Hunt. 💜

— Rook understood that you are an animal from the beginning, he just couldn't understand which one. And that was intriguing;

— It was clear for him that you owned some habits that was animalistic. But whose it was, that he couldn't tell! He only realised that you had a long tongue—sometimes, you darted it out—and missed your, presumably, long tail. You were a water creature in his eyes, too. That's for sure. Rook even started to wonder if you were an alligator...

— As a good hunter, he keeps track of the weather as well, noticing everything. So, yes, another strange thing was the fact that with your arriving it started to rain madly;

— In the end, Rook came to conclusion that whatever you were, your kind didn't exist here. So, he decided to confront you directly. When he realised that you were a special one even in your home... Oh, Rook was so excited.

•

”The most special ones are the most lonely ones, mon doux miracle,” Rook muttered in the crown of your hair, kissing it gently, almost in the motherly way. ”But, oh, don't you worry, mon amour éternel, I would be by your side.”

Both of you soaked in the water completely as it rained terribly. Rook didn't mind. Instead, he dragged both of you in middle of the forest, under the gloomy sky, allowing you to feel every single of your emotions fully, without hiding it.

”Do you hear me?”

”I do.”

You hugged him tightly, and he couldn't help but sigh in the strangest awe, when he realised how much power was hidden inside you all the time. How you restrained yourself all these months.

His dragon. His little, perfect dragon.

”Thank you, Rook.”

”You are welcome, ma belle catastrophe.”

And then, the rain stopped suddenly. Instead, the sun came out, kissing Rook's cheeks lazily as if rewarding him for being able to tame such a terrible thing as you.

He smiled, hiding himself from the sun's rays.

He didn't really need them, when he had his midnight rain already.

[lacunafiction]

I’m utterly in love with this! 😍 It perfectly fits R and the MC’s rivalry vibe.

I'm so excited for The Fernweh Saga to come out on Jan 5th that I made a shitpost comic. Featuring R Verner and my MC (whose looks I have set, but whose name I haven't 100% decided on).

This is it, their entire dynamic, right? Incorrigible childhood rivals. They can't stop.

Fernweh Saga is by @lacunafiction