#what a strange inside-our system

[sataneyu]

His permanent donations most include words “drink”, “eat”, “sleep” and please. And some fans who can’t donate can collect some coins while they watch stream and then spend them to

- write a messenge for streamer

- feed a fish

- spin the wheel!!!!

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We’re here have a really reach (we think so) fan who sometimes come to stream and donate the amount by which Enlighter must eat, drink and sleep for at least four hours.

Enlighter hate him (affectionate)

i hc that enlighter is terrible at self care like the guy will get lost in research and wake up in the hospital due to lack of hydration and the staff is like "AGAIN???" also yes he is also a streamer who streams all his theories and the only reason he actually GETS to the hospital is the fact that the fans realize that he's about to pass out or just actually die and call the mods who call the ambulance for him

That is the only reason he is still streaming btw

[vhaos-chaotic-writing]

Hello, Can I resquest, Transformers One, Yandere Sentinel Prime with a cybertronian reader conjux HCS

Oooh Sentinel Prime - lowkey, I believed I was gonna hate his guts until my very last breath. But I forgot I like fucked up characters that also have babygirl tratis (I mean - I am obsessed with Starscream, I understimated myself).（〃｀ 3′〃）

Yandere!Sentinel Prime (TFO) w/ Conjux Cybertronian!Reader (HCs)

WARNING: Yandere behaviour, possessive and obsessive elements, manipulation, psychological and emotional abuse, forced relationship.

Sentinel Prime is definitely a manipulative, possessive yandere that is not afraid to punish his Conjux with psychological or emotional punishment types.

You were older than both Orion Pax and D-16, a miner too - a hard working one who was always kind and tried to remain positive to everything, even when the guards were kind of jerks and your teammates got hurt while working.

Sentinel met you one day he went down to the mines to just say empty words and promises that fooled enough his blind admirers to keep up working hard. The moment his optics met yours among the other miners... he felt like his spark vibrated.

Uh, how strange - he was sure he was definitely disgusted by any bot, no matter if they were femme, mechs or none, that were a miner.

But here he is, thinking about you and talking Airachnid's audials off about you.

Maybe now he understood what Megatronus said about feeling his spark sing whenever Solus Prime was by his side.

Sentinel Prime started to look after you, visiting you down in the mines and trying to woo you. And while you were quite flattered... something in your spark knew something was wrong. You didn't knew exactly what it was wrong - but everything pointed at Sentinel, one way or another.

You tried to be polite and paint an imaginary limit line between you and the false Prime - but Sentinel knew what you were doing. And he wasn't gonna have it.

"Hehe... oh, sweetspark - it's so funny how you think you can just reject my advances! You should be grateful I have my optics on you, dear! But... Oh, well, I wished we had an organic 'fall-in-love' story to later tell our sparklings! But you left me with no options."

You were... confused. And scared. But before you could even step back, you felt a painful kick in the back of your helm, soon everything going dark.

When your optics onlined, you were met with a... new faceplate.

"Oh, thanks Primus! My love, are you okay?" The unknown mech asks as he gently craddles your faceplate with his servos.

"Where... where am I? What...?" You start to ask, blinking a few times before tilting your helm, staring with curiosity at the mech. "Who are you?"

The mech seems to smile a little bit more to then change his expression one to sadness. "Oh, my sweetspark - you don't remember me?"

The mech - Sentinel Prime - gently held your servo as both of you walked among the big, luxurious hallways of his home, explaining to you how you both were soon to be Conjuxes, him being a Prime and you were part of the guards. While on a mission against the Quintessons, you got hurt and your T-cog got taken, you nearly died! But your beloved soon to be Conjux saved you!

You just... accept it. I mean, you didn't remember anything (but something felt like missing inside of your system). But you didn't mind, you felt safe and loved in Sentinel's hold.

If Sentine Prime was not around because of needing to attend important Prime business, Airachnid is always with you - and she became a sort of... guardian. One who always followed you and kept Sentinel updated about you.

Sentinel blatantly manipulates you whenever you show any type of doubt or consideration on what he says or does. "My sweetspark, please... I nearly lost you one time. And I felt like my spark was going to die. I cannot lose you again, please. I love you so much."

It always works - after all, you don't know exactly who you were once are. Sentinel Prime is everything you have.

"Without me - you are nothing."

A few days after having woken up from your forced induced stasis mode, both of you became the Conjux Endura of each other, everyone on Iacon saw the event and celebrated. Sentinel Prime held you closely, snuzzling his helm softly against the top of yours, keeping one arm wrapped your behind and his free servo holding yours.

And you smile, preciously painted and adorned. But... something still, deep inside of your spark, knows something is wrong. But whenever you see at Sentinel's smile, you can't help but smile back and ignore that uncertain sensation.

After all - You've always been meant to be Sentinel Prime's conjux.

Everything is okay.

(ﾉ*ФωФ)ﾉ Vhaos out!

[projectfreefall]

How long does a carriage normally last? Are there any noticeable frame changes?

Stoodie: For the sake of simplicity, we shall use Earth units of time! Time on Cybertron is far different than time on Earth, as our planet

has longer days and takes longer to orbit our star! Fun fact, our planet takes 83.3 earth years aka a vorn to orbit our star!

The average carriage takes about 3 Earth years from sparking

to emergence! A long time to you humans, surely! But a quick process considering our very long lives! And it affects us in some similar and some dramatically different ways!

It seems you are interested in learning more about the details of Cybertronian biology! Delightful! I love to see creatures eager to learn!

Click the read more and follow along the C.A.R.I.E. cycle!

(Stoodie will be used to answer History/biology asks that aren't asked to a specific character! And if anyone wishes to use these headcanons in their own works, that is 100% allowed!)

(Caution: fictional infant development topics of pregnancy and labor under the read more.)

Stoodie: A cybertronian's gestation goes through four key phases!

Phase one: The first phase of a carriage is called "The Orbit". This phase starts the second after two or more sparks participate in a merge that successfully causes one of the creator's sparks to fissure from the electrical surge and ignite a proto-spark.

Over the course of 2-5 hours, this proto-spark will spin chaotically from the energy still surging through it from the merge. In this state, it will either destabilize and fizzle out into nothing, or if a stable rotation and energy level is achieved, it will form its own orbit around the adult spark. The proto-spark, completing its first full stable orbit, signals the start of its journey.

Over the following month, the sparkling's orbit will change the nature of its new carrier's spark. The two will form a small gravitational field as they pull at each other. The presence of that field of influence causes the carrier's spark to release an energy signature signaling to the rest of their systems to begin construction of a body for this new energy. Sparks do not like to share their chambers, you see, so it becomes the frame's mission to get this new spark out of it. This is the end stage of the first phase of gestation and is usually when a Cybertronian discovers they are carrying, as they will feel a strange fluttering static inside their chest. That is, unless it's discovered earlier by physically opening the spark chamber for whatever reason.

Phase Two: Well, now we've got a little bitty one on the way, who needs a body, and how does the Carrier build that body? Well, first, they will need resources! The carrier will spend the remainder of the first year of their carriage accumulating resources like energon, metal, and nanites and stockpiling them in special ways.

For example, the metal that will physically build the little one is stored in Carrier's own armor. Now, to store that access metal without symphoning what the carrier needs for their own body, the excess metals and minerals are added onto the carrier's armor, physically increasing their density and making them much sturdier to protect the delicate newspark inside, but also much heavier! Most carriers will weigh 5-15 tons more, depending on the sparkling frame type, by the end of this stage of sparkling development. But that armor is tougher than a tank's during it, protecting both baby and parent!

One of the most important stockpiled resources in this phase are construction nanites from the sire, after all if the carrier's frame only used their own nanites, they would just try and program and grow a clone of the carrier, which might cause spark-frame disconection errors as this new body would try and steal the carrier's spark and not the one it was intended for. So nanites need to be taken from the Sire so that there are two different codes interchanging information to build a body tuned to the sparkling's unique frequency that was generated when it was sparked. This ensures that the only spark leaving the carrier's spark chamber at emergence is the sparkling's.

There are many ways for a carrier to harvest the sire's Nanites, and each couple has their preferences. The most efficient is for the sire and the carrier to do a cross-feed connection with fuel lines found in their chassis. While it is the fastest and most efficient way to transfer the nanites, as this method only needs to be used once, most bots find it the most boring, as you have to basically sit there and do nothing until the carrier's storage tank has filled.

Another example that I guess could be considered appropriate in terms of content, though I find it rather barbaric, is Syphoning. Akin to how you humans portray vampires, a carrier with pronounced fang-like denta can bite and steal the nanites from their partner. Obviously, many bots try and avoid needing to syphon as it's not exactly a painless way of doing it, but one that has developed in our species in the event of an emergency situation. Carriers are known to develop permanently pronounced canines during carriage, and it's common for some to have a medic reduce them down.

There was an old saying that you could tell a bot had carried either many bitlets or multiple times the longer their canines were. That, of course, was a tall tale and has no scientific backing to prove that the number of sparkling a carrier has effects the length of their denta. Anywho, we are getting distracted, moving on!

Phase Three: This is the longest phase in the carrying process and lasts 2 years! During this phase, the gestation chamber takes over primary control of the creator's T-cog to change its structure, which also means the carrier loses the ability to shift into their altmode the deeper into this phase the carriage gets. And like anyone going through gestation emotions can run wild!

It goes from being a rather small, unnoticeable spherical chamber under the spark chamber to a structure that could best be described as a clawed servo that spans a majority of the hollow space it's created through the T-cog in the chassis. This clawed servo structure forms an antigravity field only within the sphere of influence it has between its digits. It fills this gravitational void with a dark and thick, viscous material composed of energon, nanites, plastics, oils, and metals. It has the consistency of the earth food, jello. Inside this ball of goo is where the sparkling body will be constructed. And thanks to the antigravity field that protects the space, it doesn't matter how hard the carrier is jostled, the sparkling's frame will not move inside this space and is protected from physical damage.

During phase 3, both sets of construction nanites (sire and carrier) work in tandem to construct the sparkling's frame. This process takes a long time because the nanites do not always get along, and one team may deconstruct the parts the other group has constructed. In the first year of the building, both creators' nanites will fight each other over what elements and features they want to remain in the final construction. From the color of the optics to the shape of the olfactory and even the final altmode class, all these necessary components are determined by the winner of the individual fight when construction first occurs.

By the second year of the construction phase, the nanites have settled on what features to build and focus solely on building. That's why some sparkling may look more like one creator than another; it's all due to which creators' nanites were the more successful in fighting for their preferred features. By the end of the carriage, all of the sire's nanites will have died off from fuel deficiency and will be recycled as material into the sparkling's frame.

(WARNING EMERGENCE BELOW. Nothing graphic but may be upsetting to those with issues revolving around the topic of labor)

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Phase Four: Once the sparkling's frame is constructed, a portion of the carrier's nanites will sacrifice themselves to cause an electrical pulse to activate the sparkling's frame. This activation Is temporary and lasts only long enough for the frame to let off a signal tuned to the newsparks frequency, which coaxes the sparkling to leave its carrier's spark and descend from the spark chamber of its carrier into the gestation chamber where it will be locked into its brand new spark chamber. Once that new chamber is fully sealed, the sparkling frame jolts from new life activation protocols and the emergence protocol begins!

This is a very delicate task but also very straightforward. The carrier will be driven by the C.A.R.I.E protocol to seek a safe, quiet, and secluded space for emergence due to its delicate nature. During this phase over the course of 2-7 days on average the carrier will be in "labor" as their frame opens their chassis and moves the carriers spark chamber out of the way to quite literally drop out the sparkling. The carrier will drop onto their elbows and knees so gravity can do the work and the ejection has the lightest impact.

and TADAAA! You have yourself a fresh bitty! They are but a fraction of the adult's size and have zero kibble or color outside their spark, optic, and biolight color. So teeny and helpless and precious.

though the development of a sparkling outside of its carrier is a lesson for another day!

this concludes our lesson for the day!

[urlocalmagicalcat]

really long rant (happy rant) in the tags, mostly towards @synthetic-lavender /vpos

romance repulsed aros and romance favourable aros are both cool and valid but because i never see anything about us: shoutout to romance indifferent aros. romance neutral aros. aros who just couldn't care less. aros who have a conflicted relationship with romance. aros who are fine with romance in some contexts but not in others. aros who don't mind romance when it's not amatonormativity being shoved down their throats. aros who haven't yet figured out their feelings about romance. aros to whom romance is Just Something That Exists. y'all are rad as hell and it's okay not to 'pick a side'!!

[bernardsbendystraws]

Fresh Air

Matt Sturniolo x Reader

Check out my pinned post for more of my writing.

00 01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08 09 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 FINAL

Summary: One night at a party seems to change everything. A strange man with a friendly smile and a sleeve of patchwork tattoos seems to make you feel at home for a change. You're finally happy to have made a good friend to lean on - especially when it comes to your not-so-great relationship with your boyfriend. But what happens if you lean too much...what happens if you fall?

Warnings: 18+. This series contains mature themes, read at your own risk. (SMUT, angst, parental troubles, financial hardships, and more. Don't like, don't read.) This warning is made for all parts.

A/N: To be added to the taglist, send a request in my inbox or comment on the pinned post. I'm far more likely to see requests sent to my inbox.

With love and big tits, Rose.

12: Sweet Gravity

wc: 1500+

Maybe I should’ve said no. When Matt asked me out on a true date, my heart stopped. But - we had already gone on a date technically, so what was the harm now? 

Shuffling through my clothes, I was facing the same issue as before. Nothing felt right. Even though I knew Matt like the back of my hand, the anxieties rushing through my mind kept weighing down more and more. 

|  From Matt: Are you almost ready? No rush, just wondering when I should come pick you up :)  |

Sighing, I type on the keyboard with reluctance. 

|  To Matt: Um kinda. Just struggling to pick out an outfit lol  | 

The texting bubbles on the screen reappearing make my stomach twist in knots. Should I have told him that? This is supposed to be our first date - he’s not my friend helping me get ready anymore. 

|  From Matt: I’ll come over and help? If that’s okay with you?  |

He wants to help. He always wants to help. And who was I to say no?

|  To Matt:  yes please  | 

A smile spreads across my face, relief flooding my system as he lets me know he’s on his way. I look around the room, wincing at the mess of clothes scattered across the bed and floor. My hands hurriedly grasp onto the different tops and jeans, rushedly pushing the back into their designated spots. 

It would only take Matt a couple minutes to drive over. I didn’t want him to see how much of a mess I had made, based on the fact that I was overthinking so much, but I just couldn’t help it. This going perfect felt like a dream come true. 

Even though it felt like a nightmare to remember reality. 

Cheaters were awful people - and I was one of them. Even if it wasn’t just one sided, how could I stoop so low? There were signs. I always wanted to be around Matt, even Hayden knew something deeper was going on. He called me out on it and I ignored it. And maybe that was on purpose. 

Before I have any more time to sink in pity, I hear three soft knocks on the door. Matt. I take one last glance around my room. Good enough. At least I could see the floor now.

Taking steps towards the door, I open the door to find Matt standing with his hands behind his back. My head cocks curiously as he stares at me with a mischievous glance. 

“Hey?” I question, laughing as he stays planted in place. 

Matt bites on his lip, maneuvering his hands to the front. A slight gasp purses through my lips as I see the small bouquet of flowers come into view. He got me flowers. When was the last time I even got flowers? 

“These are for you,” he says, pushing them forward into my hands. 

Taking the bundle of florals, I smile at the fresh scent. I can’t believe he got me flowers. 

“Matt,” I gasp, looking up at him with a soft smile, “-you didn’t have to get me flowers, oh my god.” Stepping to the side, I allow him room to waltz in. I shut the door, still admiring the petals beneath my nose as I hear him slide his shoes off. 

“I know, I know. But,” he grabs the bouquet from my hand, walking over to the kitchen and pulling down a vase - a vase he had gotten for me when we went thrifting together. Piling the flowers neatly inside, he sets them on the counter, looking down at me with a glimmer of admiration. “I, um, I’ve always wanted to. I was just, I don’t know…scared of overstepping?” 

Something in the pit of my gut lurches to my chest. Fluttering waves of excitement rush through me, my teeth biting down into my lip hard as I try to remain calm. I just wanna jump in his arms. 

“Oh,” I breath out, suddenly breathless as he inches towards me even closer, his eyes peering into mine with intensity as I feel his nose brush against the tip of my own. 

Fuck. 

“I’m not overstepping?” he asks, his voice rough and strained. 

I swallow thickly, shaking my head subtly. His hand reaches onto my hip. My eyes widen as I realize just how close he is. I want him to kiss me. So bad. 

Starting to let myself give in, I keep leaning forward. This was finally it. I’d finally know what it feels like to have his lips on mine. Would it feel as good as I had imagined? 

His hand squeezes on my hip. Matt leans backward, my heart sinking in my chest. 

He pulled away. He didn’t wanna kiss me. 

“Let’s go get you ready, yeah?” 

Nodding my head softly, I try to keep a blank expression. 

“I, uh - yeah…yeah..” 

Why didn’t he wanna kiss me?

___

I kept forgetting about the almost-kiss. And then I kept remembering it. Over and over and fucking over again. 

Matt was sweet. Everything about him screamed that he wanted this just as bad as I did. After a short drive, he had taken us to the beach. It wasn’t a very popular one. A sore sight of a rusted swing set and a lack of parking spots made this place deserted. 

He had packed a bunch of my favorite snacks. Including Lunchables. 

About a month into our friendship, we were at the grocery store, picking up snacks for a movie night. We passed the Lunchables. Matt had explained how Chris always wanted the mini pizza one, but he always wanted the other ones. 

“I’ve never had one.” 

The statement made his jaw drop. He insisted on getting every type, letting me try all of them. And I loved them. 

I loved the food almost as much as I loved the memory. 

Waves crashing and salt air. The blanket beneath us is a thin shield from the cold sand. Luckily, the outfit he helped me pick was doing a good job protecting me from the cool breeze. It was simple. Jeans and a cardigan, a cardigan he had let me borrow ages ago that I forgot to return. 

Honestly, I had forgotten it wasn’t mine to begin with. I’d never seen him wear the green dinosaur sweater, but I bet he’d look cute. 

“Thanks for doing all this.” I remark. 

Matt looks over at me, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to my cheek softly. “Anytime,” he breathes. 

His lips. The almost-kiss. Why did he pull away? I sit up straighter. Matt’s arm slung around my shoulder gets stiffer as he feels me readjust. “You okay?” he asks. 

“Yeah.” 

I don't even believe it. My words are blunt and dull, the weight of my shoulders tugging down even more as I feel him hug me tighter, reaching his other arm to grab my hand and clutch it gently.

He’s holding me so delicately. It almost makes me forget why I feel so drained. 

Almost. 

“Hey, what’s up? Talk to me,” he urges, softly pressing his lips to my knuckles. 

A deep sigh purses through my lips. I look over at him, my eyes feeling heavy as my eyebrows knit together. “I just…earlier - I…” Matt squeezes my hand tighter, rubbing his thumb along the back of my palm, “-why didn’t you kiss me? Do you…do you not want to?” 

Dry laughs echo through the air. I curl into myself, my heart tugging in my chest as I curl my knees up to his chest. Matt stops abruptly. His hand holding mine drops to the top of my knee, his eyes dazing into mine with an apologetic glance. 

“Hey, hey,” he soothes, rubbing his hand over my thigh, “-I want to kiss you, I really do-”

“Then why didn’t you?” 

Matt sighs deeply. He looks out to the ocean before trailing his eyes back to me. I feel his hand move, lifting from my knee and cupping my cheek. “I…” 

His words catch on his tongue. The warmth of his palm cupping my jaw makes my body relax as I let myself lean into his touch. “Tell me,” I urge.

Shifting to face his body directly towards mine, he puts each of his hands on either of my cheeks. I feel my eyes water. So many emotions are rushing through my system and the way he’s looking into me only makes it so intense. I should be panicking, but the way he’s staring at me makes me feel calm. Dangerously calm. 

“I…I don’t wanna fuck this up.” His statement makes my face crinkle with confusion. “Just - even the flowers. You deserve something special, I just…I don’t wanna rush things. You...you deserve it all.” 

Oh.

The semi-bitter feeling turns into tooth-rotting sweetness. 

I can feel the sunsetting emit a soft glow, curing the soft blow of wind with a gentle warmth. His eyes only aid the soothing sensation, igniting a peaceful heat from inside of my chest, making my body feel dizzy and light. 

No bed could amount to the comfort he brought. The energy between us seems to muddle into a wishful beckoning - one that makes my eyes water with an overwhelming, fragile gravity. It’s so easy to fall. It’s so easy to let go.

It’s just so sweet.

A/N: Thank you for reading. Any interaction is appreciated!!! Let me know your thoughts! I’m sorry I love edging sm <\3

[love-of-the-red-star]

That time I got reincarnated as an Aeon

Chapter One: Fuck it we ball!!

(Series)

Obligatory chapter warning: Violence (there’s a gunfight), description of blood, reader being a liiiitle dubious.

Maybe you shouldn’t have wondered how the crew even knew.

You had asked in the “acktually☝️” type of way— in layman’s terms, rather awkwardly.

Who could blame you? You were stuck in space with no human interaction for god knows how long with only your fellow eldritch horror looking gods that occasionally passed by for company.

Your brain may be incredibly big and fast now, but it didn’t mean you weren’t any less awkward. (Though you’re pretty sure you speak better than most of the Aeons��� however, that’s just your opinion.)

“We could feel your energy.” That’s what Himeko said. “Well— our system did.”

“Okay?” You blinked, but then went cold when you realized having your energy levels out as Himeko told you meant that you were basically walking out with your fly open.

“The influx of energy isn’t allowing us to jump.” She added, and you understood now, it was like coming across a stellaron infested planet, except it’s worse because it’s God— one of them anyways, and not just some random piece of space cancer.

“Sorry.” You blurted out, then had an idea, wondering if that one bit in the show you watched in your world would help. “Can I get out of the train and excuse me for a bit? I’ll be right back, I’ll just uhhh… suck the energy in, if you know what I mean.” You pointed to the open door, and the stop that thankfully no one is occupying.

“Go ahead.” Himeko nodded, and you made your way out.

You took a deep breath and exhaled, then looked side to side to see if anyone is going to see what you’re pretty sure is going to be an embarrassing looking spectacle. Seeing as the coast was clear, you took a deep breath again and scrunched your face in concentration, adapting a kamekameha pose like Veldora had.

You then grasped at your energy that you now saw around you and crumpled it, until it became smaller and smaller to just enough to thankfully pass like a normal Joe.

A Joe that can fight, but a normal Joe regardless.

What you did was just basically return some of the energy you’ve poured into this projection back to your main body, not exactly holding it in. You’ve managed to succeed, thankfully without having to accidentally explode a planet.

You weren’t Nanook, and you weren’t going to plan becoming a 2.0 very soon. And now that you thought about it, you’re pretty sure they hate you— but when do they not hate anything enough to not destroy it?

Brushing your thoughts away, you returned to the parlor car, and Himeko blinked in surprise. “That was quick.” She told you.

“I know.” You said. “It was surprisingly easy.”

If she had seen what the hell you just did outside, she wasn’t going to say anything about it.

(You’re pretty sure she saw that, much to you wanting to shrivel on the inside like a raisin.)

“So uhh… anything else?”

Himself shook her head, then the parlor car door closed.

It was only the start of your journey.

————————

Seeing the stars through the window of the express had been a surreal experience. It’s strange, to be inside of a room— you almost forgot how it felt like to step on the ground or not smelling the radioactive scent of space. The parlor car smelled nice, nostalgic almost.

It was funny that you only took notice of that now when you were left to your thoughts in your projected body.

“I can’t believe I’m missing the smell of air freshener of all things.” You mumbled as you watched Pompom sweep the floors of the parlor.

Welt and Himeko were talking about something behind closed doors— probably about you. Honestly you can’t fault them for that, because even though you’d like to deny it, you were in fact a big deal.

A very big deal. An elephant, an obnoxious colored elephant, in the room.

You just hoped they’d come to a conclusion to give you time just enough to prove you mean well. And you really do mean well.

In the next 168 hours (god, that was such a weird way to call an entire week), you were assigned a room of your own.

In the game, you recalled there were only four rooms, but in this one, in reality, there were more. It would make sense, you thought as you observed your own room that’s still rather barren of decoration.

You could just think of what to place into it later.

Another 168 hours go by and you’re entertained by either the little music player in the parlor, or helping Pompom. You spoke to Himeko and Welt from time to time, but it felt Ike you were a bit… out of place. Now that you thought about it you realized they were far more mature than you were, and it wouldn’t be lie either.

While it was nice to have something close to a parental figure, you knew they couldn’t entertain whatever it was that you craved. You realized you’re surprisingly a bit more childish than you thought, especially for a cosmic entity.

You were starting to feel a little antsy though, and decided you’d go back to your main body for a while to fuck around— yeah, you should do that, you thought as you nodded to yourself.

You stood from your bed and made your way out of your room to find either Himeko or Welt so you could tell them you’d be leaving for a while.

Pompom seemed to pout a little at the thought of your absence when you spoke to them about it, but their emotions were quelled when you had mentioned promising them trinkets.

You bid the three farewell, and your body eventually dissipated.

———————

“What the fork are you looking at me for, darlin’?”

Oh wow. You thought as you blinked. “Nothing, I just thought you look rather… interesting, that’s all.” You said. You meant to say handsome, but you didn’t want to be creepy to the cyborg as much as you loved him. It was a little embarrassing to admit now, considering that he was just as real as you were, that you were probably his biggest fan.

“What brings someone like you in a place like this? You don’t fudging look like you’d be into the shady business, unless…” He doesn’t finish the sentence, taking a swing of the strong smelling shot of whiskey handed over to him by the bartender.

How did you even end up here? Simple, you got bored in the parlor car.

You left the express, went to your body, chose a random planet and saw Boothill and decided to make an appearance because why not? It wasn’t exactly everyday you would get to interact with a cool cowboy (probably the coolest space cowboy), so you made the spontaneous decision to simply appear as you were in this little.. town and entered the tavern.

“I got bored.” You said, swirling the drink on your hand that would undoubtedly send you to a hospital for alcohol poisoning had you been an actual human. You took an entire gulp and made a face afterwards. Boothill laughed.

“How do you even enjoy this? It tastes like battery acid and fire.” You grimaced, but you took more sips of the drink despite your own comment. “Anyways, I was bored, and I saw this place and thought: hmmm why not? It feels weirdly liberating in a way.” You confessed.

“Not that much of a stickler for rules despite being dressed like a goody two shoes huh? That’s fudging funny.” The glass clinked, and Boothill’s attention still remained on you funnily enough.

“I’m not nice.” You frowned. “I just dress like this because it’s nice to pretend to be a pretentious bastard sometimes. Plus, it’s cute.” You bristle, and he only smiled at you.

You found that Boothill’s surprisingly way too easy to speak to.

“Sure, sure.” He waved a hand. He doesn’t believe you, and in the far corners of your mind you heard Aha’s laughter. Great, you inwardly groaned, but at least it was just Aha. Then you realized they might just fuck around with you AND have people know you’re an Aeon so they could look at you— maybe not today, but at some point in time.

You felt your lips thin at the thought.

Your attention snapped back to Boothill when you saw him glance at a few people, probably lackeys, in a way that you could describe as nasty. Then you suddenly remembered the posters outside in passing.

“Hey darlin, you might wanna hide your pretty face under the table right now. There’s about to be fork load of bullets, don’t want any one of them grazing your face.” Boothill muttered over to you. And you realizing what was happening and what he was going to do, you played along, slowly sliding under the table as he took out a gun. “‘Bout time these motherfudgers showed up.”

It didn’t take two seconds and hell broke loose.

You felt bad for the bartender.

Patrons screamed and some women ran out as you heard gunshots, and suddenly you felt the urge to poke your head out of the table to see the action. It wasn’t like you’d die if a bullet hit you, it would be embarrassing for an Aeon to die by a mere bullet.

You whistled, then gaped as you witnessed this absolute unit of a man literally moonwalk his way out of the bullets. You felt like a little kid watching an action movie, except you had front seats, and this was very much reality.

“Behind you!” You warned Boothill, and he made a show of shooting the lackey (that you now recognized was an IPC grunt) in a way that got you clapping with joy. “Beat their ass mister! Fuck ‘em up!” You cheered, and one of the grunts tried coming for you instead. You weren’t a coward though, and instead grabbed a chair and threw it as hard as you could.

You heard a grunt and a really ugly crack that you know that definitely wasn’t the wooden chair. “Eugh.” You cringed, feeling a little bad about co-signing the man’s obituary but coming for you with a weapon in hand was just natural selection waiting to happen.

Now that you were out of the bag, you grabbed another heavy chair and decided you’d give Boothill an easier time by helping. “I don’t know what’s going on, but damn I feel bad for the owner of the establishment.” You said loudly through the sound of gunshots, Boothill laughed again as another man had been shot down.

“Yap later darlin! You should worry about the side of your fudging head first!” Just as he said that, you threw the chair at one of the final three lackeys. And like the other one who you took out, this one too went out to board his one way ticket to god.

The establishment had gone completely quiet aside from your breathing and the sound of Boothill’s engine quietly whirring.

“Is it over?” You asked, hopeful.

“Yep.” The cyborg drawled.

You released a sympathetic “oof” at the state of the tavern though. “This place is a wreck.” You said flatly.

“Don’t worry too much about that, they’ll take care of it.”

“Okay….” You exhaled. “Wow.. that was.. a lot.” You eyed the bodies, frowning as you prayed your default appearance won’t end up in a wanted poster. Scratch that, it probably would.

“Didn’t know you’re darn crazy like that though.” Boothill spoke, patting off the nonexistent dust off of his pistol.

“Yeah sorry.” You muttered, then clearing your throat. “I felt bad for them but I realized they’re capitalists for a certain corporate office. They can go die in a ditch.” You shrugged, you don’t grieve this time, maybe you would at some point in the future when you’re wiser.

“Also, it wouldn’t hurt to help a friend out I think.” You said, though you’re uncertain as to how Boothill would react to such a sentence.

“Oh fudge me sideways, care to shake my hand? The name’s Boothill.” He grinned, teeth sharp like a shark’s as he held out his metal hand for you to grasp.

Oh I know very well who you are, you thought, not that he would ever know that. You grasp his hand and introduced yourself, happy that he actually likes you.

You eventually had to part ways with him for the day, having each other as contacts through the phone (Welt was kind enough to give you one of your own) so you could keep in touch.

You ended up spending the remainder of your time in that little town looking around for souvenirs to pocket just for Pompom. Now where did you get your money? It’s a little mean, but you looted them off of the IPC bodies.

It’s blood money, but it’s money regardless. And if the people who initially owned it were rich and dead? Then you don’t have to feel bad about pocketing it, you were free to do as you wanted.

Getting back to the parlor car was easy, making your presence known to the beloved little conductor who very much anticipated your presents.

“[Name], where’d you get the money to buy all this?” Welt asked as he inspected the personalized mug you gave him. (It was a neat wooden mug with his name carved on it, Himeko had one of her own too.)

You merely smiled innocently.

Welt sighed, he shouldn’t have asked.

———————-

Part I, Part II (HERE), Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII….

AAAND THATS A WRAP UP FOR THE CHAPTER FOLKS! And yes, reader is a litttle unhinged (curse being a cosmic entity, they’re a little dubious as a treat). And YES they’re a big Boothill fan (like me), like come on who doesn’t wanna hang around a cool space cowboy who has a censored vocabulary of a COD lobby?

[hotheadedhero]

Reach, Retry, and Requital

AN: Almost a year after its initial publishing date, we finally have a part two omg. Better late than never, ay? XD Now the boys can finally make up for their mistakes

Part 1

Bay Turtles x Reader

Leonardo

Not much time had been wasted after talking to Splinter, springing into forthright action, the weight of those shared words settling into his chest. His father always had a way of cutting through the noise, of seeing the core of the matter with unsettling clarity. Leo knew what he had to do. He had to talk to you, truly talk, not just attempt to ambush you in the kitchen while you grabbed a quick snack, not just exchange polite pleasantries while you pass each other in short, fleeting beats. He needed to carve out a moment, a real moment, where he could lay bare his disarray and, of course, his regret.

Finding you was the first challenge. You were a ghost in the lair these days, flitting from room to room, always busy, always surrounded by others. It was like you were actively avoiding him, which, let's be honest, you were. He had figured that out long ago.

Finally, he finds you in the dojo, assisting Donnie with calibrating some new training equipment. The sight of you, focused and determined, sends a fresh wave of longing crashing over him. Despite the initial urge that had him barrelling in search of your person, he lingers in the doorway, watching you for a moment. The way the low light catches in your hair, how you laugh at something Donnie said. Small things - insignificant things - but they were yours, and he suddenly realised more just how much he missed them.

Donnie notices him first, offering a small, knowing smile before excusing himself with a mumbled, "Gotta check on Mikey's pizza-making experiment.” A lame, half-thought-out excuse, but the deliberateness of it isn’t missed by his brother. “Good luck, you two."

As he migrates from the dojo, Leo moves in just a couple paces. "Hey," he begins, trying to keep his voice casual, but the nervousness is palpable. "Can we talk?"

You stiffen slightly, your hands stilling on the control panel of the automated training dummy you had been working on. In all honesty, you’d like to go back to working on it and keep your mind away from the turtle who is awkwardly approaching you. Being dismissive of what he has to say, of him entirely, may be seen as calloused but the mere sight of him gets your system all up in a tizzy. All it does is remind you of the conversation that put this wedge between you in the first place.

You turn back to the project, a carefully neutral expression on your face. "About what, Leo?" The bluntness stings, and it’s a stark reminder of the distance that has grown between you two.

"About... us. About what happened..." He trails off, unsure how to articulate the jumbled mess of emotions swirling inside him.

You sigh, a sound that holds a strange mixture of weariness and resignation. "I thought we made our positions clear. You're a ninja, you have responsibilities. I understand that, and you made it abundantly clear how you feel about relationships. The last thing I want is to be a distraction."

A poor choice of words on his part. A remark by the very same brother who left, from a much prior altercation, rings in his head. Does he really know so little about feelings? The insensitivity of what comes out of his mouth before he can think about the ramifications? A hand smooths over his face as if trying to wipe away the idiocy and rid himself of his past discretion. This must have been how you felt, your side of the street. He thinks he knows why you’ve been so distant - understands why it had to come to such drastic measures in the first place.

"You already distract me." The words just kind of blurt out, quiet and raw.

And your expression softens, just a fraction, and he clings onto that flicker like some sacred wish. You try to battle the urge, but ultimately, you fall prey to it and crane your head back over to look at him. He’s still some distance away, not daring move until you give him some sign or reason to, and his stance tells you all you need to know. Yet, you can’t ignore the hurt. Your hurt. The hurt you’ve been feeling all this time.

"Leo," you say softly, "I care about you - I do - but I need to protect myself as well. I can't…” You take a heavy breath, reserving the tremble that tries to knock you down. “I can't be someone's second choice, someone's maybe-someday."

He finds that opportunity he had been looking for, steps closer, his gaze locked on yours. "You wouldn't be. Not anymore. I was wrong.” Another foot forward, still tentative in case it’s too close for your comfort. “Give me a chance to prove that I can be more than just a man of responsibility, that I can be the kind of person you deserve."

Silence hangs in the air, thick and heavy, and Leonardo reckons that he could probably wave his katana around and feel some resistance were he to try. He can see the unrest in your eyes, a battle between caution and hope. Each tick of the clock is a deafening reminder of what’s at stake: his atypically loud mind, both of your feelings, a relationship altogether, even just trying to reclaim the old one.

Eventually, you speak, your voice barely a whisper. "I... I don't know. I just don't know."

It’s not a no, but it isn’t a yes either: a small glimmer of hope for the glass-half-full positioned individual, but he can’t say whether he’s on grounds for that junction or not. For now, perhaps he could take it. The middle of the seesaw, going in neither direction, having to wait for an affirmative. Either that or you’re just keeping him suspended in uncertainty before you deliver the final blow. He would probably deserve it.

Just when he thinks it might well and truly be too late to rectify his unjust, you speak again, “I’m not gonna regret this, am I?”

If it wasn’t for the soft curve of your lips pointed up in his direction, he’d be solely focused on the sombre tone of your question. A glimmer of hope. It was there after all. He isn’t completely out of the dog house but it’s a start, as good a start as any.

Matching your smile, he finally closes the gap between the two of you and kneels. “Not as much as I’ve regretted turning you down in the first place.”

Leo will be the first to admit it’s corny but sounding a little cheesy is worth it to hear the light snort it gets out of you. Playfully, you roll your eyes and lazily push him away. If not anything else, he’s just missed being this close to you without you feeling the need to bolt from his presence. It would take time, but he’ll prove to you, and himself, that he’s worthy of another chance. He has a lot of work to do, and he’ll do it. For you.

Raphael

Raph pushes past Casey, not saying another word, just twisting and launching himself into the night, the anger directed squarely at himself. The adrenaline is pumping now as he bulldozes his way towards your apartment, fuelled by a potent cocktail of guilt, self-loathing, and a fierce need to atone. If not for the chance to make something of these feelings, at the very least he needs to apologise for the way he acted.

The trek through the city feels longer than usual. Every shadow seems to mock him, every stray sound amplifies his dread. He vaults over rooftops, his movements driven by a desperate urgency until, finally, he reaches your place. He hesitates atop the building just opposite yours, his hands pressing into the ledge. He suddenly feels unsure of himself. What is he going to say? How can he possibly undo the damage he’s caused? He needs to think about this carefully if he wants to avoid blabbering like an incomprehensible idiot.

Whilst mulling it over, he spots your silhouette inside, cleaning up from dinner, if he has to guess. You’re busy with your idle tasks but he can see the tension radiating off of you in waves. Raph's heart clenches. Tense because of him, no doubt, and if Casey knows that he made you cry, it’s likely his brothers know too. That would explain their assistance in keeping you out of reach. If he can commemorate his family for anything, it’s for protecting you, even if it’s from him as much as that fact burns. You’re a beautiful spirit who gets along with most of anyone, and he had treated you like the very joke he thought you were playing on him. Thick-headed irony. He could berate himself with all the names under the sun, but that isn’t going to get him anywhere. He just needs to take that first step forward. Do something about it.

But despite being no stranger to making amends for his behaviour, this feels different. If he gets in a fight with one of his brothers, they always forgive each other eventually. That’s what families do, it’s part of the description, but this is you. Even if he lays out everything, will you forgive him so easily? Can he forgive himself?

The pacing comes to a halt, and he huffs quietly. It’s just like a bandaid - he needs to rip it off. He doesn’t want it to seem as though he’s ensnaring you in the comfort of your own home, somewhere you can’t escape from, but he also doesn’t know when or where he’ll get an opportunity alone without his brothers forming a protective barrier around you.

Raph jogs on the spot, smacks his face a couple times, does the few things he can think to do to psyche himself up before easing himself onto the fire escape and tapping on your window. The sound almost makes you jump, but you’re quick to open it up for him. He barely has a chance to lousily mumble your name when you hurriedly pull him in. Wrecked nerves and distancing aside, the last thing either of you needs is a neighbouring wanderer spotting a man-sized turtle hanging from your window.

The moment he’s inside, you shoot the blinds down and whip your attention towards him. “Raph, what are you doing here?”

Maybe it’s because you were so quick to pull him in, or the concern where he thought he’d be met with fear, but the breath in his lungs suddenly abandons him. The floor groans beneath his restless feet as he fidgets back and forth, although barely surpassing an inch with each movement. For a cold-blooded creature, he’s almost certain he’s working up a cold sweat, but he’s here now. There’s no point in drawing this out any longer than it has to.

“I came to apologise for what I said. How I acted.” The tense fingers at his sides clench further. “I didn’t know I made you cry, and I’m sorry. You didn’t- don’t deserve that. Not ever.”

This isn’t enough. It’ll likely never be enough at this rate. Each word out of his mouth doesn’t feel sincere, doesn’t make up for or even come close to truly demonstrating how sorry he is. Everything is solely meant but he knows he needs to knock down some more walls before you can see, genuinely see just how much he regrets himself. Your stare hones in on him expectantly, and his head rolls over his shoulders, trying to alleviate the knots in his neck.

"Truth is, I was scared. I thought there was no way you could actually feel that way about me. A freak." He winces at the words, hating how they sound out loud, but he misses the way your brows hood over your eyes, keeping his on the floor.

He takes a deep breath, the sensation barely lukewarm against his chest. Somehow, he feels smaller than you at this moment despite his hulking figure. All you can do is watch him, studying his posture, the lines etched into his face, the way his hands are balled into fists at his sides. Remorse warring with his stubborn pride; unequivocally contrite and vulnerable in a way you’ve rarely seen.

He hates how he dismissed your feelings, how he rejected your attempt at admitting yourself to him, how he ignored the pull of his own heart towards you for the sake of stupid self-preservation. If he had even given himself a glimmer of belief that you could feel some kind of way about him, neither of you would be in this mess. But he’s getting too caught up in the ‘whys’ when he should be focusing on the simple matter that what he did, what he said to you was completely unjustified.

"Look, you don't gotta forgive me. I ain't even expecting you to say nothing. Just know that I'm sorry I yelled and that if I could go back and do it again..."

His lips press shut to save himself from adding to this already sappy display, and it’s no wonder he hasn’t had anything back yet. You’re weighing something up - probably something big. He's just waiting for you to lash out, to fling back the fire he had so unceremoniously bestowed onto you. Befittingly, give him a taste of his own medicine. Instead, he hears your feet shift away from him, the sound strangely loud in the small space, followed by a quiet creak and some shuffling. When he risks a glance in your direction, you’re on your couch, a hand laid out on the neighbouring cushion.

"Here, let me tell you something.” You gesture for him and, warily, he sits beside you, the unsuspecting pillows gasping beneath his weight. “Don’t get me wrong, the yelling was a touch excessive,” you lightly laugh, downcast, “but I wasn't necessarily upset about that. I was upset because you didn't believe me. Raph, why in the world would I ever lie or joke about something like that?"

"You ain't bein' serious," he breathes out, marginally humoured, predominantly pained. "Look at me."

"I'm looking,” you retort quickly. “What's the problem, hm?"

He had a whole set ready, he swears, but the way you look at him instantly shuts him up. Never in all his years did he think that someone so beautiful could gaze upon him with such endearment, such adoration, though you’re mostly creased up with this stern glower. He doesn’t have an answer for you. All he can think to do is latch onto this thread and run with it.

"Does that mean… we can give this a shot then?" he asks quietly.

"On one condition," you barter, and the soft hand to his cheek almost makes him crumble.  "I know that head of yours works in funny ways, but I would never lie to you. Okay? Have faith in my word." 

Raph searches your face for any doubt, any sign that the dumb parts of his brain can possibly pick up to beat himself down again, and when he sees none, he slowly smiles. "I think I can do that."

You grin back only to get all pinched. “And one more thing.” You flick the space between his eyes and he blinks frantically from the sheer audacity alone. “Call yourself a freak again and I’ll have your head.”

He points a glare down at you, but it’s threatless. He can’t fight the tug on his lips with your scrunched face beaming up at him, nor does he want to with this fresh breath, this sense of a new start. There may be some rocky terrain to overcome, but just knowing that you see him for more than what he is on the outside is enough for him.

Donatello

Donatello spent the next several hours poring over Vern's advice, scribbling frantic notes on his datapad. Vern’s "field experience," as Donnie had so generously put it, seemed to revolve largely around retaining a smarmy bravado, casually nonchalant, half-attentive one-liners, pretending to be more confident than he is, and questionable fashion choices. He had suspected that this advice would be a mixed bag of dubious strategies, but there were still some surprisingly insightful points. He sifted through the static, disregarding about 90% of it, isolating the core principles: communication, understanding, and most importantly, acknowledging the other person's feelings. Easier said than done when he wasn't even sure what your feelings were.

The next few days were a blur of nervous energy and thorough planning. He felt like he was deciphering a complex algorithm, one where the variables were emotions and the output was… a date? He still wasn't entirely sure. He needed something subtle. Something that would resonate with you. Something him. He considered presenting you with a meticulously coded program designed to optimise your favourite hobby, but dismissed it as too nerdy, even for him. He then thought about building a miniature robot that would follow you around, showering you with compliments, but that bordered on creepy. None of these ideas seemed to feel right.

He was a disaster. A romantically inept, highly intelligent disaster. The truth is, he’s paralysed with fear of messing this up. He’s a genius when it comes to technology but the book of love is a series of intricate formulas he can’t seem to crack.

Days turned into a week, filled with agonising internal debates and discarded plans. He noticed you even less now, afraid that you'd see the turmoil in his eyes. He'd catch glimpses of you laughing with Mikey, strategising with Leo, or even helping Raph with his sai sharpening; each encounter a painful reminder of his own inaction.

Finally, he decided that the best course of action was to go with his gut. He was a scientist, after all. He'd treat this like an experiment: observe, analyse, and adjust his approach as needed. He started by paying closer attention to your interactions with the others: the way you'd patiently explain things to Mikey, the strategic insights you'd offer Leo, and the way you'd subtly tease Raph to ease his tension. He realised that you valued connection, humour, and intelligence. Armed with this admittedly very basic data, he devised a plan. A low-key, Donnie-esque plan.

One afternoon, you’re sitting at the main table of the kitchen, sketching something in your notebook alone, and he sees his chance. Taking a deep breath, he walks over, clutching a small, metallic object in his hand. His feet shuffle, suddenly forgetting all the carefully crafted lines he'd memorised.

"Hey," he greets, his voice a little higher than usual.

You look up, eyes clumsily shifting around before landing on him again. "Uh, hey, Donnie. Something I can help you with?"

He swallows, watchful of your uneasiness, but presses on nonetheless. "Actually, I wanted to show you something."

He holds out his hand, revealing a small, beautifully crafted origami crane, made entirely from thin wafers of aluminium, circuits and wires. A lot of his craftsmanship typically focuses on practicality and efficiency rather than aesthetic appeal but he knew he had to work on that for this particular occasion. If he were to say so himself, he’s rather proud of the outcome.

"Oh." Not exactly the reaction he was hoping for, and the perturbed cross of your brows only racks his nerves that much more. “You made this?”

He nods, cheeks flushing slightly. Whether it be from bashfulness or embarrassment, he can’t tell. “I was experimenting with conductive materials and, well, I thought you might appreciate it."

Considering how the last couple of months have been, you’re not entirely sure what you should say. A gift? Something that he made for you? He appears to be evasive of the true nature but you’re suspecting that he specifically made this with you in mind. It doesn’t do much to subside your confusion, but you can tell he’s hanging by a thin string for your reaction. Gradually, you take the crane, turning it over in your hands. It is rather pretty. You still can’t quite figure out why he’d do this but he may just threaten to split at the seams if you don’t say something more.

“It’s… beautiful.”

Donnie feels as though he can breathe again, encompassed by this wave of relief. "Thanks," he mumbles, looking down at his feet. "I also wanted to say, it's been weird without you around my corner lately." He rushes the words, tripping over his tongue. "I mean, I miss your visits."

You chuckle softly, sadly. "I miss them too. I just thought you were busy, and maybe... I was making you uncomfortable."

His head shoots up, baffled. "Why would you think that?"

"Well, you know-” You gulp, your positions suddenly shifting. “That time I... I was just rambling, wasn't I? It's fine. I shouldn't have bothered you."

"Bothered me? What are you talking about?" he asks, brows furrowing behind his glasses.

He replays the last conversation in his head, cupping the base of his skull like he’s trying to physically reach for it, stop it from escaping him. The last time you were in his lab, what had happened? It goes over a couple more times until suddenly dropping on him like a ton of bricks; the awkwardness, the slight stutter in your tone, the inelegance in how you held yourself.

He had been completely oblivious.

"Wait, are you saying...? I didn't..." he stammers, face burning with mortification. "I had no idea."

He wants to disappear, to crawl into a hole and never emerge. How could he have been so dense? He completely misinterpreted the situation and, in doing so, has probably ruined everything.

"Donnie," you utter softly, placing a hand on his arm. "It's okay. Really. It was probably my fault for being so vague. Besides," you continue with an upturned lip, "maybe it's good that you didn't get it. Now you have a chance to do this properly."

"Do... do what properly?"

You laugh, a light, airy sound that makes his stomach flip. "Ask me out, silly. If you want to, that is." You bite your lip, the apprehension evident in your eyes.

Donnie's mind races. Vern's advice, the meticulous notes, the carefully calculated plans - it all flies out the window. He had to of accounted for all the outcomes of this conversation he could possibly conceive but he hadn’t anticipated this. That being said, your encouraging smile gives him new strength and he knows that all he needs to do is be himself.

"Yes," he affirms, his voice finally steady. "I would really like that. To... to ask you out. Properly." He pauses, then adds with a shy smile, "Maybe we could analyse the properties of bioluminescent algae? Or just get pizza. Whatever you want."

With a scrunched grin, you giggle. “Both sound good.”

Rest assured, the algae and pizza had soon become forgotten prospects when you find yourself in Donnie’s little corner after so much time, and he may or may not have admitted to seeking advice from the last person you’d suspect to get this ball rolling. It gets a good set of laughs out of you. As far as dates go, it’s a nice way to get back on track and ultimately the first of many more to come.

Michelangelo

With April's blessing - if you could call it that - Mikey felt a lightness he hadn't realised he was missing. It wasn't just the weight of unrequited affection, but the weight of stifled curiosity, of ignoring a pull that had been steadily growing stronger. He still cared deeply for April, but it was a different kind of caring, a comfortable devotion that he now understood as friendship. However, there’s still a surge of tension meddled in with the determined certainty. He bounces on the balls of his feet, his orange mask tails flapping as he bounds to seek you out. He knows that waiting any longer will only amplify his anxiety. He needs to talk to you, explain himself, and, hopefully, salvage what he had so carelessly thrown away.

He starts by looking for you in your usual spots: not in the kitchen, no sign of you in the dojo, and you were definitely not by the TV. He even checks the garage on a whim, thinking you might be tinkering with one of Donatello's inventions. Nope. The only place he could assume you’d be is back home, but that’s a problem for two reasons: it’s daytime, and there’s no guarantee you’d even open the window for him were he to turn up. All he can do is wait until you next bless the lair with your presence, but Mikey hasn’t always been known for his patience. He tries to fill the time with various activities, whether that be fiddling with his drums, attempting to break the pinball machine’s high score again, flicking through various channels on the TV, and so on.

This barely kills an hour.

Suddenly, a thought strikes him and he jumps up from the couch, making a grab for his skateboard. Maybe he could roll between the main entrances in a subtle attempt to “accidentally” bump into you. That way he can guarantee having the space to talk alone. Perfect. He throws his board down and bursts out of the lair, the grimy air surprisingly refreshing. Even if he still has to wait for your arrival, he can at least practise some new moves in the process, though he wouldn’t be practising for long. He’s halfway down the primary sewer line when he spots you, and all of the planned one-liners just disappear.

Even in the dinge of underground New York, you look beautiful, the dust motes dancing in the air and catching the glint of the flashlight in your hand. He takes the leap upon seeing you, quite literally hopping off his board and jogging into the last traces of momentum. In your surprise, you tread a couple of steps back, and he consciously keeps a respectable distance. He remembers how close he used to sit, how easily he’d tease and nudge, and diffuses under the shot of guilt - the hurt in your eyes when he'd previously bumbled around April like a lovesick puppy. How could he have been so blind? So oblivious? He'd been so caught up in a childish crush that he'd completely disregarded the person who truly understood him, who always had his back, who would make him laugh until his sides ached. The person in front of him, now tentatively avoiding his gaze like a stranger. Crap, he was meant to say something. How long has he just been standing here staring at you? Too long, it would seem. Your head tilts with another uncomfortable glance at the floor, and you pivot to walk around him.

"Wait.” He spins on his heel, watches you stop, and it dawns on him just how incredibly awkward this is. "Uh, look, I messed up. Big time. I thought we could just go back to being friends, but I was wrong. I didn't realise how much what I said would hurt you. I was so caught up in- well… never mind. The point is, I hurt you and I'm really, really sorry."

You still make no effort to face him, but you speak, cool and even. "Apology accepted."

It wasn't the response he'd hoped for or even the response he envisioned. He'd expected anger, maybe a lecture, but this detached acceptance feels worse. It highlights the chasm he's created between you both.

"I know an apology isn't enough,” he pushes on. “I get it if you don't want to hang out with me anymore, or play games, or anything, but I miss you. I miss laughing with you and just... being around you." He pauses, gathering his courage. "And I realised something else too: I was so busy looking in one direction, I didn't see what was right in front of me. I didn't see… how amazing you are."

Shoulders hunching, you scoff. "Please, Mikey. Spare me the flattery. It's not going to change anything."

"It's not flattery!" he insists, his voice rising defensively. "I mean it. I really do. This is how I feel.” Mikey’s hand takes a helm on his board and he holds it to his plastron. "Seriously, I was an idiot and I'm hoping, maybe, just maybe, you can find it in your heart to give me another chance. Not as a friend-friend, unless that’s what you want, but as something more."

He holds his tongue from everything else that wants to sputter out, reduced to watching the back of your head and praying for a sign. Aside from the occasional drip or muted whir of cars above, there’s a low, rhythmic thrumming in his ears, growing louder, beating against the inside of his skull mercilessly. He swears his heart must have jumped into his throat. It sits on pause for a short moment when you finally look at him, your eyes searching, and he sees a flicker of something other than indifference: a spark of hope veiled by uncertainty.

"Mikey, this is... a lot to take in."

"I know," he replies sincerely. "I just need you to know how I feel. I'm not expecting you to say yes, or even forgive me right away. But please, can we at least try?" He reaches out, his hand hovering tentatively near yours, waiting for your permission to touch. "I know I don't deserve it, but I'm asking for a second chance. Please, just tell me what I can do to make things right."

His bright blue eyes plead for an understanding. He’s not sure he’s ever wanted something so badly in his life. Not like this, and the wait on your behalf only punctuates that for him. Your gaze wanders up, expression unreadable. The sparkle in your eyes is still there, but it’s flitting like a dying ember.

"It's not that easy, Mikey," you say softly. "You broke my heart, you know? And even if I wanted to go back to the way things were, I don't think I could. Not completely."

Mikey’s heart sinks. He's already ruined everything, hasn’t he? The thought is a punch to the gut, leaving him breathless and deflated.

"But," you continue, a hint of a smile playing on your lips, "I also miss you, and I'm a sucker for a sincere apology, so I'm willing to try. But you have to understand, this won't be the same. Not for a while, anyway."

A lifting deliverance, so intense it almost brings him to his knees. "Anything. Anything you want. Just tell me."

You smile a genuine, beautiful smile that lights up the dim sewer tunnel. "Okay, I get automatic dibs on the last slice of pizza for the next month."

"Deal!” He grins, answering without hesitation. “Anything for you."

Mikey knows it will likely take a whole lot of scrubbing to rebuild what he had broken, but he’s ready. More than ready. He finally sees what he’s been missing, and he isn’t going to let it slip away a second time. The possibility of something more than friendship still flickers in the back of his mind, but for now, he’s content to start with the pizza.

[katakaluptastrophy]

The ships … the ships were still full of people. I reached our hand out into space. I extended. I struggled. He said, I bit through the sun first. It’s human nature. That started things going.

Imagine being on those ships (and remember, not everyone in those ships was a nefarious trillionaire) zooming away from earth.

Maybe you've watched mushroom clouds blossoming across the face of the earth as you pulled away, the lines of communication fizzing out and going dead.

Watched...something...happen to the earth. Watched the sun flare and then flicker out.

I sliced through Venus, Mercury, Mars … by that point a couple of the tugs had already launched through the Kuiper. I had to kill Jupiter and Saturn in a fucking hurry. I reached … they blinked away from me … all I could do was hope that they’d watched what I was doing and all died from fucking terror. You and I went full fucking Hungry Caterpillar. We took Uranus … Neptune … crunched down Pluto … found every satellite and craft, reached in, crunched up all the humans, moved on.

You try to make contact with the installations as you pass - the small city on Mars, the helium-3 capture facility at Jupiter, the mines on Saturn's moons, the skeleton crew constructing the shell on Uranus, the Kuiper platform. Maybe the comms are eerily quiet. Or perhaps, you make contact for just a moment, enough time to witness what happens when god doesn't kill people "clean".

As you speed away, the rings of the gas giants burst asunder and the planets seem to desaturate, the readings go haywire as their magnetic fields suddenly destabilise. And something, oh god, something seems to slip away from each one, some absolute acid trip of horror, like some kind of writhing, fleeing ghost.

The moment I found the fleet spinning up to enter FTL, it was too late … I could only grab one of them … and you and I held it in the palm of our hand. I was in there with them. All those frightened people. All those runaway rats.

And then something physically stops one of the ships. Alarms are going off, sparks are flying, lights are flickering, and there's a horrifying sense of presence (if John feeling Alecto's presence was unremitting screaming inside his head, what does the presence of the newly combined John and Alecto feel like? Because I don't think that invovles less eldritch psychic screaming, somehow).

And then you break free, and spin off into some kind of warp of time and space, with the knowledge that you are the last humans left alive in the universe and that something truly terrible lurks on the husk of the earth.

Imagine 5000 years of that tale being passed down through humanity (that's equivalent to the time that passed between the stone age and the present day), as civilisations rose and fell across planets and systems.

And then imagine, one day, being the ship that encountered something they'd never seen before. A ship, of an entirely unfamiliar design, bearing an unfamiliar symbol: a skull. The whole ship is covered in bones. Sleek, designed, inlaid bones. Human bones.

When they hail you, you see humans, but not like you've seen before. They're dressed in strange outfits: military uniforms and robes that look like something from a textbook of the most ancient history. They're carrying swords. Swords! Many of them seem starved and sickly, as if their bodies are consuming themselves. They speak of their empire and their god in strange, archaic words - an impossibly ancient language from the earth that was - of the resurrection of the dead, of the Lord over the River, of necromancy.

And you realise that however horrifying the tales of the earth's death in fire, there are things worse than death.

[regexkind]

My dentist retired two years ago and I've been in the market for a new one since. It's a high-variance search, one that really drives home to me the power of a good word-of-mouth¹ recommendation.

The first dentist I found insisted on not using anesthesia of any kind whatsoever, and when I pressed him for his reasons he explained that any deadening of the senses was a deadening of the person. He felt certain that his view would become dominant within our lifetime and that The Justice System would punish him for what accumulated up to several premeditated murder charges. No amount of explanation about post de facto laws in the United States would sway him from his stance.

The second dentist I saw was, if anything, even more peculiar. His whole shop smelled like a mixture of an abattoir and a foundry. He took one look inside my mouth and said that ALL of my fillings were to be redone; he assured me that this would be at no extra charge, because he was "righting a gross wrong in the order of Creation." After I was situated in the chair—and a peculiar chair it was, more of a chaise lounge than a dentist's chair—I was forced to wait for several hours while he hammered metals that glinted like the surface of a blood moon. Brimstone wafted over me, and my head began to ache in time with his beating on the anvil. Finally, he came into view again, bearing an ornate silver tray with several small intricate workings, whose fine details were almost impossible to see, because they glittered like morning dew beneath a cloudless sky.

It seems that instead of amalgamating the metal within my mouth, he had shaped several small inserts precisely enough to fit into the small pockets in my teeth. The act of placing these masterworks was mercifully swift but blindingly painful. I blacked out at least twice, and once when I was on the verge of being sick, he suddenly pinched a nerve in the back of my neck and I felt the rising nausea meet with an impregnable wall.

I might still have considered this strange craftsman as an acceptable long-term dentist. After all, he took my insurance. But the full impact of his work wasn't apparent until a few days later, when I was next using my mouth to pleasure a "very close friend" at a saturnalia. As their seed spilt into my mouth, I tasted a distinctly sour, metallic flavor, and, against my usual custom, spat out a mouthful of pure quicksilver on the wide grass of the heath. I have half a mind to have the strange alchemical apparatus taken out, but the cost quoted by several (more mundane) dentists and orthodontists is frankly prohibitive.

¹No pun intended.

[demonic0angel]

Dead silent in the dragon au? I'm a sucker for them and I do like dragons

(Sure :D)

Part 4...?

Cassandra observed the lair of the Ghost King, a powerful dragon who was said to have an undiscoverable lair and a hoard full of mysterious treasures. In reality, while it had been hard to find, it was rather ordinary. She had seen bigger. Her own sire and guardian had a lair that was based entirely on an underground cave system and he had riches that had knights and lords from various kingdoms and countries coming to kill him every week.

The Ghost King’s lair was still impressive, just not what she had expected from the various rumors she heard. The lair was modestly sized and on the bigger side, and located inside of an abandoned human castle. The hoard itself was a collection of strange objects that she could not decipher.

Perhaps human object lovers like Jason, who collected books, and Damian, who had only just started to collect swords, would know.

Cassandra was a little confused by this collection, but the Ghost King’s scent was pleasing and some of the things he had were sparkly, so she wasn’t too ready to leave yet.

She perked up at the sound of growls and fire breathing. She flapped her little wings and climbed onto the ceiling with her claws. Quickly scurrying outside, she watched wide eyed as a beautiful white dragon was digging his teeth into a beefy yellow dragon. The white dragon was on the smaller side, leaner, but he had sharp fangs and claws and they were able to tear into the flesh of the other dragon easily.

The other dragon blew fire and wailed, but the white dragon pulled back to breathe out ice and trap it before digging back in, blood spurting and dripping from mortal wounds.

Cassandra watched in awe as the dragon flapped his wings for extra strength. Said wings were large and wide, colored white with black at the tips.

Most amazingly, they were feathered wings. The rest of the dragon’s body was scaled, but those feathered wings rose high and mighty, like clouds and mist.

The white dragon roared and then in one vicious move, bit down on the neck of the other dragon, reared his head back up, and then tossed it to the side, where the yellow dragon whimpered and then flew away with a flap. The white dragon bristled, snarling, before wiping away the blood on his snout.

Cassandra shivered at the raw strength of this dragon before she gave a low purr and crawled back inside, where she dropped from the ceiling and then began scenting the strange hoard. She was determined to meet this dragon for herself.

The Ghost King came back inside his lair, pausing as he registered her scent before he cautiously approached. When he saw her, he froze in place for a long time before he spoke.

“Hello. I am Danny, youngest son of the Nightingales.” He gave a bow, discreetly trying to rub off more of the blood on his pearly scales. His two pairs of eyes blinked at her, green and bright like emeralds.m

Cassandra gave a bow. “I am Cassandra, oldest daughter of the Waynes. What is your hoard made of?”

Danny, the Ghost King, crept towards her and said, “It’s my collection of astrology items. Human made things that let you see the stars.” He paused in front of her. “I love the stars. These things help me see and study them.”

Cassandra gave a turn, eying the hoard in a new light. “Fascinating. I’ve seen many hoards, yours are one of the most different.”

“… you like it?” He asked, tail wagging.

She nodded.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, tail wagging even more.

Cassandra paused. She had never been called beautiful by another dragon before. Her black scales looked muddy and they were freckled and scarred. She was not slender like other dragons, because she was a fighter, not a flier.

For a moment, she was extremely self conscious in front of this beautiful, white dragon who was King and powerful and interesting and gentle.

“I… I know that I am not the ideal mate, but I can protect our nest. I’m the best fighter in my family,” Cassandra said.

Danny leaned down and then nuzzled her. “You’re beautiful. No one has approached my lair or hoard before and stayed. Your scars are comets and your scales look like a starry night. I’m strong, but I hate fighting. With you, then maybe….”

Cassandra purred and rubbed against his chest, their scales making sparks together.

Danny returned the rumbling purr and then asked, “May I formally court you?”

She chirped happily. “You may.”

[secretmellowblog]

Inspector Javert is canonically a furry (not joking, not clickbait)

Inspector Javert from Les Miserables is canonically a furry and I’m not joking even a little. His fursona is extremely symbolically important, and you need to understand it to understand the book. I’m serious, let me explain. (You can also view this post in Video Essay format at this link.)

In the novel, Javert is always compared to a dog– but specifically, a dog who is the son of wolves. I’ll explain why in a minute. But the important thing is that Victor Hugo emphasizes this dog metaphor literally every time Javert is on page. I can’t overstate how much Hugo compares Javert to a dog at literally every single opportunity.  It’s the first thing we learn about him when he’s introduced;

he’s described as looking like a dog:

other characters compare him to a dog,

there are chapter-long extended metaphors comparing the way Javert hunts criminals to the way hunting dogs pursue their prey. 

His sideburns are described as whiskers, his hands are described as claws, he’s always barking, snarling, and growling. Any time Hugo sees an opportunity to compare Javert to a dog, or to have Javert act dog-like:  he takes it. Javert:

But like…why?

Let’s look at Javert’s first appearance in the novel. So when Victor Hugo first introduces Javert in Volume 1, he’s literally like “so this guy name was Javert and– wait, back up, I need to explain the concept of fursonas.”

Then Hugo interrupts Javert’s introduction with a multi-paragraph digression about how everyone has an animal that symbolizes their soul. And that animal is unique for each person. Sometimes people just are an anthropomorphic animal.

It is our conviction that if souls were visible to the eyes, we should be able to see distinctly that strange thing that each one individual of the human race corresponds to some one of the species of the animal creation; and we could easily recognize this truth, hardly perceived by the thinker, that from the oyster to the eagle, from the pig to the tiger, all animals exist in man, and that each one of them is in a man. (...)

And he goes on for a while, but if you know what a furry is, you already understand what he’s getting at. After explaining furries, Hugo goes on to explain Javert’s symbolically important fursona. Quote: 

“Now, if the reader will admit, for a moment, with us, that in every man there is one of the animal species of creation, it will be easy for us to say what there was in Police Officer Javert.

The peasants of Asturias are convinced that in every litter of wolves there is one dog, which is killed by the mother because, otherwise, as he grew up, he would devour the other little ones. Give to this dog-son of a wolf a human face, and the result will be Javert.”

So Javert is a dog who is the son of wolves. He is a wolf that has become domesticated– and is now a hunting dog, serving humans, devouring his wild wolf siblings. (That’s an edgy emo DeviantArt sparkledog backstory if I’ve ever heard one.)

But what does that symbolic backstory mean? It means that Javert is what the kids call “a class traitor.” 

In the next part of his introduction, Hugo elaborates that Javert was born inside of a jail, the son of an imprisoned mother and a galley slave father. He was born into the same traumatizing poverty, stigma, and intense criminalization as characters like Jean Valjean. In fact, Jean Valjean himself is often compared to a “wolf”-- because in the novel, wolves are often used to symbolize criminals, outcasts, and the people who society oppresses and treats like monsters.

 But unlike Jean Valjean, Javert turns his back on his ‘wolf siblings.” He turns his back on people from his class. He domesticates himself– by becoming a lowranking police officer, and enforcing the same system that imprisoned his family and destroyed his life.

 He rigorously defends a hierarchy that he is at the bottom of. He serves an authority that views him as subhuman, like a dog defending its masters. Society will never treat him as an equal, and Javert knows this–-  but society tolerates him because he is useful, because he hunts down the wolves. Javert would arrest his entire family to please authority, and he would do it with no other feeling except for the pleasure of obedience. He’s a dog, happy to devour his criminal wolf siblings.

And the reason Victor Hugo goes so overboard with the canine imagery is to emphasize how much the metaphor is the key to his entire character and how he interacts with other people from his own class.

And recognizing that metaphor really deepens your understanding of the novel. For example, it’s one of the many ways that Javert parallels Eponine– another character who describes herself as a dog from a family of wolves.

The dog imagery also has layers of meaning that change over time.  For example:  in the original book, Javert is not obsessed with Jean Valjean. The idea that “Javert makes it his life goal to catch Jean Valjean and spends all his time pursuing him out a personal revenge quest” is actually something that adaptations invented– largely as a way to avoid engaging with Victor Hugo’s systemic  criticisms of the police. [rant redacted.] In the original book, Javert follows up on Jean Valjean whenever he coincidentally happens to pick up his scent– and yes it’s described that way, as picking up his scent, because he’s a dog. Otherwise Jean Valjean isn’t really a person to him, he’s just an extremely difficult piece of prey. There's nuance, there are things that specifically stick out to him and frustrate him in a unique way, mainly the way that Jean Valjean is able to camouflage himself so well as a bourgeois. But overall-- no, he's not making a Sacred Promise to dedicate his life to finding him. Quote:

But after Jean Valjean saves his life, that changes. Javert suddenly develops deep intense wildly overcomplicated emotions for him, emotions that are described using the metaphors of dogs and wolves. The scene after they reunite, when Javert lets Jean Valjean go, is described like this:

 “He felt something between a wolf that has found its prey and a dog that has found its master again.” (...)  “To be the watch-dog, and to lick the intruder's hand!” (....) “He was tempted to fling himself upon Jean Valjean, seize him, and devour him– that is, to say, arrest him.”

{insert vore joke.] In a previous chapter he boasted about how his hands were claws:

In this chapter, he views his clawed hands with disgust and self-loathing.

But here’s the thing: it’s more than just a symbolic metaphor in the narration. The characters in the novel often seem to be aware that Javert is a dog. Like, Jean Valjean has that whole inner monologue about how Javert is quote a  “frightful hunting dog.” Javert describes his own hands as claws and thinks about himself in dog metaphors. When he’s being executed at the barricades, the rebels tie a rope around his neck to use as a leash. There's a bit where Javert's eyes are described as having "the feline phosphoresence of birds of the night," as if he literally has tapeta lucidum.  Javert also canonically wears a leather collar with a buckle— which I don’t think is supposed to be related to the dog thing, but it FEELS related. And I’m gonna be honest: I don’t know what to do with that. But Ao3 does. 

And in a very different way: so does Takahiro Arai, the creator of a recent Les Mis manga adaptation. Arai draws Javert’s soul as a massive frightening wolfdog, that emerges to symbolize his emotional state in critical parts of the story. And it shows how understanding the deeper meaning of this imagery leads to a more complete understanding of Javert’s character.

Thank you for reading! I feel like Javert being a furry is a Known Thing on Tumblr, but it’s gotten to the point where everybody takes it for granted. And so: a post was necessary, to archive the lore.

[But if you want even more furry Javert content, I recommend joining the @lesmisletters readalong! Les Mis has 365 chapters, and this email subscription sends you one chapter a day for a year. We also have a discord server linked in the pinned post on our tumblr blog! It’s never too late to join. ]

[sulkingheichou012]

Into the Dungeon with You (Sequel)

Pairing: Jinwoo x Reader

Genre: RomCom, Action, Smut

Warning: Description of violence and profanity.

Summary: Jinwoo frowned as a new system notification appeared before him.

[Special Reward Successfully Claimed.]

Author's Note: Hey, I’m back! My mind has been all over the place these past few weeks—traveling like Doctor Strange—trying to come up with a fun idea for you all.

This one’s pretty long, so I had to split it into two parts (thanks, Tumblr sigh).

Anyway, enjoy, Y/N! And hang in there for the cliffhanger! 😆

If you want to be tagged, just drop a comment below!

Echoes of Fate (3)

The conference room was filled with murmurs, but they all quieted the moment Jinwoo stepped up to the podium.

He didn’t waste time. “The portal we just cleared was not a sign of a return to the chaos we once knew,” he began, voice calm but firm. “It was an anomaly—an echo of what was, not what’s coming. The Association, alongside global Hunter agencies, is monitoring dimensional rifts constantly. I can assure you: the safety of the people remains our top priority.”

His eyes swept across the room—officials, reporters, guild leaders, representatives from around the world—and he continued, “I will personally respond to any threat that dares to surface. You have my word.”

There was no need for dramatic flair. Jinwoo’s presence, his reputation, and his unwavering tone said everything. The press conference ended in a flurry of flashes and follow-up questions he didn’t bother to answer. His job wasn’t to appease the media—it was to protect.

By the time he stepped back into the house, it was already late.

His coat slid off his shoulders and landed on the back of the chair in the hallway. The silence felt heavy, not suffocating—just thick with exhaustion. He’d been working nonstop: calming panicked governments, reassuring the association, brushing off doomsday theories being thrown around online.

But none of that mattered more than what waited upstairs.

He walked quietly through the home. The lights were dim. A soft glow filtered out from Suho’s room, but when he peeked inside, the boy was fast asleep, his hair tousled across the pillow, a faint line of drool on his cheek. Jinwoo smiled faintly, brushing the hair from his son’s forehead before pulling the blanket up a little more.

As he turned to head toward the master bedroom, something shifted in the corner of his eye.

Y/N spotted him from the couch. Her eyes sparkled.

“Oh, no. Not on my watch.”

She grabbed the nearest speaker, hit play—a beat dropped. Low. Funky. Stupidly dramatic.

Y/N got up slowly, hips already catching the rhythm. She locked eyes with Jinwoo as if she were about to deliver divine gospel.

She stepped close. Real close. Inches from his face.

“Are you depress?” (CLAP! hands together—sharp, dramatic)

She circled him like a predator with rhythm in her blood. Stepped close again, leaned into his space—

“Are you mad?” (CLAP! right on her ass—one cheek, clean hit)

Jinwoo blinked slowly. This was happening. He was letting it.

She twirled, dipped, came right up in his face, forehead to forehead—

“Are you upset?” BOINK. She poked his nose. With purpose.

He almost flinched.

Then she slid around him, got close to his ear, breath warm—

“Are you sad?” (CLAP! feet slap the floor as she hops in place like a funky goblin)

She backed up, just enough to give herself runway.

Then shimmy-shimmy, chest first, arms wide, she grinned and sang:

“Come here, babe…” “And let me give you a hug~”

She wrapped him up. Soft. Warm. Uncharacteristically gentle.

Jinwoo didn’t move—his body processed a full loving embrace while his brain tried to reboot.

Y/N held him just a second longer than silly would allow.

Then pulled back. Dead serious.

Beat still playing.

She narrowed her eyes. Voice low. Deep. Full commitment:

“Because you act…” Pause. “…like nobody give you love.”

She clapped once more. Ass. For emphasis.

Jinwoo stared at her.

“…You’re a menace.”

Y/N smirked. “But you’re not sad anymore, huh?”

He didn’t answer.

But his arms slowly wrapped around her again.

And in the background… the beat kept going.

Jinwoo’s arms were still loosely around Y/N. He hadn’t spoken yet.

He wasn’t sure how to respond to booty-based therapy.

Then—

“...What’s going on?”

Both of them froze.

Y/N turned her head, still mid-hug.

There stood Suho.

In pajamas. Looking way too curious for his own good.

Y/N grinned like she just got caught dancing in a crime scene. “Therapy.”

Suho blinked. “...For Dad?”

Jinwoo closed his eyes in shame. “It wasn’t therapy. It was—”

“—Performance healing!” Y/N interrupted proudly, throwing jazz hands.

Suho’s eyes lit up. “Can we do it again?”

Jinwoo opened his mouth. “No—”

Y/N: “Yes.”

Jinwoo: “Y/N, please—”

“Alright, then!” Y/N declared, throwing her arms wide. “It’s therapy rap time, kiddo!”

Jinwoo let out a deep sigh, his shoulders sagging even more.

“Dad, come on!” Suho urged, dragging Jinwoo into the chaos. “You have to do it too!”

Jinwoo looked at Y/N. She was already starting the beat again, hands clapping, feet stomping, moving with energy.

“Fine,” Jinwoo muttered, rolling his eyes. But he gave in. The beat was catchy, and honestly, he was too tired to argue.

The family gathered together in a circle, facing each other. Y/N led the way, snapping her fingers, already getting into the groove.

Suho looked at his dad with a smile. "Dad, you gotta clap harder!"

“Are you depress?” (CLAP! Suho clapped his hands along with the beat)

“Are you mad?” (CLAP! Jinwoo’s hands reluctantly slapped together)

Jinwoo gave him a dry look. "I’m trying not to make it worse."

“Are you upset?” (BOINK! Suho poked Jinwoo’s nose—he looked mildly offended but couldn’t stop himself from chuckling)

Y/N grinned and started shaking her chest again, making Jinwoo pause. He blinked. “What’s—”

They held the hug for a moment, all laughing, all genuinely happy.

“Come here, babe…”

“And let me give you a hug~”

The group hug began, and Suho squeezed in between them, giggling as his parents embraced. Even Jinwoo couldn’t resist chuckling, the tension melting away in the warmth of his family.

Y/N pulled back with a dramatic sigh, her hands in the air. “Alright, now we get serious!”

They all paused for a moment. Jinwoo rubbed his face, trying to hold back his laughter, his stress completely evaporating.

“Because you act…”

“Like nobody give you love!”

Then, before anyone could process it, Y/N grabbed Jinwoo’s hands and dragged him into the final moment of therapy.

Jinwoo looked at her with a serious expression. “What now—”

Suho’s face lit up, eyes wide. “Dad!!” He burst into uncontrollable laughter.

“CLAP CLAP!”

Jinwoo slapped his own ass, making a ridiculously loud noise.

Jinwoo tried to fight it but finally gave in, laughing along with his son.

“See?” Y/N said with a wicked grin. “That’s the power of love... and a good ass clap.”

And in that moment, Jinwoo felt it. All his stress, all his worries, completely gone.

This… this was his therapy. His family. His ridiculous, lovable, insane family.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

The kitchen was warm with the scent of food, and the three of them—Jinwoo, Y/N, and Suho—sat around the dining table, plates piled high. It was late, and Jinwoo had expected to eat alone after a long day, but his family insisted on joining him. No one wanted him to eat by himself.

Suho had already eaten, but after the therapy rap and all the hugging, he had still found room for more food. His eyes were sparkling as he stuffed his face, looking up at his parents every now and then with a little grin.

Jinwoo was still a little on edge from the chaos of the day, but the warmth of his family around him made the weight feel a little lighter.

Y/N cleared her throat as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Hey, Jinwoo."

"Hm?" He looked up, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

Suho set down his spoon, his eyes suddenly focused and bright. "Mom, can I talk about what I want for my birthday?"

Jinwoo raised an eyebrow. "What do you want, kiddo?"

Suho leaned forward, his excitement growing with each word. "I want to experience raiding a dungeon!"

Jinwoo froze mid-chew. He coughed, his throat immediately constricting from the shock. He hacked into his napkin and started choking on the food.

Y/N quickly rushed to his side, thumping him on the back with a solid thwack.

“Jinwoo, are you alright?” she asked, her voice both concerned and slightly amused. She gave him a few more quick pats, making sure he wasn’t actually dying.

Suho looked at his father, waiting for his reaction.

Jinwoo finally managed to catch his breath, still staring at Suho. "Suho... Are you serious? A dungeon? That’s... too dangerous for someone your age."

Suho's big eyes widened, and he looked up at Jinwoo, his face the perfect picture of innocence. “But... Dad... you’ll be there with me, right? I’ll be safe because you’re there.”

He gazed up at Jinwoo with the most adorable, pleading expression he could muster, and Jinwoo felt his resolve beginning to crack.

Y/N watched the scene quietly, already knowing how this was going to play out. She glanced at Jinwoo, then back at Suho, and gave a gentle sigh, knowing full well that her husband would never agree to such an idea.

“Jinwoo,” Y/N interjected with a bright smile, “you know you can’t say no to that face. But I do agree that an actual dungeon is too dangerous.”

Suho’s face fell slightly, but before he could protest, Y/N quickly jumped in. “How about this? Instead of a real dungeon, we play pretend! We’ll raid a cleared dungeon, and I’ll be the dungeon boss. You’ll get to experience it—without the danger!”

Suho’s eyes lit up at the thought. “Mom, that sounds awesome! You’ll be the dungeon boss?”

Y/N’s smile turned sly. “Oh, you have no idea how much I’ve missed being the villain. It’s going to be the best birthday raid ever.”

Jinwoo blinked, still processing everything. He looked at Y/N, then at Suho, who was practically bouncing in his seat with excitement.

“I’m still not sure about this... But...” Jinwoo sighed. “If it’s a pretend raid, then... fine. But only because I can’t say no to you two.”

Suho cheered. “Yes!” He jumped out of his chair and ran over to hug his father, practically knocking him out of his seat.

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head. “There we go. A birthday to remember.”

Jinwoo smiled, pulling his son into a tight hug. As much as he worried about his son’s safety, he couldn’t deny the joy on Suho’s face. And Y/N—well, she always found a way to make the impossible sound fun.

“Alright, alright,” Jinwoo said, laughing despite himself. “But don’t make the dungeon too dangerous, okay?”

“Oh, it’ll be perfectly safe,” Y/N promised. “But maybe we’ll throw in a few traps... just to make it interesting.”

Suho, now fully invested in the idea, grinned. “Traps? Like... the ones in the videos I watch? Cool!”

Jinwoo sighed but couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m going to regret this…”

But he knew, in the end, it would be a memory worth having. Even if it meant facing a few pretend monsters—and Y/N in full villain mode.

Jinwoo stood at the entrance of the portal, hand on Suho’s shoulder, ready for whatever awaited them. Suho, eager but calm, stood beside his father, exuding a confidence beyond his years. The air felt thick with the promise of adventure.

A shadow flickered beside them, and Beru appeared, wings aglow, his usual stoic presence enhanced by a certain dramatic flair.

“My liege,” Beru spoke with a bow, his voice rich and full of gravity. “The dungeon has been cleared, and all is prepared for your raid. The shadows are in position. You and the young master may proceed. I wish the young master good fortune on his journey.”

Suho smiled up at Beru, all eagerness and excitement. “Thanks, Beru! We’re going to do awesome!”

Beru gave a nod, his gaze full of quiet respect. “May you both find victory and glory.”

With that, Beru faded into the shadows, his role fulfilled for now.

Jinwoo gave Suho a reassuring look before they stepped forward

The dungeon was dim and cold, the stone walls echoing with the sounds of their footsteps. Jinwoo and Suho were moving cautiously through the eerie silence, their focus on the task at hand.

The first shadow knight appeared, its glowing red eyes scanning the two intruders. Without a word, Jinwoo sprang into action, his movements swift and calculated. He effortlessly dodged the knight’s strikes, countering with precision as Suho watched intently from his side.

Jinwoo’s movements were fluid and natural, but Suho, ever the curious and eager learner, began to mimic his father’s actions from the sidelines. He stood a bit further back, keeping his distance, but his eyes never left Jinwoo. With a few subtle shifts of his stance, Suho tried to copy the precise way his father moved, pretending as if he were striking the knights from behind.

Jinwoo, focused on his own fight, didn’t notice at first that Suho was trying to imitate him. But then, something unexpected happened. As Jinwoo dodged a blow from one of the knights, a powerful strike came from behind him—right through the shadow knight’s defenses—and the knight collapsed with a dramatic thud. Jinwoo froze, blinking in surprise.

He spun around, just in time to see Suho standing there, a grin on his face as if nothing had happened. The young boy had landed a perfectly executed blow. Jinwoo’s jaw dropped as he looked at his son, who was smiling innocently like he hadn’t just done something incredible.

“I told you I got your back, Dad,” Suho said proudly, the tiniest bit of mischief in his eyes.

Jinwoo stared at Suho for a long moment, his heart swelling with pride. He hadn’t expected his son to pick up on his moves so quickly—or to be so strong at such a young age.

With a wide grin, Jinwoo knelt down to Suho’s level, his voice full of admiration. “You really do, don’t you, Suho?” He ruffled his son’s hair affectionately. “That was impressive, kid. You’ve got some serious talent.”

Suho’s grin grew wider as he stood tall, his chest puffing out just a little. “I told you, I’m ready to fight with you, Dad!”

Jinwoo’s pride was clear in his eyes. His son, who had only just begun learning about combat, had already impressed him with his ability to keep up. A powerful, confident young warrior, his son was growing up fast, and Jinwoo couldn’t have been prouder.

“Let’s keep moving, then,” Jinwoo said, his smile still lingering. “We’ve got more shadow knights to clear, and I want you by my side, Suho.”

Suho nodded eagerly, already bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Let’s go, Dad! I’m ready for more!”

And together, they moved forward into the next stretch of the dungeon, ready to face whatever challenges awaited them.

After clearing the last of the shadow knights, Jinwoo and Suho finally reached the end of the dungeon—a massive, intimidating gate stood before them, the final obstacle between them and the dungeon boss room. Suho’s eyes were wide with excitement, and Jinwoo placed a hand on his shoulder.

“We’ve made it, Suho. Ready for this?” Jinwoo asked, his voice filled with quiet anticipation.

Suho nodded enthusiastically, his grip tightening on his weapon. “Yeah! Let’s go!”

With a deep breath, Jinwoo pushed open the gate. As it slowly creaked open, they stepped into the grand chamber beyond.

There, sitting on an imposing throne, was Y/N—draped in a full battle outfit that screamed “villainous queen” through every inch of its design. Her eyes, cold and calculating, looked down at them with an air of superiority as she casually leaned back, exuding a sense of power and control.

Beside her, Fenrir, Beru, Bellion, and Igris stood, perfectly still, their presence adding a heavy, ominous aura to the room. The shadows, including Tusk, Tank, Greed, and Iron, emerged from the shadows themselves, positioning themselves around the room with the silent precision of well-trained soldiers. Shadow knights took their posts, ready for the battle to begin.

Suho, unable to hide his awe, looked up at his mother. “Wow, Mom… you look amazing!”

Jinwoo, still processing the full extent of her transformation, blinked in disbelief. He turned to Y/N, unable to contain his curiosity. “Y/N, where did you get that outfit?”

There was a brief moment of silence as Y/N continued to stare down at them with cold, calculating eyes. The entire room seemed to hold its breath, as if the atmosphere itself was waiting for her response. Finally, she spoke, her voice sharp, yet dignified despite the casualness of her words.

“I rented it online,” Y/N replied, her tone betraying none of the humor one might expect from such a statement. Her gaze never wavered, and she leaned forward slightly, her fingers resting on the arms of the throne.

Jinwoo stared at her for a moment, taken aback by the sheer nonchalance in her response. He couldn't help but laugh, but it was clear his mind was still racing, trying to process everything around him.

Y/N, seeing the slight crack in his composure, didn’t allow the moment to linger for long. She sat up straighter, her eyes narrowing slightly as she began her villainous monologue, her voice dripping with menace and power.

"Enough of the chatter," she declared coldly, her voice echoing in the grand chamber. “You’ve come this far, but it was never meant to be easy. Every step you’ve taken, every shadow you’ve fought, has brought you to this moment—your final test. But do not fool yourselves. You are facing a force far beyond your comprehension. A force that has shaped this dungeon with the very essence of power.”

Her eyes flashed with dark amusement as she stood from the throne, her hand lightly resting on the scythe she had at her side. “You think you can challenge me? You think you can defeat me and walk out of here unscathed? You are mistaken. This is my domain, and here, I am absolute.”

Suho, caught up in the excitement of the moment, couldn't help but mirror his mother's tone. He stood tall, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he tried to match the villainous aura Y/N exuded. “Yeah! You think you can beat us, Dungeon Boss? We’ve got this!”

Jinwoo couldn’t help but chuckle at how easily Suho had gotten swept up in the mood, adopting the same dramatic flair. Despite the tension in the air, it was hard not to smile at the sight of his son fully embracing the playful chaos that Y/N had brought to the dungeon.

Y/N, however, was in her element, and the dark energy in the room seemed to surge with every word she spoke. “Prepare yourselves. The battle you face now will not be an easy one. But be warned, you will not leave here without feeling the weight of my power. I will make sure of it.”

Jinwoo's eyes softened as he looked at Suho, his heart swelling with pride. Then, without missing a beat, he turned to Y/N, ready for the challenge that lay ahead. “We’ll see about that.”

The shadow knights initiated the attack, but Y/N couldn’t tear her eyes away from her son, Suho. Despite his young age, he was trying so hard to keep up with Jinwoo, doing his best to protect his father’s back when enemies approached from behind. The sight of her son growing stronger with each battle made her heart swell, though she had to stay in character.

“Pathetic,” she muttered in a low, villainous tone. “You dare challenge me?” But deep down, there was a warmth blossoming inside her chest, watching as Suho’s small hands fought alongside Jinwoo’s much larger and more experienced ones.

Suho wasn’t just following his father’s moves—he was starting to make his own, improving with each swing, each step. Her pride for them both grew, though she quickly shoved those feelings aside. I am the villain, she reminded herself. I must stay strong, stay menacing.

When the shadow knights were wiped out in mere minutes, the shadow generals stepped forward, but even they hesitated. They clearly held back to avoid hurting Suho, who was still so young. It was a thoughtful, though unnecessary, precaution. Jinwoo took advantage of their hesitation and swiftly wiped them out.

The room went quiet as the last shadow general crumpled to the ground, leaving only the victorious duo—Jinwoo and Suho—standing tall and confident. They exchanged a glance, a shared grin, and Y/N felt her insides twist.

Oh no, she thought, her heart beating faster. They really look so much alike. My husband, my baby... so cute...

In her mind, an "ugly" version of herself appeared—face scrunched up in tears, eyes brimming with emotion. It was as if she were physically sobbing at the sheer adorableness of her family. The sight was so overwhelming that she could hardly contain herself. Look at them, she thought, feeling that powerful, gooey affection bubbling inside her. They’re perfect. My heart can’t handle it.

Her mind then shifted back to reality. I am the villain! I am evil!

Yet, there was no denying it—her heart was filled to the brim with love for them both, and that ugly, crying version of herself lingered in her mind, silently wailing at the scene of Jinwoo and Suho standing before her in victory.

But she couldn’t let it show. She couldn’t let them see her weakness, even if she was on the brink of internal fangirling over how cute they were.

She stood from her throne, the weight of her role settling back over her. Her hand raised, and the scythe appeared beside her, gleaming ominously. She had to maintain the tension in the room.

“Do you think you’ve won?” she asked in a voice laced with cold malice. "This is where your journey ends. You’ve come so far, but the final trial is upon you. Prepare to face the true power of the dungeon—my power!”

Her eyes narrowed, and she turned toward Jinwoo, pointing the scythe at him. “You, my dear, will fall first. You think you’ve bested me, but I will show you my true strength!”

Inside, though, she still felt that ugly version of herself crying tears of joy. You two are too perfect, she thought, her expression momentarily softening. So cute…

But she quickly snapped back into villain mode, keeping her posture sharp and commanding. I can’t let them see me like this!

The dungeon air trembled as a powerful, haunting howl echoed across the room—Fenrir, summoned by Y/N, threw his head back and released a bone-chilling cry. The sound was primal, wild, and entirely dramatic.

Then came Igris, his crimson cape fluttering behind him as he drew his sword with dignified grace, the blade gleaming with dark light. Bellion stepped forward next, his wings stretching, multiple arms poised for battle, and Beru crouched beside them, claws extended, chittering with a strange sort of excitement. All four generals faced Jinwoo.

They launched their attacks in sync—fast, precise, and powerful—but every strike was clearly calculated. None of it was aimed at Suho. Not even once.

This was a fight between titans. Between King and Queen.

All the shadows had been ordered by their queen: attack Jinwoo with everything they had… but never scratch her baby. That was non-negotiable.

Jinwoo noticed immediately. They were going all out, and yet not a single strike came near Suho. He didn’t need to ask. He just understood. So he let loose, pushing his strength without holding back, knowing Suho would be safe.

The dungeon shook with their collision. Suho tried to jump in, to help, but the sheer pressure and speed of the battle kept him at bay. He stared in awe—this wasn’t pretend anymore. This was a real fight. And his father… his father was incredible.

"I… I can't keep up," Suho whispered to himself, stepping back slowly. "This isn't my fight yet… I have a lot to learn."

From her throne, Y/N glanced at her son, seeing the awe in his eyes. Her heart fluttered, proud of him for understanding. He wasn't discouraged—he was inspired. She smiled softly.

But then Suho looked at her.

Her smile vanished instantly, replaced with a cold, dangerous stare. She tilted her chin up, narrowed her eyes, and returned to full villain mode.

The shadows, sensing the shift, stepped back. Fenrir howled once more, and the four generals stopped their assault.

The stage was now clear.

It was time for the finale.

Jinwoo stood alone at the center, daggers in hand, his breath calm and steady. Across from him, Y/N descended the stairs with queenly poise, scythe resting over her shoulder.

“Didn’t think you’d go this far,” Jinwoo said with a small grin.

Y/N pointed the scythe at him, her voice chilling and theatrical. “You’ve trespassed into my domain. And now, you will pay the price.”

With no further warning, she lunged.

Clang!

The scythe came down in a clean arc, and Jinwoo barely raised his dagger in time to block it. The metal sang as they collided.

Jinwoo’s eyes widened. The force behind it—it was no joke.

“You actually swung that at me,” he said, half-laughing.

“I’m method acting,” Y/N replied coolly.

She twirled the scythe in a sweeping motion and stepped to the side, slashing diagonally. Jinwoo ducked, swept her legs, but she leapt, spun mid-air, and twisted like a dancer of death.

Jinwoo leapt back, throwing a dagger mid-air. She sliced it in half with one clean swing, her eyes burning with wicked joy.

“You’re enjoying this,” he muttered.

“Of course I am,” she smirked, planting her scythe into the ground and using the pole to vault over his head. She aimed a kick at his back, which he blocked with his forearm.

Suho’s eyes sparkled as he watched from the sidelines, absolutely invested.

Jinwoo used Shadow Step to appear behind her, but Y/N had predicted it. She turned, catching his wrist, and whispered:

“Too slow.”

He twisted out of her grip, grabbed her arm, and pivoted them both into a lock. For a second, it looked like he had her—until she smirked, let go of the scythe, and headbutted him lightly.

“Ow—seriously?”

“All’s fair in love and villainy.”

Jinwoo broke into a full laugh, stepping back. “I think your costume’s getting to your head.”

Y/N grinned with fake arrogance, picking up her scythe and pointing it at him once more. “No… this is who I truly am!”

They circled each other again, steps slow, both smiling, both deadly. The shadows, generals, and Suho watched with silent admiration.

To everyone else, it looked like an epic duel.

To them?

It was love in its purest, most chaotic form.

Flashes of light burst through the dungeon as Jinwoo’s daggers clashed again and again with the sweeping arc of Y/N’ scythe. Sparks flew, casting wild shadows across the walls. Every strike echoed like thunder, and the shadows that stood as the audience—Beru, Bellion, Igris, and the rest—watched in total reverence.

It wasn’t just a fight.

It was a performance.

A breathtaking, chaotic, and graceful display of strength and love. Every movement was precise. Every dodge, every feint, every counter was deliberate.

To Suho, who stood at the edge of the battle, eyes wide in wonder, it was the coolest thing he had ever seen. His parents weren’t just strong—they were awesome.

The dance between the two warriors intensified. Y/N spun with her scythe, leaping with a snarl, only to be parried by Jinwoo’s twin daggers. Jinwoo ducked low, swept her leg—but she flipped and countered mid-air. The rhythm, the pacing—it was perfect.

Shadows moved with every motion, reacting like living echoes to their battle. The flickering light of magic and movement painted the dungeon in an ever-shifting glow.

But Jinwoo knew something as they fought. Y/N? She didn’t plan to be defeated.

Not in front of Suho. Not in full costume. Not when she had a whole villain arc scripted in her head.

And him?

There was no way he was going to lose in front of their son either.

They clashed again—up close, breathless, blades locked.

And in that moment, when only inches separated them, Jinwoo leaned in close and whispered into Y/N’ ear—quietly, intimately, so only she could hear:

“You look way too hot in this outfit. If I win, I’m carrying you to the bedroom right after.”

Y/N blinked.

Eyes wide.

Her brain bluescreened.

The villain queen persona she had so carefully crafted sputtered like a dying campfire. Her cheeks lit up in a furious blush, her grip faltering just slightly—just enough.

Boom!

In one smooth, graceful move, Jinwoo spun her around, locked her arms, and pinned her down gently against the stone floor. He didn’t slam her—he didn’t need to. Just enough to assert victory… and to let her feel that whisper all over again.

Y/N stared up at him, flustered, hair splayed dramatically, breath caught.

“You…” she hissed under her breath, face glowing red. “You cheated.”

Jinwoo gave her a slow, smug smile. “You love it.”

And then—

“YAAAHH!!”

A tiny warrior’s cry echoed across the chamber.

Suho ran toward them, his wooden sword raised high. He dashed right up to his mother, gently *bap!*ing her side with the weapon.

“Take that, dungeon boss!!” he shouted, standing tall and proud. “I’ve defeated the queen!”

Y/N turned her head and looked up at her son.

Her beautiful, precious, chaotic son.

“I’ve been… defeated,” she declared in a dramatic gasp, still pinned under Jinwoo. “By the tiniest warrior of them all…”

Suho threw his hands in the air. “VICTORY!!!”

The shadows erupted into applause—dramatic, over-the-top, very much encouraged by Beru.

Jinwoo let go and helped Y/N sit up. She was still red, but now laughing, brushing her hair back.

“Remind me to ban you from whispering during combat,” she grumbled, smiling in defeat.

Jinwoo gave her a wink. “No promises.”

Just as Suho raised his little wooden sword in victory, the entire dungeon suddenly burst into color.

BOOM! FWWWHHH!!

Magical fireworks erupted in the ceiling—courtesy of Tusk, who conjured glittering sparks and shimmering lights that danced like stars. A wave of golden confetti rained down from above, sparkling in the dungeon light like tiny blessings from the heavens.

Bellion and Igris stood straight and proud behind him, as if this was the most sacred event they’d ever witnessed.

“🎉🎉✨✨HAPPY BIRTHDAY, YOUNG MASTER!!!✨✨🎉🎉”

Beru made a grand entrance with both arms dramatically spread wide—balanced perfectly on one clawed hand was a large, beautifully decorated cake. It was absurdly perfect, glowing slightly from the enchantments Tusk put in. There were miniature shadow knights on top of it, one even doing a tiny dab.

Y/N blinked at the confetti in her hair and then turned to Jinwoo. "Did you plan this?"

He just smiled as he helped her to her feet, brushing off her back. “I had help.”

Together, they walked over and joined Suho as everyone began to sing, slightly off-key but full of heart:

Suho’s cheeks puffed with excitement as he looked around, eyes wide, sparkling. His parents stood behind him, each with a hand on his shoulder. Beru presented the cake with a flourish.

“Happy birthday to you~

Happy birthday to you~

Happy birthday, dear Suhoooo~

Happy birthday to youuuuu~!”

“Go ahead, young master,” Beru said with over-the-top reverence, “Make a wish and blow the candles.”

Suho squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t even need to think hard—his wish had already come true.

He took a deep breath and—

“Huuuuh—PFFF!!”

Out went the candles.

Cheers erupted. The shadows clapped. Tusk made the fireworks explode in the shape of a heart. Iron did a backflip for some reason.

Then Suho turned and hugged both his parents tightly, burying his face between them.

Y/N felt a lump in her throat. Jinwoo gently wrapped both arms around his son and wife, holding them close.

“Thank you,” he whispered, muffled but full of sincerity.

“This is perfect. I love you sooooo much!”

This moment—this silly, magical, loving moment—was everything.

Tank gently rolled a celebratory banner out of nowhere.

And somewhere behind them, Beru was dramatically sobbing.

“Such a blessed day!! THE YOUNG MASTER HAS BLOOMED INTO GLORY!!”

After a long, joyful day of celebrations, the evening winds down with the family finally settling in. Suho had fallen asleep with frosting still on his cheek, surrounded by stuffed shadows and one very dramatic Beru acting as a pillow.

The house had grown quiet, save for the gentle sound of running water and clinking dishes in the kitchen.

Y/N stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up, humming softly to herself as she washed the remaining dishes. Her battle suit was long gone, replaced by one of Jinwoo’s oversized black shirts, practically drowning her but making her look even more adorable.

She didn’t notice him approach.

Jinwoo snuck up behind her, warm arms snaking around her waist. He rested his chin on her shoulder and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, his voice low and gentle against her skin.

“Everything’s taken care of. No more mess, no more trash,” he murmured.

Y/N giggled, leaning back into his embrace. “You do too much already, Jinwoo,” she whispered, voice soaked in fondness. “You’re always so hard on yourself.”

Jinwoo chuckled softly, pressing another kiss just below her ear. “I’m just trying to do my best.”

Y/N turned in his arms, looking up at him with eyes that could melt steel. She reached up, cupping his face with wet, soap-scented hands.

“You’re doing amazing,” she said, voice full of quiet conviction.

“As a husband, as a father… you’re perfect.”

Jinwoo blushed faintly, eyes flickering away, then back to her. She grinned.

“I keep falling more in love with you,” she added, a playful glint in her eyes.

“Level 999+.”

He laughed, low and warm, and leaned in to steal a quick kiss.

“Thank you, Y/N. For always believing in me.”

Then, with a little teasing smirk, he leaned closer and whispered in her ear—

“By the way… during our little duel earlier… Remember what I said?”

Y/N blinked, then her eyes widened just a little.

He grinned. “You looked so hot in that outfit, I almost forgot it was pretend.”

Her cheeks flared red. “Y-You…!” She tried to swat at him with the dish towel, but he caught her wrist and laughed.

Still holding her close, he pressed a gentle kiss to her neck and whispered again, this time with a glint of suggestion in his voice.

“We should take a bath together. The final raid of the day.”

Y/N buried her face in his chest with a dramatic groan. “You're impossible.”

He smirked. “You love it.”

She looked up, unable to hide her smile. “Unfortunately… I do.”

Jinwoo chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Let’s go, villain queen. Time to wash off the battlefield.”

Jinwoo chuckles, the sound warm and full of affection. He pulls back slightly to look at her, his eyes sparkling with amusement at how easily he still makes her blush. “You’re so cute,” he says with a grin, his heart swelling at how genuine and loving she is, even in these simple moments.

Y/N gives him a playful, half-shy look, biting her lip to suppress a smile. “Stop teasing me,” she mutters, but there’s a softness in her voice that betrays how much she loves these little moments of closeness between them.

Jinwoo laughs again, the sound of it full of warmth and joy, and gently pulls her closer, resting his chin on her shoulder. “You’re too easy to tease,” he says, kissing her cheek tenderly.

She rolls her eyes with a grin, still holding onto that blush, but can’t help feeling grateful for this gentle, affectionate side of him. She leans back into his embrace, feeling truly at peace. “Alright, alright… but only because I’m so tired from today,” she teases, her voice teasing but affectionate.

“Of course,” Jinwoo says with a smile, “But you know, a bath with you is just the perfect way to end the day.”

As they leave the kitchen, side by side, the warmth between them is palpable, the bond they share growing stronger with every passing day.

Jinwoo gently leads Y/N toward their bedroom’s bathroom, his hand resting lightly on the small of her back. He had already prepared everything—he knew how much she appreciated a calming atmosphere, especially after a long, hectic day. As they enter the room, the soft glow of scented candles flickers around the space, casting a warm, intimate light. The soothing scent of lavender fills the air, mixing with the subtle fragrance of rose petals floating in the lukewarm water of the tub. The room feels like a peaceful sanctuary, the air rich with relaxation.

Jinwoo smiles as he watches Y/N take in the comforting atmosphere. “Everything’s ready,” he says softly, his voice a calm reassurance. “I thought you might like a little extra tonight.”

Y/N gazes around the room, a soft smile tugging at her lips as she breathes in the calming scents. Her shoulders relax immediately, the tension from the day melting away. “This is perfect,” she whispers, turning to Jinwoo with eyes filled with affection. “Thank you.”

Jinwoo simply nods, his heart swelling as he watches her unwind. He gestures toward the tub, stepping aside to allow her to climb in first. He follows her in, carefully adjusting the water and making sure it’s the right temperature, before sitting behind her, wrapping his arms around her as they settle into the warm water.

Y/N leans back into his chest, her body immediately relaxing at the comfort of his embrace. She closes her eyes, sighing in contentment as she rests her head against his shoulder. The warmth of the water, the calming scent of lavender, and Jinwoo’s steady presence all come together in a perfect moment of peace.

Jinwoo holds her close, his hands gently massaging her shoulders, his touch tender and loving. They don’t need to say much—just the shared quiet, the soft rhythm of their breathing, and the occasional murmur of affection. Y/N leans into him even more, the closeness of the moment enveloping her, feeling completely safe in his arms.

“This is perfect,” she murmurs again, her voice filled with quiet joy. “I could stay here forever.”

Jinwoo smiles softly, pressing a kiss to her temple. “You’re perfect,” he whispers back, his voice low and sincere. “Everything about you.”

Y/N smiles, her heart full. She feels a sense of tranquility she hasn’t known in a long while, the weight of the day’s events slipping away. In this quiet moment, everything feels right. She holds his hand, squeezing it gently, knowing that, no matter what, they’ll face everything together.

The candlelight flickers gently around them, and for a moment, the world outside doesn’t matter. All that matters is the warmth between them, their hearts in sync, and the peace they’ve found in each other’s arms.

As they relax in the bath, Jinwoo’s tender kisses move from Y/N’s lips to her neck, trailing slowly down her shoulder. His hands gently roam her body, his touch careful and loving, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath his fingertips. Y/N giggles softly, the sensation making her shiver slightly, but she leans into him, her eyes sparkling with affection.

Before he can fully lose himself in the moment, Y/N playfully turns in his arms, straddling him. Her arms rest on his shoulders as she gazes down at him, her smile filled with warmth and teasing. “You know, Jinwoo… you’re so perfect and I’m so lucky,” she says with a mischievous glint in her eye.

Jinwoo chuckles, clearly enjoying her attention. “All for you,” he murmurs softly, his voice full of affection.

Y/N raises an eyebrow, her lips curling into a sly grin. “Mmmp! Your handsomeness is too problematic,” she teases, poking fun at the memories of battles they’ve fought. “Remember the Bitch of Echoes? Good thing I crashed her,” she says, her tone playful, but her eyes soft with love.

Jinwoo laughs heartily, the sound full of warmth and amusement. But just as he’s about to respond, he’s caught off guard by a sudden bite to his shoulder. Y/N’s teeth press against his skin, hard enough to leave a mark, and Jinwoo groans in pain, his body tensing slightly from the unexpected action.

Y/N pulls away, her eyes gleaming with mischievous pride. “You’re mine,” she whispers, teasing him further as she leans in close.

But as their eyes meet, something shifts in the air. Jinwoo’s gaze darkens, a flicker of something primal flashing in his eyes—hunger, desire, a quiet intensity that causes the atmosphere between them to change. Y/N, for the first time, feels a shiver of anticipation run through her, the playful moment now giving way to something deeper.

For a brief moment, everything seems to still, the world outside their little bubble fading away. They are left only with each other, the heat of the water, the closeness of their bodies, and the electric tension between them. The bond they share is undeniable, and in this moment, it feels stronger than ever.

“Jinwoo…” Y/N breathes, her voice suddenly soft and steady, as she watches him, her heart racing slightly.

The air between them thickens with tension as Jinwoo’s gaze darkens, his primal hunger igniting a fire in Y/N that she can’t ignore. His hands, strong and possessive, tighten on her hips, pulling her so close that the warmth of their bodies overshadows the water surrounding them. Y/N shivers, not from the chill but from the raw intensity in his eyes, the way he looks at her like she’s his entire world.

“Y/N,” he whispers, his voice a low, rough murmur that sends a shiver down her spine. Before she can respond, his lips find hers, hungry but careful, his tongue sliding against hers in a silent plea. She moans softly into his mouth, a quiet “Mmm,” that vibrates against his lips, and he responds by deepening the kiss, his hands roaming her body with a restrained urgency.

She shifts to straddle him, her thighs bracketing his hips as she lowers herself onto him. Her arms loop around his shoulders for support, fingers digging into his muscular back as she feels the first stretch of him inside her. “Jinwoo—ohh,” she breathes, her voice barely above a whisper, the fullness of him making her tremble. “You’re so big… so deep…”

Jinwoo groans quietly, his head tipping back slightly as her warmth envelops him, but his hands guide her gently, encouraging her to move. Each roll of her hips draws a soft, breathy moan from her lips—“Ahh, yes, Jinwoo”—a sound so low it’s almost lost in the gentle lapping of the water. She feels so full, so utterly claimed, and it’s all she can do to hold on, her nails scraping lightly against his skin as she finds a rhythm.

But Jinwoo’s desire takes over. His lips find her neck, hot and insistent, and he begins to mark her with slow, deliberate kisses. “I love you so much,” he murmurs against her skin, his voice a hushed chant of devotion. “So much, Y/N—you’re everything to me.” His teeth graze her pulse point, then press down just enough to leave a faint mark, and she gasps, a soft “Ohh, Jinwoo” escaping her lips.

He moves lower, his mouth latching onto her chest, sucking and nipping at her breasts until she’s trembling above him. “Love you, love you, love you,” he whispers between each mark, each bruise that will bloom later a silent testament to his passion. Her moans are quieter now, a series of soft “Mmm, yes, I love you too” as she rides him, her body rocking against his in a steady, careful rhythm.

But as the pleasure builds, her voice threatens to rise, a louder “Ahh!” slipping out as he thrusts up to meet her. Jinwoo’s hand flies to her mouth, his fingers pressing gently against her lips as he hushes her. “Shh, love,” he whispers urgently, his eyes soft but serious. “Our son’s sleeping. We can’t wake him.”

Y/N nods, her breath hitching as she bites her lip to stifle another moan. “Sorry,” she murmurs, her voice trembling with both desire and embarrassment, but the fire in her eyes doesn’t dim. She leans in, kissing him deeply to muffle her sounds, her hips moving faster now, more desperate.

Jinwoo’s control frays, and with a careful but firm motion, he lifts her off him, turning her around so she’s facing away, her hands scrambling to grip the edge of the tub. “Hold on,” he whispers, his voice dark and commanding, and she obeys, her fingers curling around the slick tiles in a silent promise.

He enters her from behind, his thrust slow at first but quickly building to a fast, rough rhythm that makes her breath catch. “Jinwoo—ohh, please,” she whispers, her voice barely audible but heavy with need, her knuckles whitening as she clings to the tub like it’s her lifeline. Each movement is deep and urgent, his hips pressing against her with a controlled intensity that sends shivers up her spine.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his hands gripping her hips tightly but gently, guiding her through the storm of pleasure. Her moans are soft now, a series of quiet “Mmm, yes, more” and “Ohh, Jinwoo,” muffled against her arm as she buries her face to stay silent. He leans forward, his lips brushing her ear as he whispers, “You’re mine, Y/N. Always.”

The pressure builds until she can’t hold back, her body tensing as a soft, shuddering moan escapes her—“Jinwoo”—her climax hitting her like a wave, quiet but overwhelming. He follows moments later, his own release a low, muffled groan against her shoulder, his arms wrapping around her as they both tremble in the aftermath.

They stay like that, breathless and still, the water gently lapping at their skin. Y/N’s grip on the tub loosens, and Jinwoo pulls her back against his chest, his lips pressing a tender kiss to the marks he’s left on her neck. “I love you,” he whispers, his voice soft and full of warmth.

“Love you too,” she replies, her voice just as quiet, a smile tugging at her lips as they share a moment of perfect, silent intimacy.

The house feels whole.

Y/N closes her eyes, resting her forehead against Jinwoo’s, their fingers laced underwater.

No more worries tonight. No battles to fight. Just them.

Together.

As it should be.

Echoes of Fate (2) | END

Tag requests: @kisssleeping; @catsf0rlife707; @aorifukuzawa; @joannthebish; @ojog404; @tanspostsblog; @snowy-violet; @o-qi-shisme; @sleepyamaya; @harrystylesfan2686; @night-shadowblood-writes2; @weaponxgames; @bubera974; @moonlightsof; @limerenceisserenity; @mashiromochi; @its-carlerrr; @kuramiachan; @purplehazzes; @leviackerman2030; @estrnrea; @fckwritersblock;

[leilakisakabiri]

Jealousy, Jealousy (Gavi)

Summary: You realize that Gavi never gets jealous when other guys are around you and it makes you question if he still likes you. 

Warning(s): None

A/N: Hey! I had some inspiration to write so here I am! I’m trying to release shorter fics while I work on my longer ones. Requests are open!

Word Count: 2.5k+

Masterlist

The first time it happened, you felt relieved that Gavi had decided not to make a scene and instead chose to calmly defuse the situation.

The two of you had been at a club late one night, the high from Barcelona winning hours before pumping through your veins. He had his arms wrapped around you as you both danced to whatever Spanish song the DJ was mixing.

You laughed as he spun you around before pulling you closer, leaning down to whisper in your ear as he moved a strand of hair out of your face. 

"I'm going to grab another drink. Want to come?"

His breath was hot against your ear, and even though it felt like a million degrees in the club, and you were sweating through your dress, you still shivered, his voice sending shockwaves through your system no matter how many times you heard it.

You looked up, locking eyes, "I'm good, I'll save our spot."

He kissed the top of your head before letting go, "Ok I'll be back in a second. Try and find the others if you can."

You gave him an awkward thumbs up as he walked away and he chuckled before disappearing into the crowd.

The two of you had been dating for just shy of three weeks.

You had been friends for months before dating, with you initially being introduced to him through his hometown friends. Then there was a three-month period where you both liked each other but were too scared to admit it and ruin the friendship. Finally, Gavi caved after spending two weeks away from you without contact while he playing in the U.S.

Since he admitted his feelings for you that night on the steps of your shitty college house, he had jumped straight into the relationship, inviting you to his games, to hang out with his friends, and private dinners. You on the other hand still felt like an awkward pre-teen girl every time you were with him, he just made you feel giddy inside, and you reacted to things he said so intensely that the only way to cover it up was with strange humor and stupid jokes.

That led you to now. Sometimes being around him was so overwhelming because you were always scared you would say something to embarrass yourself, and although he never made you feel any less worthy you couldn't help but feel like he could be with someone much better than you.

As you stood there contemplating, you felt a body collide with yours, effectively pulling you out of your thoughts.

You stumbled, feeling hands come up to grip your elbows, stabilizing you.

"Shit- my bad."

You looked up seeing the guy holding you sporting a white button-down and an apologetic smile.

"Sorry, those guys just pushed me. Some friends." He said referring to the group of five or so extremely drunk boys behind you.

You shook your head, "No worries, I wasn't paying attention either."

He smiled, leaning a bit closer, hands still on your elbows, "Hey do I know you? You look really familiar.”

You squinted your eyes as you gazed at him, trying to figure out if you knew him.

"Eh I go to Universitat de Barcelona if that helps."

His eyes lit up at your words, and he nodded, "Yeah, that's totally how I know you. I think you're in my biology class."

You groaned, "No way the one at 8 a.m.?", he nodded, "I'm barely awake for that lecture." you muttered.

"Mean either but it's hard not to notice you."

You only heard half his sentence and looked at him confused, "Sorry what?"

His lips tugged up in a smile as he bent down, shifting closer to you, "I said it's hard not to notice you."

You felt your breath stop as you realized what you had gotten yourself into. You made a move to shy away when you heard Gavi call your name.

You lifted your head seeing him approaching as he carried your drink, "Hey who's this?"

You went to interject and tell him it was no one but the guy next to you interrupted, "Hey man, I got to school with her.”

Gavi nodded, accepting his answer as he handed you your drink, "Oh class friend?"

You went to speak but were again cut off by the guy next to you, who had still to let go of your elbow.

"Something like that."

You saw Gavi's posture slightly straighten at his words but he relaxed a second later, "Alright."

The guy turned to you saying something about seeing you in class and then proceeded to give you a hug, his arms wrapping around your lower back.

You noticed Gavi watching the exchange but he made no comment.

You approached him timidly, unsure of if he was going to say anything about the situation, but he paid it no mind, going back to casual conversation with you.

At the time you let out a breath, thankful that he seemed intent on letting you handle your own situation.

That thankfulness soon turned to annoyance and then confusion when similar situations happened time and time again and he made no effort to speak up.

You supposed it was good he never got jealous because you knew it could get very overbearing very fast, and yet, you couldn't help the twinge of defeat you felt every time someone tried to make a move on you and he did nothing to stop them or even show a ounce of emotion.

Slowly it was making you start to question your relationship with Gavi.

Why did he not get jealous? Was it because he didn't see others as a threat? Or didn't feel the need to because you weren't as pretty as the other girls he was seen with? Maybe he simply didn't care? Or perhaps he wasn't the type?

You knew the last one couldn't possibly be true because he was absolutely the type. His entire career was based on his passion, determination, and aggression to get where he wanted. His aggression is what made him so competitive and a loyal player. So if he was so driven and passionate on the field, why was that not carrying over into your relationship?

It wasn't until almost two months later that things came to a boiling point.

It was the last game of the pre-season for Barcelona and spirits were high, everyone hoping they could seal off a great season, and enter a new one, with a win.

The stadium was filled to the brim with fans and reporters. The family section was also full with player's partners and families coming to support them in the final game of the summer.

You were sitting next to Anna, the two of you talking about school, work, and life.

Eventually, the game started and you went into full-on fan mode - cheering along when Barca made impressive plays and booing when they were tackled.

The stadium was abuzz with energy, and you basked in everyone's excitement.

You gripped Anna's hand as you saw Gavi running up the sidelines towards the other team's defense, Joao running parallel to him.

You saw him sidestep, dodging the defender, and suddenly the ball was soaring, perfectly landing at Joao's feet as he placed it into the back of the net.

The two of you jumped up, cheering along with the rest of the crowd. It seemed like Barcelona would have its victory after all.

After the game, you stayed in the family section for a while chatting with Pedri's parents as you waited for the players to make a re-emerge.

You bid goodbye to them when you got a text from Gavi telling you to come down.

You made your way down to the field, waiting behind the barricades for him to appear.

The other team's players appeared first, signing fans t-shirts and taking photos.

"Need something signed?"

You saw a player from the other team approach you, waving a sharpie in his hand.

You pointed at your jersey playfully, "No thanks. I'm a Barca girl if you couldn't tell."

He grinned, "Ahh c'mon what will it take for me to convince you?"

You shrugged your shoulders, "Ride or die sorry."

He clutched his hand to his heart in mock offense, "Ouch. I'm hurt, but I'm not giving up."

You gave him a smile, remaining polite, as you looked over his shoulder for Gavi.

"Oh I know!" he exclaimed, directing your attention back to him.

He wiggled his eyebrows before taking off his shirt, "Here, new jersey for you."

He held it out to you, and you gave him an unimpressed look.

He rolled his eyes playfully, "Alright fine. I'll sign it, but only cause you asked so nicely."

You watched amused as he signed the jersey before offering it to you.

You squinted your eyes at him.

He dangled the jersey in his hands, "C'mon take it. You know a lot of people would pay good money for this."

You reached out to grab it, "Fine, but only because I'm going to sell it later."

He held up his hands in surrender, "It's yours now. Do whatever."

You thought the conversation would end there but he made no effort to leave, "Who are you here with anyway? Someone in Barca?"

You opened your mouth to respond but were cut off.

"Me."

You whipped your head to see that Gavi had silently approached the two of you.

Besides yourself, you felt a tiny part of you waiting with bated breath for him to do something, to finally dig his boots in the ground and say something, but he remained impassive.

"Hey."

"Hey, you ready to go?" Gavi asked.

You nodded your head, unsure of how to leave the situation.

"I can lift you over the barricade if you need." The other player spoke up, and your eyes immediately flitted over to Gavi's to gauge his reaction.

His eyebrows furrowed but he didn't say anything.

You debated for a second, just to get Gavi to react, but quickly decided against it, opting to just walk around the barricade.

You approached the two of them quickly and with a hasty goodbye followed Gavi as he left the pitch. You heard the other player shout a 'see you around', and you waved in response.

You broke the silence first as you walked the empty tunnel, "Great game baby. You did amazing."

"Thanks."

His reply was clipped.

He went to hold your hand and you shifted the jersey last second to your other hand, catching his attention.

"What's that?"

"Oh, that guy gave me his jersey. I'm going to sell it." You explained, telling him how you were expecting to make hundreds.

He listened along till you finished.

"Can I see the jersey?"

You nodded handing it to him.

You swung your joint hands as you walked, talking to him about the game as he examined the jersey.

Abruptly he dropped your hand, mouth set in a firm line.

Your eyebrows stitched together, "What's wrong?"

He cleared his throat before handing you the jersey.

"I think there's something for you on it."

"I forgot something in the locker room, I'll be right back." He continued.

You looked down confused, eyes scanning the text before it clicked.

The jersey had the player's phone number on it.

You lifted your head seeing him already walking away, "Gavi wait. Can you stop for a minute?"

He turned around but continued moving, "Yeah what?"

"Stop moving!” You exclaimed, your frustration building as he continued to not express any interest in the situation.

He finally halted and you closed the distance between the two of you.

"Is there something wrong with me? Do you not like me anymore or something?"

He seemed taken aback by your words and several emotions flitted across his face, "What are you talking about?"

You took a breath, it was now or never.

"I'm not trying to sound conceited, but I'm pretty sure that guy was hitting on me-"

"He was." Gavi confirmed.

You continued, "So then why don't you care? I'm your girlfriend, so why aren't you getting jealous when other guys hit on me?"

"You want me to get jealous?" He asked incredulously.

"I mean I don't want you to become super overprotective or anything, but it would be nice if you at least acknowledged when someone is trying to get with me right in front of you. I know I would get jealous if someone was saying that to you."

"You don't think I get jealous?" His voice had a hard edge to it, and suddenly you felt like you might have read between the lines wrong.

You shrugged your shoulders, unsure, "I mean you don't show it."

"Of course I'm going to notice when some guy is eye fucking my girl one foot away from me, I'm not fucking blind."

"Then why don't you say anything?" You pressed.

“Shit y/n that's cause I don't want to scare you away!"

His admission only confused you further, and you lowered your voice acutely aware that your shouts were probably carrying far in the quiet tunnel,

"Scare me away? Why would that scare me?"

He shook his head, "The press is always making me out to be this bad guy. This kid that doesn't know how to get his temper in check and - mierda y/n - I don't want to get into this right now."

You relented, unwilling to give in, biting the bullet, "Alright so next time someone asks to lift me up, their just being friendly right? Trying to be helpful?"

His eyes blazed, "That's not what I meant and you know it."

You lifted your hands in frustration, "No Gavi actually I don't know that. You act like you don't even care."

"I care! Trust me y/n I care!" He argued.

"Then show me."

His lips were on yours before you had even finished processing what you were saying. His skin felt hot against yours as his fingers sank into your hipbone, crowding you against the wall.

You lost your train of thought as you got lost in the sensation he provided you. One hand went to tangle in his hair, as the other draped around his neck bringing him impossibly closer.

One of his hands slipped under your shirt, as he kissed you senseless. You finally pulled away for a breath but he didn't stop, moving to lay a trail of kisses from the sweet spot behind your ear, down your neck, and onto your collarbone.

You left out a soft moan underneath him, the feeling causing tingles in your spine, and a fluttery feeling in your stomach.

"We should really sto- fuck gavi - so-someone could walk in any moment." You reminded him.

"Just gotta leave a mark." He replied.

You nodded before his words caught up to you and you pushed him off, "What? No marks! I have to meet your parents tonight." You whined.

He grinned, not looking the least bit apologetic, "At least people will know you're mine now."

[letters-to-lgbt-kids]

(TW: Religion/Spirituality, mixed pronouns for God)

My dear lgbt+ kids,

Maybe trans people are proof that God exists.

Maybe God purposefully made trans people to show us She exists.

That may feel like a provocative statement - we’re so used to even the most trans-supportive religious arguments sounding like, “Maybe God doesn’t hate you despite going against the rules He created.” So it can feel strange, even uncomfortable, to suggest the opposite: that you are not a disruption of divine order, but a vital and powerful part of it.

This will not fit every belief system (I don’t think anything ever does), and you don’t need to integrate it into yours. But think about it this way:

The fact that trans people exist proves that humans are more than just flesh. We are more than bodies that ultimately will only make decisions that secure food, sleep, and procreation. We are spirit, we are souls. We have something deep inside us that says: “This is who I am, and this is what I need.” And somehow, we know to trust that voice, even when everyone around us tells us not to.

What is that voice, if not sacred? What is gender euphoria, if not a glimpse of God’s love?

Following that voice in this world is not easy. It is not comfortable or convenient. And yet - trans people exist. We have always existed. Across all centuries, continents, and cultures, we keep showing up. We keep becoming ourselves. That’s not a glitch in God’s plan. That is part of the plan.

And why wouldn’t we be? After all, we are a powerful testimony to creation. Our lives show that God’s creation is not static, not limited to binaries, not finished. That Her creation is ongoing. Expansive. Bold. So loving that They allow us to partake in it.

With all my love, Your Tumblr Dad

PS: She/Her pronouns version here

[orellazalonia]

Slow to Forgive

Summary: Bucky reports back to the team as he copes with what has happened among her, you, and everything else that has occurred. Meanwhile, a few people gradually start visiting you, trying to reconnect in their own different ways.

Word Count: 2.7k+

Main Masterlist | The One You Don’t See Masterlist

The others were already gathered when Bucky returned.

He stepped through the door with that same steady walk, but something about his posture was tighter now. Like tension had settled into his spine and hadn’t left. Steve noticed it first. Natasha second. Sam leaned off the wall, catching the subtle difference in Bucky’s expression.

No one said anything at first.

Just waited.

“She’s not panicked,” Bucky said finally, his voice low as he moved to the table. “She’s calm. Like she’s already made peace with what happens next.”

Steve crossed his arms. “Did she give you anything?”

“No intel,” Bucky replied, shaking his head. “No locations, no contacts, nothing we can use right away.”

“But?” Bruce prompted, reading between the lines.

“But she believes she’s right.” Bucky leaned on the table now, both hands braced against the edge. “Every word out of her mouth was confident. She doesn’t think she betrayed us, she thinks she exposed us.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed. “Did she admit to leaking the access codes?”

“She didn’t need to. She didn’t deny it either.” He exhaled. “She didn’t even sound angry. Just… disappointed.”

Sam muttered something under his breath and paced to the other side of the room.

Wanda looked up quietly from where she sat near the terminal. “She hurt you.”

It wasn’t a question.

Bucky’s gaze flicked to hers, and for a second the mask cracked. A flicker of something raw passed through his eyes before it disappeared again.

“She was good at pretending,” He admitted. “And maybe I was good at letting her.”

Steve’s brows drew in, thoughtful but firm. “You think she’s still playing us?”

“I think,” Bucky began carefully, “That she meant everything she said. And that’s what makes her dangerous.”

“Conviction,” Natasha murmured.

“Yeah.” Bucky straightened. “She’s not waiting to be rescued. She’s not scared of the consequences. She really believes she did the right thing.”

Clint let out a long sigh. “So… what now? We sit on our hands while she philosophizes us into another blind spot?”

“We keep her locked down,” Natasha said firmly. “And we dig. Every file, every trace, every soft point in the system she could’ve used.”

Steve nodded slowly. “We can’t take any chances.”

Wanda looked toward the far hallway, where the containment wing lay silent behind reinforced doors. “She was always so kind,” She whispered. “It’s strange how kindness can be used like a blade.”

Bucky didn’t respond. He didn’t move.

He just stared at the map projected on the center table, a faint blinking cursor where the organization’s last known base used to be.

“I don’t think she regrets it,” He said. “And that’s the part that scares me the most.”

The new room they’d put you in wasn’t a cell. But it wasn’t anything cozy either.

It had walls. A bed, a bench, and a chair. There was even a sink, a screen, and a light that never fully shut off. Just bright enough to make sleeping feel unnatural. Just soft enough to keep you awake wondering when someone would knock and say it was time for another “talk.”

You sat curled up in the corner of the narrow bed, legs tucked to your chest, back pressed against the wall. You weren’t restrained, but the silence weighed heavier than metal.

Nobody had said much since the breach. No one told you anything. And so, you didn’t ask.

You were used to being forgotten, even here, even now.

So when the door slid open, you didn’t look up right away. Not until you heard his voice.

“Hey,” Sam said softly, stepping just inside the room. “Mind some company?”

You blinked. Then nodded once.

He didn’t sit right away. Just glanced around, eyes scanning the room and then you. Not with suspicion. Just quiet concern. His expression was gentle, like someone walking into a room where grief still lingered and not wanting to stir it too hard.

“You okay?” He asked, voice low.

You shrugged. “Define okay.”

That made the corner of his mouth twitch. Something close to a smile.

“Fair.”

He finally stepped over and took the chair, spinning it once before settling in backward, with his arms resting on the back like he always had a way of making everything feel casual. Even this.

“They told me you were still here,” He said. “Didn’t feel right that no one came to check in.”

You said nothing.

“I figured… after all this, you probably didn’t want another interrogation.”

That got a small, huffed sound from you, something resembling a laugh, or the ghost of one.

He glanced around, then leaned in slightly. “So I thought I’d do something crazy.”

You tilted your head.

“Just come in here and talk to you like a person.”

A beat of silence.

Then, softer, he added, ��Or sit here in case you didn’t want to talk at all. I’m good at both.”

You swallowed. The words felt stuck in your throat. For a moment, all you could do was stare at him. At the kindness in his eyes. The warmth. Not pity or duty. Simply kindness.

It undid something small in your chest.

“Why?” You asked, barely above a whisper.

Sam didn’t pretend. He sighed and leaned back a little.

“Because no one did before,” He said. “Not enough.”

You looked away.

“It’s not your job.”

“Nope,” He agreed. “Doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

Silence stretched between you. But it wasn’t sharp or cold. It settled softly.

“You didn’t have to come.”

“I know,” He replied gently. “That’s why I did.”

You blinked rapidly, jaw tightening as you tried not to feel too much. He noticed you didn’t feel like talking yet so he stood slowly, brushing his hands on his jeans.

“I’m not gonna push you,” He said. “But if you ever want to talk or sit or just complain about the food, I’m around.”

He paused at the door.

Then glanced back, his tone a little lighter.

“Oh. And I brought you something.”

From his jacket pocket, he pulled a granola bar and a pack of trail mix out, placing them both on the small ledge beside the sink.

“Not gourmet,” He said with a wink, “but better than those ration bricks.”

Then he left. No big goodbye. No expectation. Just a quiet kindness in the space where silence had taken root.

You stared at the snacks for a long time. And then, finally, you let yourself smile.

Just a little.

Even with Sam’s little visit, deep down, you really didn’t expect anyone to come back.

That was the rule, wasn’t it? People check in once, feel a little better about themselves, and then move on. Let the silence do the work. Let the person behind the glass fade back into being no one again.

But when the door opened again the next morning, you looked up; and this time, you blinked in quiet surprise.

Clint Barton stepped in, hands full of something that smelled like breakfast. His brow lifted when he saw you curled on the bed, alert.

“Morning,” He said, like this was normal. Like the awkwardness didn’t exist.

You sat up slowly, confused. “…Hi?”

He held up the bag. “Wanda said you liked blueberry muffins. I figured she wouldn’t say that unless it was true. So, uh… here.”

He crossed the room, setting the bag gently down beside you on the bed. Then, very deliberately, he stepped back. Giving you space and letting you decide what came next.

You looked at the bag. Then at him. “Why are you here?”

Clint scratched the back of his neck. “Sam told me you hadn’t really eaten. Thought maybe real food would help.” A beat. “And… to be honest, I feel like an ass.”

You blinked, surprised at the honesty.

He shrugged. “I was one of the people who got used to you always being quiet and efficient. Thought that meant you were fine. I should’ve known better.” His voice lowered. “That’s on me.”

You looked away. The muffin bag crinkled softly in your hand, “I’m not good at this.”

“Neither am I,” Clint said, half-smiling. “But we can sit in mutual awkward silence if that helps.”

You let out a soft laugh. It wasn’t much, but it cracked the shell a little.

He pulled the chair closer and sat without ceremony, resting his elbows on his knees. “You don’t have to talk about anything heavy,” He assured. “You want to tell me your least favorite cereal? We can do that.”

You studied him. Really got a good look at him. And for once, no part of his expression or demeanor was guarded. So you offered, quietly, “I think the off-brand fruit loops taste like sadness.”

He grinned. “Strong take. I respect that.”

A pause.

“Clint?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t know if I’m staying.”

He nodded, gaze soft. “That’s okay.”

You looked down at the muffin in your lap, hands curled around the warmth of the bag. “But I… don’t want to be alone.”

“You won’t be,” He said without hesitation.

And you believed him. For the first time in a long time, you really did.

The punching bag didn’t help Bucky.

He’d already changed it out twice that week, not because it tore, but because hitting it stopped giving him the quiet he needed.

Sleep hadn’t come easy either.

Not since that conversation. Not since her voice started echoing in his head again, so calm, so certain.

“You saw her breaking. You cared. But you didn’t reach out.”

He’d wanted to yell, to argue and push it away. But the worst part was… she was right.

He had seen it. The way you dimmed. The way you shrunk in rooms full of heroes and went unseen. And he'd noticed. He had meant to check in. Had meant to say something.

But he hadn’t.

Because other things always came first. Because you weren’t loud about needing help. Because he was focused on someone else.

And now? Now he kept hearing about how Clint stopped by. How Sam brought you snacks. How Bruce gave you books to read. And Wanda? Wanda just sat beside you in silence some days.

Like they all remembered you now, when it no longer counted the same.

He hadn’t visited yet. He just couldn’t bring himself to. He didn’t know what he’d say.

Because when he finally looked you in the eye, he was afraid you’d see the truth. That it wasn’t the betrayal from her that cut the deepest. It was how he had let you slip through his fingers without ever reaching out.

And he didn’t know if there was still time to fix that.

The lights in the corridor were dimmer at night.

Maybe to soften the edge of your confinement. Maybe to make the long hours feel less sterile. Either way, the hum of the overhead bulbs filled the space like static.

You didn’t look up when the door opened. You’d gotten used to the rhythm of footsteps by now. Sam’s easy presence, Wanda’s almost soundless approach, the calm echo of Bruce’s shoes.

But this was different.

It was heavier. Slower. Familiar in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time.

Your eyes lifted to find Bucky standing in the doorway. His hands were in his jacket pockets. Shoulders tense. His eyes flicked briefly to you before settling on a spot near the floor.

Neither of you spoke at first.

He crossed the room quietly, but didn’t sit. Just stood there, a little too close to the wall, like he didn’t trust himself to come closer.

You watched him for a moment then lowered your gaze. “I thought you weren’t going to come.”

He exhaled, the sound rougher than he meant it to be. “I wasn’t.”

That surprised you.

“I didn’t know what I’d say,” He continued quietly. “Still don’t.”

You didn’t move. Neither did he.

Bucky ran a hand through his hair, restless. “I’ve been trying to figure out when I stopped noticing you. When I stopped saying more than hi in passing. When you became part of the backdrop.”

Your throat tightened.

His gaze looked at you then. “I think you used to smile. Maybe not often. But when you did, it was real. You looked like someone who could still hope.”

You didn’t answer.

“Then it faded,” He murmured. “And I noticed that, too. And I didn’t do anything.”

You pressed your nails lightly into your palms. Just to feel something.

“Why are you telling me this now?” You whispered.

“Because I think I liked you,” He said.

Your breath caught.

“Not like… falling-for-you liked. I mean, maybe. But mostly I saw you. And I let that mean nothing.”

Silence thickened between you.

Bucky stepped forward then, just one step, and crouched beside you.

“I thought I was good at spotting people on the edge,” He said. “After everything I’ve been through, I thought I’d know. But I missed it with you. And I’m sorry.”

You stared at him, unable to speak. There was too much in your chest. Guilt. Anger. Longing. Sadness. A million things you didn’t have the right words for.

“You don’t have to forgive me,” He added gently. “Hell, you don’t have to say anything at all. I just needed you to know that… I should’ve been better.”

You didn’t look at him right away.

You couldn’t.

Because if you did, you were afraid you’d break all over again. And you’d done enough of that in private. Battling quiet grief. Handling silent disappointments. The kinds no one noticed, the kind no one had to.

Bucky stayed crouched by the chair, close enough to feel but not close enough to lean on. He gave you space. He always did, even when it was too much.

Your hands stayed in your lap, clenched lightly, fingers curled around the fabric of your sleeves.

“I used to…” Your voice wavered. You cleared your throat. “I used to imagine what it’d be like if you saw me.”

You could feel him shift slightly, not toward you, not away. Just enough to show he was listening.

“I don’t mean in some dramatic, love at first sight way,” You said quickly, eyes still locked on the floor. “I just… wondered what it would feel like to have your attention. Even for a minute, a full genuine minute.”

Silence.

Your hands trembled but you pressed on still.

“And then I stopped imagining,” You continued softly. “Because even when I was in the room, even when I worked, helped, covered for people; I was never someone worth looking at. Not to you. Not to any of you.”

That part cracked out sharper than you meant.

You finally looked at him. He looked like he’d been punched in the gut.

“I wasn’t waiting for a confession,” You said. “I wasn’t waiting for you or them. I’m not that naive.”

He opened his mouth, but you kept going.

“I just wanted to matter.” Your voice broke on the last word. “Not because I was loud, brilliant, or charming. Just because I was me.”

He closed his mouth again.

“I tried not to care,” You said. “When you talked to her, smiled at her, looked at her like she was the only one in the room.”

Bucky’s jaw tensed.

“And one of the worst parts?” You leaned back, blinking hard. “She was looking at me. Watching me disappear and she still let me go.”

A long silence stretched between you.

“I know I’m not innocent,” You said quietly. “I made my choice. But I didn’t do it because I hated you or anyone. I did it because I didn’t think anyone would come…”

He let out a shaky breath. “I wanted to.”

“But you didn’t.”

You didn’t say it cruelly. You said it like it was the truth. Because it was.

He stood slowly, step by step, as if gravity had doubled. His eyes were full of something heavy, unreadable.

“I don’t expect forgiveness,” He reiterated.

You nodded. “Good. Because I don’t know if I have it yet.”

Then he left, solemnly.

And when the door slid shut again, you finally let the tears fall, not because you were angry.

But because you still cared.

And that might’ve been the cruelest part of all.

Taglist: @herejustforbuckybarnes @iyskgd @torntaltos @julesandgems @maesmayhem @w-h0re @pookalicious-hq @parkerslivia @whisperingwillowxox @stell404 @wingstoyourdreams @seventeen-x @mahimagi @viktor-enjoyer @vicmc624 @msbyjackal @winchestert101 @greatenthusiasttidalwave @avivarougestan @saoirses-things @itsmejen @saucysasha2035 @smokescreen1000 @poiscntree

[sector38]

#NSFW

From Sector: 38

Entry: Ⅰ

Apparently, there was a time when people believed there was an edge to the world - that if you sailed far enough, you'd just fall off the side of the world. I used to find it so funny, I just couldn't understand or comprehend how this world had a definitive end to them

now, I understand.

Sitting at the edge of the sector, the cool metal of the man-made ground pressed against my bare thighs and the cold waters engulfing my feet staring out into the watery abyss.

Technically I wasn’t meant to be there, unless you have a valid pass you're not allowed outside the city walls and considering mine was four days out of date I very much did not want to be caught.

My friends spent their days working, rebuilding our society in miniature while i spent my days sitting at the brink of the universe staring out at the unchanging.

But even if i did work, what would i do? Who would i be? Who could i become?

A reconstructionist? A teacher? A cleaner? A cook?

So Instead I continued to sneak past the guards who can't be much older than me lined up like pawn pieces with faces harder than the boots they wear and sit, stare, soaking up the very thing that left us floating in silent devastation.

I should have brought my watch or my phone it was just that after last time (with me nearly dropping it and all) I thought best not, but now looking at the inky night sky I'm wondering whether that in itself was a mistake. No one is allowed out past curfew (10 pm summer, 8 pm winter) it's too dangerous, too unpredictable.

It's funny, they won't tell us what to be afraid of, and they'll tell us we have nothing to fear then usher us into cages, protection from an invisible entity - an immeasurable enemy.

Still, even I can feel it the shift in the air - the cooling breeze stilted like something holding it back or someone. If I was smarter, I would have left, grimaced at my wet feet in my clean new white socks and black shoes, and slipped in through the city walls -

Except, i was never known for being particularly smart.

Which is why when I saw flashes of colour in the sea instead of running I stayed transfixed - purple and white hues swaying in and out of focus though always remaining in a tight formation, a loose cluster.

They were coming closer to the surface, whatever they were, its colours becoming more pigmented in its hues, its actions becoming more assured and targeted: it was coming for me.

I was frozen, completely and utterly frozen - I couldn't scream or speak, I couldn't even breathe. The only assurance that I hadn't turned to stone was the sounding of my beating heart - and even then, I couldn't place the organ. I felt its ricochets in my throat and stomach but heard it like a gunshot stretched out through time.

A cold encircled my ankles, a loose grip coiling around me, barely touching me. The tenderals, if I can call them that climbed up my body till they poked through the surface of the water and wrapped themselves against my lower thighs.

Now i could see it: long tentacles sprouting from a cluster deeper in the waters - the purple skin translucent inside faint veins iridescent colours shimmering like solar systems from a far of place. The ends were elliptical, curved like she shell of an egg as if blown from molten glass.

My hands once frozen by my side reached out gently to touch the head of the tentacle closest to me - gently i lifted my shaking fingers stopping them in front of the strange creature. With careless inhibition it slithered along my fingertips till it rested in my palm, feeling its weight in my hand and the soft integument.

For a while, the world was just this - just me staring at this creature that seemed to hold each star dead and dying under its skin but then i felt it - the tentacles slight grip on my upper thigh, not as though it was trying to pull my into the waters but instead as though it was searching for something.

The tentacles began to pulse, gently and softly like the humm of birds on a summer night - gentle but unequivocally present before a voice clear yet distorted rung through my mind:

Do not be afraid

then they slipped under my short black skirt.

As if a trance had broken i gasped, dropped my hands in haste and so the head of the tentacle which once occupied a place in my palm opting to try and push my body up and away from the waters and its presence.

But it was too late.

I'd been too distracted, so stupid and curious i didn't notice just how many tentacles had wrapped themselves around me lower body - sensing my resistance they only seemed to hold on tighter tendredals slipping further and further up my inner thighs till they rested over my pastel pink panties.

The tentacle which lay in my hand curled around my wrists like an armlet - as though i was a forgotten pharaoh.

The head of the tenderal under my skirt began to pulse against my underwear, pushing slightly against it dampening the material.

Its words like a ping pong ball bounced around my head, the once empty space echoing its words over and over as its intrusion continued.

They didn't tell us much about the monsters that came with the flood but they did tell us some things of of which being all of them have at least a three percent intelligence increase between them and us. It never meant much to me didn't mean anything that these monsters had minds far superior to beings - i was more confused with how they came about this knowledge.

With which lucky team of xenozoologists gathered them up and spoke to them, communicated them.

I wonder what they would say now, how they would stare down at me in their long white lab coats and tightly pulled back hair as this elderitch creature hummed against my skin.

Do not let your mind wander

The tentacles gripped me wrists tighter, sometime ago they had captured my either wrist as well truly any thoughts of escape which may have entered my mind were banished. The other tentacle began to nudge more incessantly at my underwear - in this moment i couldn't understand how this creature was supposed to be more intelligent than me, no five percent more intelligent than our most intelligent human? And yet it couldn't figure out how to take off my panties? It wasn't like the material was so expensive that they couldn't easily break, with one strong tug they would fall into the waters, floating over the face of the deep blue before perhaps sinking or maybe just continuing to float.

It was then that a feeling overcame me - i hate to say it but it was like the rush of a wave, like the sudden feel of cold water on hot skin and salty water hitting the back of your tongue. It was like a perfect cocktail of euphoria, clarity and anticipation. I understood then all that i could have known.

It wasn't that the monster didn't know how to take of my panties, it wanted me to need it to.

I bit my lip, drawing blood in haste covering a moan that threatened to slip from my lips at the thought - the tang of iron coating my tongue and cheeks, probably dying my teeth.

Silently in my own mind i whispered "please" and that was all it took before it was ripping my underwear of my body and spreading my legs slightly a part with the force and care of a determined lover.

Smaller, colder tentacles the width of my fingers emerged from the waters and gently stroked my entrance - the suddenness and the low temperature had me writhing but the thicker tentacles stopped me from shifting too far from its touch.

Like tongues they flicked slowly against my now pulsing clitoris, heat resting heavy at the bottom of my stomach like a sunken stone. My head threw back in bliss and as my mouth parted to let out a moan a tentacle head filled my mouth - the head was slightly longer than those which had made themselves a home around my wrists and much thicker than those which currently were lapping at my swollen clit.

My mind was in a haze, nipples hardening against my shirt as my eyes oscilated between staring at the sentient monster or the stary firmament above.

I could feel my body becoming hotter, desperate for more contact as i began to push myself closer towards the small tendrils in spite of the tight grip they had on me.

As if sensing my eagerness the beast emerged more tentacles now wrapping around my large breasts, squeezing on them and instantly wetting my shirt. If not for the appendage humming pleasantly in my mouth i have no doubts i would be moaning loud enough to alert the guards.

As if attempting to milk me the tentacles grew more ferocious with their onslaught on my chest, pulling and squeezing till the white buttons popped off my shirt and into the night waters. Rushing forward smaller tentacles once again arose now pressing against my nipples the cold sensation doing nothing for my sweltering internal body temperature.

please, please, please,please, please, please, please, please, please,please, please, please, please, please, please,please, please, please, please, please, please,please, please, please, please, please, please,please, please, please, please, please, please,please, please, please please, please, please,please, please, please, please, please, please,please, please, please

My mind repeated over and over and over, each plea cluttering my mind till my brain was nothing but a palimpet of want and desire. Thankfully the creature from below was one of compassion.

In front of me the tentacle which once nudged against my nipples opened like a blossoming flower with five petal like shapes and in the centre a white glow, whiter than the sclera of an eye or the color of a cloud no this was a white that almost blinded me almost as white as the sun itself or atleast surrounded by the dark night mind and eyes clouded by lust it was.

They forged forward attaching themselves on my nipples sucking on them like the wet, endless cavity they were before the ones which once flicked against my clit did the same.

The waves on the water began to stir pushing and pulling the fabric of itself apart, before one final tentacle emerged. The appendage sporuted from the water till the tip reached far above my head, floating in front of me the out of water length must have been half my height. Aside from its length it was thicker than all the others by far, the thickness of it being comparable to my (still bound) wrists.

Slowly it bent down before sliding along the metal grounds of the sector nudging against my thighs as it slithered from side to side though still pluging forward like a snake, it was then that i understood its plan

It meant to be inside of me.

It stopped just outside my entrance, gently prodding and nudging again my tight opening, against the tentacle in my mouth i let out a tiny whimper eager and wanting.

Galvanised by my voice coated and dripping in hot want and sticky desire the tentacles holding my thighs and arms lifted me up into the air so i was floating above the metal and the water.

Then i felt it press against me, forcing its way in, as the movements of the tendredals on my breasts and clitoris began sucking more volatile with the tentacles around my breasts squeezing still at even pace, unceasing and unwavering.

Finally it pushed itself in me pressing tightly against my walls but still everceasing in its pursuit - from this angle i could see it losing itself in me and the bulge of my stomach as it pressed inside me.

It was all too much, too much pressure inside of me and outside of me and not to mention the sounds:

The wet squelching, the constant hum of its skin, the disrupted water thrashing against the creature, and my own dampened moans.

As if sensing i was near the creature quickly removed it's appendage from my once filled hole before plunging in without even a beat of rest - my eyes widened and rolled to the back of my head as it repeated the process till i could feel the pressure building inside the appendage of the creature.

Then the the tentacles in my mouth began to mirror it, moving in and out my mouth though slightly more slowly still which each thrust going deeper till i felt it rest on the back of my mouth and then dip into my throat.

The tears which welled in my eyes spilled out over my face and ran down my blushed cheeks before falling silently joining the larger body of water.

I'd been trying so hard, to do or be what I don't know: to be good, to be quiet, to pay attention but in the end, all it took was two words, not even spoken just two telepathically echoed words:

Let go.

And my body was gently convulsing like electricity was being struck through every vein the heat that pooled in my stomach spread snd rushed throughout me - but the creature didn't stop, didn't show any signs of ceasing fucking into me past the point or orgasm and then past the point of overstimulation till it began to plunge more erratically with more fever and less elderitch strategy.

Then i felt the sensation of being filled, as it fucked into me a thick white but translucent substance was pushed into me filling my already swollen belly and then the same substance was filling my mouth.

Its taste was like the smell of rained earth and sugar cubes and fresh whole milk and lavender i swallowed it lapping it up. I felt it begin to retreat but the taste was addictive i began to suck on the appendage feeling it twitch relentlessly in my mouth though ultimately keeping its place inside me as i sucked and swallowed.

The tentacles and tendrils which once held their place on my breast and clitoris slowly pulled away back into the sea as the once which held my thighs and wrists lowered my gently onto the groud with my back against the metal.

I gave one last suck to the tentacle before allowing it to leave my warm, wet mouth and giving it a final lick.

I barely watched it sink back into the ocean, mind and body to fucked out to even think of moving instead content to stare up the flickering stars feeling the warm goo seep out of me as the slight bulge of my stomach deflated.

The last thing I heard before I submitted to the gentle daze of my inner world, and it submerged itself back into its underworld:

See you soon