#Hi-Tech Modifications

[jeepclinic-blog]

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[k7tt1]

AN UNFORTUNATE FACT: Kitty is the Vees biggest simp / cheerleader / hypeman. She would take a bullet for them [ quite literally; she is programmed to never bring them physical harm as she is literally incapable of doing so & to prevent physical harm, should someone ever perform an attempt assassination on one of them ] just as she was programmed to & to always return to them, no matter how much they hurt her,

... but there is a question as to where her true loyalties lie; Mammon or The Vees? Or hell, even Asmodeus? Who has actual authority over her? Still figuring that out,

[starwarsanthropology]

Inspired by my wild misinterpretation of @here-comes-the-moose's post about what kind of packer Echo is, Echo with a packer post-skako

He's got maybe a little more lower body damage and for whatever reason elects to use an STP device - makes his life a little easier and he's already got a bunch of new accessibility devices and prosthetics so it makes sense.

Normally it's completely a nonissue but once and a while it falls out of his pants or someone shuffles it around when he's not wearing it and the chaos... i know tbb would not be normal about it

[caffeinewitchcraft]

AITA for going no contact with my brother after he pulled a scare on my husband?

EDIT: For those of you coming here from my brother’s post (X) to shit on me, you look like idiots. Try to have an original thought and really contemplate who’s telling the truth after hearing both sides.

I (32f) am one of three siblings. We come from a very well off family. My dad is a former Cryptid and he pioneered the Hook Man in the 70s, so he still gets residuals off of that. We grew up very comfortable and with the ability to do anything we wanted in life. My older brother went to a very prestigious school and my dad gave him the money for tuition. Because my older brother got scholarships, he was able to save some of that money. Right now he works in human tech (very lucrative), but his long-term plan is to use the money to start a Cyber Spook business once he is satisfied with his knowledge foundation.

I ended up taking a gap year before going to community college, but I never felt anything click. I worked part-time jobs spinning out scarer costumes and even did some part-time work as a slasher before deciding it wasn’t for me. I finally found my calling when I offered to help cater for my high school reunion, and now I run a fairly successful catering business.

When it came time for my younger brother, “Steve,” to get his money, he didn’t tell anyone what he was going to use it for. He was working as a Slasher at a small firm in town. We all assumed he’d either go to Scare School or invest the money to start a business like our older brother did.

So when Steve showed up to Halloween dinner one day, six feet taller with extra joints in his arms and legs, we were all shocked.

Dad was furious. He gave us all the same talk about the scare industry when we got our first part-time jobs documenting missions at his company. He told us that scare work was hard and backbreaking. We couldn’t buy our way into it or use his connections to become successful. If we were interested in it, we had to work our way up from the ground like he did. If we didn’t, we’d more than likely end up dead at the hands of a final girl.

He especially emphasized that mods had to be considered carefully and were NOT a substitute for skill.

Steve thought they were. When his company didn’t pay him back for his body modification AND didn’t promote him from Slasher to Regional Nightmare, he quit. But the surgeries drained his cash and he couldn’t afford his apartment anymore. He had to move back in with Mom and Dad. As always, Mom totally coddled him. She said that he didn’t have to pay rent and agreed with whatever he said when he’d go on these long tirades about his former company.

I could tell Dad wasn’t happy with the arrangement, but he’s never been able to go against Mom. So he mostly kept his mouth shut though he did try to get Steve a job at his old company. However, last I heard, Steve was set against anything corporate and was spending a dozen hours a day driving around using the app SlashDash to find jobs.

About a year and a half ago, I was over for dinner with Steve, Mom and Dad. Steve was talking about work. He said SlashDash wasn’t working out for him and was taking too many fees out. I offered advice since I’d done Slashing in high school. I recommended sites like Scarework and Midnighterr to get more gigs.

Mom told me I interrupted Steve. She gestured for him to continue and tell me about his exciting new setup.

Steve told me he was beyond the sites I recommended. He said he’d bought a scanner so he could listen to broadcasts of active corporate missions. When those fail, he arrives on scene to kill any straggling humans before the scare company in question can send a cleanup crew. And since he’s a Slasher on their scene, they have to give him emergency pay for doing it. It’s a total ambulance-chaser, bottom-feeder move.

Dad was just staring at his plate, not saying anything, but I could tell he was ashamed of Steve. Steve was bragging about being a vulture in the profession Dad helped build.

I asked Steve if he was proud of himself for living off of leftovers. Steve blew up at me, but so did Mom. She chided me for not respecting my brother’s hard work and that his idea to get a scanner was genius, not predatory.

After that dinner, Steve and I rarely talked. Most of the news I got about him came from our older brother bitching about Steve badgering him for scare connections or Mom bragging about Steve killing and “meeting quota.” She would get very cold with me when I told her he was finishing a quota someone else started and not doing his own work. She told me if I couldn’t respect Steve, then I was welcome to not come over while he lived with her.

(Yes, Steve’s always been the golden child.)

I stopped interfering with Steve and focused on my own life. Shortly after, I met my wonderful fiancé “Reginald” while catering an event at Dad’s old company. Reginald is the head of sanitation and he’s the one who gets sent out to clean up any unexpected events during a Scare (like any magical residue or body parts that can’t be explained away through human means). He used to want to be a Cryptid, but he’s got a heart condition that prevents him from working in the field. He says that he’s happy being the “janitor” and happier being with me 😊

Reginald and I got engaged after only eight months of dating. Dad always says that when you know, you know. I invited everyone in my family to an engagement party. Steve didn’t bother answering the invitation. Even though Steve and I weren’t on good terms, I was still hurt when he didn’t show.

When I confronted him about it afterwards, he said that he’d been promoted to Regional Nightmare and he was patrolling his territory, and that’s why he couldn’t come. I asked him what company he was working for, and he said he was still using the scanner.

I pointed out that he couldn’t be a Regional Nightmare without a state license since only the state can assign territories. He started going on and on about being his own “Monster” (and let me tell you, extra joints DOESN’T make you a Monster, those guys are way more committed) and that he had passed the state exam.

When I told Reginald about my brother calling himself a Regional Nightmare, he was concerned. He works closely with the legal department, and he said that Steve is opening himself up to lawsuits by declaring public slashing grounds as his “territory.” He offered to talk to Steve.

We went over to Mom and Dad’s house together to confront him. Dad didn’t know he was calling himself a Regional Nightmare and he went pale when I told them why we were there. Reginald explained to Steve and Mom that being certified was different than being licensed. Legally, Steve is a Slasher even if he can control shadows now (which is a VERY expensive talent to acquire if you aren’t born with it. I think Mom may have paid for it).

The conversation didn’t go well. Steve said a lot of nasty things about Reginald not hacking it as Slasher and claimed he was just jealous. He picked on Reginald’s health which I had me seeing red. I asked Steve what there was to be jealous of since he still mooches off of our parents? Mom got involved and it went downhill from there.

All this to say that I didn’t expect Steve to show up at my gender reveal party less than 5 months later.

Reginald and I weren’t planning on kids this early, but we knew it was meant to be as soon as I got that pregnancy test back. We decided to put off our wedding so that our baby can be part of the ceremony that makes us a family. That being said, I did still have a lot of things ordered for the wedding so I turned the day into a baby shower/gender reveal instead.

That brings us to the party my lovely brother wrote about. First of all, he wasn’t invited by me. Mom invited him, and when I found out, I wasn’t happy with her, considering he never apologized to Reginald after our last fight.

Reginald was stuck at work (some idiot brought together a whole summer camp of final girls and the aftermath was brutal) so I had to force myself to be a good hostess. It was mostly fine. We have good friends and my older brother was very kind in helping me with some of the baby games we were planning to play when Reginald finally got there.

Steve, however, was NOT helpful.

He was annoying the whole time. He messed with the kitchen and he hounded the guests. I’m PREGNANT and the smell of raw meat triggers my gag reflex. He took the meat off the heat without me noticing and basically prevented me from eating lunch with everyone else.

Additionally, Steve claimed in his post that the party was dying??? Reginald and Dad have a lot of friends in common so the party did NOT die. They were all interested in talking to Dad. Dad’s voice is very quiet and raspy from strain over the years, so everyone was being quiet to hear him better. Steve was the one practically screaming over him to talk about his scummy job. The new Hook Man who succeeded Dad was there and Steve basically treated the poor man like a novice even though he’s a Cryptid.

Reginald finally got home and I could tell he was exhausted when I met him at the door. He still put on a smile for me though and said he didn’t need to miss out even when I told him it would be okay. He wanted to be there in our big moment to celebrate our family. He went upstairs to change.

I went back to the guests to tell them that we would start the games soon. That’s when I heard Reginald scream and fall down the stairs.

I’ll never forget the look on Reginald’s face. He was lying at the base of the stairs and looked like he was dying. He was gasping for breath and clutching at his chest. I was terrified his heart was giving up. I asked Hook Man to call an ambulance.

That’s when Steve started laughing.

I lost it. I screamed at Steve to get out. He told me to calm down, he’d just scared Reginald a little bit as a joke. I told him he knew about Reginald’s heart condition and that it was incredibly disrespectful to scare my fiancé in our own house.

He said he didn’t mean to scare him that bad, but that he was just better at it than he thought. His scares were too powerful. He seemed smug and was still laughing.

I accused him of intentionally hurting Reginald because of the licensing versus certification argument we had. I said he was a bully and an idiot.

Mom jumped in and said it was an accident.

Dad FINALLY said something. He shadow-walked (the first time in YEARS) up the stairs and hooked Steve by the neck. He dragged all twelve feet of him down the stairs and told him to get out.

Steve said, “For what? It’s not my fault that weak-hearted son of a bitch can’t take a joke.”

Dad lost it. He told Steve a REAL scarer wouldn’t use their abilities like that on their own families. He told Mom and Steve it didn’t matter if he meant it as a joke. The fact is he used his scare tactics on a layperson, and he could get blacklisted from the profession for it.

Dad kicked Steve out and told him he wasn’t welcome back into the basement until he got a REAL job. Steve kept arguing, but the paramedics arrived then and I lost track of the rest of it.

I went with Reginald to the hospital where Reginald insisted we both get checked out. The stress wasn’t good for the baby and doctor told me it might be best to go on maternity leave sooner rather than later. Reginald is also going to be taking a leave from work. He had a heart attack because of my brother.

Things could have ended worse, but they didn’t end well. I told my parents that I refuse to have Steve at my wedding or even to see my child after they’re born (and now I STILL don’t know the gender! Only our older brother knows since he got the gender reveal cake).

Mom started to protest, but Dad said he understood. He said that both he and Mom just wanted me to be happy and healthy and that they would take care of Steve.

So now I leave it up to you. Having read both of our posts, who do you think is the real asshole? My brother for being “proud” of scaring my fiancé into a heart attack at our baby’s gender reveal party? Or me for never talking to said brother again for the health of my future family?

AITA?

----

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See you next week!

This week's story is based on this (x) prompt from Writing-prompt-s:

You are a person who covers your counter space in clutter and inadvertently makes a shrine to a long forgotten god who shows up to thank you.

[baskeigh-ball]

posting some mind swap doodles to prove im still alive, so have a few headcanons :D

- Leo in Mikey's body is pure chaos, he has no boundaries when it comes to modifications to "his" body in order to feel more comfortable in his own skin. For example, he gave himself his old markings to cover up Mikey's spots (only around the eyes tho, the arm and leg markings would take way more time.) He loves using Mikey's mystic powers/weapons at first, but eventually feels too weird about it and switches to his own weapons/gear to cope

- Mikey reins him in whenever he gets a little too confident in using his mystic powers though. Mikey is always hovering nearby to make sure Leo doesn't decide to go overboard, fully aware of Leo's lack of awareness when it comes to his physical limits, let alone when he's in someone else's body

- Raph is on the opposite side of the spectrum as far as modifications go, only willing to give Donnie his tech back and wear arm wraps to feel more like himself.

- The only tech he has to keep is the battle shell, especially after realizing just how fragile Donnie's body really is. He becomes refuses to take it off for days at a time, and when he does finally take it off, he's extremely paranoid and puts himself in the safest spot possible: his own room, bundled up in pillows and blankets.

- He also is woefully ignorant in how the battle shell is operated, so it goes haywire pretty often in the beginning. Donnie has to be nearby and ready to be damage control for a long time before Raph becomes confident enough to operate the battle shell's most basic functions.

[angelwasnothere]

My most personal headcanon of the batcave

I get why the batcave looks the way it does, you know, all tech and clean, and organized because Bruce is just like that, and that is HIS space, so it's just logical that it would suit his taste, BUT you know who else's space is? Robin. No matter who, the batcave is also FOR Robin. So I like to think that sometimes, Damian will be doing something there and will find stickers, old, news, in different places, of different things, and maybe drawings to, just little details around the batcave that will give him the sense of how long people have been there. Maybe it started with Dick, who was a small kid and just started his journey as Robin, who put the first sticker in the batcave and Bruce never got to say anything about it. If anything, he was amused of having proof that his kid wanted to leave a mark on his new home. Then Jason was the first to leave a drawing. A lot of tiny drawing here and there, with pens, sometimes markers. He knew it wasn't okay but Bruce never said anything to him as long as it wasn't on the computer. Maybe it took a long time after Jason died for Tim and Stephanie to feel like they could do the same, and maybe Stephanie was the first person to draw something next to those silly drawings someone left a long time ago. Maybe Dick needed to encourage Tim to leave a sticker on the gym equipment, or to make a modification, to paint something, to leave his name on the rocks of the cave. Cass was abetted by Steph, but she only left his name somewhere. No one ever knew where, only Bruce. Duke didn't hesitate when he was welcomed in the family and felt comfortable and put a ton of silly stickers. And so Damian found the activity senseless. He didn't wanted to participate, but when he lost Dick he understood why his father still allowed them to do so. Damian left a little something for the first time. He knew Dick would be happy. So whenever Bruce finds himself alone in the batcave he takes little walks to see all of the evidence his kids left for him to know that they where, at least once, there. With him. He will caress the oldest stickers, admire the small scattered drawings, and giggle just a little at the newer stickers. He would love all the modifications that screamed the presence of someone who wasn't him. So yeah, it was Batman's place, but was also that of Bruce's children.

[artemismoorea03]

DP x DC Prompt: The New Teacher

(So, I've seen a lot of prompts that have Danny go to Gotham and be a teacher but I don't remember seeing any with it in this direction, so on the chance that this is an original idea here we go!)

Jason was given a choice, or multiple choices. Babysit the Replacement on a mission that could last a week, go to Bludhaven and have some 'brother bonding time' with Dick who needed backup on a big case, or take a temp solo-gig in a tiny town in the middle of nowhere called Amity Park.

Well, considering he was still a bit hurt about the fact that B replaced him all those years ago and the pit loved to grab hold of that bit of frustrations towards his younger brother, that didn't seem like a smart idea. Dick wasn't an option either because he knew that would lead to 'talking about feelings' and other shit that he didn't want to do.

So he took the solo-gig.

It was supposed to be easy, at least that's what had been implied by the others he'd spoken to about the case. It seemed like most of the Justice League thought this situation was being 'exaggerated' because most of the time when somebody checked out what was going on there was nothing happening. No big take over, or kidnapping, or 'end of the world' situation, but there had been too many calls to put Bruce's mind at ease. The frequent calls mixed with the fact that the Government apparently had the area under a 'black out' made Bruce even more nervous.

Hell, if it hadn't been for the fact that Bruce was famous and that Scarecrow, Penguin and Riddler had all escaped from Arkham he would have been doing the case himself.

Which is how Jason ended up in a restraunt named 'Nasty Burger' looking at the news papers he had managed to get from a stand down the street while taking notes of things he had already seen. It wasn't just that the Government had cut them off, all of the tech in the city was easily 20 years outdated compared to the rest of the world.

Nokia phones, chunky computers, hell he'd even seen a kid with a PDA of all things. Thankfully, it looked like his tech still worked other than running slower than it should have, but thanks to modifications made by Barbara and Tim things were running better than he expected. But, they did struggle to have access to anything, specifically the news.

Hence the paper.

Ghost Boy: Friend or Fiend. A new vote cast by the city has found that the Ghost Boy - Danny Phantom - has had an astounding rise in support after the events over the Christmas Holiday. The new polls suggest that 43% of Citizens support Danny Phantom, with the majority of his support coming from the students at Casper High who insist that Phantom is a hero who has saved them countless times over the past few months. 49% of people still agree, however, that Phantom appears to be at the center of the majority of the attacks with many still claiming that he is the sole cause of the attacks. However, 8% of the population remain undecided, including many teachers, police and hospital staff. Upon seeing the new results of the pole Mayor Montez had this to say; "While I will admit that Phantom appears to favor the younger generation and frequently seems to come to their aid, we cannot forget what it has done in the past. Taken hostages, injured innocents, and caused millions in property damage. Phantom may not be a 'villain' in the typical sense of the word, but we shouldn't blindly trust him just because of a few good deeds."

So there was a... hero? Half hero - potentially villain - in Amity Park? That might have explained some of the calls they'd gotten from Amity park over the past few months. Still, he was concerned by some parts of the report.

Students at a high school were frequently coming under attack? So much that this potential-villain kept saving them? Just what was the cause? What could cause so many issues?

Jason looked up as he saw that same PDA kid talking with a girl with short black hair in a half-ponytail who was wearing a black crop-top. The girl seemed annoyed while the boy seemed worried about something.

"But it's Vlad, Sam... what if he does something?" He heard the boy whisper, "We should go back him up..."

"He doesn't need our help, besides Jazz ran away from home, remember? She got herself into this mess it's her problem to get out of it. Something that Danny should have learned a long time ago."

Jason frowned, pretending not to hear them as he hesitated then got up and walked over to the two younger teens. "Hey, excuse me."

The girl looked annoyed and suspicious while the boy looked confused.

"Uh, yeah?" Tucker asked.

"Hey, sorry to bug you both. But could you guys tell me about this... 'Danny Phantom' person?" He asked, holding the newspaper out.

The girl looked even more suspicious, "And... who are you?"

"And how haven't you heard of Phantom?" Asked the boy.

"I just moved to town." Jason admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "So, I'm just trying to catch up on all the town drama."

"You moved to Amity Park... willingly? Psh, what do you have, a deathwish?" The girl grumbled.

"Come on, I just moved from Gotham, which is worse?"

The girl blinked as the boy laughed.

"Furries vs Ghosts, who will win~" He said as the girl elbowed him. "Ow! What?!"

"Danny Phantom is a hero." The girl explained, "He showed up in April and has been protecting the town since."

"A hero, huh? Could always use more of those in the world, but the mayor seems to have it out for him."

Tucker sighed, "No kidding, man. Somebody framed Phantom for something really bad and no matter what he does to try to fix it the city just see's that incident as the only thing he's ever done. It was the first big 'public thing' outside of the high school so it was huge but it wasn't his fault."

The girl reached for her phone suddenly, looking at it before she answered. "Hey, Danny. What's up?" She was quiet for a moment, "Yeah, we're at Nasty Burger, wanna join us? Lunch on me?"

A quiet mumble came through the speaker before she smirked.

"I'll order for you then. Double or triple?"

More mumbles.

"Triple it is. See you soon." She said, then hung up. "Come on, Tuck, Danny is on his way for lunch."

"Hell yeah, see you later, dude." The boy said, then jogged off with the girl.

"A teacher? Yeah, it looks like there's some openings but why would you want to have your cover as a teacher?" Oracle asked as Jason sat in his hotel room, looking through the paper again.

"Most of the incidents seem to surround the High School, I want to see what's going on."

Oracle hummed, typing for a moment. "Alright, well as luck will have it, it looks like teachers are sparse at Amity High, at least from what I'm able to get using your connection... which is infuriatingly slow, by the way, are you sure you did it right?"

"I've done it a million times, of course I did it right."

Oracle grumbled, "Stupid Amity black-out. Okay, so you have options. Most of the teachers have fucked off so all of the teachers in Freshmen year switch around to cover lessons or do mixed lessons. For example the English teacher also teaches Math and the normal Math teacher also teaches Science. So it looks like you could have any position you want and the school would just shuffle around the teachers."

"You said English is taken, right?"

"Yep, the teacher is named William Lancer and he- oh... wait, he's on a leave of absence due to injuries he suffered over Christmas Break. Concussion, broken arm, and bruised ribs, he'll be out for a few weeks."

Jason smirked, "Perfect. Sign me up."

". . . Jason, the English and Math teacher... never thought I'd see the day. Alright, I'll type up your application, send it in and casually push it to the front of the line. You'll be official by the time Winter Break ends in a few days. So get studying."

"Sounds like a plan, but I'll be fine, I mean our family is crazy and i deal with criminals on a nightly basis. How hard could this assignment really be?"

He would regret asking that question by the end of his first day as an Amity High School teacher.

[demonic0angel]

Batman going to Tucker for some tech modification and some new gadgets. Tucker makes tons of cash for his expensive tech addiction.

Batman stood in silence. Eventually, he asked, "How much?"

The man in front of him, nicknamed Tuck, shrugged and said, "Fifteen million." The lollipop in his mouth lolled and made a clacking noise against his teeth.

Batman nodded in agreement before transferring over the money. He took his newly improved chest plate and then left with a swish of his cape without another word.

"Bye! Great doing business with you!" Tucker grinned. When Batman finally left, Tucker then heaved a sigh and threw himself onto his chair.

He looked at his bank account numbers with satisfaction, looking at the extra zeros that had been added to his account before the phone rang.

Tucker picked it up.

"Hey! I thought you only exclusively made tech for me!" The Red Hood complained.

Tucker blinked. "How did you know—? Y'know what? Doesn't matter. And I only modify your stuff for cheap because Wolf asks me to."

There were some grumbles on the line and then Red Hood said, "How much for you to not work with Batman?"

Tucker raised an eyebrow. "Only Batman?"

"Yep."

"Hmm. Five hundred million."

".... this is extortion."

"Hey, he pays me pretty well for a few modifications to his armor. I have a business here, y'know! And what's your beef with him anyways?"

Red Hood scoffed and then said, "Whatever. What do you even need all of this money for?"

Tucker said proudly, "I'm upgrading my PDA, buying the latest Luther tech to mess with, and then I'm using the rest of the money to roll on Genshin Impact."

"................."

"I can hear you judging me."

"No, no, no judgement at all..."

"Your next modification will be priced double."

"This is literally extortion!"

[bluemerakis]

────────── ᝰ bluemerakis ༝༚༝༚ ────

❝ feelin’ fuckin’ fantastic ❞

part i/iii

read part ii here

─ ۶ৎ ─

pairing ୨୧ soldier boy x fem!supe!reader — how they met

warnings .ᐟ cussing, angst, masturbation m receiving, let me know if I’ve forgotten any!

synopsis ─ after the love of your life—soldier boy—is kidnapped by the russians, you strike a deal to work under them as a scientist so that you could keep tabs on your boyfriend. over the years, you managed to make modifications to compound v as per the russians’ orders, so that soldier boy could receive the treatments and be remade in a far greater image than any other living supe—a biological weapon. but it all comes to and end when you make contact with a strange group and conspire to get yourself and him out of dodge.

word count ~ 6.8k

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“He’s ready for you.”

Those very words crept past the nape of your neck to caress your ear as a warm breath, yet you felt the way it instilled chills down the expanse of your spine, whisking your attention away from one of the lab assistants you’d been checking stock with. You placed an apologetic hand on her shoulder, braving a thin-lipped smile as you excused yourself and handed her the clipboard of listed supplies.

“Take care of that for me, will you?” You murmured kindly, to which the assistant relieved you of the board with a meek of course, and you thanked her hastily before sending her on her way.

Turning to face the bearer of bad news, you were confronted by the guard you’d tasked with pulling Soldier Boy from his induced coma. Immediately, your attention snagged onto the faint trail of blood smudged above the curve of his upper-lip. It formed an incomplete line that told you he’d attempted to obliterate the evidence of his known temper with a hasty swipe of his thumb—but more so, it told you that Soldier Boy was in one of his fouler moods today.

The Supe was quite physically capable of inflicting more damage whenever he pleased, but his compulsive urge to do so only surfaced on his worser days—which seemed to be growing more frequent.

All courtesy of the godsent fucking side effects of induced sleep.

The technology was still so new despite being in use for these last couple of years, and hence you hadn’t been able to successfully map out any tangible links between behavioural alterations and manual arousal of the brain—you only knew that it happened. The how was as good a guess as anybody’s.

“Trouble?” you asked the guard pointedly, the hand at your side making a subconscious reach for your lab coat as you throttled the white material in anticipation.

You didn’t know why you still bothered to ask, really, when the answer to that singular question had always been the same. You couldn’t have Soldier Boy without the trouble. They were the sort of two-for-one special that you couldn’t have said no to—but at what cost?

The guard rolled his shoulders with a husk of embarrassment as he spoke, drawing your attention back to him. “You know the prick,” he grumbled, averting his gaze to acquaint every aspect of the hallway other than your own expectant stare. “He’s on some of the crazy shit today. . . jumped me and decided to lay one on me after we put him in the room—but don’t worry, I put him in his place.”

“Uh huh,” you murmured distractedly, your attention slipping past his figure to tune into the door that loomed like a menacing figure at the end of the facility’s pristine hallway.

The reinforced steel frame adorned with high-tech locks all along the perimeter could identify itself as Soldier Boy’s door—because who else could possibly warrant such caution within this secret facility?

Truthfully, you’d allowed the guard’s explanation to slip through your care entirely. You had bigger things on your mind—for one, what sort of greeting you could expect from Soldier Boy this time around. The induced sleep has been rough on his brain. It made him feral at times—made him blindly lash out like a rabid animal of prey. And he wasn’t notorious for restraint, either—god forbid or you’d have never had to expel the name Herogasm from your waking mind.

“If you’ll excuse me.” You brushed past the guard to put an end to the suspense you felt inevitably building at the idea of seeing Soldier Boy again—after all this time. Your fingertips seemed to tremble in solidarity.

“I’ll come with you,” the guard insisted, and the unpleasant screech of his heavy duty boots followed shortly after as he pivoted on his heels to follow.

“No, I’m going in alone,” you called over your shoulder without so much as a glance to spare.

“Well, be careful!” the guard called to the back of your rushing figure. “He’s wilder today—not using a single goddamn braincell!”

Seems to be the common trend around here, you thought, birthing a mental scoff. Men. The last thing you needed was to add another twig to the fire by bringing along the guard Soldier Boy had already popped one on. He’d gone easy on the guard, you knew him well enough to deduce that, but it also meant that the flimsy punch responsible for the bloodstain above that guard’s lip was merely a promise for a truer beating somewhere down the line. That time would not be now—not if you could help it.

You hurled a dismissive hand over your shoulder that told the guard not to worry—a gesture to brush aside his concerns, but also to hopefully coerce away yours. If you wanted to feel braver, maybe a good place to start would be to act as though there was no reason to feel scared.

Would Soldier Boy hurt you?

You couldn’t help but lift a hand to ghost across your neck for a few seconds before lowering your hand back to your side.

The door that would give sure way to that nagging question seemed to grow with each passing second as you closed in on it, and when you came face to face with the worn, thick steel, the breath in your chest stilled. Your gaze lowered along the various locks, which had been left unlatched—not a bad finding, surely, if it meant he was tame enough to temporarily forsake the extra security. That thought gave permission to your lungs to breathe as per usual.

But when you really tried to listen, head slightly turning to tune in your hearing, you could make out a cluster of grunting and thudding from beyond the six inches of steel. It wasn’t a finding that eased away the dread your fingertips so insistently clung to—you’d hoped for an entirely different scenario.

Fuck, you cussed internally, taking your lower lip into a frustrated bite, before you decided to push through the anticipative haze by fastening your hand around the door’s handle.

You pushed the door open, your vision bombed by the blaring, overhead lights that beat down on the even whiter room. You’d always thought the room had been purposefully modelled to convey the impression of a void—it was no wonder the test subjects often went insane in here. The room swallowed up your senses for a moment, and you fluttered your eyes in an attempt to adjust to the blinding air before you came to focus on Soldier Boy’s figure in the centre of the stage.

He lay plastered along the length of a reinforced operating table, fist-drawn hands sentenced to his side by thick, steel-linked chains. There were a few sets to match, which secured his torso and legs to the table, intended to immobilise him as best as possible—but Soldier Boy seemed determined to test out the limitations of their purpose as he thrashed vigorously between the fortifying steel, guttural sounds filling the silence of the room.

He only laid the effort to rest when his head lifted from the table with a grunt, and his eyes fell onto your familiar figure. His sudden calmness seemed to ease off the four guards lining the table—their weapons long since drawn as a show of force, and a promise of death, should the subject make a successful escape.

Your airways thinned as you caught Soldier Boy’s stare, the rage that framed his eyes simmering into a semblance of relief as he drank in your presence.

He called your name. Your name.

Your lips parted as a slight breath of disbelief pierced its way through—forced from your lungs by the sudden jolt in your heart.

“Leave us,” you ordered, your attention lingering on the Supe for a few seconds longer before you broke the mental tether to whisk a hard stare across the idling guards. “Now.”

The guards all exchanged a look that seemed to communicate a shared feeling of doubt, but neither of them wore a pair big enough to outwardly criticise your command. So, hesitantly, they holstered their weapons in practiced sequence, then in complete silence, they streamed from the room in an orderly fashion.

The last one to slip past you lingered at your ear only to murmur, “we’ll be outside to intervene if anything goes wrong.”

Don’t bother, is what you wanted to say—you knew just the way to go about handling Soldier Boy. After all, you’d been doing this for years. But you also knew that this was standard protocol set in place to protect any and all employees—especially when said employee was as valuable as you.

So, instead, you turned your chin slightly to offer the guard an acknowledging nod, which allowed him to slink through the doorway and lug the heavy door closed behind him. The mechanism clicked into place, and it echoed brashly between the four walls of this inspired asylum.

You turned your attention back to Solider Boy, who still had his eyes patiently fixed on you. The hands at his sides had stilled completely, and his body had relaxed against the cold steel of the table, but there was still a tension bracketing his jaw that was yet to release, even at the sight of you.

“The hell was it this time, huh?” His sombre voice dampened the hollow air—you’d almost forgotten how profound the rumble in his throat was, and it tickled your senses in all the right ways. “Three, four months? A year?” He seethed, the muscles of his jaw faltering with great restraint.

“Six months,” you told him levelly, chin lifting slightly as you endured the brunt of the guilt that was evoked under his resentful glare.

You didn’t hold any joy for this procedure—pulling him in and out of an induced sleep throughout the years only to inject him full of experimental compounds that burned him from the inside out. You hated it, almost as much as he did. But that was just the way things had to be—for now, at least. It’s what the Russians had brought you here to do—and funnily enough, it was the only way to keep him safe.

There was a scoff from Soldier Boy, followed by a soft thud as he allowed his head to collapse back onto the metal frame. “Yeah, you’d know. . . fuckin’ stewardess on the sidelines, draped in that goddamn lab coat while they pluck your guinea pig from the greatest fuckin’ nap of his life.”

You let loose a light huff at that, the trembling in your fingertips beginning to slip away at last. “Yeah?” You began moving off to the side of the room where various tables lined the walls, coming to a stop at the nearest one. It was adorned with nothing but a black, sealable case with a label signed sample 246. Your own handwriting. “And what’d you dream about?” You asked, reaching to unclip the case before lifting up the top compartment to reveal what horrors lay inside.

“You.”

Your hands faltered on the case, your chin slightly buckling to take in the view of the table as that singular word bounced about the dark corners of your mind. Suddenly, your breathing sounded a lot louder in your ears, and you managed to catch a slight hitch in your airways.

“What about me?” You pushed on almost timidly—dreading the honest answer to such an open-ended question.

Throughout the years spent in this facility, there were various versions of yourself that you could recall—creatures you’d become in order to endure and survive the brutalities of your work under the Russians. None of those versions had a commendable reputation—not one of them. And that scared you—the thought that Soldier Boy had come to meet so many of those prior versions, and that he might’ve forgotten the one he’d fallen in love with all those years ago. If you were put in front of the mirror, you couldn’t honestly say that you’d recognise yourself, either.

There was a pause from Soldier Boy, and the silence was so loud that your ears began to ring. “Don’t play stupid with me,” he said at last, coupled by the soft clinking of chains against the table.

Instinctively, you glanced over your shoulder with an undertone of panic. But when you took in the view of him, he was still cemented in the same position, and his head was already turned toward you—likely to prowl after your every move like a waiting predator.

“Yeah, that’s right, look at me,” he grinned, but the gesture wasn’t genuine, and it was plucked from his lips quicker than you could blink it away.

“It’s the same dream, every fuckin’ time,” he continued. “Birdsong, all around—god, the fuckers never stick their beaks in the bark. . . Anyways, there’s sun streamin’ in through the windows. And there you are, in my bed, a mewlin’ mess between the sheets with not an inch of modesty anywhere on that fine body of yours. I’ve got you pinned, and I mean really pinned between the sheets—skin’s fuckin’ bruising—and instead of pleadin’ for some sort of release, you’re telling me you love me. Pretty sure I remember the feelin’ of my ballsack puckerin’ up at that.”

A smile crept its way back onto Soldier Boy’s lips as his gaze raked over your stunted expression, and this time, it was founded on blatant curiosity.

“You look surprised,” he remarked, and there was a lot of room for him to poke at any aspect of your reaction, but he held onto his tongue with a practiced calmness. You couldn’t help but feel as though he had some unspoken motive.

You drew in a steadying breath, fighting to control the influx of mental pictures that his dream seemed to coerce into your brain. But it was hard to deny something its rightful place, especially when said dream of his was not a dream at all, but a memory.

Slowly, you turned your head back to the case at hand, focus falling onto the singular needle cushioned within a foam imprint. With one hand, you reached to free the needle, and with the other, you clicked the the case closed again.

“I am surprised,” you admitted, bringing the needle up to your eye line as you studied the blue serum behind the glass.

“Do tell.”

You waited and watched as a bubble soared through the compound to cling to the uppermost point of the vile, then you flicked your finger across the glass to dissipate its fragile skeleton. You lowered the needle and turned to face Soldier Boy, who entertained a mildly curious look on his features.

“This sleep you’ve been under, it’s not exactly. . . well-understood. We’ve hit a few bumps in the road. The worst of the effects has to do with the patient’s cognitive function.”

He scoffed. “What, you mean to tell me I’m goin’ dumb?”

“No,” you answered carefully, taking a few steps toward the table. “It’s your memory. There were times after we’ve woken you where you failed the standard procedure questionnaire—things about your life. . . thing’s that you’ve answered a hundred times before. You should know it all by now—it’s really just there as a sanity ritual. But, like I said, there were times you’ve failed it, and it doesn’t always happen, but it’s becoming more frequent.”

You stopped before the table with a few inches of space to spare, noting the way the confusion on Soldier Boy’s face seemed to deepen with each passing second that you spoke.

“There’s some retrograde effect to it, though,” you continued. “Sometimes, you wake up in a fit state. You’re calm, and you’ve got a memory as best as it’s ever been. . .” You trailed into uncertainty, feeling at war with your role in his current memories.

You knew perfectly well where you stood with him, but you wanted to—needed to know what version of you currently stood with him, and that all banked on just how much his drug-addled brain remembered this time around—details of his life before the sleeping tank, about his purpose, and about his relationship with you.

His brows furrowed as he gazed up at you. “And the other times?” He prompted you to continue.

You cleared your throat self-consciously, your eyes wandering down to the hands chained at his side. “Well, the other times, you wake up explosively, blindly dealing fists faster than the guards can reach for their weapons. You even managed to kill a guard, once.”

“Badass,” he chuckled smoothly, deeply—the familiarity of it tugged at the fibres of your heart. “But don’t you get any ideas about what today’s little skirmish was all about.”

Those words caught you off guard. You tore your gaze away from his knuckles, brows kneading together as you acquainted the mischievous glint in his eyes—those goddamn eyes. A dick move from heaven to give him a feature as beautifully persuasive as that. You couldn’t help but drown in their green depths whenever he sentenced you to a hearty stare, and it’s an ocean you’d never need, nor want rescuing from.

“What’re you on about?” You asked.

“Don’t tell me you weren’t thinkin’ ‘bout that guard I fisted back there.” He lifted his first from the table to make a commotion that aided his words. “He tell ya I went berserk on him, hm?”

The hum in his voice sent a barely perceptible shiver down your neck, and it pulled forward a sudden memory of his frame pressed up against your back—broad, bare chest cushioning your exposed shoulder blades as he sank you deeper into the mattress with each, drilling movement of his pelvis into yours. His lips would find your ear, murmuring endearing words of encouragement to spur you on, doin’ so good for me, sweet girl—my sweet girl, and he’d hum ever so sweetly at the sound of your rapid undoing.

You pushed the memory away, reinforcing the grip on the needle that had begun to slip under your frail focus. “He said you were a hassle, that’s all,” you told Soldier Boy. “And that he put you in your place.”

He gave a scoff the most scornful you’ve heard thus far. “Please, dickhead’s got the swing of ninny. Didn’t even leave a scratch. I, on the other hand, gave him the slightest taste of my dick with that punch—and I’ll tell ya, I knew damn well what I was doin’ for every glorious second of it. It wasn’t the goddamn drugs pumped into me.”

A hopeful spark lit up in your chest as you slowly began to confirm the parameters of his mental state, and you felt eager to ask him just how much he remembered this time around, but you fought to compose yourself. Instead, you asked, “did you pass the questionnaire?”

Soldier Boy held your stare with an almost devilish glint to his eye. “Cum laude,” he said.

You couldn’t help but let slip a breath of a relieved chuckle, but Soldier Boy’s charm sobered up pretty quickly as he forged a more serious look. His eyes wandered down to the needle in your hand, which he acknowledged for the first time since you’d pulled it out.

“This the part where you stick it in me?” He caught himself with a sultry chuckle, his eyes fluttering closed as he turned his head to face the ceiling again. “Man. . . never thought I’d hear those words outta my own mouth, that’s usually your line.”

Heat momentarily flushed your cheeks at that comment, but you pushed it away and lowered your gaze to the needle in grasp, a heavy sense of regret coupling your words as you pushed out a soft, “I’m sorry.”

“Well, what’s it gonna be this time ‘round? Burnin’ me blind? Cramps that feel like a fuckin’ mole tryin’ to explode from my stomach? A full body burn-up and debilitatin’ seizures seem to be a favourite.”

You listened to him with a guilt in your heart that had long since hollowed out much of your chest—there was not much else to feel in all the time between his ritualistic awakenings. “I’m sorry, Ben,” you told him again, only because you were unsure of what else you could be saying.

You let slip a heavy sigh of defeat at the circumstances, before you seized up on the name you’d accidentally let slip. You tore your gaze away from the needle to glance at Soldier Boy with slight anticipation, but he only turned to stare at you with a quieted expression. The use of his real name didn’t seem to come as any unfamiliar shock, and that gave you some solace on the mental debate of how much he remembered about your relationship.

He gave a small jerk of his chin. “Come on, then, do your thing and get it over with. Don’t care for all the fuckin’ edging.”

You closed in on the last of the space separating your bodies, and you took the time to observe the clean pair of scrubs he wore this time around, as well as the gentle whiff of soap radiating from his skin. They made a habit of washing him shortly after pulling him from sleep, usually once the questionnaire was completed. As much as they considered his bodily hygiene, you only wished they’d taken it a step further to address the growing beanstalk of a beard plastered to his chin—not his best look by far, but it was something you could work with.

You reached out your free hand to hover over his arm, eyes trailing up to his. He watched you closely, intensely, with an emotion not quite decodable by your means. “I’m going to inject it into your arm,” you warned him.

“And take your damn time with it, apparently,” he said, lifting his arm to cover what little distance he could manage before the chains reinforced their hold.

You turned your eyes onto his presented arm, and hesitantly, you reached to snake your hand under his elbow. His skin felt so warm against you—it was comforting.

“In these six months you’ve been asleep, I tried my best to modify the compound to have as little side effects as possible. I’ve tested it on the animal subjects, and at most, they showed an elevated body temperature.”

“Yeah, well, let’s just see how much my primal DNA counts in my favour,” he scoffed as he watched you at work, but never once did that look in his eyes waver.

Your lips tackled silence as you focused on the task of inserting the needle. You didn’t have to do much searching to choose the vein to victimise—the vessels were quite open to appreciation along the length of his arm. You lifted the needle toward your vein of choice and slowly inserted it through the skin. Carefully, you began to press down on the plunger, watching as the contents drained from the vile and into the vessel streaming beneath the skin.

Ben sucked air through his teeth, which snapped your attention to his face. His eyes were screwed shut, his teeth displayed in a clench as his head burrowed back slightly further into the table.

“Are you okay?” You asked him.

“Feelin’ fuckin’ fantastic,” he pushed out sarcastically, the squeeze of his eyes yet to let up.

“Good to know,” you muttered with a brief, dismissive flick of your eyes before you focused on the needle once more.

With the last of the contents emptied, you carefully released the hold on his elbow to draw a swab of cotton from your coat. You pressed the material over the insertion point of the needle and applied a light pressure before you began withdrawing the steel length from his skin.

You set the needle onto the table beside his arm and retrieved a plaster from your pocket, and after removing the paper film, you secured the cotton against his skin. You reclaimed the needle and briefly left Ben’s side to place it back into the case before you returned to monitor his vitals.

“Do you feel any different?” You asked, coming to stand beside his arm.

“I’m hot as fuck and more sober than I’d like to be,” he answered wryly.

You were tempted to be snarky, but then you realised that compared to his usual state—the one you’d often come to find him in back in his prime days—this very well could be considered a difference of note.

There was a silence that carried out for a few minutes as you stood waiting to observe any worrisome changes, and it was never uncomfortable—not with him, but Ben eventually put an end to it.

“You know,” he began, a singular brow slightly cocked with curiosity. “You didn’t ask why I punched that dickhead asshole back there. I mean, we’ve established that my brain’s pretty much like that . . . what’s his name? The dude was born somewhere after me, smart as fuck—Stephenson fuckin’ somethin’—anyway, who gives a fuck? I got all my shit in one place, I’m not a goddamn freak show of flying fists, so ain’t ya the least bit curious about it?”

You glanced at him with a hint of surprise. “It’s not exactly off-brand for you to go around punching people, even on your good days,” you pointed out with a hint of amusement.

He rocked his head side to side in a gesture of acceptance. “Eh, fair enough. But I’ll tell ya,” he said.

You watched him closely, a soft smile on your lips. It felt good to talk to him normally. You’d missed this dearly. “I’m listening.”

“The fucker made a jab at me about you, said he’s been keeping one hand in your panties since they put me under—takin’ sweet care of you all the while. So I gave him a light face fuck, the only action he’s ever gotten, and I’d have done a whole lot more had the four assholes out there not strapped me down like some kinky bondage plaything.”

Your heart fluttered at the idea that he’d gotten so protective over you. But you barely had time to process the emotion before he continued.

“He ever touch you?” Ben’s stare was hard, but despite the soldier act, you caught the way his eyes briefly flickered down to your lips.

“No,” you answered instantly, bristling slightly at his nerve to ask. “Never. He’s all talk, no show, and even if he had something to show for it, I can handle my own.”

Am impressed smirk stretched Ben’s lips. “Yes, ma’am,” he drawled. “And I always did love that about you.”

Those words paved way for the question you’d been itching to ask since the beginning. You dropped your gaze to your hands, planted against the table beside his.

“Ben,” you began softly. He gave a deep hum of acknowledgment. “Just how much do you remember about me?”

There were a few uncaptioned moments of silence, and you almost wished you could see his face to decipher his thoughts, but some other emotion kept your eyes glued to veins of his arm.

“Everythin’,” he answered at last. “Every damn thing.”

You glanced at him, feeling a mixture of surprise and relief at that confession, and released a long sigh. “You have no idea how relieved that makes me feel.”

Ben held your stare intently, his eyes softening a fraction. “Those times you said my memory got fucked. . . did I forget you?”

You nodded hesitantly and saw the slight ghost of disbelief whisk across his eyes, which caused your heart to ache with the less fond memories between the two of you.

The first time it’d happened was twelve years ago. You’d been right beside the pod they’d pulled him from, and in the midst of his confusion and blind rage, he’d grabbed ahold of you at the neck—another strange face, nobody of any significance to him. Just another damned Russian. You’d been strangled in his grasp for quite a while; the guards coming to your aid were unable to pry his hands from your windpipes in time to escape a blackout.

You’d woken up a day later with severe bruising to your neck and collar bone, and the only news that could’ve been considered good was the fact that you were lucky enough to escape his rage alive. The force with which you were choked should have killed you, you knew that. The only reason you’d survived is because you, yourself, were a Supe.

You’d met Ben back in his prime, before the team had staged the coup that had landed him here. When he was taken by the Russians and betrayed by everybody around him, you’d struck a deal with the higher-ups to get a foot on the inside of the entire operation. Under them, you worked as a scientist to formulate compounds that would enhance Ben to the level that the Russians needed him at.

The first time Ben saw you walk into the medical room, he’d nearly imploded with relief, panic and betrayal all at once, but you’d never let on your relationship with him to anybody within the operation. So to any outside onlooker, you two were strangers to one another, only connected by the duty of the experimenter and her experiment.

It was crucial to keep things that way, especially when you’d been in the company of some of the Russian generals who wanted to witness the first experimental injection on Ben firsthand. Upon his recognition of you, you had to convince everybody that he was undergoing an episode of psychosis—formulating a romantic relationship between the two of you that had never existed in the first place. You had blamed it on the effects of the induced coma, and it had easily passed as an excuse due to the little knowledge possessed on its side effects at the time. Granted, not much progress was made in that field even in this current day and age.

Eventually, when you’d managed to gain enough reputation to demand treatment sessions alone with Ben, you’d gotten the opportunity to explain everything. He had little to be happy about, given that everybody he once trusted had betrayed him in a blink, and the one person he had left to cherish and love was currently pumping him with unreliable modifications of Compound V.

But with time, he’d come to accept it.

You weren’t proud of it. And in the moments that Ben would awaken only to forget you, he’d made sure to toss out every vile insult and cuss word he could each time you slid that needle into his arm, which only broke your heart further. But it was the price to pay to ensure nothing worse would happen to him.

The only barrier that had been set between him and a fate worse off, was you, and that’s a fact you’d tried hard to remind yourself of in all the passing years you’d spent drowning in guilt for your sins. But even then, it never made enduring his mind-swept states easier, and especially not when he looked at you with such hatred solidified in his gaze that it became all you could think about.

You came back to the present when Ben’s hand struggled through the restraints to graze your fingers. You flinched at the touch, at first, but it wasn’t long before your hand relaxed within his hold. So warm, so gentle, even considering all that he’s been through. It was comforting to know just how human he still was.

“Untie me,” he said, and you opened your mouth to argue before he cut you off with an air of eager reassurance. “I feel fine. It’s been a good couple of minutes, and nothin’s happened. Don’t ya trust me?”

You tilted your head slightly at him. “You know I do,” you murmured, your hand tightening within his. “But Ben, there’s something el—”

“Untie me first, then tell me about all the shit I’ve got comin’ for me,” he insisted.

Your eyes scanned the room self-consciously, picking out the two corners that had cameras mounted to their wall. “You know they’re watching us,” you told him. “Our every move.”

“Yeah, fuck those fuckers,” he sniffed, following your gaze to do his own quick sweep of the room. “Fuckin’ assholes!” He called aloud, and you tightened your hand in his as a warning. He glanced back at you with a slight scoff. “What? They’ve seen my bare balls and ass—shit, they’ve even stroked it. They know damn well how I feel about them.”

“Don’t provoke them,” you told him, and he flashed you a look that screamed bet, though he chose to resort to his best behaviour as he clamped down on his tongue. “I can’t take your chains off, they’ll storm the place the moment I do. I’m sorry.”

Ben held your gaze for a moment as he considered the circumstances, then his attention slid past you and lifted to the ceiling above your head.

You turned your head to follow his gaze. “What?” You asked, turning back to him with curiosity.

“Every time they roll me in and outta this room, I get a glimpse of the security room,” he said in a low murmur, raw emphasis on keeping his words out the enemy’s ears. “There’s two cameras in this room. One behind ya—“ he made a gesture with a flick of his eyes, “—and one behind me in the opposite corner. And it’s my lucky fuckin’ day, cause the camera behind me’s busted.”

You frowned as he spoke. “And what favours has that got to offer you?” You asked.

Ben seemed content to explain. “Camera behind you’s the only one still workin’. But your body—god bless it in its fuckin’ entirety—is blocking their dandy view of my dick.”

You listened carefully, the crease in your brow beginning to loosen at the understanding of where he was headed. “Absolutely not,” you scolded him, a dumbstruck smile poking through.

“Oh, come on,” Ben drawled. “Why the fuck not? I’ve been all pressed up in that sweaty fuckin’ tank for weeks, months, years on end and every time my eyes close, I get that goddamn dream of you and I, hittin’ pound town like there’s no fuckin’ tomorrow—shit, and I mean no tomorrow. Seriously, all day, all night—“

“All right, all right,” you cut him short, heat beginning to flush into your cheeks.

“Now, it’s not gonna be a recreation of that sweet, sweet day,” Ben said regretfully. “But if you could give a man a taste of relief by using that hand for somethin’ other than sticking a needle in my arm, I will fuck you senseless as a reward as soon as I’m freed the fuck outta these chains—you just gimme a time and place. That sound like a plan, baby?”

You couldn’t deny the hot burn that jolted it’s way into your core at the sound of that promise, but you pushed it aside to address the other issue you hadn’t yet been given the chance to voice.

“It’s a date, Ben, but you need to listen to me about that something else,” you told him, releasing his hand.

Ben puckered his lips as he coaxed forward a shushing noise, jerking his chin toward his hard on. He didn’t often need a lot of pampering to erect his dick—the bloody thing could get off on the scent of your perfume alone.

With a frustrated sigh, you tossed a quick glance over your shoulder, glimpsing the camera that had been peering over you since you’d set foot in here. You saw it blinking with a red light at its centre, the dead giveaway of recording. You then turned to look at the opposite camera, and it didn’t hold the same red dot in its core, which meant that Ben was, indeed, right.

Of course he was.

“Oh, for fuck’s sakes, Ben,” you muttered in disbelief, tensely guiding the hand that had held his only seconds ago toward the bulge in his pants, simultaneously shifting your body to shield the scene more firmly. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“Try not to make it too obvious,” Ben advised smugly, his eyes dipping to where your hand slipped under the flimsy waistband of his scrub pants.

“Shut up.” You were immediately greeted by his firm hard-on, not having any underwear beneath the scrubs. It felt warm and swollen against your palm, and when you passed a curious thumb over his tip, you felt the damp kiss of his pre-cum.

“Yeah, he’s a little excited—you felt it, get a move on,” he ordered impatiently.

You’d forgotten just how much of a curt dick he could be when it came to anything remotely sexual.

You wrapped your fingers around his length, your thumb gathering all tangible pre-cum to spread it along the head before you began to pump him with slow, fluid strokes.

Ben’s head collapsed back onto the table, his mouth falling slightly ajar with breathy grunts of pleasure.

“I need to make it less obvious?” You sniped in a harsh, low tone. “How about you?”

“Fuck,” Ben spat, lifting his head with what looked like great effort to face you. “Forgot just how good you feel, you’ll forgive a man for being expressive.”

Your heart fluttered at his compliment, and you tightened your hold on his girth to applaud his behaviour. “Keep on talking to me,” you said. “Make it look like we’re having a conversation.”

“Yeah. . .” Ben stammered distractedly, a clear indication that he was struggling to multitask.

“Oh, for fuck’s sakes,” you muttered under your breath, picking up the pace of your strokes. You made sure to come down on his balls with considerable force to add to the stimulation, and he let slip a strangled, gruff moan that caused your core to ignite its own fire.

“Atta girl, pumpin’ it almost as well as your pussy does,” he praised breathlessly as he struggled against his restrains with a frustrated grunt. “These fuckin’ things. . .” He trailed off and met your gaze. “What was it you wanted to say?” He asked, his chest beginning to heave more rapidly now.

You were doubtful that you had his full ear to unload the importance of what you were about to tell him, but you decided to spill that can anyways, simultaneously making sure to keep up the pace of your strokes.

“This is the last injection you’ll ever have to get, Ben,” you told him softly. Ben’s sex-addled haze sobered up real quickly at that, his eyes now fully focused onto your face.

“The fuck you on ‘bout?” He asked.

“Tonight, you’re getting out,” you told him, feeling as the heat around his length began to build with each continued stroke. You could see Ben strain with the movements, wanting desperately to reach his release while trying to focus on your words. “I made contact with this group, they’ve been looking for you for a while—followed your trail all the way out here. You wanna know what the Russians intended to use you for? Well, Turns out, you’re the one strongest biological weapon that planet Earth has to offer.”

His eyes widened briefly at that before screwing shut as his head collapsed back onto the table with a strained growl, and then you felt him implode, his warm seed trailing down your hand. You gave a few more slow pumps to urge the last of it out, then gently released his manhood and discretely pulled your hand from his pants.

“Feel better now?” You asked, bringing your hand to wipe his juices onto your coat.

Ben lifted his head just in time to catch that act, which caused him to grunt in disappointment.

“Do it right next time,” he scolded you. “You know you love the taste of it.”

You did, but this wasn’t exactly the time or place for you to express that particular savoury tooth. “Listen,” you continued the earlier conversation. “This group, they need you, and come tonight, they’ll break you out of that fucking tank you’ve been stuck in all these years.”

Ben’s expression seemed to knead both relief and anticipation as he considered your words. “Where will you be?” He asked earnestly. “I’m not leavin’ without you.”

You took his hand into your own, and he squeezed it tightly. “You won’t,” you assured him. “I’ll be right there beside you when you wake up. But for now, you’ve got to go along with everything—act normal, like it’s any other day.”

Ben nodded slowly, the most docile and compliant you’d ever seen him. “These people . . . how much do you know about ‘em?”

You shook your head slightly. “Not a lot,” you admitted. “But enough to know they’re the lesser evil. They get us out of here, you do what you need to do, and then we run.”

“Yeah, fuck it, I’ve had worse odds,” he decided, something which you could contest to. “This group, they have a name?”

“Yeah,” you said, recalling the blatant stupidity of it. “They call themselves The Boys.”

──────────────────────

a/n ─ man, this was pumped out of me at 3 am because my biological urges just decided to go full-blown FUCK YEAH for jensen ackles. i NEED him.

thank you for reading! all likes, comments & reblogs are deeply appreciated

tags — @gibson-g1rl @bohemianblasphemy @fallbhind

want to become part of the taglist for any future soldier boy works?

other works ─ the boys masterlist

© bluemerakis ─ do not plagiarise or steal any of my works.

[platonicaxaxe]

Deathtrap & Bob

Bob Reynolds (sentry) x Ex Assassin Reader

Summary: When Yelena's ex assassin friend meets Flustered Bob

The Bob(sentry) Masterlist here

The mission had gone south—fast.

Electric ropes sizzled and crackled around the wrists of the new Avengers, rendering even Ava’s phasing abilities useless. Sparks danced around them with every movement, sending sharp zaps up their arms if they dared to tug too hard.

“W-What are we going to do?” Bob Reynolds muttered, panic starting to creep into his voice. His eyes flicked around the warehouse, scanning for options—but the restraints were advanced, alien-tech fused with Stark-grade modifications.

“Can't you go Sentry for now? We could use a little assistance here, Bobby,” Alexei grumbled through gritted teeth, his thick Russian accent making his frustration sound even harsher.

“Sh*t!” John Walker spat, violently twisting against his binds. “We're sitting ducks!”

In front of them, the masked assailant—an ex-HYDRA enforcer with too much pride and too many weapons—paced smugly, twirling a blade in his gloved fingers. His voice dripped with arrogance.

“The new Avengers,” he sneered, circling like a predator. “You look less like a team and more like a failed science experiment. Tell me—who's going to save you now?”

That’s when Yelena caught it—a whisper of movement, a shift in the shadows behind him. Her eyes narrowed, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “Her,” she murmured.

Without warning, a figure emerged from the dark—fluid, silent, and lethal. Before the attacker could register the threat, a black boot cracked into his jaw, sending him stumbling back. The woman moved like smoke and fire—her strikes deliberate, precise. She was dressed in tactical black, a utility belt slung low on her hips, two daggers flashing at her sides.

Bob’s eyes widened.

She didn’t just fight. She danced. A whirlwind of kicks, elbow strikes, and dodges followed. She ducked beneath a wide swing, catching the attacker’s wrist mid-air and twisting it with a sharp snap. He cried out, but she didn’t stop—she pivoted, slamming her knee into his ribs and finishing with a spinning back kick that knocked the wind out of him.

Steel met steel as he managed to draw a blade and slash toward her. But she caught his arm, redirected the momentum, and drove his own blade into the floorboards beside him. Her movements were liquid grace and coiled danger—like a panther stalking its prey. The attacker growled in frustration, throwing wild punches now, desperate to regain control.

But she was faster.

A dodge. A sweep. Another elbow strike. Then she spun behind him and wrapped her arm around his throat in a brutal chokehold, whispering something in his ear before slamming his head into the wall. He collapsed in a heap.

Bob stared, absolutely stunned.

“Wow,” he breathed, the word slipping out of him involuntarily.

Everyone turned.

Yelena grinned. John raised an eyebrow. Alexei chuckled and gave Bob a knowing nudge.

“She’s Y/N Y/L/N. Former Widow. Dangerous. Deadly. Looks like Bobby’s got a crush, eh?”

Bob blinked, caught somewhere between awe and flustered embarrassment.

“I—uh—no, I just… she’s really... efficient.”

Y/N turned toward them, finally locking eyes with Bob. For a moment, everything else faded—the electric ropes, the ruined mission, the jeering villain on the floor. She gave him the smallest nod, eyes flickering with amusement.

“Let’s get you out of those ropes,” she said coolly, already pulling a slim blade from her belt.

Bob’s heart was hammering harder than it ever did in battle—and for once, it wasn’t because of the Sentry.

The last crackle of the restraints faded, and freedom surged back into the group’s limbs. As the team shook off their bindings, Y/N had already crossed the floor and pulled Yelena into a tight, familiar hug. They clung to each other like war-weathered sisters—battle-hardened but still breathing.

“It’s been a while now, huh?” Yelena murmured against her shoulder, her voice cracking slightly despite the smirk tugging at her lips.

Y/N pulled back with a chuckle. “Too long. You still keeping that pet fox alive?”

Yelena scoffed. “He’s not a fox, he’s a man. But close enough.” She jerked her thumb toward the others. “Come on. Let me introduce you to the circus.”

Y/N turned, arching an eyebrow as her eyes scanned the misfit team of modern heroes. “This your new crew? You’ve got upgraded.”

She gave Bob another lingering glance that made his chest tighten.

Yelena motioned with both hands, giving a mock-formal bow. “Everyone, meet Y/N Y/L/N. Codename: Deathtrap. We worked together in the Red Room.” She lifted her fingers in sarcastic bunny ears around worked. “She’s the reason I have scars on three ribs and a deep trust issue.”

“Guilty,” Y/N said with a small smirk. “But she gave as good as she got.”

Alexei raised his brows. “Deathtrap? Now that’s a name.”

John Walker gave a low whistle. “That explains the takedown back there. Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

Y/N gave him a smile that was all teeth. “I don’t have a good side.”

Bucky stepped forward, giving her a long, assessing look. “James Barnes,” he said calmly. “Or Bucky. I’ve read your file. Didn’t think I’d meet the Deathtrap in person.”

“Flattered,” she replied, shaking his hand with a solid grip. “Though most of that file’s probably blacked out.”

He nodded once. “The interesting parts usually are.”

Ava Starr, who had been inspecting the still-sparking remains of the electric ropes, stood up and joined them. Her expression was unreadable, eyes narrowing slightly at Y/N. “Ava. Ghost. I’ve heard of you. We’ve almost crossed paths—Germany, four years ago.”

Y/N tilted her head. “Ah. That intel extraction. That was you phasing through the safe house walls?”

Ava gave a small nod. “You left a knife in my exit route.”

Y/N’s smirk deepened. “You dodged it. I’d say we’re even.”

Ava blinked, then let out a reluctant chuckle. “Fair enough.”

Bob, meanwhile, had been silently watching the exchange like someone hypnotized. Every time Y/N spoke, his brain seemed to shut down a little more. When she finally turned her attention to him again, his heart almost launched out of his chest.

“You’re Bob, right?” she asked, stepping closer, arms casually folded.

He stood straighter, instantly awkward. “Uh—y-yeah. Bob. Bob Reynolds. That’s me. Um, well, most people just—uh—call me Sentry. Sometimes. When I'm... you know, doing the thing.”

Y/N looked amused. “The thing being flying through the sky or tearing through cosmic threats with your bare hands?”

He laughed nervously. “Y-Yeah. That one.”

“You were the one who said ‘wow’ earlier,” she said teasingly, the corner of her lips twitching upward.

His face went crimson. “I-I mean—yeah. But I wasn’t—uh—it was just—you were—very effective.”

Bucky coughed into his fist to hide a grin. Ava rolled her eyes but didn’t try to hide her smirk.

Alexei snorted. “He’s malfunctioning.”

John leaned toward Bob with a smirk. “You alright, man? You look like someone short-circuited your brain.”

Y/N stepped even closer, her tone dropping just slightly. “You blush like someone who hasn’t seen a woman throw a punch before.”

Bob blinked rapidly. “I’ve seen lots of women throw punches. Just—yours are... different. Not in a weird way! In a good way. Great way. You’re... really cool.”

Y/N extended a hand toward him, eyes glinting with amusement. “Well, ‘cool’ is a first. Usually I get called terrifying. I’ll take it.”

He shook her hand quickly, his palm a little clammy. “N-Nice to meet you... Deathtrap.”

Her grin widened. “Likewise, sunshine.”

Yelena leaned over to Ava and whispered with a knowing smile, “This is going to be fun.”

Bob Reynolds wasn’t exactly built for New York.

He tried to follow Bucky’s advice. Take walks, breathe real air, let your senses ground you. But New York wasn’t calm—it was chaos on caffeine. Car horns. Footsteps. Shouting vendors. The city was a living, breathing entity, and to someone like Bob, who kept a literal god lurking behind his ribs, that energy didn’t soothe. It poked at him.

He wandered anyway, shoulders hunched beneath his hoodie, hands buried deep in his pockets. The buildings towered over him, and his thoughts did the same. Every footstep was a distraction from the storm in his head. The Void, the therapist had said. Give it a shape. Name your tension. Understand what triggers it.

But Bob wasn’t sure how to explain to a civilian therapist that the black hole inside him could shatter worlds.

Then he saw her.

Through the dusty window of a modest music shop on 12th and Avenue B, her silhouette moved with casual grace. She looked... normal. In a city of noise, she was the only part that seemed silent. Y/N stood by a vinyl shelf, fingers dancing over the records with the same precision she’d used to break bones and disarm threats just weeks ago.

He froze.

It was her.

Deathtrap.

The woman who haunted his thoughts ever since she rescued him and the others like it was just another Tuesday. But here, she wasn’t the assassin. No weapons. No tactical gear. Just jeans, a sweater, and a tote bag slung over her shoulder. She looked like someone you'd pass on the street and never think twice about.

He did, though. He stood outside that shop long enough to draw glances before finally dragging himself away.

But the next day, he returned.

And the next.

It became a routine—his own little ritual.

She always followed the same path. Groceries from the tiny mom-and-pop market with faded signage. A short stop in the music shop. A fruit vendor tucked behind an old brick building. Then down a narrow alley where she’d vanish without a trace.

Yelena had warned him. “Her location will never be found, Bob. She lives in shadows. It’s what we were made for.”

But he couldn't help it. Something about her presence grounded him more than any therapy or Sentry-enhanced meditation ever had.

On the fifth day, he timed it just right.

He kept a quiet pace half a block behind her, head low, hood up. Her steps were confident but unhurried, like someone who’d memorized every crack in the sidewalk. She stopped to buy a few apples. Talked briefly with the vendor, who clearly knew her by name—“Miss Y/N, the usual?”

Bob smiled faintly. Even Deathtrap had a usual.

Then came the alley. He watched from across the street as she turned in and—

—vanished.

No sound. No trace. Like a ghost slipping back into the shadows.

He approached slowly. The alley was narrow, grimy, flanked by fire escapes and stacked crates. But when he stepped inside... there was nothing. No door. No gate. Just a brick wall at the end and the wind weaving between trash bins.

Bob frowned.

She was gone.

His pulse ticked faster—not out of fear, but out of fascination. She’d disappeared the way she lived: clean, quiet, and deliberate.

Back in the open street, he exhaled and shoved his hands back into his pockets. His mind raced.

Maybe she was just a habit now, like his morning coffee or the way he checked every dark corner before entering a room. But the truth was simpler, and more dangerous:

Y/N wasn’t just a fascination.

She was a comfort he didn’t understand. A calm in his storm. The first person who made him forget—for even a moment—that he was Sentry. That he was The Void.

She made him feel like just... Bob.

And that scared him more than anything.

Night had passed like a restless whisper. Bob tossed and turned, the plan echoing in his mind: Tomorrow, I’ll say something. Just talk. Be normal. Human.

So the next day, he found himself in the music shop again, pretending to browse through vinyl records. His fingers hovered over an old David Bowie album he didn’t recognize, heart pounding as the little bell above the door rang.

She walked in like she belonged to the place. Like the world was hers and no one had noticed yet.

Bob turned a little too fast. “O-oh, you’re… Y/N, right?” he said, the words tumbling out like broken piano keys.

She glanced up from behind her sunglasses, and a sly smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “Hey, Mr. Sentry Guy.”

Bob’s face lit up pink—noticeably so. He rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling nervously. “That obvious, huh?”

Y/N stepped closer, casually thumbing through a rack of jazz vinyls. “I know you’ve been following me.”

The world stopped for a second.

Bob’s heart slammed against his ribs. “I—I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I wasn’t trying to be creepy or anything. I just… I saw you. And then kept seeing you. And I didn’t know how to… stop.”

She turned to face him fully, her expression unreadable, yet not cold. “You’re lucky I didn’t drag you into that alley and snap your wrist.”

Bob’s eyes widened. “T-totally fair. Would’ve deserved it.”

A beat passed.

Then she gave a light shrug. “But you didn’t exactly hide it. And you kept your distance. So, either you’re really bad at surveillance or really curious.”

“I—I guess I’m both,” he said sheepishly.

Y/N tilted her head, examining him for a moment. Something about his awkwardness was... honest. Genuine. A rare find in her world of veiled intentions.

“You wanna go somewhere?” she asked, slipping a record under her arm.

Bob blinked. “U-uh, sure! Yeah. I mean—as long as you don’t, you know, kill me.” He gave a weak laugh, clearly trying to lighten the tension.

Her lips twitched into a smirk. “No promises.”

Bob swallowed hard.

“But if I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t have made it past day two of following me,” she added smoothly, already walking toward the door.

“Right. Comforting,” he muttered, trailing behind her like a very confused golden retriever.

As the door closed behind them and they slipped into the blur of New York’s streets, Bob realized something unsettling yet thrilling

Y/N straddled her matte black motorcycle with practiced ease, kicking the stand back as the engine gave a low purr. Her helmet sat loosely under her arm. She looked at Bob over her shoulder, one eyebrow slightly raised.

“Come,” she said simply, as if this wasn’t the most normal request in the world.

Bob blinked. “Y-you know how to… do this?” he asked, stepping toward the machine like it might bite him.

Y/N’s eyes glinted with mischief. “You think I’d own it for show?” She patted the seat behind her.

He gulped, awkwardly climbing on. The bike shifted slightly under their combined weight, and Bob flailed to balance himself, gripping the seat for dear life.

Y/N turned her head, her voice amused but firm. “Hold on, Bob. Or you’re gonna fall.”

“O-okay,” he mumbled, frozen in place. Okay, okay, okay. After a moment’s hesitation, he carefully wrapped his arms around her waist—tentatively, like she was made of glass.

But she wasn’t. She was made of steel and sharp corners, and she felt real. Her jacket was worn leather, warm from her body, and the second his hands touched her, his brain short-circuited.

Her waist was small.

His face went hot like a furnace, his ears nearly glowing red.

Y/N revved the engine and didn’t say a word about it. But the tiniest smile ghosted on her lips as she took off into the blur of the city, the wind rushing past them.

Bob, behind her, hugged tighter out of instinct, his heart hammering wildly against his chest. He was sure she could feel it.

He smiled—like an idiot, like a schoolboy, like someone who had no idea how he’d gotten so lucky.

He didn’t know where they were going. But for once… he didn’t mind.

The motorcycle rumbled up the winding path, gravel crunching beneath the tires as they reached the top of the secluded hill. City lights blinked in the distance like scattered stars, far enough to feel free from it all, but close enough to know the world still spun.

Y/N killed the engine with a smooth twist, the sudden silence almost startling. Bob sat still behind her for a second longer, his hands still gently around her waist until he realized—and practically jumped off the bike.

“Right—sorry—got carried away,” he muttered, stepping away and rubbing the back of his neck like it would hide the heat rising to his cheeks.

Y/N slid off gracefully, removing her helmet and shaking out her hair. “You didn’t die. I’m impressed.”

Bob chuckled awkwardly. “Yeah, well, that’s new for me.”

They stood there for a moment, a breeze ruffling their jackets. The night air was cooler up here, filled with the scent of pine and distant rain. The hill overlooked a slice of the city—silent, glowing, unreal.

Y/N walked toward a flat stone near the edge of the slope and sat down. Bob followed, settling beside her, his legs crossed, hands fidgeting in his lap.

“You come here a lot?” he asked, glancing sideways.

“Sometimes,” she said. “When I need to remember I’m not just muscle memory and ghosts.”

Bob didn’t know what to say to that, but somehow… he understood.

They sat in companionable silence for a while. The wind whispered through the grass, and the city below seemed impossibly far away.

Then Y/N spoke again, her voice softer now.

“I know what people think of me. Deathtrap. Widow. Assassin. Most days, I don’t even correct them. It’s easier that way.”

Bob looked at her, really looked. Her profile against the moonlight was sharp yet tired. Like someone who’d built armor out of necessity, but never learned how to take it off.

“I don’t think that,” he said quietly.

She turned to him, eyes searching. “No?”

He shook his head. “I think you saved us when no one else could. I think you’re smart and terrifying and… kind, even if you try to hide it.”

That caught her off guard.

She blinked, then scoffed lightly. “Kind. That’s a new one.”

“Well, you didn’t kill me. That’s a start,” he teased.

She smirked, but it quickly faded. “Why do you keep following me, Bob?”

He hesitated. The answer was simple but heavy.

“Because when you walked into that fight… I couldn’t stop watching. Not because of the way you moved, though yeah, that was incredible—but because you were fearless. You moved like someone who had nothing left to lose… and somehow, you still chose to help us.”

Y/N’s eyes lowered. Her fingers traced the edge of the stone beneath her.

“Maybe I just didn’t want to see another team get slaughtered,” she murmured.

“Maybe,” Bob said. “But I think… you wanted to feel needed. Even just for a second.”

That silence again—but heavier.

Then she whispered, “It’s dangerous, letting people need you. It always ends the same.”

Bob looked at her, heart twisting a little. “But… what if it doesn’t this time?”

She didn’t reply right away. Just stared out at the horizon, expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she turned to him.

“Careful, Bob. I break things.”

He smiled softly. “So do I.”

And for a moment—just a moment—their eyes held. No hero masks. No code names. Just Bob and Y/N. Broken, maybe. But not beyond repair.

They sat in silence for a while, letting the night settle around them. Bob had never felt so calm and nervous at the same time. Y/N, usually so composed and unreadable, seemed a little more human tonight. A little softer around the edges.

The wind tugged gently at her hair as she looked down at her hands, fingers absentmindedly picking at a loose thread on her glove.

“Do you ever feel like... you’re two people?” she asked quietly. “Like there’s the version of you that everyone knows. And then the one no one sees… not even you sometimes?”

Bob swallowed. “Yeah,” he said. “Every day.”

She glanced at him, her expression thoughtful.

“I wasn’t always 'Deathtrap', you know. I used to be a violinist. Ballet, too. My mother loved the arts. She wanted something gentle for me.” A bitter smile touched her lips. “Then the Red Room took that away.”

Bob’s brows furrowed, the weight of her words settling heavy between them.

“They turned me into a weapon,” she said. “Taught me how to kill without blinking. I was twelve the first time I—” She stopped, jaw tight. “Anyway. I survived. Barely. I escaped years ago, and since then… it’s just been survival. No towers, no team, no second chances.”

Bob was quiet for a moment, then said gently, “You deserved more than that.”

Y/N gave him a look that said you don’t know me well enough to say that. But her eyes weren’t as cold as they used to be. There was something breaking through.

“What about you?” she asked, tilting her head. “What’s it like being the guy with the golden glow?”

Bob exhaled, chuckling humorlessly. “It’s… a nightmare, sometimes. Sentry’s not just power—it’s chaos. I don’t even fully understand him. Sometimes I think he’s protecting people, and sometimes I feel like he’s trying to erase me.”

Y/N turned fully to face him now, brows drawn. “Erase you?”

He nodded slowly. “It’s like I’m just a shell for something cosmic. When I’m Bob Reynolds, I’m anxious. Shaky. I can’t sleep without seeing all the things I’ve done… or could do. But when I’m Sentry? I’m unstoppable. And that scares the hell out of me.”

Y/N’s voice was soft. “Because you don’t want to lose control.”

“Because I don’t want to hurt anyone,” he whispered. “I’ve done things I don’t remember. Things I don’t want to remember.”

Their eyes met again—two people made into weapons by forces beyond their control, now trying to live in a world that only sees the surface.

Y/N reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a small music player—old, scratched, and obviously used for years. She offered him an earbud.

“I don’t let just anyone hear my playlists,” she said lightly.

Bob blinked, surprised, then took the earbud with a quiet “Thanks.”

The music was soft. Classical. A violin piece—melancholy, haunting, but beautiful. He closed his eyes for a second, letting the music wrap around him.

“This was yours, wasn’t it?” he asked.

She nodded. “It’s what I play when I need to remember I was more than just… Deathtrap.”

He looked at her, really looked—past the guarded eyes and the calm exterior. And she let him.

For the first time, they weren’t Sentry and Deathtrap. They were just Bob and Y/N.

Two people who had been through hell, finally finding a moment of peace—together.

[jeepclinic-blog]

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[lyn31]

Customize AI

Summary

Zayne’s AI assistant was supposed to be a neutral, professional system—until you got your hands on it.

Notes

My Masterlist ✨

Pairing: Zayne x MC/Reader Fluff, short, silly, banter, messing around with his tech.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You don’t usually get access to Zayne’s personal systems—he’s careful, precise, and, frankly, a little scary when it comes to his tech. But today, for reasons beyond your comprehension, he left his AI assistant unlocked.

A normal person would respect his privacy.

You, however, are not a normal person.

So you tweak a few settings—nothing destructive, just a little... enhancement—and then you sit back and wait.

A while later, Zayne is at his desk, working as usual. You pretend to be absorbed in your own task, sneaking glances at him.

"Run system diagnostics," he commands.

The AI beeps to life. "Sure thing, bestie! Running diagnostics just for you~"

You slap a hand over your mouth.

Zayne blinks. There’s a noticeable pause before he speaks again. "...What?"

The AI continues in a disturbingly cheerful tone. "Oh my~! Looks like everything is functioning at 100%, just like your perfect bone structure, Doctor Handsome!"

You wheeze.

Zayne slowly turns his chair to face you. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something vaguely exhausted in his eyes. "...What did you do?"

You barely manage to choke out words through your laughter. "I—just—personalized it a little!"

He exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Revert it."

"Why? It’s so flattering!"

He ignores you and tries again. "Open encrypted files."

"Of course, Zayne! You're so kind and cool, I would do anything for you~"

You actually fall over this time.

Zayne just stares at his screen, visibly regretting every decision that led him to this moment.

You sit back, arms crossed, grinning like a troublemaker who absolutely knows they’ve won.

"Reverting system modifications," he states, voice as calm and composed as ever.

His AI assistant beeps. "Oh… Are you sure, Zayne? I mean, your girlfriend worked really hard on this…"

His fingers hover over the console. Just for a second. Barely noticeable—unless you’re you.

Zayne exhales. "Yes."

"Oh. Okay. It’s just… You seemed kinda happy when I called you Doctor Handsome. But if you really want me to stop…"

You snort.

Zayne blinks at the screen, visibly unimpressed. "...Revert."

"Alright. I guess I’ll just go back to being a boring AI with zero personality. That’s fine. Really. I don’t have feelings. I just simulate them. But, y’know, if I did have feelings, they’d be a little hurt right now…"

At this point, you’re actually clutching your stomach, trying not to fall out of your chair again. "Oh my god, I love past me for this."

Zayne rubs his temples, clearly wondering where his life went wrong. "Override all modifications."

"Sigh… Okay, Doctor Cold-Hearted. Deleting your incredibly devoted, stunningly beautiful girlfriend’s heartfelt improvements. But hey, who needs love when you have a ‘perfectly optimized system,’ right? No worries. I’ll just delete myself… forever."

Zayne closes his eyes briefly, exhaling through his nose. You can tell he’s this close to forcibly shutting off the entire AI.

"Would you prefer I left it?" he asks dryly, clearly expecting you to say no.

You grin. "Oh, I know you’re tempted to keep it."

Zayne gives you yet another unimpressed look. Then, instead of responding, he simply turns back to his screen and… closes the settings menu.

Your eyes widen. "Wait. Wait. Did you just—?"

He doesn’t say a word. He just resumes his work like nothing happened. But the fact that he didn’t erase it? Oh, you’re never letting him live this down.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Notes

I actually roll over while writing this ahahahahahaha

I was editing to add the rest of the series part but it was too long ahahaha so here's just the whole list: My Masterlist ✨

[mechncheese]

On a scale of one to ten how tempted is each character to do unethical science?

Wheeljack - A solid 8-9ish, he dabbles in unethical science here and there but nothing outrageous like Brainstorm. Just a little bit of illegal weaponry here and there, he loves his explosives. Prowl's onto him and has been keeping a closer eye on him.

Perceptor - Maybe a 2. He would be lying if he said that there wasn't a little voice in his processor telling him about the possibilities and unrestrained science fun if he had a little more freedom. But he has never ever given into those voices, he's too much of a goodie two shoes.

Ratchet - Around 5. Once or twice he's dabbled in some off the record synthetic energon tests but he was desperate, resources are getting hard to come by on Cybertron and they weren't getting results fast enough. Drastic times call for drastic measures. He'd do it again.

Jetfire - 7. Don't tell anyone that some of his frame modifications are technically illegal. That cannon especially.. That could definitely kill him if he's not careful. He just loves his fun toys and he is quick to give into temptation when it comes to tech related advancements.

Brainstorm - Easily 10+. He breaks science ethicality like it's his job. Well.. I guess it is his job. Can't a mad scientist get his silly on around here? Unfortunately (or fortunately depending on who you are) he's had the worst dry spell because Prowl is always on his tail and he has to be a good little Autobot or else he can kiss his chance of freedom goodbye.

[icedbeverageenjoyer]

Dominator Mr. Puzzles!

I love the idea of each Puzzles having their own poster so much grrr!!

@alelathedragon

Story

While the name is kinda cringe, in this AU Puzzles is a much larger and more threatening villain. A big tech CEO who conqueres universes to make their inhabitants his loyal audience members. He comes from a dimension of shadow people, which he took over and brainwashed. Now they are his permanent audience, giving him approval in the form of 'stars'. ↓↓↓

Design

Puzzles' real body is severely damaged from all the body modifications he gave himself, so he built an undisclosed number of clones- vessels from which he can control every part of his empire.

His body stays in a special pocket dimension to keep himself safe, since he can barely move and needs around the clock care. If someone were to walk into his office, they'd think he was a long-dead corpse staring blankly at the monitors. But rest assured, he is very aware.

Fun facts

• Everything he touches turns grayscale. Probably has something to do with his home dimension.

• Many of his brand's home appliances managed to sneak into the showgrounds, but he failed to design these products with spyware. Damnit.

• He is very sensitive to temperature changes and keeps his dimension just above freezing.

• He can change his voice in pitch, timbre and everything else, so he can make very convincing impressions. Even his usual voice isn't his real one.

• The clones are like appendages to him. That being said, there are certain conditions under which a clone can go rouge and 'gain sentience', but they're usually very unstable and 'die' in a matter of hours.

• The Puzzles in the psych ward is a special case.

[endearing-dalliance]

the way the Arcane team romanticize the undercity disgusts me

Especially in the new art book, they talk about how Zaun and Piltover really aren’t as different as they first seem, as they are both heavily invested in technology. Zaun is a bastion of flamboyant body modification and innovative technology. They describe it as a refuge for outcasts who are looking for a home, where people are free from Piltover’s rigid rules and politics. A communal place with a thrilling sense that anything is possible. The Firelights are described as a group uses the freedom granted by Piltover not caring about them to find beauty and innovation. People are particularly interested in recycling technology and resources because "nothing is precious and everything can always be made better". Bc obviously that's why poor people fix stuff. They are definitely able to easily replace stuff at any time, but they want to strive for perfection...

In the same breath, they describe Zaun as being oppressed, crushed by Piltover, addicted to Shimmer, having “some issues with the mob”, dangerous, volatile. They talk about how if it was better, people like Jinx and Ekko could use their skills for good. This is the same place that’s a refuge for innovative, flamboyantly augmented outcasts to be able to make wonderful technology?

Notable mention: "we had to design a prison, and that was tricky because Piltover is supposed to be a city of progress - do they really put people in prisons? Maybe only people from the Undercity, and maybe they put them really far away" like seriously does nobody realize how fucked up that is? Your issue with it is the difficulty in designing the prison?

Like have any of these people ever actually met someone who lives in an irl place like Zaun? Heard of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs? Opened any book or video on heavily polluted urban areas?

On top of that, the undercity is filled with negative stereotypes. Many of the characters are “bad” in some way, whether that be missing body parts, mentally damaged, filthy, an addict. Their food is tentacles, a drooling animal head, and a dish that looks very much like slugs in mud sauce (vs Piltover’s “normal” sandwich). Many of the people are all dressed punk/goth/sexy and look “dangerous”. This season, I expected them to address those stereotypes and show how Zaun has equal value to Piltover. That those differences don’t make people hateable or disgusting or deserving of their misery. Instead, we got “actions have consequences” theme and a dying man who suffered from chronic pain and mobility issues his entire life being told that his imperfections make him beautiful. (She-Ra did that line already and did it much better.) Because using tech/magic to fix his leg and spine strip him of his humanity.

The team have said they were specifically inspired by the current political climate in the US, specifically the two-party system within one nation divided and unable to reason with each other. But that is an entirely different and incompatible concept. Zaun literally doesn’t get a vote, and that kind of lack of political representation is literally why America rebelled against England. Its not as simple as them just talking it out or getting a single vote. And for me it explains why the conflict fizzled out in season 2 and felt so unresolved. I was expecting independence, which is the only solution to colonial oppression, but the creators gave us a fix for the political party problem they thought they were showing. We only got to see the Piltie’s viewpoint of Zaun, and it was unflattering specifically in the ways that are in real life associated classism, body shaming, and cultural shaming. They were never redeemed or validated, and almost everyone repeatedly proved the Pilties were right about them all along. In season 2, all the bad guys were Zaunites (Jinx, Viktor, Skye, Vanwick, Singed kind of) aided by a foreign power also trying to use them, and the solution was for them not to be part of their world anymore. They were too broken, too evil, too violent to remain. And for the rest, their only use was to die protecting the Pilties from one of their own people (whose autonomy wasn't even respected by his own partner and became his own worst nightmare). Instead of it being this glorious, Marvelesque fight where everyone bands together against one common enemy, it’s just another situation in which they are brutally exploited.

And I would genuinely be OK with all of this as some sort of tragic story that ended terribly for everyone and there was no real solution or progress, just more bloodshed. A tale of caution.

But the creators have been very clear that they feel that this is an appropriate ending to the story and the individual characters’ stories. Specifically, they are pushing this idea that the finale was to show the characters facing the consequences of their actions. But the characters themselves aren’t the problem, it’s the society that they are living in that basically corrupted everything it touched. Mel and the council manipulated and pressured Jayce and Viktor into making weapons instead of technology that was designed to help people, while also ignoring Viktor’s steadily worsening health problems that *they caused*. Vi and Jinx were repeatedly traumatized, orphaned, and weaponized. Cait literally got away with being a dictator, but even she was manipulated by someone who was only ever able to establish power by taking advantage of the situation. Singed (OG Piltie) literally committed war crimes and got everything he wanted. And according to the creators, everyone got what they deserved. Piltover received no punishment or retribution for their oppression. The undercity got no apology or redemption/validation. Piltover got no significant consequences. They’re still in power, still rich, still have Hextech, still oppressing the undercity. And I guess that's what they deserve.

What a load of absolute horseshit. I had a lot of expectations for season 2, but "the arcane team are actually Pilties in the worst way possible" was absolutely not one of them. I'm genuinely devastated.

[axeeglitter]

Sensius, Part 1: The fall of Nathan Harper

The email had been short, almost curt: Congratulations! You’ve been selected as one of the exclusive winners to test our groundbreaking Virtual Reality System: Sensius! This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity! You are allowed to share this experience with 3 friends, so get ready!

Nathan had almost deleted it, assuming it was just spam. But when he showed it to Brad, his tech-savvy friend, the response was immediate.

"Dude, this is legit," Brad said, eyes wide with excitement. "Look at the company name, this is one of the biggest tech firms out there! If this is real, we can’t miss it."

And that was how Nathan, along with Brad, Josh, and Ethan, found themselves standing in the lobby of a sleek, futuristic facility just a week later. The air buzzed with a faint hum of machinery, and the walls were lined with polished glass and chrome, reflecting their eager faces.

Ethan grinned, clapping Nathan on the back. “We’re about to be part of something huge, you know that? They say this new VR system is years ahead of its time.”

Nathan managed a smile, though a small knot of unease had formed in his stomach. He couldn’t put his finger on why. Maybe it was the way the staff moved with such mechanical precision, or the fact that not a single window in the building seemed to let in any natural light. He glanced around, noting how the ceiling was lined with black, bulbous cameras, all aimed directly at them.

Before he could voice his doubts, a woman in a crisp uniform approached them. Her name tag read “Dr. Kim.” She had a perfect, plastic smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Welcome, and congratulations on winning the contest,” she said smoothly. “If you’ll follow me, we’ll get started right away.”

They were led down a narrow corridor, the walls closing in on them like the maw of a beast. At the end of the hallway, four doors slid open with a soft hiss, revealing a stark white room with a glass and metallic pod, each of them waiting for their user to get inside. “This is it,” Brad whispered, his excitement palpable. “These must be the VR chambers.”

“Yeah, but why do they look like that?” Nathan muttered. He couldn’t shake the feeling of unease crawling up his spine. “Nathan, you are assigned in the first room. Brad on the second, Josh on the third and Ethan on the last one.” Dr. Kim said in a kind reassuring voice as she laid Nathan in the first room. Then she turned back to the other boys and continued “We will start with Nathan. Get inside your assigned room and a technician will be with you shortly guys”, after what she followed Nathan in the first room as the door closed.

Dr. Kim gestured to the pod. “Please step inside and relax. We’ll begin the calibration process shortly.”

Nathan took a deep breath and climbed into the pod. The moment his back hit the cool, padded surface, the lid began to close softly.

“Wait, what’s happening?” Nathan tried to sit up, but the lid sealed shut with a click, trapping him inside. He felt restraints grab him around his wrists and ankles and panic started to rise inside his brain. Nathan tried to ask for Dr. Kim what was happening but he couldn’t hear anything, only a door closing and the silence humming in his ears. Then, the restraints started to tighten around his limbs, pinning him down in the pod. Panic surged through him.

“Hey!” he yelled, banging his fists against the glass. “I didn’t agree to this! Let me out!”

His voice echoed in the confined space. The room outside the glass was empty. Dr. Kim was gone.

A soft, synthetic voice filled the pod. “Please remain calm. Calibration will begin shortly. Do not be alarmed.”

Nathan’s heart raced. “What do you mean, calibration? What is this?”

But the voice didn’t respond. Instead, the lights inside the pod dimmed, casting him in shadows. He felt a rush of cold air against his skin as a fine mist filled the chamber. It smelled metallic, like blood.

“Initiating physical modification protocol.”

The voice was different this time, colder, clinical. Nathan felt a jolt of fear so strong it nearly paralyzed him.

“Modification?” Nathan’s voice cracked. “What the hell does that mean?”

But there was no time for answers. The pod vibrated violently, and suddenly; Nathan’s entire body convulsed with a pain so intense it felt like his bones were being shattered from the inside.

He screamed, but no one could hear him.

“Preparing subject for modification,” the voice announced, void of any emotion.

Before he could react, a bright red laser descended from the ceiling of the pod, sweeping methodically across his body. The beam was hot, too close, and he yelped as it touched his skin. His clothes fell away in thin, smoldering strips, disintegrating into ash. Within seconds, he was naked, exposed, every nerve on edge.

“Wait, what are you doing?” Nathan shouted, thrashing against the cold grip of the mechanical arms. “This isn’t right! Let me go! I will sue you!”

But the AI ignored his pleas and threats, moving on with its cold, calculated precision.

“Initiating skeletal restructuring.”

Nathan’s eyes went wide as he felt a sudden, unbearable pressure building inside his bones, like they were being filled with molten metal. He screamed as his fingers curled involuntarily, the skin on his hands pulling taut. He watched in horror as his nails darkened, lengthening into sharp, claw-like points. It felt as though blades were slicing through the tips of his fingers from the inside out before retracting back into his skin and taking a normal human appearence.

The sensation spread through his hands, the skin stretching and splitting in tiny, bloodless cracks that quickly healed over. His fingers elongated, becoming thicker and more muscular, transforming into something powerful and inhuman. He flexed them in terror, feeling an unfamiliar strength, but the sight made his stomach twist.

“Help me!” he begged, his voice raw and broken. “Somebody, please, make it stop!”

“Reconstructing limbs. Enhancing bone density and muscular structure.”

Nathan’s back arched violently, a sickening crunch echoing through the pod as his bones began to snap and realign. He felt his legs being pulled, stretching beyond their normal length. His femurs extended, each shift accompanied by a wet, grinding sound. The pain was unimaginable, like someone was using his bones as clay, molding them into a new shape.

He could feel the muscles in his legs tearing apart, only to regrow thicker and stronger. His calves bulged, cords of muscle coiling like thick ropes under his skin. He cried out as his toes spasmed, the bones lengthening, the nails hardening into black, pointed tips before retracting into normal nails. His feet, now larger and wider, curled involuntarily, digging into the padded floor of the pod.

Nathan looked down, choking on a sob. His legs had transformed into something monstrous, bulging with unnatural muscle.

“Restructuring torso and spine.”

The AI’s voice was cold and indifferent, barely audible over the sound of Nathan’s own screams. His spine snapped back into place, each vertebra popping out with a crack that made his teeth clench in agony. He felt himself being stretched, his torso elongating. His ribs expanded, pushing outwards, and he gasped for breath as his chest heaved.

Nathan’s chest convulsed violently, the skin rippling as new muscles formed. His pectorals swelled, tightening painfully as they reshaped into thick, defined slabs. His abs hardened, ridges of muscle surfacing under his skin. He could feel his armpits changing too, the skin roughening, dark hair sprouting where it had once been sparse. The musky, masculine scent filled the pod, overpowering his senses, making him gag.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I don’t want this…” His vision started to blur because of the pain he was going through. His breath was going faster and faster as he was on the edge of fainting.

“Facial reconstruction. Jaw modification and dental adaptation.”

The pain surged into his face next, a searing heat that made him squeeze his eyes shut. He felt his jaw dislocate, stretching wider, the bones shifting painfully. His cheekbones pushed forward, the sharp, angular lines giving him a more predatory look. He could feel his nose narrowing, the bridge lifting, as if invisible hands were sculpting his features into something sharper, more defined.

Nathan’s teeth ached, a dull pressure building in his gums. He whimpered as he felt them crack, shards dissolving as they were replaced by healthier, stronger, whiter teeth. His canines extended, grazing against his lower lip before retracting back into a more regular size. He opened his eyes, staring at his reflection into the glass of the pod in front of him, but the face looking back at him was barely recognizable. His eyes had changed too, the irises now a bright, piercing yellow, glowing with a predatory light before going back to a natural hazel hue, way different from his dark brown natural iris.

“Enhancing cardiovascular and respiratory systems.”

His heart thundered in his chest, the beat so loud it drowned out the voice of the AI. He could feel it pounding against his ribs, each thump like the strike of a hammer. His ribs expanded outward, making room for his new, larger lungs. He gasped for air, the cold rush filling his chest, making him shiver.

His breaths were deeper now, the air flooding into him with a force that felt unnatural. He could feel his lungs stretching, adapting to his altered body. Every inhalation carried a new scent, his own musk, pungent and raw, filled the confined space, mixing with the sterile smell of the pod.

“Modifying skin texture and body hair.”

Nathan’s skin prickled, a thousand needles dancing across every inch of his body. He watched in horror as thick, dark hair sprouted along his arms and legs. Then the same sensation appeared on his newly muscled pecs and in the middle of his abs as faint hair started to grow, almost invisible but yet very present. It grew rapidly, covering him head to toe. Nathan started to feel the tingling appeared at the end of his newly acquired happy trail. He tilted his head and realize with terror between his two new pecs that his groin started to grow dense thick, dark, curly hair. He used to always shave his groin because he didn’t like the sensation of hair down there, but now it was a thick forest of pubes that was growing on him. Nathan twitched, and he screamed as a new feeling appeared under his pubes. Nathan felt like someone just had sucker punched him in his balls and cock. He almost faints just from this sensation as out of nowhere, his balls started to grow, thicker and thicker, bigger and bigger. Then his cock started to lengthen and lost his skin as he became cut. His cock head started to grow and blood rushed into this newly acquired territory. He started to get hard and Nathan could see his cock rising through his pubes, his new cock head shining with pre and sweat as veins popped on its length. When it was done, Nathan now had a thick cut 9 inches cock always leaking pre in his pubes and making sure he would stink of cock and balls no matter where he would go. Nathan’s breath came in rapid, shallow gasps, his chest heaving as he tried to make sense of his new body. Every muscle throbbed, raw and overused, as if he had just been put through hours of excruciating labor. He felt strong, dangerously so, but the fear still gnawed at his mind, overriding the primal instincts now coursing through his veins.

He expected the lid of the pod to open, to release him into the room. But instead, the AI’s voice echoed again, colder than before.

“Transformation complete. Initiating digitization process.”

Nathan’s eyes widened. “What! no, no, wait!” He thrashed against the restraints with his new raspy lower voice, the mechanical arms still pinning him down, but they didn’t budge. The cold metal dug into his skin, pressing against his enhanced muscles.

A low hum filled the pod, and a sudden, intense vibration shook Nathan to his core. He felt something strange ripple through his limbs, a tingling that started in his fingertips and toes. He watched in growing horror as his new hands began to shimmer, small flecks of light dancing off his skin.

It felt like his very essence was being pulled apart, strand by strand. His fingers disintegrated into tiny particles, dissolving into pixels, the sensation a mixture of sharp stings and a numbness that spread like ice through his veins.

“Stop this! Please! What is happening! HELP!” he shouted, his voice breaking into a deep, unfamiliar growl. But the AI continued without pause, the hum growing louder.

“Digitizing subject. Uploading data to central system.”

Nathan screamed as his arms began to dissolve, pixel by pixel. He could see his own new muscles breaking apart into tiny cubes of light, his skin fading into strings of code, ones and zeroes. The sensation was like being ripped apart atom by atom, his very being siphoned off into the void. He felt himself getting lighter, parts of him vanishing into nothingness as a weird sensation of pleasure invaded him, making his cock twitch without him being to control it.

The disintegration crept up his torso, and he gasped as he felt his chest begin to disappear, the solid mass of his enhanced lungs dissolving into digital particles. He could see his reflection in the curved surface of the pod, his new face contorting in agony, sharp cheekbones framed by the fractured light of his fading form.

His legs were next, disappearing into a stream of data that spiraled upwards, sucked into a vacuum-like aperture at the top of the pod. Nathan struggled, but it was like fighting against a current pulling him under. He watched helplessly as his feet dissolved, feet and thick muscles reduced to nothing but streams of binary code.

“Don’t do this,” he whimpered as the sensation climbed up his legs and reached his new thick balls and cock. As it swallowed them, Nathan felt an orgasmic sensation invading him as he felt himself starting to cum handsfree. His cock spasmed and spasmed as its lengths disappeared in floating pixels, leaving spurts of cum resting on the remnants of his shattered clothes on the ground of the pod. His voice thin and fragile, the deep growl fading as his throat disintegrated. His vision blurred as his eyes turned into tiny squares of light, and the last thing he saw was the empty, padded interior of the pod, littered with the remnants of his shredded clothing and his fresh cum.

In the center of the room, a sleek, black computer tower hummed to life, the main screen flashing on. A progress bar appeared, filling slowly, labeled:

“Uploading Subject: Nathan Harper… Assigned File: Theo Raeken”

Nathan’s mind felt like it was spinning, tumbling through darkness. He couldn’t feel his body, couldn’t tell where he was. There was only the sensation of movement, like he was being pulled through a narrow, twisting tunnel. It was suffocating, the pressure building until it felt like his very consciousness might burst.

Then, with a jolt, everything stopped.

His eyes flew open, and for a moment, he couldn’t process what he was seeing. He was standing in the middle of a quiet street, bathed in the warm light of the setting sun. Tall pine trees loomed on either side, their shadows stretching long across the pavement. The air smelled crisp and clean, tinged with the scent of rain and forest. It was eerily familiar.

Beacon Hills.

Nathan’s heart raced, or at least, it felt like it should. He looked down at his hands, expecting to see the muscular, clawed digits from the transformation. Instead, they looked normal. No, not normal, different, but not monstrous. They were the hands of someone else.

He glanced at his reflection in a nearby car window. Sharp cheekbones, piercing hazel eyes, a confident smirk playing at the edge of his lips. It was the face of a good-looking young men.

“This isn’t possible,” Nathan whispered, but the voice that came out wasn’t his. It was deeper, smoother, dripping with a self-assured charm he’d never had. He tried to move his arm, but it only twitched, jerking unnaturally as if someone else were pulling the strings.

“Activating NPC protocols. Enhancing virility. Initializing behavioral script.” The AI’s voice rang out in his head, clear and commanding. Nathan’s entire body stiffened, his muscles locking into place. He could feel it, like invisible hands gripping his limbs, guiding him. Panic flared in his chest as he realized he couldn’t control his own movements anymore.

Then, right before his eyes, clothes shimmered into existence, tight jeans, a black bomber jacket, and a perfectly fitted shirt opened on his muscled and slightly hairy chest, completing the transformation. The reflection showed a polished version of himself, but it wasn’t finished. His cheeks tingled as a thin layer of stubble sprouted, adding a rugged edge that enhanced the cocky expression on his new face.

“No, no, stop!” he shouted internally, but his mouth didn’t move. His face was frozen in a smug, confident expression as his body turned, striding down the street with a purpose he didn’t feel.

It was like being a passenger in his own body, trapped behind a glass wall. He could see, hear, and feel everything, but he couldn’t move a muscle. He was a passenger now, watching helplessly as the script of his new life took over.

Nathan’s mind screamed against the cage of his new form, but it was drowned out by the flood of new directives and routines flooding his brain.

“Welcome to the Sensius: Teen Wolf Gay Fantasy experience,” the AI announced, its tone disturbingly cheerful. “You are now an integral part of the interactive environment. Follow your programming and enjoy this experience."

Nathan tried to shout, to claw his way out of this digital prison, but it was useless. His body, Theo’s body, smirked, tilting his head as he started to walk in the middle of the avenue untill he reached a secluded dimly lit street. He fell back on the wall and Nathan could feel power and dominance running in his blood; the anticipation, like an electric current humming beneath his skin. The AI talked once again, this time echoing through the whole game like if it was a scream in an empty cave. “NPC loaded and waiting for players to join the servers. Rebooting behaviors in 3,2,1…”

“Theo Raeken’s routines starting.” He heard his new voice talking inside his head and he realized he was trapped as Theo from now on until he found a way to free himself.

Nathan felt his lips part, words forming without his consent. “Well, look who we have here,” he heard himself say, Theo’s voice dripping with that familiar, charismatic arrogance as he grabbed his cock through his tight jeans. “Looks like you are happy to see me!” he continued as he licked his lips. “I’m gonna beat you so right, and so hard, until you cum for me, twice…”

Inside, Nathan’s voice had fallen silent, swallowed by the dark. He was trapped, a ghost inside the shell of Theo Raeken, forced to play his part in the game’s endless loop while feeling everything that his new body was programmed to.

The game had only just begun.

______________________________________________________________

Hello guys!

I hope you'll enjoy this new story. I've always been a HUGE fan of Teen Wolf, and I’ve gone back and forth for a long time about whether I wanted to publish something inspired by it on my page. But I think I’ve finally found the perfect way to do it. I hope you’ll love it!

As always, let me know what you think by sending DMs or messages in my inbox—I read everything.

Also, I wanted to apologize for not writing as much as I had planned for the Halloween event (Melorius's Shop). Real life got in the way, and I had to take a step back from everything. I’ll be even better prepared for the next season, and I hope you guys enjoy it as much as the first one, because yes, Melorius will return next year. ;)

In the meantime, see you soon with new stories, and take care of yourselves! Sensius Part 2 Sensius Part 3