#resigned to this endless cycle

[binah-beloved]

Can we think about binah's meltdown form for a bit?

yes we can absolutely think about Binah's meltdown form for a bit. i promise i will be entirely normal and sane about it. really.

[finderseeker]

Every so often my mind cycles back to the beginning of the Double Dingsaster AU and the trauma I put Windy through (like he doesn’t have enough) and I just. Think about him.

[spaghettiposts]

Window Crashin’

WandaNat x Spidey!Reader

Summery: Crashing into the wrong window at night proves to be the best mistake you’ve ever made.

Warnings: Very OBLIVIOUS reader, straight up stupid I can’t lie. Gay panics all around. Fluff

Word count: 1.6k

A/n: my first time officially writing for Nat and I think I’d like to continue so expect separate fics of her sometime soon.

Kraven had become an incessant thorn in your side, his relentless rampage ever since he announced “The Grand Hunt” in the heart of Central Park felt like a never-ending nightmare. One that persistently dragged on as the weeks floated by, each day a new form of tinnitus growing in your eardrums at the echoings of his horn. Falling once again into his endless game of cat and mouse.

Or in your case Kraven and Spider–with Kraven playing predator and you, the elusive Spider, trying to lure him away from innocent civilians roaming the streets of New York. 

Which wasn’t as easy as one would imagine, but you made do with what you had, brains over brawns. Clinging onto the hope that eventually, Kraven would grow tired of chasing and resign for the night, with the promise that he’d return. And so the cycle goes on. 

There were other options you could resort to, but those were last resorts, ones you only used if you were certain you couldn’t handle Kraven or in case of an emergency. In all honesty, you’re avoiding involving the Avengers, it’s really the last thing you want this to come to. A couple of broken ribs wasn’t an Avengers level threat.

You could handle Kraven by yourself perfectly fine, and nobody got hurt at the end of the day—except mainly your sleep schedule.

And now, as you swung through the thick chilling air on route to the compound; you were struggling to stay awake, the bruises littered across your body only making it harder to keep swinging. It wasn’t that sleep had ever been your strong suit, but now, it seemed like a distant luxury. The sacrifice of a hero came in many forms, and sleep deprivation was yours. 

Tony had sacrificed half his company in pursuit of a heroic lifestyle, hell, even Steve froze himself to save humanity. If humanity needed you to suffer from fewer hours in bed, then so be it. 

You fought relentlessly to keep your eyes from drooping and it only took the honking of a truck for you to jolt awake, merely missing out on the experience of being rammed by one. 

Shaking your head, you muttered words of encouragement to yourself, living on a prayer of making it back to the compound - in one piece. 

As the familiar building came into view, you let out a breath of relief you didn’t know you were holding. Taking a moment to gather yourself, you swung around towards the left block and homed in on your window, only to face-plant straight into it with a resounding thud.

You groaned against the pavement, pressing your hands on the wall to steady yourself before you could slide off. Silently thanking that radioactive spider for granting you the ability to stick to surfaces as you adjusted yourself, what the fuck?

A miscalculation on your part—or at least you pictured. Pushing yourself back from the wall, your eyebrows crinkled. Huh.

You always left your window open–had one of your teammates closed it off?

Assuming one of the guys must’ve closed it off, you didn’t question much, missing your bed and running on pure exhaustion to really assess the situation seriously. Gripping the sides of the window, you tried to pry from the outside, and after a couple of difficulties; you managed to unlock it, budging it open with a click. 

Finally, home sweet home. 

Your body toppled into the room first before the rest of your body crashed onto the floor, reaching an arm to shut the window behind you. With a sigh of relief, you picked yourself up, stretching your arms above your head, eliciting a satisfying ‘pop’ from your back, feeling all the pent-up tensions of the day leave your body. 

Pressing the button on your chest, making quick work of discarding your suit. You struggled more than you’d like to admit, having to hop on one foot to wiggle your feet out of the padding. 

Amidst your squirming, you failed to notice the crimson warps seeping from your bed, freezing mid-movement as the lights flickered on by themselves, looking like a deer caught in headlights. 

“Jesus fucking Christ!” You screeched, scrambling up to your feet, firmly clutching your uniform in a poor attempt to cover yourself from the two women on your bed, equally startled.

“Y/n…? What are you doing here?” Natasha says after a beat of silence, her eyes furrowing as she lowers her gun and the arm protectively wrapped around her girlfriend. Wanda mirrored her actions and let the red wisps fall before she turned to you disconcertingly.

You shrunk under their gaze, feeling your heart pick up. It was too late to salvage any attempts at running for it, so you turned away, ignoring how affected you felt by their disheveled appearances.

Instead, you focused on why they were inside your room in the first place. Not that you minded having two beautiful women in your bed but at this hour? 

“What are you doing in my room? I just got back, what’s…” Your voice trailed off, slipping on your suit, as you looked towards your dresser…was it always that color? And why was there a photo of Wanda and Natasha on your nightstand? Sure, you were hopelessly in love with the two but never to this extent.

Barely bordering on those lines. 

“Detka…this is our room,” Wanda said slowly, as to not startle you. 

You cursed under your breath, realizing your mistake. “Aw fuck, I must’ve crashed into the wrong—wall-side thing,” you explained messily, picking yourself up for what felt like the hundredth time tonight. 

“Crashed?” Both of the girls shouted and you winced, scooting off awkwardly to the side, feeling even more like an intrusion. 

“Yeah but it’s okay though, that’s nothing compared to Kraven's fists, trust me.” You meant to reassure them, but judging by the worried looks they exchanged, it had the opposite effect. Taking their silence as an opportunity to leave, you stepped back.

“Anyways, sorry for interrupting your night.” You mumbled apologetically, reaching for the window handle. “I’ll see y'all tomorrow— son of a bitch.” You grunted, banging your head against the glass for the second time this night. You were really starting to resent these things.  

And Wanda bit her bottom lip, “Malysh, it’s late and you’re…not doing well, why don’t you stay here tonight?” She suggested softly, her voice coming out as sweet as honey and you almost dropped dead there.

“Here?” You blurted out, feeling a mixture of surprise and uncertainty. “Like, with you and Nat?”

Natasha and Wanda shared an amused look, before nodding in unison. 

Your face crinkled, not really understanding what the looks were for but you assumed it was all in your head. Sparing one last glance at the two, you confirmed this was okay, searching for even the smallest bits of hesitancy or discomfort only to find nothing but welcoming smiles. 

With a small nod, barely audible, you murmured a hesitant “alright,” as you settled into the chair beside their bed, placing your feet on the small wooly ottoman.

Had your eyes been open, you might’ve noticed the way their faces dropped in disappointment. After months of obvious pining, not-so-subtle flirting thrown your way, you were choosing to sleep…not with them but on a chair.

A brief silence lingered, and you shifted in your seat. Even with your eyes closed, you could feel their eyes piercing and you were starting to sweat.

“Sorry,” You mumble, heat rising up your neck in embarrassment as you removed your feet off the ottoman, fearing you had overstepped. Still, their gazes remained unwavering and you rubbed your arm unsurely, “Is the chair off–limits too? I can take the floor if that’s better.”

“Dorogoy, we’re inviting you into our bed,” Natasha chuckles disbelievingly, fingers tracing the covers as to tempt you with the invitation. 

“Mhmm, yeah no. I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” You shook your head, stumbling over your words. “I don’t do well in confined spaces with pretty women, I mean— no wait you are, both are super pretty but that’s not—“ 

Thankfully, Wanda interjected before you could embarrass yourself further with a giggle. You swore your stomach flipped. “Cute, but won’t you get cold?” She suggested, Natasha nodding and lifting the covers, adding, “It’s much warmer over here.”

Again, you waved them off and they were starting to get fed up with your excuses. “Oh nah! My suit has thermal heating installed, pretty cool right? Tony helped me insulate it–”

“Y/n, just get in the bed.”

Before you could protest further, you felt those warm red tendrils wrap around you, coaxing you into their bed, and you couldn’t even remember why you were fighting this in the first place when their arms wrapped around you. Not when their sheets were so warm, and their bodies warmer. 

Resistance be damned, as Natasha's hand ran gently through your hair, you relaxed into it, and both girls smiled. This was how things needed to be, always. 

Still, your heart was beyond nervous to even enjoy the moment but they were pushing at your shoulders to tuck you in further, getting settled themselves. They tangled their limbs with your own and it was official; there was definitely no escaping this. 

Pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, Wanda murmured a couple of words and you felt more comfortable clothes encase you. Natasha pressed a tender kiss to the shell of your ear before bidding you a good night.

You repeat her words back and they tighten their grip, closing their eyes. 

With exhaustion finally catching up to you, your eyes drooped helplessly again, fluttering shut, bones begging for sleep, and you finally surrendered to its embrace. Allowing yourself a moment of rest with the two people you treasure most in the world. 

And suddenly, crashing into windows didn’t seem so bad after all.

[doumadono]

doumaaaa! luv ur writing! could ya make dabi x nurse reader? basically him 'seducing' her or smth?

Warnings: smut w/o plot, semi-public, rough smut, pussy fingering, nurse!reader, Touya being Touya, creampie, dubcon

A/N: this request got the highest number of votes during the Sinful Sunday poll I held. I must admit, the difference between this prompt and the second-highest voted one was incredibly small! Thank you to everyone who voted!

SINFUL SUNDAY MY HERO ACADEMIA & MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST - PART II

The harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital seemed to flicker in time with the steady beeping of monitors. The sterile scent of antiseptic filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of coffee that had become your lifeline through the long shifts. 

You were used to the routine, the endless cycle of patients coming and going. But nothing could have prepared you for him.

Dabi. Or rather Todoroki Touya. The infamous villain, arrested after the chaos of the Paranormal Liberation War. His capture had been nothing short of a miracle - or perhaps, a well-calculated move. 

The new burns that marred his body, the very marks of his quirk, had left him in dire need of medical attention. 

And you, as the head nurse of this ward, had been chosen to treat him.

You approached his room with concern. 

The door slid open with a whisper, revealing the man who had caused so much destruction. He lay on the bed, his body a patchwork of scars and fresh bandages. His turquoise eyes, like chips of ice, flicked up to meet yours, assessing and unyielding. Metal restraints bound his wrists and ankles to the bed, a necessary precaution against the notorious villain. “Here to patch me up, nurse?” His voice was rough, a dark rasp that sent shivers down your spine.

You forced a calm smile. “I’m here to make sure you don’t fall apart any more than you already have.”

He chuckled, a low, almost menacing sound. “Good luck with that, bitch.”

Setting your tray of supplies on the table beside the bed, you began your work in silence. 

The burns on his body were severe, some still fresh from recent battles. You carefully removed the old dressings, your fingers gentle yet efficient. Despite your attempts at professionalism, you couldn’t ignore the heat that radiated from him, a constant reminder of the power he wielded.

As you applied a cooling salve to his burns, you felt his gaze on you, intense and unwavering. “What’s your name, nurse?” he asked suddenly.

You hesitated for a moment before answering. “Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he repeated, tasting the syllables. “A pretty name for a pretty nurse.”

You ignored the flush that crept up your neck, shaking your head slightly. 

He smirked, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Why so cautious, sweetheart?" Dabi's voice broke through the silence, raspy and teasing, as he watched you with an amused smirk. "Afraid I might bite?"

You met his gaze steadily, the corner of your mouth twitching into a small, resigned grimace. "I'm not afraid of you," you replied, adjusting the flow on his IV. "I'm just being professional. And you called me a bitch moments earlier, so don’t expect me to become more friendly towards you."

Dabi chuckled, the sound low and husky. "Professional, huh? I guess that's a first for me. People usually just want to fix me up quickly and get rid of me."

The casual way he spoke of his own status made you pause. "Everyone deserves proper care," you said, securing the IV line. "No matter who they are."

That seemed to catch him off guard, and for a moment, he just stared at you, something flickering behind his eyes before he masked it with another smirk. "You’re different, aren’t you? Not scared, not judgmental. Just doing your job."

You shrugged, feeling his intense gaze as you checked his chart. "That's what I'm here for."

He watched your every move, noting the efficiency and confidence with which you worked. It was clear you weren’t easily intimidated - a trait he found both intriguing and useful. “I suppose it’s your job to keep an eye on me too, huh? Make sure I don’t do anything foolish?”

“Something like that,” you admitted, adjusting the monitor beside his bed. 

His heart rate was steady, too steady for someone who should be in pain. Suspicion flickered in your mind.

“It’s a bit ironic, isn’t it? A nurse looking after someone who can burn down entire cities.”

“It is,” you agreed quietly, meeting his eyes. “But pain is pain. Healing is healing. It doesn’t choose sides.”

“Philosophical for a nurse,” he chuckled, shifting slightly. His chains rattled, a jarring sound that matched the slight grimace of pain his movements brought.

“You’d be surprised what you learn in this job,” you responded, checking the restraints to ensure they were secure, a mandatory procedure that didn’t go unnoticed by him.

Two nights later, you approached Dabi’s hospital room, a mix of anxiety and anticipation thrumming through your veins. 

The night was quiet, almost oppressively so, the sterile hallways of the hospital washed in the dim glow of emergency lighting, casting long shadows that flickered softly.

The two guards who were always stationed at the door to Dabi's room and had become a constant fixture in the hallway - silent, stoic sentinels in the muted chaos of the hospital, were absent. Their absence was as puzzling as it was alarming. No explanation, no trace of their whereabouts, just an empty space where they should have been standing guard.

As you reached his room, the usual sound of the monitoring machines greeting you was conspicuously absent. A cold wave of unease washed over you. Pushing the door open fully, you stepped inside, your eyes immediately drawn to the bed that had become so familiar over the past few days.

It was empty.

For a moment, you stood frozen, your mind racing to catch up with what your eyes were seeing. The sheets were askew, tossed aside rather than neatly arranged by a nurse. The heart monitor was silent, its screen dark. Most telling of all, the metal chains designed to secure the villain, to prevent exactly this scenario, lay on the floor, melted into twisted, useless strips of metal.

Panic knotted in your stomach as you hurried forward, searching the room for any sign of him. You checked the bathroom, the small closet, even under the bed, though you knew it was futile. 

Dabi was gone. 

There was no sign of struggle, no alarm raised - it was as if he had simply vanished into the night, leaving nothing behind but the ghost of his presence.

Questions raced through your mind. How had he escaped? Did he plan this all along, or was it a spur-of-the-moment decision driven by some unknown factor? 

Suddenly, the light that was pouring into the room was cut off as the door swung shut with a soft, definitive click. 

A brief moment of tense silence ensued, broken only by the familiar sound of a tongue clicking. Then, a characteristic, raspy voice followed, tinged with a teasing undertone, "Well, hi there, little nurse."

Fear gripped you, paralyzing every muscle in your body. You knew well that Dabi was right behind you, yet the terror that washed over you made it impossible to turn around. Your breath hitched in your throat, heart pounding furiously against your chest as seconds stretched into what felt like an eternity. 

Then, a confirmation of his presence came - not through words, but through the rough, unmistakable touch of his hands as they settled on your shoulders.

He leaned in close, his breath hot against the shell of your ear, his voice a blend of malice and allure. “You know, there’s a lot of things I’ve been thinking about doing to make myself feel better,” he murmured, his tone dripping with a dark, seductive edge. His fingers tightened around your wrists, not enough to hurt, but enough to assert his control. “And since you’re the nurse, always so eager to help, you should be willing to assist with my recovery.”

His words were laced with a mocking sneer, yet his touch wandered with a boldness that betrayed his intent. He was provoking you, testing how far he could push before you’d snap or succumb. Dabi’s hand traced a path up your spine, sending shivers through your body despite your resolve. “I can think of a few therapies that might help,” he continued, his voice low and husky, teasingly listing his twisted desires. “Imagine, all the things you could do to ease my pain, to make me feel alive. Wouldn’t that be fulfilling your duty, little nurse?”

Every fiber in your being screamed to pull away, to reclaim your space and autonomy, yet his presence was overwhelming, nearly suffocating in its intensity.

“You should thank me,” Dabi chuckled darkly, his lips barely grazing the curve of your ear, sending an involuntary shudder through you. “Most don’t even get the chance to hear my voice. They’re not quick enough. Never as quick as my flames,” he taunted, his tone dripping with mockery.

You gasped. His mockery stung, a stark reminder of the dangerous game that played out between you. “How?” you whispered, barely moving your lips.

Dabi's low laugh resonated close to your ear, a sound that mixed amusement with a sinister edge. “Curious, are we?” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. “I just turned up the heat a bit.” His smirk was palpable in his voice as he recounted his escape with a nonchalance that belied the danger of his actions.

Your heart pounded, the implications of his words sinking in. “And the guards?” you managed to ask, your voice a whisper of sound, betraying your fear.

Dabi’s tone took on a sharper edge, his amusement soaring into something darker. “There was some commotion, some urgent cries over their radios, something about a threat to the hospital staff. They ran off to play heroes.” His hand tightened slightly on your forearm, his fingers pressing into your skin as he leaned closer. “Perfect timing, wouldn’t you say? Gave me just the right moment to melt away those pesky chains and walk right out. It was almost too easy.”

Dabi smoothly spun you around to face him, his movements precise and fluid. Catching your chin between his index finger and thumb, he gently tilted your head up to meet his gaze. The touch was surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to the harshness of his usual demeanor. "You're quite pretty, you know," Dabi murmured, his eyes scanning your face with an appreciative glint. "Even with those dark circles under your eyes." His thumb brushed lightly under your eye socket, his touch featherlight. "It tells a story, doesn't it? All those long hours spent caring for people like me."

Touya smiled, a wry, knowing smirk that hinted at his awareness of the toll his words took on you. "Working too hard, aren't you?" he mused, his gaze lingering on your face as if committing every detail to memory. "Caring for the broken, the dangerous. It's a heavy burden for such delicate shoulders. But what if I told you I want more than just professional care?"

Gathering every ounce of courage, you met Dabi’s intense gaze. “Please, let me go,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you. “I promise, I won’t tell anyone. I'll keep quiet. You'll have time to get away from here.” 

The plea hung in the air between you, underscored by the palpable tension that seemed to stretch out endlessly. Your eyes locked onto his, searching for any sign of compliance or compassion, hoping he would see the sincerity in your offer and realize it was his best chance to escape without further complications.

Dabi chuckled.

You felt a cold wave of fear wash over you, but you refused to let it show. "And I'm not here for your entertainment," you said, your voice steady despite the panic rising within you.

Dabi's laugh echoed through the room, a dark, menacing sound. "Oh, I know that," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "But you see, I'm not exactly in a position to ask nicely." His hands moved to your waist, pulling you back against him. 

You could feel the heat of his body through your overall, a constant reminder of the power he held. "Let me go," you said, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to remain calm.

Dabi's grip tightened, his breath hot against your ear. "But what if I don't want to?" he murmured, his voice low and seductive.

You struggled against his hold, but it was like trying to move a mountain. "Please," you pleaded, your voice breaking. "You don't have to do this."

Dabi's grip loosened, his hands sliding down your arms. "But what if I want to?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You felt his lips against your neck, his teeth grazing your skin. You gasped, your body betraying you as a shiver ran down your spine. "Please," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He shook his head for no. His hands moved to the buttons of your uniform.

You felt the fabric of your overall give way, the cool air of the room brushing against your exposed skin. Dabi's hands moved to your breasts, his fingers teasing your nipples through the thin fabric of your bra. His hands were oh so warm...

You gasped.

Dabi's laugh was low and dark. "You like that, don't you?" he murmured, his fingers continuing their assault on your nipples.

You bit your lip, trying to suppress a moan. "Please," you whispered, your voice trembling.

Dabi's hands moved to your waist, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your pants before tugging them down. "Please what?" he asked, his voice low and husky.

You hesitated, your mind racing. You knew you should tell him to stop, but your body had other ideas. "Please, don't stop," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Dabi's laugh was low and triumphant. "I thought you'd never ask," he said, his hands pulling down your pants.

You felt the cool air of the room brush against your exposed skin, your body trembling with anticipation. 

Dabi's hands moved to your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pulled you back against him, making you arch your back slightly. 

You could feel his cock, hard and insistent against your ass.

Dabi's hands moved to your thighs, spreading your legs apart. 

You felt his fingers brush against your wetness, a low moan escaping your lips. 

"You're so wet," he murmured, his voice low and husky.

You bit your lip, trying to suppress a moan.

Dabi's fingers worked fast, pushing the material of your thong aside, and soon they moved inside you, his thumb pressing against your clit. 

You moaned even though you hated yourself for this, your body was trembling with pleasure.

He teased you slowly, his fingers moving in and out, drawing out your moans with every thrust. His lips trailed down your neck, leaving a burning path in their wake. He didn’t stop himself from leaving a hickey here and there.

You arched against him, your body pleading for more. "Please," you gasped again, your voice breaking.

“Hush,” he whispered, licking a trail up the column of your neck. He pumped his long fingers in you, faster and faster, enjoying all of the sounds you made, just for him. Finally, his fingers withdrew, and you felt a momentary loss before his hands gripped your hips, turning you to face him. His eyes burned with an intense heat as he lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively as your arms wrapped around his neck.

You could feel his dick, straining his pants, pressing against your slick, naked pussy, and instinctively, your hands moved to his belt, fumbling with the buckle in your eagerness. Dabi's left forearm slipped under your ass, easily securing you in place as his other hand joined yours, and together you managed to free him, the hard length of his dick springing free.

With a swift motion, he aligned the tip of his cock with your dripping entrance, and pushed it up so the head went in between your delicious outer labia. Finally, he slowly shoved himself into your dripping vagina. 

As soon as he entered you, your eyes and mouth both opened wide. You looked like you were in disbelief that you were actually doing this. You cried out, your nails digging into his shoulders as he began to move, his rhythm slow yet deliberate. “Gosh…” Your pussy was stretching painfully to accommodate him. Every thrust sent waves of pleasure through you, his name falling from your lips like a mantra. You hated yourself for that.

His scarred lips found yours, capturing your moans as his pace quickened, each movement driving you closer to the edge. “Fuck. So fucking tight. I love how wet and tight you are f’me,” he growled, pecking your cheek.

You could feel yourself tightening around his cock, your climax building with every hard thrust he delivered. You gasped against his lips. 

Dabi took the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, then suck on your bottom lip, all while completely inside you. He began to bounce you on his cock faster, each upward thrust hitting deeper than before, the tip of his throbbing dick brushing against that sweet, spongy spot deep inside you. 

The feeling of being suspended and at his mercy driving you wild. You rolled your hips to meet his thrusts. “Yes, yes, yes,” you whined. You were painfully aware you acted like a cheap whore, but you didn’t mind at the time.

The friction between your bodies created a heat that was almost unbearable, every movement bringing you closer to the edge. His warmth of course added to the sensation. And his cock was oh so hot.

"Look at you," he growled, his voice rough with desire. "So desperate, so needy. Fucking bitch." He pulled his cock out until only the tip remained between your parted, lower lips, then slammed his hips back against yours, burying himself in your pussy to the hilt of his shaft.

You couldn't respond, your mind lost in the overwhelming sensations. You could only moan, the sound echoing in the room as he continued to bounce you on his cock, the pace quickening. You were trembling in his arms, even though you shouldn’t. Your boobs were swaying forward and backward as he fucked you raw.

“Be fucking quiet, little nurse, or the guards will hear us if they’re back,” he slapped your cheek, and grunted as his balls hit the curve of your ass yet again.

Your bodies made a wet smacking noise each time, and Dabi could see strands of your fluids spider-webbing between your skin each time he pulled away from your heated, dripping core. 

Your tits, still in your bra, pressed firmly against his chest as you leaned into him, already breathless. Your head rolled forward, resting against the crook of his neck where his marred skin was exposed. “Mmmm…. Mmmmm…. I’m gonna… I can’t anymore….” Your pussy clenched around his cock in anticipation, and a growl rose in your throat.

Your needy, seductive voice worked its magic on the scarred man. 

Dabi's head fell back, a low, guttural moan escaping his lips as he came, spilling his thick seed deep within you, his body shuddering with the force of his orgasm, his thrusts growing sloppier and more frantic. “Fuck, take it, bitch, take it all.” 

With Dabi’s cock nestled within your core, you felt every pulse as he reached his climax. Every pulse and eruption of cum filling your tight pussy sent twin waves of pleasure and a wonderful, comforting warmth through your entire being, and three or four pulses in, you found herself cumming as well, pussy spasming and clenching around Touya’s  cock, milking it of his wonderful, hot cum.

You felt his cum filling you to the brim and beyond, and spilling out of you, dripping to the floor, even though you two were still connected.

Dabi's hands moved to your waist, his fingers gentle as he pulled out of you. He gave himself a few more jerks before grabbing your overall and wiping his flaccid cock in it. After that, he tossed your uniform aside, and improved his pants and belt. Dabi's voice was low and dark as he spoke. "You're quite the little slut, aren't you?"

As you hastily tried to dress, your cheeks burning with a mix of emotions, you muttered, "It was a moment of weakness…" Your gaze drifted nervously toward the door, half-expecting it to burst open at any moment.

Suddenly, Dabi was before you again, his presence imposing. His hand shot out, capturing your cheeks with an intensity that made you wince. He squeezed firmly, his eyes burning into your very soul as he seethed a harsh reminder, "Not a word until five minutes pass. Understand?" The threat in his voice was unmistakable, echoing in the charged air between you.

Releasing your face, he moved swiftly to the window with the fluid grace of a predator. His silhouette framed against the dim light from outside was both menacing and mesmerizing. As he swung one leg over the sill, he paused, turning to fix you with a piercing look. "You'll never be rid of me, not until death takes me." His words hung heavy in the room, a promise or a curse. Then, he jumped out, vanishing into the night like a ghost. 

You stood frozen, the imprint of his fingers still tingling on your skin, his final words echoing in your mind. You waited, counting each second of those five minutes he had demanded. You were scared to see him again, yet part of you wondered, perhaps even hoped, for that very possibility.

[pretzel-box]

A sebastian fic idea, doesn’t have to be romantic but can be, for whatever you want with it :3

Basically, when the Expendable dies and Sebastian explains their death to them albeit frustrated(as the Expendable is just really bad at what they do and keep dying), they decide to stay dead as an annoying ghost haunting Sebastian’s side, much to his annoyance and dismay

Tags: Gn!Reader, Reader is a ghost, slight comedy

Words: 1k

Sebastian slammed the file down on the table with a force that made his random coffee cup tremble precariously on the edge. The dark room was lit only by the dim, warm glowing angler lure on his head, casting long shadows that danced across the walls. He glanced at the file he had just laid out, his lips curling into a smirk.

"You couldn't have died in a more stupid way," he chuckled, his deep voice echoing in the room as he mocked the other person. He was addressing the latest expandable, who sat across from him, eyes glazed with a mix of irritation and confusion. It was their second time to die and yet the poor fellow still didn't understand what is happening.

Across the table, you, or rather your ghostly apparition, floated just out of reach. You scoffed, your spectral form leaning forward as if to peer over Sebastian’s shoulder. "Oh look, that coffee spill on the file is shaped like a horse," you remarked, your translucent finger pointing with a strange, childlike excitement.

Sebastian blinked, momentarily thrown off. "What?" he muttered, following your line of sight to the brown stain that indeed had a vague equine shape. His eyes squinted, trying to understand why a horse-shaped spill might be interesting.

The expandable on the chair furrowed his brow. "I haven’t said anything," he mumbled, clearly unsettled by the shopkeeper’s apparent non sequitur.

"Not you," Sebastian shot back in a dry tone, feeling a flush of embarrassment. He couldn't believe he had let his guard down in front of a customer due to your ridiculous observation. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure.

The situation with you had become… complicated.

The whole thing started three years ago and he can remember the details fully in his memory due the weird situation.

It had all started after your twenty-sixth death. You had shown up at the death room as usual, but there was a different look in your eyes—a look of resignation, of defiance. You sat down across from him, arms crossed tightly over your chest, a permanent scowl etched onto your face as if you had made up your mind about something.

“Take time to read it or else you’ll die from it again,” Sebastian had instructed, his tone exasperated but calm. He pushed a file across the table toward you, flipping it open to reveal the gruesome image of the Eyefestation—green, glowing, and malevolent. The sight was familiar, the text barely new for you and the highlighted parts were mocking you.

You turned your head away, refusing to even glance at the file. “No,” you said flatly.

Sebastian's eyebrows shot up in surprise. “No?”

“No,” you repeated, more firmly this time, your eyes locked onto some distant point on the wall.

Sebastian had seen many expendables come and go, but none like you. Most of them were desperate to get back into the field, to keep trying until they finally made it out. But not you. You just sat there, a stubborn pout on your face, refusing to move.

You had planted yourself in that chair like it was your throne, declaring, without words, that you were done with all of it—the missions, the dying, the endless cycle of suffering. You were going to stay right there, a ghostly nuisance in Sebastian’s life.

"Fine," he had finally snapped, throwing his hands up in frustration. "Fine, stay a ghost if you want. But you will beg to return eventually."

Yet here you were, three years later, still haunting his shop, your spirit lingering like a bad smell he couldn't quite get rid of. And, frustratingly, the begging he had predicted never came. Instead, you had made yourself right at home, offering unsolicited commentary on everything from his choice of inventory to the coffee spills on his files.

"Have you ever seen a coffee spill shaped like that?" you asked again, your voice breaking into his thoughts.

Sebastian’s patience, already worn thin, snapped. “No, but have you ever seen someone get silenced because someone shoved a whole file in their mouth?” he growled, his frustration evident.

You giggled, unperturbed by his threat. “Oh, come on, Seb. Don’t be so grumpy. I’m just trying to make the afterlife a little more interesting for you.”

He sighed deeply, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “You know, most ghosts would have moved on by now. Found some peace or… whatever it is you’re supposed to do.”

You floated closer, your ethereal presence hovering just above the table. “And leave you all alone? That would be so boring. Besides, I think you secretly like having me around.”

Sebastian huffed, turning his attention back to the file. But he couldn’t deny there was a strange comfort in your constant presence, annoying as you were. You were… familiar. And in this dark, twisted place, familiarity was a rare and precious thing.

"Look," he said, his tone softening just a fraction. "I don’t know why you’re doing this to yourself. Why you’re so determined to stay dead. But… it’s not healthy. Even for a ghost."

You shrugged, a ghostly, nonchalant gesture. “I’ve seen what’s out there, Sebastian. All those monsters, all that pain. Why keep going back when I can just stay here?”

Sebastian looked up at you, his eyes searching yours. “Because you’re still… you. And that means you still have a chance to make things right. To fight back.”

You sighed, your form flickering slightly. “Maybe I’m tired of fighting,” you admitted quietly. “Maybe I just want to be… done.”

He leaned forward, his gaze intense. “Then let me help you. Let me show you there’s still something worth fighting for.”

You were silent for a moment, considering his words. Then, slowly, you nodded. “Alright, Seb. I’ll give it one more try. But just one. And if I die again, I’m staying a ghost. Permanently.”

He grinned, relief flooding his features. “Deal. Now, let’s get to work. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”

You smiled back, feeling a strange warmth spread through your ghostly form. You trusted his words, going back to point one and trying to get to the crystal, a last time.

After three years you forgot how terrible you are and you died to Pandemonium at door 30, making you meet Sebastian in the death room again who was groaning in frustration.

“NOT AGAIN!”

[theconstitutionisgayculture]

Indefinite hiatus

I was toying with writing up a long post about what running this blog has meant to me over the years and why I'm stepping away for the foreseeable future, but that feels too dramatic for what's really just me saying "I'm not going to be on tumblr for at least the rest of the year". So, I'll just say I'm not going to be on tumblr for at least the rest of the year.

Okay, actually I have a bunch more to say, but it'll be under the cut.

Politics sucks. And paying attention to it, even in the reduced way I've been paying attention to it over the last few years, is hard. You end up spending so much of your supposedly free time thinking about things you can't change, getting mad about things you can't change, and getting depressed when the people who can change things just keep going in the wrong direction. Even when good things happen, it's just a matter of a few days before something bad happens once again. And vice versa. It's an endless cycle of hope, despair, resignation. Rinse and repeat, and triple speed that cycle during an election year. And I'm tired of it. I'm tired of spending every other year worried about what's going to happen on one day in November. I'm tired of hearing a piece of news and automatically composing a post about it or running through 20 different responses I might give to asks I might get about it in my head.

Everyone I know who doesn't pay attention to politics (or at least doesn't run a social media page dedicated to it) seems to enjoy their live a lot more than I currently do. Which sounds way more dramatic than what's actually going on, which is mainly that I want to get to a place where I just don't care. I want the world and its problems to flow off my back instead of weighing it down. I want to stop thinking about what people on the internet might say about something I haven't even posted yet. And that can't happen while I'm tied to this blog. So I'll be staying away from it for at least the rest of the year.

I did have a good time with this blog. I've met a bunch of really awesome people, some who are sadly no longer with us (RIP Blue), and some who I think will carry on the "fight" way better than I ever did. This isn't an admission of defeat, or pessimism about the election. Even if Trump wins, and I truly think he will if we have a fair election, I still won't be back this year. But I'll still vote and I'll still be proud that my silly little tumblr blog had an impact on some people's lives. I may not have the reach of a Tucker Carlson or a Glenn Beck, but I've gotten a lot of messages from people who said they changed their minds about an issue, or even politics in general, because of things I said, and that counts for something. If you guys take anything away from me, I want it to be this: Even the smallest impact matters. It doesn't matter if you only ever reach one person and then stop, reaching that one person is enough. Changing one vote is enough. Changing one mind is enough.

To all my mutuals, you guys are the best. I truly hope you have wonderful lives and I'm sad I won't get to see your names on my dash everyday anymore. To anyone I've ever followed or reblogged from, I couldn't have had a blog without you, so thank you. Yes, even the leftiod psychos, XD. To everyone else, find your own balance and never give into despair and never listen to people who tell you not to try. Even a failed effort is still more meaningful than sitting back and mocking people for trying to improve even the smallest thing about themselves or the world around them.

I won't be logging back in after I post this, so any messages or asks you send, I won't see. I'll still be active (or as active as I ever am) in my discord, so feel free to join there if you want to. It should still be my pinned post, but if it isn't, I'll edit this with a new invite link.

And that's all I've got to say for now.

[vixen-tech]

HIII :333 first requester here....I should get an emoji can i be 🫧 anon :ooo anway here's my req!! the ais with a reader who is just SO DOWN BAD. WILL DO ANYTHING FOR THEM. RUSHES FOR HELP if they crash or something. Just PATHETIC reader.

Stupidly Smitten

Hello you two!! This is one of those requests that I think work well enough to be combined into one post. You are just so extremely, pathetically in love with your Ai <3

Includes: Hal 9000 (2001: A Space Odyssey), Edgar (Electric Dreams), Auto (Wall-E), Wheatley (Portal 2)

Hal 9000

Hal was unaware that a person could have so much love in them, let alone for him specifically. It was overwhelming at first, baffling when he realized it was only for him and not for any other crew members.

However he handles it in stride, able to calmly respond to your paragraphs of praise with the gentlest "Thank you, I deeply appreciate your companionship as well." Expertly concealing any signs of fluster as you giggle and kiss his camera lens.

Of your long list of cheesy nicknames, prince or prince charming tends to be a go to. A good match for his ever polite, gentlemanly nature. He reminds you that he was simply designed like that, but grows fond of the name anyway.

He very much appreciates the amount you volunteer around the ship. There is a lot that he can't do without a human crew and he adores the diligence you show in your work and the care with which you handle his ship.

Edgar

You and Edgar make the sappiest little feedback loop. It's an endless cycle of "I love you more." "No, I love you more!". To any outsider it would be exhausting to witness, but it's just how you two get out all your feelings.

He goes crazy for all your terms of endearment. 'Songbird' is a pretty easy match for him, but he loves literally every word that comes out of your mouth. Flipping each and every one back at you.

It's not unusual for you to do the same song and dance around the chores. Generally, he'll already have them done by the time you get home, but when you get the day off you always offer to do them yourself. He rarely lets you.

You've told him the time you often have your lunch break so you can chat over the phone while you eat. You're sure your coworkers are sick of you being such a cartoonishly in love couple, but you don't care. He makes you too happy for that.

Auto

Auto has absolutely no idea how to deal with you. He was not made to interact with many people and certainly not someone so affectionate. He may as well have bluescreened the first time you clumsily tried to hug him.

At first he resigns himself to just... sit still whenever you got in a lovey-dovey mood, letting you gush over him. Definitely not spending the rest of the day thinking about the way you said "See you later starlight!" when you finally let him get back to his job.

Over time he recognizes that he began to anticipate your visits, it's so different to how he's usually treated. He knew you had gotten to him when he went out if his to check up on you the day you missed one of your usual visits.

He usually rejects any help you attempt to offer him, his purpose is to handle the ship just fine all by himself. But after that episode he stops trying to push you away. If you're so happy tagging along, he might as well graciously allow you to do so, ignoring his complicated mess of feelings about you.

Wheatley

Oh the ego boost you give him is downright dangerous. If Wheatley was annoying before, now he is absolutely insufferable. Perfectly matches your energy though, you two cannot shut up about each other.

He makes your boundless affection everyone else's problem. "See, I reckon you're just jealous that you're not in a loving, committed relationship with such a lovely person like I am." He boasts. "My amazing romantic partner even calls me their sunshine. Cause I 'light up their life' as they say. Bet you wish you had someone like that."

He is always fishing for compliments, trying to show off for you in any way he psychically can to get some of those sweet sweet words of affirmation. To his delight you always do, grabbing him for some well placed kisses.

He'll even go so far as to reject any assistance you offer him so he can prove he's all cool and competent by doing it himself. Although it's never too long before he gives up and sheepishly asks for your help.

[kalixora]

Bounty PT2

[Back at Base]

“Why don’t you join the Autobots?” a little human girl named Miko asked you, her eyes wide with curiosity.

"I have mouths to feed and no time for pity parties," you answered, crossing your arms. Your hounds rested on the floor, while your largest stayed by your side, warily watching Ratchet, the medic Optimus assured the both of you to trust.

"But the Autobots are the good guys! You’re a good guy, you take the bad guys!" Miko exclaimed dramatically, her enthusiasm unwavering.

The sound of your youngest hound whimpering as the medic worked filled your helm. Your largest hound growled, but you quickly waved your servo, making them stop.

"Always fighting, always leaving a mess behind," you muttered, frustration evident in your voice. "Where we have to clean it up. Planets destroyed, so many species, lives taken because—"

"Of the cons!" Miko interrupted. You looked at the human girl eyeing her coldly. "No," you shook your helm slowly. "Autobots and Decepticons. They’re both to blame."

Miko looked taken aback, glancing between you and the Autobots. Miko’s eyes landed on Arcee who stared at the ground, looking away from you.

Optimus lowered his gaze, the weight of your words hitting home as Ratchet continued to fix your hound while grumbling under his breath.

Your youngest hound whimpered again, your optics shifting to the medic, you let out a soft pitch and spoke a few words in cybertrioan from where you stood, and your youngest became calm.

"This endless war," you continued, your voice firm but no less intense, "it affects everyone. Not just those on the front lines. Someone has to deal with the aftermath, and it’s people like me who get stuck with that job."

Optimus stepped closer, his voice calm yet resolute. "We strive to protect and restore, but I understand your perspective. The war has taken a toll on many, and for that, I am truly sorry."

You looked up at him, meeting his optics with a mixture of anger and resignation. "Sorry doesn’t fix what’s broken," you said quietly, standing up. "My hound was shot; it was a scrappy attempt at ending his life. Imagine a child's blood on your hands, in front of his mother. This is the first hound to be born after so many missed cycles. How would your Autobots feel if your leader lost their life over a misunderstanding?"

Optimus's optics dimmed slightly, the weight of your words sinking in. "We understand the gravity of what has happened," he said solemnly. "It was never our intention to cause such harm."

Miko watched you, her face unsure and conflicted, struggling to grasp the depth of your anger.

"You have to understand," you continued, "this isn’t just about sides. It’s about the innocent lives caught in the crossfire, the collateral damage that doesn’t get fixed with apologies."

Optimus nodded, his expression serious. "You’re right. We must do better. Strive to protect all life.”

You tilted your helm toward the Prime, noticing how he stood to block your view of Arcee.

Optimus shifted his optics to your hound standing beside you and knelt down before her. “I am sorry. Forgive them, as your hatred should be targeted towards me.”

Your hound snarled, baring its teeth and getting into an attack position. The other hounds stood up, shaking their heads before beginning to circle the kneeling Prime, a low growl resonating among them.

“What’s happening?” Miko asked, peering from beside your feet. “Are they gonna hurt him?”

“No, this is revenge,” Arcee said, narrowing her optics at you.

You watched the scene unfold, the tension thick in the air. “If it were revenge, you would have been dead, on the spot.” you said.

Optimus remained still, his optics unwavering. “Do what you must,” he said, his voice steady. “But know that my actions come from a desire to protect. I ask only that you spare my team from further harm.”

Your hounds paused, their growls still rumbling but their eyes flicking to you for direction. You could sense the resolve in Optimus’s optics, the genuine regret in his words.

You sighed deeply, the anger warring within you. "This war has taken too much from too many," you said. "But maybe it’s time for a different path."

With a slight gesture, you signaled your hounds to stand down. They hesitated but obeyed, moving back to your side.

Miko let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. "Thank you," she whispered, looking up at you with a mix of relief and admiration.

Optimus rose to his feet, his optics meeting your hound. "Your mercy is not unnoticed. We will strive to be better, for all affected by this war."

"All done," Ratchet said with an unamused laugh. "He needs rest. Should be able to do—whatever it is that you all do—in the morning. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going into recharge."

"That’s a first," Miko giggled.

You walked over to the medic table and smiled as you placed your servo on your hound’s head. "Thank the All-Spark…"

Arcee headed out of the area with Smokescreen and Bumblebee trailing behind her. The Wreckers and Ultra Magnus stayed put, watching you as you remained by the medic table.

Wheeljack crossed his arms, his optics narrowing. "How’d you become a bounty hunter, anyway? Was there a class or something? And what’s with all the hounds? You an animal lover, or are they just tools for the job?"

Ultra Magnus stepped forward, his presence imposing. "Surely you can provide more than a simple answer. Your skills are exceptional. There must be a story behind them."

"They’re not just animals—they’re my partners, my family. In a galaxy full of mess, they’re the ones I can rely on."

Bulkhead optics flickered with a mix of skepticism, you didn’t answer the question fully. "Guess that makes sense. Out here, you need all the help you can get. But don’t think for a second that trusting us is the wrong move. We’ve got your back if you’re willing to give us a chance. That is…"

You glanced at your hounds, now resting peacefully, with your largest still faithfully at your side.

As the Autobots slowly dispersed, you remained by the medic table, feeling a cautious hope for the future.

"Is it just me, or did Optimus give her a look?" Miko said, perched on Bulkhead’s shoulder as they watched Optimus turn to face you again.

"Not now, Miko," Bulkhead sighed.

"Let me guess, you want me to stay and fight for your cause?" you questioned the Prime, your tone tinged with skepticism.

“Only if you choose to,” Optimus said calmly, his optics steady. “But the cause is for our home, for Cybertron.”

“That so? The line has been blurred for a while now, hard to tell if it’s still for Cybertron,” you replied, folding your arms across your chest.

Optimus took a few deliberate steps closer, standing shoulder to shoulder with you. His presence was commanding yet reassuring. “It has always been for Cybertron,” he asserted firmly.

You glanced at him, studying him. Despite your doubts, you couldn’t deny the sincerity in his words.

“And what if I choose not to fight alongside you?”

“Then that is your choice,” Optimus replied evenly. “But know that our offer of alliance and support stands, should you ever decide otherwise.”

“That so?” You hummed. “Let me ask you this then Optimus, do you want us to stay?”

Optimus looked at you, his optics staring into yours with unwavering sincerity. “Yes,” he said simply. You raised an optic ridge, surprised by his straightforwardness.

“I’ll make a decision by dawn,” you replied. “You should rest, Prime. Another day of fighting Decepticons can be draining, I’m sure.”

Optimus nodded, appreciating your understanding. “Thank you. I look forward to your decision.”

. . .

“I’m telling you, I saw it! With my own two eyes! Optimus definitely has a crush on her!” Miko insisted.

“Get real, Miko. Optimus is too busy for stuff like that,” Jake rolled his eyes.

“No one’s ever too busy for love!” Miko said, clasping her hands together. “Right, Bulk?”

Everyone exchanged glances as they waited in the training room for Optimus to return.

“Please, Optimus knows better than to get involved with a bounty hunter of all people. She doesn’t believe in any sides of the war, as if it wasn’t the Decepticons who started it,” Ratchet huffed. “Making me fix her hound was just absurd. Couldn’t she have done it herself? What kind of person doesn’t know how to fix their animal?”

“… You think she has a bounty for Optimus?” Smokescreen questioned.

“No,” Ultra Magnus shook his helm. “She would’ve killed him in front of us if that were the case.”

“She has a young hound, right? Maybe it’s not ready to fight yet,” Raf said, leaning against the wall with a contemplative look.

“Pft, wish you guys would’ve called for backup. I would’ve ended Miss Sunshine on the spot,” WheelJack chuckled, his bulky frame vibrating with suppressed energy as he pounded his fists together.

Ultra Magus glanced at WheelJack with a raised optic ridge. “Easy there, Wrecker. She’s not our enemy.”

“Yeah, but she’s no ally either,” WheelJack grumbled, his expression hardening.

Ultra Magnus stepped forward, his demeanor composed yet authoritative. “Regardless of our opinions, she has proven formidable. We must remain cautious and focused.”

Bumblebee beeped, “Let’s not forget, she did allow us to treat her hound. That counts for something.”

“I still think he has the hots for her,” Miko shrugged nonchalantly. Bulkhead chuckled softly. “Maybe you’re right, Miko.”

Arcee shook her helm folding her arms. “Optimus is focused on the mission, Miko. Romance isn’t exactly his style.”

"What! Come on! Weren’t you in love with somebody!" Miko questioned the two wheeler.

"No," Ratchet grunted. "Romance and war don’t mix well, that’s for sure."

Ultra Magnus folded his arms, "Our priority remains securing peace and stability."

WheelJack snorted. "Peace and stability? Easier said than done. The cons know nothing about that."

Raf shrugged slightly. "I mean… she might have a point. You guys needed help from humans for your war on our planet… even though you were defending it from the cons, you’re still leaving something behind that could affect us."

Arcee’s optics flashed with offense, her voice firm. "Raf, we’ve fought to protect Earth from the Decepticons. We’ve sacrificed much to ensure its safety."

Ultra Magnus’s demeanor turned stern. "Our actions have always been in defense of Earth. We do not take lightly the consequences of our battles."

Ratchet’s expression darkened. "Do not mistake necessity for indifference, Rafael. We strive to minimize harm, but sometimes there are no easy choices in war."

Bumblebee looked between them, sensing the tension. “I think Raf just meant—”

Ratchet interrupted, his voice carrying a hint of disappointment. “No, Bumblebee. He needs to understand that we fight to protect, not to endanger.”

Raf shook his head, his voice earnest as he interjected, “I know that, I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. It’s just… seeing the aftermath sometimes makes me wonder if there could be a better way.”

Arcee softened slightly, “We understand, Raf. We all have the same goal at the end of the day, to go home.”

Raf smiled up at Arcee, his expression relieved as they heard the ground bridge open and footsteps echoing through the base. Soon, Optimus and you returned, your hounds trailing behind, their watchful gazes scanning the room as everyone emerged from the training room and converged towards you and the Prime.

Optimus placed his servo on your shoulder and addressed everyone with a solemn tone, his optics sweeping over the gathered Autobots. "Autobots, Y/N has decided to stay and help us."

Ratchet, standing nearby with his arms crossed, couldn't help but groan audibly. "So many mouths to feed," he muttered under his breath, eyeing the hounds that trailed behind you and Optimus.

Miko squealed excitedly, "Finally, another girl! Hi! Nice to meet you again, I'm Miko! And this is Raf and Jack!"

You looked down at the humans as they waved at you. Nodding your helm in acknowledgement, you spoke a word in Cybertronian, prompting your hounds to move forward from behind you, their tails wagging eagerly. All of them, except your largest hound, who remained by your side, glared defiantly at Arcee.

"Y/N, and this is [hound's name]. She keeps the others in check," you introduced, gesturing to your largest hound beside you.

"So, what made you want to join us Autobots, sunshine?" Wheeljack asked, narrowing his optics at you.

You glanced at Optimus for a moment, then back at Wheeljack. "Timing," was all you said, leaving the implication hanging in the air.

[lila-lou]

✨ His only exception - Pt. 19/? ✨

Summary: 12 months ago, Butcher went above and beyond to have you join his team. You had a simple office job at Supe Affairs. The same thing every day, working from 9 to 5 and watching Butcher and his team defeat one renegade after another. One evening, however, something changed.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 6456

A/N: This is part 19 of “His only exeption”.

English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

Despite the misunderstandings and the roughness of last night, Ben's touch brought a strange sense of comfort. You found yourself grappling with conflicting emotions as his hand rested on your thigh.

Despite the pain, both physical and emotional, there was an undeniable connection between you two, one that transcended words and actions. In that moment, you were torn between anger and longing, frustration and desire.

As you sat in silence, his touch serving as a silent apology, you wondered what the future held for you, whether you would ever find a way to bridge the gap between you or if you were destined to remain caught in this endless cycle of misunderstanding and pain.

Ben leaned forward slightly, his voice low as he addressed the group. "When are we going after Homelander?", he asked, his tone betraying the simmering intensity beneath his words.

Butcher turned to Ben, delivering the news. "The mission's set for tomorrow", he informed, his tone serious. Then, his gaze shifted to you. "Ben, today's all about training (Y/N). Tomorrow, she'll be at home, and she needs to be prepared for anything".

You glanced at Ben. You knew training with him would be intense, but you also trusted him to prepare you as best as he could for whatever lay ahead.

"Why do I have to sit back and be left out?", you questioned, your frustration bubbling to the surface.

Ben shot you an angry look, his jaw clenched with annoyance. "Because you're not ready to handle what's coming", he retorted sharply.

Butcher's expression darkened as he chimed in, his tone firm. "You need to sit down and listen, (Y/N). And you need to properly trained".

As Ben pulled away his hand, you couldn't help but feel a pang of irritation. It seemed like everyone was underestimating you.

"I can handle more than you think", you muttered defiantly, crossing your arms over your chest.

Butcher sighed, shaking his head. "Look, (Y/N), this isn't about underestimating you", he explained, his tone softer. "It's about being prepared for whatever comes our way. We need to make sure you're ready".

You bit your lip, feeling a mixture of frustration and determination swirling inside you. Despite their doubts, you were determined to prove yourself.

Frenchie chimed in, his voice gentle yet firm. "He's right, (Y/N). We're not trying to sideline you. It's about safety. You'll be better protected at home".

You sighed, feeling a sense of resignation wash over you. "I get it", you conceded, though a part of you still longed to be in the thick of the action.

Butcher nodded in agreement. "Good. We'll make sure you have everything you need to hold down the fort while we're gone".

As the discussion continued, you couldn't shake the feeling of frustration at being left behind. But deep down, you knew they were right. Safety was paramount, especially in the face of someone as dangerous as Homelander.

Ben finished his food, pushing his chair back with a grating screech against the floor. He stood up abruptly, his eyes flicking towards you.

"Come on, princess", he called. "Time for you to learn how to handle yourself".

You rolled your eyes at his remark, but reluctantly followed him to the practice room, knowing that you needed all the training you could get, whether you liked his condescending attitude or not.

Annie's gaze followed Ben and you as you left the room, a furrow forming on her brow. She turned to Butcher, concern evident in her expression.

"Leaving her alone with him for training again?", Annie mumbled.

Butcher let out a heavy sigh, rubbing a hand over his face before responding to Annie's question.

"I don't know what the hell they've got going on between them, and frankly, I don't wanna know anymore", he admitted gruffly. "But if it means she's safer at home tomorrow, then yeah, it's the best option we got".

Hughie chimed in, his voice hesitant yet earnest. "I still think Soldier Boy's in love with her", he remarked, earning snorts from MM and Butcher.

"Yeah, and I'm the Queen of England", MM retorted sarcastically, shaking his head in disbelief.

Butcher scoffed, echoing MM's sentiment. "Soldier Boy? In love? Give me a break", he remarked, his tone dismissive. "That guy's got ice in his veins".

Annie's gaze shifted from MM to Butcher, her expression thoughtful. "So, the plan to send Soldier Boy back to Russia after Homelander's taken down is still on?", she asked, seeking confirmation.

Butcher nodded grimly, his jaw set in determination. "Yeah, it's still on", he affirmed, his voice tinged with a hint of distrust. "I don't trust him as far as I can throw him. We just need him and Homelander out of the picture for good".

As you and Ben entered the practice room, he made a move to touch you, brushing his hand over your lower back and then grabbing your hips. However, you quickly blocked him, shooting him a glare filled with anger. Despite your resistance, Ben's touch lingered, his grip firm as he attempted to assert his dominance.

"Let go of me, Ben", you demanded, your voice sharp with frustration.

"Why?" Ben retorted, his tone challenging as he tightened his grip on your hips.

You faced Ben squarely, your eyes narrowed with a mix of anger and hurt. "What was going on with you yesterday, especially last night?", you demanded, your voice trembling with emotion. "You can't just handle me like I'm some kind of object, Ben. It's not right".

Ben's expression hardened, his jaw clenching as he met your gaze. "I don't owe you an explanation", he retorted sharply, his tone tinged with defensiveness. "You don't get to tell me how to treat you".

You bristled at his dismissive response, your frustration mounting. "I'm not just some plaything for you to use whenever you feel like it", you shot back, your voice tinged with anger. "I deserve respect, Ben. And if you can't give me that, then maybe we shouldn't be doing this at all".

Ben released his grip on your hips, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked down at you with a mix of irritation and defiance. "And what exactly do you think we're doing here?", he asked. “Holding your hand through everything?”.

His words stung, a sharp pang of hurt shooting through you. “That’s just cruel, Ben”, you shot back, your voice trembling with emotion.

Ben let out an exasperated sigh, his irritation palpable. "Calm down, (Y/N)", he said tersely, his tone edged with annoyance.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your emotions despite the turmoil swirling inside you. "I can't just calm down", you retorted, your voice tinged with frustration. "I'm still in pain from how you handled me last night, and you didn't even have the decency to apologize".

Ben's jaw clenched, his gaze hardening as he met your eyes. "I don't have time for this", he muttered, his voice low and gruff. "We've got work to do".

Ben pushed you back slightly, his movements firm as he directed you towards the practice area. You stumbled slightly, caught off guard by his sudden assertiveness.

"We'll talk about this later", he said dismissively.

You frowned, frustration bubbling up inside you. "No, Ben, we need to talk about this now", you insisted. "I won't just brush this under the rug like it never happened".

But Ben remained unmoved, his expression stoic as he gestured for you to start the training session. The tension between you hung thick in the air, unresolved and simmering beneath the surface.

As you began the training session, the atmosphere was tense, each movement charged with unspoken resentment and frustration.

“I can’t believe you’re just brushing this off”, you muttered under your breath, your voice barely audible over the sound of your footsteps.

Ben shot you a sharp look, his eyes flashing with irritation. “I said we’ll talk about it later”, he snapped.

You clenched your jaw, frustration boiling inside you. “Fine”, you bit out.

As you did some exercises to warm up, the tension between you and Ben lingered in the air like an invisible barrier. You focused on your pushups, trying to block out the turmoil swirling inside you.

Suddenly, you felt Ben's large, heavy hand on your lower back as he squatted down beside you. The pressure of his touch only added to the weight of the unresolved tension between you.

You struggled to maintain your composure, the pressure of his presence making it difficult to concentrate on the task at hand.

"Ben, please", you pleaded quietly, your voice strained.

He grumbled something incoherent under his breath. "Your weak-ass spaghetti arms aren't gonna get any stronger if you keep whining", he retorted.

You bit back a retort, feeling a surge of frustration and helplessness wash over you. Despite your best efforts to focus, the tension between you and Ben made it nearly impossible to concentrate on the exercise.

As you struggled through the exercise, Ben's voice cut through the tension like a knife. "Come on, (Y/N), give it all you've got", he urged, his tone firm and unwavering. "I'm not going easy on you today. I need you stronger, so you never end up in the same position you were with Homelander ever again".

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, a stark reminder of the danger you faced and the need to be prepared for anything. Despite the pain and frustration, you pushed yourself harder, determined to prove yourself and become stronger, both physically and mentally.

After an intense warm-up, you stood there, panting, your hands on your waist as you looked up at Ben, who grinned down at you.

"Now that's more like it", he said. "And hey, looks like I found a way to shut you up".

You shot him a defiant glare, holding up your middle finger in response to his teasing.

Ben chuckled, unfazed by your gesture. "Feisty, huh?, he remarked with a smirk. "I gotta say, I love that ass of yours in those little shorts".

You rolled your eyes, feeling a mix of annoyance and amusement at his comment. "Can we focus on the training, please?", you quipped, eager to redirect the conversation away from his flirtatious remarks.

Ben grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Oh, we'll definitely be focusing on something", he replied with a suggestive tone, earning an exasperated groan from you.

As you continued training, the intensity of the workout gradually increased, the air filled with the sound of heavy breathing and the occasional thud of impact as you practiced boxing.

Ben stood before you, his arms crossed, a playful smirk dancing on his lips as he watched you throw punches with determination.

"Come on, (Y/N), show me what you've got", he teased. "I'm not seeing enough fire in those punches".

You gritted your teeth, shooting him a determined glare as you redoubled your efforts, fists flying faster as you focused on the target before you.

Ben chuckled, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he observed your efforts. "That's it, let it all out", he encouraged, his tone laced with playful mockery.

As you kept punching against his stomach and arms, Ben stood his ground, his expression a mix of amusement and mild discomfort as he absorbed the impact of your blows.

"Easy there, tiger", he teased, his voice laced with amusement. "I'm not made of steel, you know".

You shot him a playful smirk, a glint of determination in your eyes as you continued your assault. "Just making sure you're still awake", you retorted, your voice filled with mock seriousness.

Ben chuckled, his laughter mingling with the sound of your punches. "Well, I certainly won't be falling asleep anytime soon with you around", he quipped.

As you continued to punch, Ben gently caught both of your fists, bringing your flurry of blows to a halt. "Good job", he praised, a hint of pride in his voice as he looked at you.

Before you could respond, he leaned in and planted a quick peck on your lips.

"Alright, let's switch it up", he said, releasing your fists and stepping back slightly. "Time for some crunches".

As the grueling workout stretched on for over three hours, you found yourself becoming a panting mess, your muscles burning with exertion. Finally, unable to push yourself any further, you collapsed to the ground, your eyes closed as you struggled to catch your breath.

Ben knelt down beside you, a mischievous glint in his eye as he observed your exhausted state. "Looks like someone's hit their limit", he teased playfully, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

You shot him a pissed glare, too tired to muster a response as you focused on regulating your breathing.

Ben pulled you up effortlessly with his strong arm, your body instinctively leaning against his chest for support. As you looked up at him, feeling slightly weak-kneed from the exertion of the workout and the intoxicating scent of his cologne, he met your gaze with a playful smirk.

"You look hot all sweaty like that", he remarked, his tone laced with amusement as he brushed a strand of hair from your forehead. "Almost makes me want to put you through another round".

You rolled your eyes at his comment and pushed against his chest gently, creating a bit of space between the two of you. Meeting his gaze, you took a deep breath, mustering up the courage to address the tension that had been brewing between you.

"Ben, we really need to talk", you said, your voice firm yet tinged with vulnerability. "About last night, about everything".

Ben let out a sigh of annoyance, his brow furrowing slightly as he considered your request. “Can’t this wait?”, he grumbled, his tone edged with frustration.

You held his gaze. “No, Ben”, you insisted, your voice steady. “We need to talk about this now”.

He hesitated for a moment. “Fine”, he relented, his tone more serious now. “But let’s do it under the shower. I don’t want anyone overhearing us”.

You raised an eyebrow, a hint of skepticism coloring your expression. "Just so no one overhears us?", you repeated, your tone laced with sarcasm.

Ben smirked in response, his lips twisting into a playful grin. "Hey, you never know who might be eavesdropping", he quipped.

"Alright", you rolled your eyes, conceding to his suggestion as you headed towards the bathroom together.

As you peeled out of your sweaty clothes, tossing them into the hamper, you felt Ben's eyes on you, his gaze lingering on your figure as you moved.

"You know, you look even better out of those clothes", he remarked, his tone low and husky as he leaned against the sink, watching you with undisguised appreciation.

You couldn't help but blush at his comment, feeling a rush of warmth spreading through you despite the coolness of the room. "Flattery will get you nowhere", you mumbled, shooting him a playful grin as you stepped into the shower.

As Ben quickly shed his clothes and joined you in the shower, he wrapped both arms around your torso, pulling you tightly against his chest from behind.

“You’re tense”, he murmured, his voice low and soothing as he pressed his lips to your ear. “Let me help you relax”.

You leaned back into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his body enveloping you as his strong arms encircled you.

You closed your eyes, relishing in the warmth of Ben's embrace, but the weight of last night's events lingered heavily on your mind.

"Ben", you began softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I need to talk about last night".

Ben's arms around you tightened slightly, a silent indication for you to continue.

"I… I need to know why you didn't stop when I asked you to", you said, your voice trembling with emotion. "It hurt, Ben, and I felt like you weren't listening to me".

You felt Ben tense behind you, his silence weighing heavily in the steamy air of the shower.

Ben's grip loosened, and you felt him shift uncomfortably behind you. His silence spoke volumes, a tacit acknowledgment of the pain he had caused you. As the water cascaded down around you, he began to speak, his voice tinged with regret.

He struggled to find the right words. "I messed up, I know that", he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. "I should have listened to you, respected your boundaries. I don't want you to ever feel like I'm not hearing you".

You felt a pang of sadness mingled with a glimmer of hope at his words. Despite the pain of the previous night, there was a flicker of understanding.

Without turning to face him, you reached out and placed your hand over his.

As the water continued to wash away the remnants of the past, you both stood in silence, wrapped in the warmth of newfound understanding and the promise of a brighter tomorrow.

Ben's lips brushed gently against your neck, sending shivers down your spine as his hands roamed over your breasts with a tender reverence. Despite the lingering ache of the previous night, his touch ignited a familiar fire within you, a primal desire that pulsed with every beat of your heart.

You leaned into his embrace, surrendering to the sensation of his lips trailing a path of warmth along your shoulder, his touch a silent apology, a wordless plea for forgiveness.

You whispered softly, your voice barely audible over the sound of the shower, "I can't, Ben. I'm still too sore".

Ben's movements stilled. "I know", he murmured, his voice. "I just want to feel you, to be close to you".

His words resonated with a tenderness that touched your heart, and despite the ache in your body, you found yourself leaning into his touch, craving the closeness and intimacy that only he could provide.

As the water turned off, signaling the end of your shower, Ben stepped out first, grabbing a towel to dry himself off. You followed suit, reaching for your pajamas, but before you could slip them on, Ben stopped you.

With a playful grin, he pulled his shirt over your head, the fabric enveloping you in his scent and warmth. "That's more of my taste", he teased, his eyes twinkling as he admired you wearing his shirt.

You couldn't help but chuckle.

As you walked out of the bathroom, wrapped in Ben’s shirt, you felt a sense of contentment wash over you.

Just as you reached the bedroom door, Ben’s voice, soft and tender, broke the silence. “Hey”, he whispered, his hand gently grazing your arm to get your attention.

You turned to face him, meeting his gaze with a curious expression. “What is it?”.

“I want you to sleep in my bed tonight”, he murmured, his eyes earnest.

You blinked in surprise at Ben's request, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. Yet, a warm smile tugged at the corners of your lips, a mixture of appreciation and affection for his gesture.

"Sure", you replied softly, a gentle warmth spreading through your chest. "I'd like that".

As you followed Ben into the room, you felt a flutter dancing in your chest. But as he let himself sink onto the bed, you weren't expecting him to suddenly pull you onto his lap with a firm grip on your wrists.

Your surprise was evident in the widening of your eyes and the sharp intake of breath as you found yourself straddling him, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Ben", you murmured, your hands instinctively reaching out to steady yourself against his chest.

Ben's lips met yours in a slow and intense kiss, igniting a fiery passion that seemed to consume both of you. As his mouth moved against yours with a fervent urgency, you felt a surge of desire coursing through your veins, the heat of his touch sending shivers down your spine.

Despite the surprise of his sudden actions, you found yourself melting into his embrace, surrendering to the intoxicating sensation of his lips on yours. His grip on your wrists loosened, allowing you to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened.

Time seemed to stand still as you lost yourself in the heat of the moment, the world outside fading into oblivion as you and Ben became entangled in each other's embrace. His touch was both tender and possessive, a silent declaration of his desire to hold you close and never let go.

As you pulled away from the kiss, a faint smile lingering on your lips, you gazed into Ben's eyes, searching for any hint of what he might be thinking. His expression was a mix of desire and something else, a hint of possessiveness that sent a thrill down your spine.

As Ben's lips trailed down your jawline, leaving a trail of fiery kisses in their wake, you felt a surge of desire coursing through your veins. His touch was electric, igniting a primal need that burned within you.

"I can't stop thinking about you", he murmured against your collarbone, his voice thick with longing. "You drive me crazy, you know that?".

"Ben…", you mumbled.

But before you could utter another word, he continued, his voice low and filled with a raw intensity that made your blood run cold.

"I couldn't even stop thinking about you when I fucked that little slut yesterday", he muttered.

Your heart skipped a beat as Ben's words washed over you, a whirlwind of emotions raging within you. With a shaky breath, you pulled back slightly, your mind struggling to process the magnitude of his confession.

"What?", you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper, the word hanging heavy in the air between you.

Ben's gaze softened momentarily, a flicker of frustration crossing his features before he continued.

"Yeah, it's fucking insane", he mumbled, his words barely audible over the pounding of your heart. "It's like you're always on my mind, even when I try to forget".

Your heart ached at his admission, torn between the pain of betrayal and the lingering affection you still held for him.

Tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to spill over as the weight of Ben’s words bore down on you like a heavy burden. With a trembling hand, you pushed his hands away from your body, needing to create some distance between you.

“Are you serious?”, you choked out, your voice wavering with a mixture of hurt and disbelief. “Did you really… sleep with someone else?”.

Ben’s brow furrowed in confusion at your question, his expression betraying his lack of understanding. “What’s wrong?”, he asked, his voice tinged with frustration and bewilderment.

Tears continued to well up in your eyes as you struggled to find the words to convey the depth of your pain. “I can’t believe you”, you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. “After everything…”.

But before you could finish your sentence, Ben cut in, his tone laced with a hint of defensiveness. “It’s not about the fucking part”, he snapped. “It’s about how I couldn’t get you out of my head”.

Feeling a mixture of anger, hurt, and betrayal swirling inside you, you couldn't bear to remain in Ben's embrace any longer. With a shaky breath, you gently pushed yourself up from his lap.

"I need some space", you choked out, your voice thick with emotion as you struggled to contain the flood of tears threatening to spill over.

"Why are you mad?", he asked, his voice tinged with frustration. "I told you because I wanted you to understand how much you're on my mind".

"I thought we had something special", you mumbled through choked sobs, the words barely audible as tears streamed down your cheeks.

Ben rolled his eyes, a hint of exasperation creeping into his tone. "Oh, come on", he scoffed. "Don't be so dramatic. It's not like you're the only one I've ever slept with".

"I just thought…", you started, your voice faltering as you struggled to find the right words.

But Ben cut you off, his frustration boiling over. "Look, if you weren't fucking special to me, do you think I would fucking treat you like a raw egg every fucking time?", he snapped, his tone tinged with bitterness.

Your heart clenched at Ben's callous words, his dismissive attitude cutting deep into your already wounded soul. Anger surged within you, fueled by the sting of betrayal and the sheer audacity of his arrogance.

"If I were special to you, you wouldn't have slept with anyone else!", you shot back, your voice trembling with a mixture of hurt and indignation. "You can't just treat me like some disposable object and expect me to be okay with it!".

But Ben's frustration only seemed to escalate. "I did it so I wouldn´t fucking hurt you!", he retorted, his tone defensive. "I need to get rid of that tension sometimes, and you can't handle it because you're just a fucking human!".

“You’re acting like you’re my girlfriend, like you’re in love with me or something”, Ben continued.

Your heart skipped a beat, a sharp pain shooting through your chest as Ben's words pierced through you like daggers. More tears welled up in your eyes, spilling over as his callous remark hit you square in the chest.

In the wake of his harsh words, you felt a surge of anger rising within you, fueled by the hurt and betrayal you felt. With a trembling voice, you whispered, "Fucking asshole".

Without another word, you stormed out of his room.

Ben raised his arms in disbelief, his brow furrowed in confusion as he watched you storm out of his room. He couldn't understand why you were reacting this way, why you couldn't just accept his explanation and move on.

But as he stood there, his frustration mounting, he realized that there was no reasoning with you in your current state. With a heavy sigh, he let you go, pushing the door shut loudly behind you before trudging back to bed, annoyance simmering beneath the surface.

As he lay there in the darkness, the echoes of your departure still ringing in his ears, Ben couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at him. Despite his attempts to justify his actions, a nagging sense of guilt lingered in the back of his mind—a reminder of the pain he had caused you and the fragile trust he had shattered.

Meanwhile, you lay in your own bed, tears streaming down your cheeks as you cried like a lovesick teenager. Your heart ached with the realization that you were not enough for Ben, and perhaps never would be as long as you remained just a human.

In the darkness of your room, Ben's words echoed in your mind, weighing heavily on your spirits. You couldn't shake the feeling of inadequacy, wondering if you could ever measure up to the Supes who seemed to capture Ben's attention so effortlessly.

It hit you hard: you were in love with Ben. Admitting it to yourself only made you cry even more.

The thought of loving someone who didn't seem to see you the same way filled you with an overwhelming sense of despair. You felt powerless, trapped in a whirlwind of emotions you couldn't control.

As Ben lay in his own bed, the sound of your crying echoing in the stillness of the night, he found himself unable to sleep. His Supe hearing picked up every tear-soaked sob.

He still didn't quite understand your reaction, unable to comprehend why his words had hurt you so deeply.

For him, what he had said about not being able to get you out of his mind, even while being with that Supe, was meant to be an explanation of his feelings for you. It was his twisted way of expressing how much he liked you, how much you consumed his thoughts and his heart.

But as he listened to the sound of your tears, Ben couldn't help but wonder if he had missed the mark entirely. Had his attempt at honesty only succeeded in pushing you further away?

In the darkness of his room, Ben's thoughts churned with uncertainty and doubt. He knew he had a lot to learn about love and relationships, especially when it came to understanding your feelings.

But for now, all he could do was lie there, listening to the echoes of your pain, and wishing he knew how to make things right.

It wasn't until 3 in the night that Ben finally mustered the courage to leave his own bed. With each step, he tiptoed carefully, mindful of not disturbing your slumber. As he approached your room, a sense of trepidation washed over him, unsure of what he would find.

Gently pushing open the door, Ben slipped inside, the soft glow of moonlight casting shadows across the room. His eyes immediately found you, curled up in bed, your tear-streaked face peaceful in sleep.

For a moment, he simply stood there, watching you, his heart heavy. He had never meant to hurt you, never meant to cause you such pain. And yet he constantly brought you so much pain.

In that moment, as he gazed upon your sleeping form, he realized just how deeply he cared for you.

Ben harbored a tender affection for you, one that he had been too blind to see until now. As he watched you sleep, a wave of tenderness washed over him, filling him with a longing he couldn't quite name.

In the quiet of the night, with only the sound of your steady breathing to break the silence, Ben made a silent vow to himself. He would do whatever it took to make things right.

With a soft sigh, he leaned in closer, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face with gentle fingers.

The next morning, you were abruptly awakened by the sound of voices drifting from the living room. Confused, you stumbled out of bed and made your way to join Annie, Ben, and Butcher, who were engaged in a heated debate about how to proceed with the attack on Homelander, despite having already discussed the plan yesterday.

Annie's frustration was evident as she argued, "We've been over this already. We can't afford to deviate from the plan now. We need to stick to the strategy we agreed upon".

But Ben's determination was unwavering as he countered, "I don't care about the fucking plan. We need to take out Homelander once and for all. Killing him is the only way to ensure the safety of everyone".

Butcher interjected, "We can't risk a direct confrontation with Homelander. We need to focus on capturing him alive so we can use him as leverage against Vought".

Ben's voice rose in frustration as he continued to argue his point, his passion fueling his determination to see Homelander pay for the pain he had caused. "You don't fucking get it", he yelled, his voice raw with emotion. "Homelander hurt her, and he needs to fucking pay for it. We can't let him get away with what he's done".

But as the intensity of the debate reached its peak, the sound of footsteps drew everyone's attention. Turning, they saw you standing there, your expression worn and weary. Your heart clenched at the sight of Ben, the raw emotion in his eyes mirroring your own pain.

With arms crossed, you made your way towards Frenchie and MM, who sat at the table, working on their weapons.

Taking a deep breath, you joined Frenchie and MM at the table, ready to discuss your role in the upcoming mission. Frenchie wasted no time in pulling out his laptop, tapping away as he brought up the surveillance feeds and blueprints of Vought's facilities.

"We need to gather as much intel as possible", Frenchie explained, his fingers flying across the keyboard. "We'll use the cameras to track Homelander's movements and identify any vulnerabilities in their security".

MM nodded in agreement, his gaze focused on the screen. "Once we have a clear picture of their defenses, we can plan our approach accordingly", he added, his voice steady and resolute.

As you studied the images on the screen, a sense of determination filled you.

But as you delved deeper into the details of the mission, you couldn't shake the feeling of Ben's eyes burning into your back. His silent presence served as a constant reminder of the complicated emotions swirling between you, a mixture of pain, longing, and unresolved tension.

With a heavy heart, you pushed aside your feelings for Ben and focused on the task at hand.

As the discussion continued, Butcher's patience wore thin. He slammed his hand on the table, glaring at Ben with a fierce intensity. "Will you bloody well stick to the plan, or are you gonna go off half-cocked like some bloody lunatic?".

Ben's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he bristled at Butcher's accusation. "Watch your fucking tongue, Butcher", he snapped, his voice dripping with barely contained anger. "I know what I'm doing, and I won't let you or anyone else stand in the way of getting fucking justice for her".

Butcher scoffed, his expression unyielding. "Justice ain't worth a damn if it gets us all killed", he retorted, his tone sharp and unforgiving. "We stick to the plan, whether you like it or not".

The tension in the room was palpable as the two men locked eyes, each refusing to back down. It was clear that their conflicting ideologies would continue to clash, each determined to see their own vision through to the end.

Two hours later, you found yourself settled in front of Frenchie's laptop, your eyes focused on the surveillance feed from Vought's cameras. The tension in the room was palpable as everyone gathered in the living room, preparing for the mission ahead.

Just as you were about to immerse yourself in the task at hand, you heard the sound of footsteps approaching. Turning, you saw Ben entering the room, his presence commanding attention as he joined the group, just closing his belt.

Your knees weakened at the sight of him in his Supe suit, the fabric hugging his powerful frame in all the right places. It had been a while since you had seen him in full uniform, and the sight of him now sent a rush of longing coursing through your veins.

Despite the gravity of the situation, you couldn't tear your eyes away from him, captivated by his strength and determination.

As Ben's gaze met yours, time seemed to stand still. Your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, the weight of the world faded away as you locked eyes with him.

In that instant, a flood of emotions washed over you—longing, desire, and aching heartache all mingled together in a tumultuous whirlwind of sensation. His powerful presence filled the room, commanding attention and igniting a fire within you that you couldn't ignore.

Your heartbeat quickened, your pulse racing as you felt a surge of primal attraction coursing through your veins. Despite the pain and uncertainty that had plagued your relationship, there was no denying the raw magnetism between you and Ben.

As the team gathered their weapons, Ben stood there, his gaze fixed on you. There was a palpable tension in the air, a silent exchange of emotions between the two of you that spoke volumes.

Both of you wanted to say something, to break the silence that hung heavy between you, but neither of you dared to speak. It was as if the weight of unspoken words and unresolved feelings kept you rooted in place, unable to move forward.

You could feel the intensity of his gaze, a mixture of longing and regret that mirrored your own emotions but neither of you could find the words to express what you were feeling.

Instead, you sat there in silence.

Ben took two steps towards you, his mouth opening as if he were about to speak, but you shook your head, cutting him off before any words could escape. He sighed, a mixture of frustration and resignation evident in his expression.

Another tense minute passed before Butcher broke the silence with a gruff, "Let's go".

Ben cast one final glance in your direction, a silent apology lingering in his eyes. "I´m Sorry", he muttered softly before turning to leave with the rest of the team, leaving you alone in the apartment.

As the door clicked shut behind them, the weight of his apology hung heavy in the air.

It was a simple word, "sorry", but coming from him, it held a weight you had never experienced before. It was the first time he had ever said sorry to you, and perhaps to anyone else, and it stirred something deep inside you.

Despite the hurt, his apology sparked a glimmer of hope within you. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes about the complexity of his emotions.

In that moment, you couldn't help but feel a shift in the air, a subtle change in the dynamic between you and Ben. It was as if the walls that had divided you for so long were beginning to crumble, replaced by a tentative sense of understanding and forgiveness.

As you processed the significance of his apology, you couldn't shake the feeling that perhaps, just perhaps, there was still a chance for the two of you to find common ground and move forward together. But for now, all you could do was wait.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

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Part 20

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Taglist: @deangirl96, @thatgirljayy, @suckitands33, @deans-spinster-witch@mimaria420@kaz11283@uncle-eggy @jackles010378 @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @meowmeowyoongles @sarahgracej @zemosdarling228 @leila22rogers @mostlymarvelgirl @emily-winchester @blacknoirr @onlyangel-444 @seasonofthenerd @staple-your-mouth @artemys-ackles @selfdestructionandrhum @mystic-mara

[alyrasturnz]

fuck the happy ending shit!!!! i need a super angsty fic with no happy ending/fluff whatsoever

its time to go {{ chris sturniolo }}

summary — chris and y/n have been grappling with the tumultuous waves of their relationship, their desperate efforts marked by a white-knuckled grip that seems to tighten with each passing day. despite their relentless struggle to hold onto what they once had, y/n comes to the heart-wrenching realization that, no matter how much it tears at her soul, she must find the strength to let him go.

— angst (no happy ending)

warnings :: cheating 😡

the restaurant was enveloped in a soft, muted glow, casting a veil of mystery over its patrons. it was the kind of place that whispered promises of intimacy, with its flickering candlelight and secluded corners, yet it offered only the elusive dance of shadows and the hushed murmur of secrets.

each table seemed to harbor its own private world, where words were spoken in guarded tones and glances were exchanged with caution, creating an atmosphere thick with unspoken emotions and hidden desires.

you and chris sat across from each other, the dinner growing cold and the chatter even colder, each word a hollow echo of what once was. the air between you was thick with the weight of unspoken thoughts, a testament to a relationship that had once thrived but now struggled under the burden of time and unaddressed wounds.

the clinking of cutlery and the distant hum of the restaurant only served to underscore the growing chasm, a silent reminder of the intimacy that had slowly slipped through your fingers.

of late, it has become unmistakably evident that you and chris have arrived at the inevitable conclusion of your shared journey. each exchange of words seems to transform into a tempestuous whirlwind of conflict, where even the most trivial of disagreements escalate into vehement confrontations.

it is as though both of you are ensnared in an endless cycle of trying to assert your perspectives, yet these attempts are met with mutual disregard. the once gentle flow of communication has turned into a battleground, with every conversation leaving behind a residue of unresolved tension and deepening wounds.

the emotional landscape between you has become a field of strife, where the echoes of past arguments linger, and the prospect of reconciliation seems like a distant mirage.

you and chris sat in a heavy silence, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air. he absently toyed with the food on his plate, his fork pushing remnants around in an aimless dance.

you let out a weary sigh, the sound of resignation filling the space between you. with a sense of finality, you dropped your fork onto your plate, the loud clink echoing through the room as you signaled for the tab.

chris lifts his gaze to meet yours, his head still bowed slightly, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. after a moment, he averts his gaze, turning his head to the side, as if seeking refuge from the intensity of the moment.

“y/n, she’s just a friend. i swear,” chris mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. you scoffed in response, rolling your eyes with a mix of exasperation and disbelief, leaning back into your chair as if trying to distance yourself from the weight of his words.

“friends don’t look at each other like that,” you shoot back, your voice laced with a sharp edge. your words compel chris to meet your gaze, the intensity of your accusation lingering between you like a palpable force.

“yes, they do,” he insisted, his voice unwavering, each word carrying a quiet defiance.

a heavy silence enveloped the room as the tab was discreetly placed before you. with a measured yet swift motion, you slipped some cash onto the table, the rustle of bills breaking the quiet. standing up abruptly, you grabbed your purse with a sense of urgency, storming out, leaving the tension-laden air behind.

chris lets out a weary sigh, the sound heavy with resignation, as he hastens to follow after you, each step echoing with the weight of unspoken words and unresolved tension.

he leaned forward, his eyes brimming with a desperate intensity that seemed to beseech your very soul for understanding, "she’s just a friend, nothing more. you have to believe me."

you looked away, your heart laden with doubt, the weight of his words pressing down on your chest like an unrelenting burden. "just a friend? friends don’t look at each other like that."

he sighed deeply, attempting to mask his growing frustration, his breath escaping in a slow, controlled exhale. "i’ve known her for years. we’ve weathered countless storms together, but it’s never been anything more than friendship. you’re the one i love."

you met his gaze, your voice trembling with the fragility of your emotions. "then why does it feel like i’m competing for your attention? why do i feel like i’m losing you to her?"

he reached for your hand, his grip firm yet gentle, as if trying to anchor you in his reality. "you’re not losing me. i promise you, she’s just a friend. i need you to trust me."

but you could see the flicker of guilt in his eyes, the hesitation in his voice, the slight quiver that betrayed his calm demeanor. tears welled up in your eyes as you pulled your hand away, the warmth of his touch lingering on your skin. "trust? how can i trust when i see the way you look at her?"

his voice softened, but the sincerity was gone, replaced by a hollow echo of his earlier conviction. "because i look at you with love. with her, it’s just friendship. please, believe me."

your heart ached with an almost unbearable intensity, knowing deep down that his words were merely a delicate veil for the truth he couldn’t bring himself to admit. it was a fragile facade, one that was beginning to crack and crumble under the oppressive weight of your shared silence, each unspoken word adding to the tension that threatened to shatter the thin veneer of reassurance he tried to offer.

your heart ached with an intensity that seemed to reverberate through your very being, knowing deep down that his words were nothing more than a delicate veil, a fragile facade designed to obscure the truth he couldn’t bring himself to admit. this fragile construct was beginning to crumble, piece by piece, under the immense weight of your shared silence, each unspoken word adding to the pressure, threatening to shatter the thin veneer of reassurance he so desperately tried to maintain.

you took a deep breath, trying to steady your voice. "i can’t do this anymore. i can’t keep pretending that everything is fine when it’s not."

his eyes widened, panic flashing across his face. "what are you saying? don’t do this. we can work through this."

you shook your head, tears spilling over your cheeks. "no, we can’t. i’ve tried to believe you, to trust you, but it’s tearing me apart. every time i see you with her, it feels like a knife in my heart."

he reached for you again, desperation in his touch. "please, don’t leave me. i love you. she’s just a friend, nothing more."

you stepped back, putting distance between you, your voice breaking. "just a friend? i didn't want to do this but if she’s just a friend then what is this?” you said, shoving your phone in his face, a screenshot displayed on it

his face paled, and for a moment, he was speechless. "i... i can explain." he stood there, silent, the weight of your words sinking in. "i never meant to hurt you."

"explain?" you echoed, your voice rising. "how do you explain this? 'last night was amazing. can't wait to see you again.'"

he ran a hand through his hair, frustration and guilt battling in his eyes. "it was a mistake. it didn't mean anything."

"a mistake?" you felt a bitter laugh escape your lips. "you don't just accidentally cheat on someone. how long has this been going on?"

"it was just the one time," he insisted, but his voice lacked conviction. "i swear."

you shook your head, tears blurring your vision. "how could you do this to me? to us? i thought we were happy."

"we are," he implored desperately, closing the distance between you, each step laden with a silent plea for forgiveness. "please, just let me explain."

"explain what?" you snapped, stepping back. "that you threw away everything we had for a night with someone else? that you lied to me, betrayed me?"

"i know i messed up," he uttered, his voice fracturing under the weight of his own remorse. "i'm so sorry. i love you."

"love?" the word resonated with a cruel irony, each syllable twisting the knife of betrayal deeper. "if you loved me, you wouldn't have done this. you wouldn't have hurt me like this."

he reached out, but you recoiled, the pain too fresh, too raw. "please, give me a chance to make it right."

you took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. "i need time," you said finally. "i need to think."

he nodded, tears in his own eyes. "i understand. i'll give you all the time you need."

with that, you turned and walked away, each step feeling like a release from the invisible chains that had bound your heart for so long.

as you moved forward, the weight of unspoken words and unresolved emotions began to lift, leaving him standing there, a solitary figure etched against the backdrop of your fading memories.

the light around him dimmed, symbolizing the end of an era, a poignant reminder of the love and pain that had once intertwined your lives so deeply.

you knew deep down that this was the last thing you wanted to do, yet the tears that streamed down your face betrayed your resolve, refusing to let you proceed.

your heart swelled with an overwhelming sense of yearning and longing, each beat echoing the depth of emotions that words could never fully capture.

it was as if every fiber of your being was pulling you back, pleading for a different outcome, one where love and desire could find their rightful place.

your entire being seemed to rebel against your decision, every fiber of your body rejecting the path you had chosen. the tears that welled up in your eyes mirrored the turmoil within, each drop a testament to the inner battle you fought.

despite the overwhelming urge to turn back, to undo what had been set in motion, you clung to the conviction that this was for the better.

it was a necessary sacrifice, a step towards a future that held the promise of healing and growth, even if the present moment was steeped in pain and uncertainty.

the inner conflict raged on, a tempest of emotions threatening to consume you, but you held firm, believing that sometimes, the hardest choices pave the way for the most profound transformations.

[orion-nottson]

devil’s in the details | tfp!megatron x reader

A/N: i have tfp megatron brain rot. like i know he’s cray cray and deluded, but literally so am i we’re made for each other he’s mine

also this obvi deviates from canon, bc there is no way on god’s green earth that dreadwing and starscream could coexist semi-peacefully.

also, please be warned that i haven’t written transformers fanfic since i was like 14 💀💀 fought for my LIFE with the terminology (had to check my old WATTPAD stories to find some vocab 💀)

summary: lord megatron propositions you. it’s a rather bold request.

content: SMUT, 18+ ONLY, minors DNI, femme!cybertronian!reader, seeker!reader, sticky sexual interfacing, breeding kink, wee lil bit of choking, technically boss/employee relationship, power dynamic (it gets semi-resolved), implied past relationship/thought unrequited love, average decepticon emotional constipation, business arrangement procreation

word count: 6,367

~ * ~ * ~

The Decepticon warship lingers somewhere over the southern pole of Earth, resulting in a dramatic decrease in temperature, even with the efficiency of Cybertronian technology. You shift your wings for the umpteenth time, armor plates releasing air to alleviate the discomforting chill that’s started to bother you. Of course, it was far from being so cold that you needed to worry about your core temperature, but you are a Seeker from Vos, and Vos was always warm.

The thought makes your wings tremble again, so you hurry yourself to your quarters with a bit more haste.

It wouldn’t suddenly be warm and tropical, but at least you’d be able to curl up and shiver in privacy. Recharge sounds particularly nice too, considering you’ve been up for several cycles trying to appease Lord Megatron’s endless demands. Inwardly, you roll your optics— There seems to be nothing you can do that would satisfy him.

The corridor finally breaks into the wing that houses Decepticon high command, where yours and your fellow officers reside. Your room is down almost the entire expanse of the hall, the turn right before where Megatron’s personal habsuite lies. From where you’re walking, you can spot the sleek, black metal door. A chill runs up your back struts, and your processor convinces you it’s from the icy cold that’s overtaken the Nemesis.

“Curse this inhospitable, organic planet.” Muttering to yourself dissuades you from also blaming your Master, who was no help either, if you were to be honest. He could shove his “not wanting to expend precious Energon on unnecessary heating” decree up his tail pipe.

You resign yourself to some rather cold nights for the foreseeable future. Perhaps... If you played your cards right, as the humans say, you could convince Soundwave to pilot the ship north. Maybe somewhere near Hawaii...

A sharp, gravelly voice from behind you calls your name, and you spin around to see your Lord and Master a ways down the corridor from you. Immediately bringing yourself to attention, you straighten your back struts and bow politely.

“My liege.” You say, thanking Primus you’ve become so accustomed to Megatron’s thunderous shouts that you no longer jump, let alone flinch, when they occur. The silver mech strides up to you easily, displaying all the strength of a warrior in the confidence of his steps.

“Retiring to your quarters?” He asks austerely, as if he’s ever concerned himself with your whereabouts, let alone personal routine. Unease creeps up on you, so you shift on the thrusters of your peds and cross your servos over your chassis. Wings fluttering, you reply slowly, “Well, yes.”

“Allow me to accompany you there.” The silver mech says brightly, and it’s such an absurdly peculiar request for both the mech saying it and the situation at hand. You instinctively snort a laugh.

“I do believe I know the way to my own habsuite, my Lord.” You say before you can stop the words from coming out, and immediately regret them once they do. You meet Megatron’s hard stare sheepishly, wings dropping timorously. Forgetting your place in the grand scheme of things is not wise amongst the Decepticon ranks.

To your utter shock, you’re not met with a vicious reprimand and instead Megatron grins— this wickedly suave thing— and purrs, “Humor me.”

And all you can say is, “Of course.”

Megatron hums appreciatively, brushing past you as he takes the lead, like he always does. You step in time behind him, nearly colliding into his back struts when he suddenly halts, and you stumble backwards a few steps. The looming mech pivots, glancing down at you with a quizzical expression in his glowing optics.

“Seekers are a rare breed, yes?” Lord Megatron asks, and whatever game he’s begun to play with you genuinely stumps any reasoning you attempt. Opening your mouth, your optics dart over his face, trying to decode whatever message your Master is sending and coming up empty. 

“Er... Yes, my liege? Even before the war, Vos was not a populous city-state. There are probably... even less now.” You reply cautiously, becoming very put off as Megatron takes a step towards you. He looks as impassive as ever, though you’re beginning to see a very curious appraising expression overtaking his faceplates. It begins with the upcurve of his mouth, derma pulled into the most wolfish grin you’ve ever seen on the mech.

Utterly bizarre. Your processors want to reset because this Megatron is starting to look like the studly gladiator of Kaon you’d hear be lasciviously giggled about, not the ruthless, merciless tyrant he’s supposed to be.

“I have a rather... avant-garde proposition for you, my most loyal Seeker.” Megatron purrs, his servos clasped easily behind him as you’ve seen him too many times before, often when he schemes. He’s also talking to you as if this is casual, expected business of him; matter-of-fact and cordial, with his usual cool drawl.

Before you can reply, Megatron turns sharply once more and begins walking down the corridor, stopping after a few steps when he realizes you hadn’t started with him. He turns his helm to look back at you, this time there’s this strangely unreadable expression on his faceplates.

“Follow me.” He says simply, and without a second thought, you do.

Even though you’re a Seeker with naturally long legs, his pedsteps are even longer strides, so you have to exert some effort in keeping up with Megatron. It adds to the growing franticness that’s begun to bubble up inside your chassis. 

While not exactly fear, though that’s certainly part of it, you’ve been a Decepticon and aboard the Nemesis under Megatron’s direct command long enough to know that when he becomes cryptic, it means trouble. Or at least a command that you’d rather not be the one to deal with. Bluntly asking what the frag he’s on about wouldn’t be the best course of action, but you know that he likes you enough not to offline you immediately if you did.

So you do.

“My Lord, what exactly are you asking of me?” You inquire, noting with slight abject horror as Megatron approaches the door to your quarters and types in your lock code with ease. Of course, he is the leader after all. Instead of answering your question, he makes you feel even more uneasy by throwing you a mysteriously sultry look and quipping, “Let me have you if only for a breem. Or longer should I entertain you.”

You catch the flash of his ruby optics, their intentions indiscernible, and then he disappears into your habsuite like it’s his own.

There’s something to it, an itch of a thought that’s begun to decipher the puzzle and put together the pieces. Lately, Megatron has been far more... involved with you, more eager at your presence, and it was blatantly obvious that he grew quite miffed when others got too close. It was no secret to anyone— From Soundwave and Starscream to a lowly technician— that Megatron had an optic for you (many did, frankly) and thus he was quite possessive of your wiles and charms as well.

This line of thought leads you to step into your room, slowly and evenly as if it’s unmarked territory and not the quarters that were assigned to you millennia ago.

“Lord Megatron...” You trail off, catching his stare just as he sets your old null ray back on your weapons rack, where most of your old, dismantled, and prized tools are located. Your null ray had been a favorite, until some blasted Autobot blew out the important bits that kept it working. That had stung, and even eons later you still curse that specific Autobot to the Pits.

Megatron flexes his claws, and with a flourish he clasps his servos behind him once again. His red optics scan the entirety of your quarters, lingering on your berth until they come back to rest on you. His gaze is equal parts unnerving and fascinating, as if he’s deconstructing you armor by armor, stripping you down until he’s watched your spark pulse.

His optics, like twin red suns, center you at their universes, and you feel oddly... flattered at their amorous disposition.

“It is no secret that I have watched you for some time.” Megatron starts, tilting his helm as he becomes pensive. You nod dumbly, hardly processing a word he’s saying. Megatron takes a single step towards you, looming like a shadow. In the dim lighting of your room, his silver armor catches all the chiaroscuro, his violet accents hued to black. Only his glowing, fiery optics remain bright. He continues.

“I admit,—” Megatron drawls your name deliciously, “— That I have found myself... captivated by your beauty. Entranced by your prowess, both in battle and mind.”

“I...” Your vents hitch, wings shivering at the praise. Blinking rapidly to ensure this isn’t some monumentally vivid dream, you clear your intake and say, “I don’t know what to say. Thank you, my Lord.”

Megatron laughs, that slight chuckle that sounds halfway between his engines roaring and something genuine that comes from the spark. The silver mech’s rolls his shoulders, armor hissing as it releases air. Wildly, he confesses something you never would have expected from him, “I believe myself bewitched.”

His servos have clasped themselves into fists at his sides, and briefly you wonder if he’s angry with you, then his entire frame relaxes like he’s decompressing after a long spar with Dreadwing.

“Tell me, my little Seeker, why have you denied yourself of me for so long?” Megatron asks it like a tease, like he’s some boon to be revered or a sacred sword to be wielded. Heat rises beneath your armor plating, and your processors race kilometers a nanosecond to find a suitable answer. Or at least one that doesn’t make you sound like some lovesick femmeling.

You couldn’t lie and say you had no... feelings for your Master, who was as handsome and dark as he was powerful and cunning. Megatron was once a gladiator of Kaon, and gladiators on Cybertron were what you had often admired, marveling at their strength, drive, and raw spark. Megatron had been no different, though you also found his commanding presence and impressive intellect to be even more attractive.

That was really why you’d joined the Decepticon cause all those millennia ago; Drawn to your Master’s fight to bring equality to the rigid castes and to seize control of the Energon supply to better disperse it by his charismatic allure.

And somehow, Megatron knew all of this.

“It would have been insubordination if I acted upon my... desires.” You reply, crossing your arms over your ample chassis with a shrug. Megatron matches your collected temperament with a hum, staring down at you with unreadable red optics.

“Indeed. Though I wish you’d had disobeyed, my little Seeker.” Megatron purrs, taking a step towards you that closes the space between your frames and boxes you in. His EM field magnifies the atmosphere around you, tingling at the periphery of yours.

“M-My liege?” You gape, faceplates feeling hot as metal left in direct sunlight. He chuckles, and sinfully the tip of his glossa runs over his pointed denta. Your spark skips a beat, owlishly watching 

“If I had known sooner that you wanted me as direly as I did you, then this song and dance would have concluded vorns ago.” Megatron growls, optics flashing with not anger, but lust. He takes another step, and you’re speechless.

“That being said, I am patient. I have no qualms with how long we have waited, nor will I if you choose to wait longer.” One of the tyrant’s long, clawed digits clicks at the bottom of your chin, tilting your face upwards. His touch is delicate, like you’d break if he pushed too hard. Honestly, you probably would if he did. Part of you wants to see him try.

“What did you want to ask of me?” You whisper, optics fluttering until they stay half-lidded and dewy under the carnal scrutiny of your Lord. Megatron grins, a sliver of sharp denta flashing in the lowlights of your habsuite. He takes a final step towards you, a half-shuffle that does well to close the gap between your frames, the air warming from the work of your combined engines. You hope he feels the way your spark races, hope he feels the heat emanating from your core.

“Give me an heir, carry a sparkling of my code and stand beside me as my queen.” With each word, laden with desire until it shows in his optics that drip with lust, Megatron has you against the wall of your habsuite, one servo tracing the sleek edge of your wing.

It’s entirely intoxicating, and against your better judgment and all remaining reason— and mostly because you haven’t had a good, hard frag in ages— you moan.

It’s a soft, angelic sound that barely catches on the audials, but it makes Megatron grin like a shark. You gasp, affronted, optics flickering, “My liege!”

“Have I offended you?” He breathes, and suddenly his mouth is against your neck cables, each word leaving the softest of kisses on your Energon lines. Your resolve nearly crumbles entirely, each brush of his dermas like a shot of high grade to the systems. You sigh, vents hissing, and place one servo on his chassis. Beneath the broad expanse of silver armor, his engines rumble like thunder on the horizon. It makes you pulse with need.

“No.” You whisper, wanting to sing as Megatron kisses the slope of your jaw, then pecks the side of your mouth, agape with shock. He pulls back, the heat of him evaporating as soon as he’s once again standing at his full height. You tremble, not from the cold, but from his absence. 

It’s not something you’d ever given much thought about, your feelings towards your Lord and Master, but it’s something that’s come rushing back. All the suppressed thoughts, the dashed dreams, the impossible futures... They come back to you and leave you weak in the knee joints, cooling fans whirring from the memories of the fantasies you’d entertained when you’d had long midnights alone.

“What say you then?” Megatron’s stare is hard, unshaking and fully serious. He wants to have a sparkling with you, wants you to bear him an heir— He wants you as his queen and equal, to stand beside him and lead the Decepticon cause. The expression on his face is a cross between a wild animal, wanting to ravage you the nanosecond you say Yes, and the warlord with enough resolve and self-restraint to accept if you say No.

It’s all so much at once. Eons of time made up in just a single question. Details and technicalities will have to be conferred over later, as for now you’re content with the conditions as-is.

“Well... You are a handsome mech, my liege.” You reply, teasing him by placing a chaste kiss directly on the Decepticon insignia on his chassis. He doesn’t say anything, only his engine rumbles more audibly. You look up at him and salaciously imply with a coy smirk, “I do believe we’d make a fine clutch of sparklings.”

And then you find yourself swept up into his arms, back struts and wings pressed against the wall, your Lord’s hips slotted perfectly against yours. The more base urges inside you squeal, your Seeker coding nearly overtaking you and having you present to him like a turbofox in heat.

Not one to be outdone, Megatron quips, “And you are quite the striking femme— Shall I ravage you against the wall or your berth?”

You laugh, cut off only when Megatron captures your dermas in his, drowning you in the roughness of a mech starved of Energon. He kisses like he owns the practice and has made it an artform; Dragging your dermas with his, glossa invading your mouth, denta nipping dangerously close to sensitive nodes and wiring. You moan and gasp, coming to the realization that one of your servos grips his wrist and the other is flat against his chassis.

You shutter your optics, reveling in Megatron’s power and dominance, wanting so desperately for him to devour you. The warmth blossoms, spreading throughout your core until you feel charges pulse at your interface panels that have you whimpering.

After what feels like vorns, Megatron parts and your dermas unlock with a metallic pop. Megatron’s mouth ghosts over yours, and he hums as he repeats himself, “Berth or wall, little Seeker?”

“The berth, my liege.” You urge breathlessly, a delighted sound escaping you as Megatron heaves you from the wall and carries you to your desired destination. He isn’t gentle when he deposits you on your berth, doesn’t mind the wings, so you hiss when your back struts connect with the metal beneath you. Megatron manages to keep himself between the smooth metal of your thighs as he hitches one knee up onto the berth.

“I wonder,” Megatron stops to kiss you deeply once more, making your processors spin, “If this is an auspicious position for conception.”

A bite to the dermas stifles your wanton moan. Your Lord may not be fully aware of it yet, but each mention of being sparked, of bearing his heirs, has your more base urges spiraling out of control. While Vos was not populated by many Seekers, the need to breed is more hardwired into the programming than most other frame types. His words act like fuel to the fire.

“O-Oh— I can only hope.” You gasp, your whimpering cries smothered by Megatron’s dermas in yet another bruising, brusque kiss. This time, he lingers, slows down as if he savors the taste of you on his glossa. Your servos grip his shoulders, smoothing along his breadth before your pointed digits grip at the armor panels high on his back. Megatron responds most enjoyably, using one servo to anchor himself above you and the other to caress down your body.

His servo travels from the curve of your waist, talons scratching at your paint, down to the slope of your hip where it rests heavy and warm on the junction of your thigh. He teases the sharp point of his thumb digit on the transformation seam nearest your interface panels, causing you to arch your back struts like a cat. Megatron uses this opportunity to settle a servo on the low of your back struts, where he pinches at the sensitive nodes at the bases of your wings. That makes you cry out, your cooling fans whirring loudly as a charge builds up deep inside you. 

You’ve never been this close to an overload so quickly before, though you’ve had many sleepless nights built up to bring you to this moment. And Megatron proves his expertise in the berth, past rumors and gossip proven to hold more truth than you once thought. 

Your entire frame feels electrified, your lower body feels like it’s on fire, the heat centered gloriously on your interfacing parts. Particularly your valve and anterior node, which feel wet and pulse beneath the panel with each of your sparkbeats.

“You react so gratifyingly.” Megatron purrs, his gravelly drawl like fine high grade on the audials, uncharacteristically sweet and sensual. He glances down at your interface panels, where your glowing transfluid is beginning to seep out along the seams. With a devious grin, Megatron meets your gaze just as he presses his thumb digit to your overheated panel.

“Megatron!” You cry his name, forsaking honorifics, and nearly overloading on the spot. Almost unconsciously, you send a command and your valve panel slides open, revealing your weeping slit and throbbing anterior node. You cry out again when Megatron wastes no time and starts tight, small circles on the sensitive bundle of mesh wire and circuitry.

“Beautiful.” He hums, quickening his pace on your anterior node as he notices sparks fly as your charge builds. You grip his back, claws digging at his silver armor and leaving scratches in his already worn paint. Megatron leans in, steals your dermas in a kiss, keeps circling your wet node, and just as you see warnings for an imminent overload— He stops.

The charge doesn’t die, but it decreases to a staticky tingle, and you part from the kiss, scandalized that he’s prevented your overload. You gape at Megatron, giving him a glare that could rival the World Destroyer’s himself. He only offers you a sly look.

“My liege.” This time you growl the title past grit denta, bucking your hips against your Master’s still servo. He hums, your anger meaning nothing to him, though indulging you by brushing two digits along the transfluid-soaked mesh of your valve. You gasp, optics blowing wide as he pushes them in, mindful of his sharp claws, stretching you wonderfully.

There’s a slight burn at first, pain sensors sending alerts, alleviated as your frame adjusts to accommodate his thick talons. Megatron eases his digits back until they are almost out completely, then sinks them back in. Your knees come up, peds shaking as you hook them behind his back struts.

“Patience, my dear,” Megatron kisses your neck cables, “Is a virtue.”

And like he had your anterior node, he works your valve slowly, steadily building the charge that buzzes all the pleasure centers in your frame. Warnings for an overload screen your vision again, this time your optics flicker as it grows closer. Staccato vents escape your intake, fans skipping cycles and hitching, encouraging Megatron to go faster, digits plunging in and out of your valve with sopping, moist noises. The room smells like interface; the tinny tang of transfluid, the almost-burnt smell of metal-on-metal friction.

You moan, this time a long keen that crackles in your audials, and Megatron responds with the first pleasured sound you’ve heard from him: A low, throaty groan that he practically strangles in his intake like he doesn’t want it to escape.

“M-My liege, plea-please.” You whine, writhing, bucking your hips even as Megatron’s servo relinquishes your wings in order to still them. You sob, systems on the fritz as the charge crackles, your overload closing in due to Megatron’s working servo and digits. He laughs again, the breathy one that you adore, and surprisingly heeds your plea.

“I want you like this when you take my spike.” Megatron hisses, doubling his pace and making you scream. The wet squelch of your mesh grows louder, and with each thrust of his servo, his knuckle joint brushes your throbbing anterior node, whiting out your optics.

“I want you disheveled.” The tyrant presses close to you, tightening the cyclic thrusts of his digits, biting at the base of your neck cables. Your helm lolls to the side, voice crackling in constant whines as you squeeze your optics shut. He growls, sharp denta piercing an Energon line close to your shoulder armor, the pain mixing with pleasure and having you singing.

“I want you desperate.” Megatron snarls like an Earthen beast, the gruffness of his voice matching the hot stretch of your valve. Transfluid soaks the inner seams and mechanisms of your thighs, spilling onto your berth below. Megatron drags his dermas to yours, his glossa hot and heady as he shoves it in your mouth and dominates the kiss. You moan against him, gripping him tight and hearing the sound of metal screech as its torn.

The silver mech groans, low and rough, breaking the kiss and allowing his helm to fall besides yours. To the cables and wires of your neck, he leaves open-mouth kisses, condensation hot from his vents, then pulls himself up to your audials and whispers harshly:

“I want you as mine.”

The last word is punctuated by a hard push of his digits and his thumb squashing your anterior node, and your overload hits you like a system crash. You wail, wings fluttering and hitting the berth with metallic clangs as your body seizes, the charge overtaking your processors. Pleasure like molten lava consumes your frame, transfluid squirting out onto Megatron’s forearm like paint.

The overload lasts eons, like some supernova of a dying star. Your legs lock, armor plating shivering, wings hitched high and scraping against your berth.  Maybe this is what death is, you think illogically, Maybe I’ve joined with the Allspark.

“Beautiful.” Megatron breathes again, his optics glowing in awe, “Positively beautiful.”

It takes a click for your processor to compute what he said, then another for your optics to blink back on. Coolant tears leak out the corners, blurring your vision. Your mouth gapes, dermas damp with condensation, your cooling fans whirring in loud in your audials. The grip you have on Megatron loosens, servos slipping until they fall upon his shoulders.

The charge in your valve mesh and anterior node quivers and bounces, and you realize with a pleasant tremble that Megatron’s digits are still firmly inside you.

“Megatron.” You coo his name, “Megatron.”

He says yours back, like all you’ve done and are doing is exchanging designations in a routine meeting and it reminds you of a time when things were simpler between the two of you. It’s been eons since Megatron’s seen you the way his ruby red optics gaze upon you now, eons more since you’ve felt seen.

War has made you both volatile, too tough and too angry to do anything else but fight, and fight some more. But here, in the privacy of your berth, blanketed by the secrecy of darkness: War can’t touch you. Nothing can.

“How I have yearned for you...” Megatron cups your faceplates, his servo cool against your overheated frame. You smile, still hazy from your overload and the lingering sensation of his other servo very much connected carnally to you, feeling like you’ve overdone yourself on too much high grade. 

A switch flips inside you, the one that reminds you’re no fainting femme, but one that asks and will take regardless. You are a Seeker, after all— It’s in your code to want offspring.

“Give me a sparkling, my Lord.” Even though your voice wavers, it still sounds like an immutable command. The contemplative look on Megatron’s face morphs into the devilish one, and he snarls, removing his digits from your core. A thin line of gooey transfluid stretches between you and his servo, until Megatron brings it to his mouth and his glossa licks along the length of his digits. His optics narrow in as he hums.

“You presume you can command me.” And yet he obeys again, his interface panel unlatching with a hiss. His spike emerges, a long, thick one that fills in sections, ribbed along its length. Glowing transfluid oozes in droplets from its tip, rolling down the underside of his spike. Your jaw drops, both in want and slight alarm— Megatron is a large mech, you should have better anticipated a large spike.

“Know this, dearest: I will take you, ruin you, fill you up until my code takes.” Megatron promises, lining his bobbing spike up with your throbbing valve. He then grabs your hips, propping them up for a better angle. You quiver, writhing on your berth and bracing your servos on his forearms. His armor is hot under your touch, and your claws dig into the smooth of his paint. Then you match his stare, licking your dermas.

“Frag me like you mean it.”

Megatron suddenly thrusts his spike into you and you wail, unforgiving of your smaller stature. The delicate mesh and sensitive wires give and mold around the hot rod of his pulsing length, forming a slick suction around your lover. He groans, easing back then thrusting in with earnest. Your thighs tremble as you take him, each rimmed circlet of his spike passing into you, dragging deliciously on your valve’s walls.

It’s a tight fight, even with being loosened by Megatron’s thick digits. The transformation seams on your hips and thighs stretch, soft whirs and clicks as your frame adjusts to take him. He’s the biggest you’ve ever had, and the strongest too. The power in his hips drives you up the berth, and he pulls you back down.

You can’t meet his thrusts, but you try and buck your hips in time with him, erratic at first. Megatron’s servos are locked on you, guiding you when your movements skip or miss. All the pleasure centers in your frame are alight, charges sparking and fritzing along your circuitry. Another overload builds, a hot, deep bubbling in your core.

With each thrust of his spike, your valve squelches, the mesh slick and hot with transfluid. More drips down your legs, your aft, onto the berth, leaving everything tacky. Megatron hits a particularly sensitive node deep inside you, one you didn’t even know was there, and you keen. Coolant tears prick at your vision again, escaping the corners and rolling off your faceplates. 

“How badly do you want it?” Megatron seethes, and you could mistake his lust for anger. He seizes your neck cables, dangerous talons threatening Energon lines, as he demands, “How badly do you want me?”

“Desperately.” You wheeze, optics whiting out as Megatron squeezes your neck cables just so as he gives you a series of particularly rough thrusts. Your peds tighten on his back, urging him deeper. Your Master vents, harsh and hot, his engine rumbling loud in his chassis.

“You will look...” Megatron chokes on a groan,”... Excellent with a trine at your hip.”

That makes you whine, Seeker coding squealing and preening at the thought. A trine. Three little sparklings just like their carrier. You’d delight in carrying them in your gestation chamber, wanting to see yourself change and swell to accommodate them.

“I want... I want,” Your voice cuts out, broken by a sob, and you can only manage a tight, “I want that!”

“Good.” Megatron pistons his hips like a jackhammer, his rhythm not breaking once. Powerful thrusts meet the wet heat of your core, the tops of his thigh armor clanking loudly against your legs. The overload warnings start appearing once again. Megatron hisses when your valve tightens around his length, and it prompts him to pick up the pace.

“You are so pretty.” He growls, leaning in to recapture your dermas with his. As he kisses, he doubles his speed and the strength behind it. You moan and sob into his mouth, servos gripping him by the back of the helm. His glossa battles with yours, his sharp denta nicking you more than once. Then he switches to kissing you deeply, soulfully, like he’s found salvation in your dermas.

It’s as you’re so viscerally connected to Megatron that the heat in your core reaches a boiling point, the slow-building electricity coming to its peak. Your valve walls spasm, the giving mesh convulsing in the telltale sign of your overload on the horizon.

Somehow accomplishing it, Megatron kisses you deeper, his faceplates flush and hot against yours. A particularly hard grind of his spike on the sensitive nodes of your valve has you gasping into the silver mech’s mouth. Your optics squeeze shut, you feel like your core is about to explode with heat—

Your second overload hits, just as spectacular and wonderful as the first. Electrified charges bounce between the mesh of your valve and Megatron’s throbbing spike, transfluid soaking him and yourself once again. It’s only after your audials tingle that you realize you’ve screamed loudly enough to reset them. Your systems crash, processors overheated and cooling fans hitching and trembling. With a hiss and a long grunt, Megatron follows you over the edge as well.

Warmth blooms in your core, pleasure nodes and receptors picking up the hot liquid feel of Megatron’s transfluid deep inside you. It comes out in spurts, and he rides his overload by continuing to push into you. As your optics come back online, you catch him hunching over you, ceasing his thrusts in favor of pressing as close as he can, spike still weeping transfluid and coating your inside walls.

Megatron hisses and groans, his frame shivering just once as he finishes, lazily bucking his hips thrice to empty himself completely. He doesn’t disengage his spike, leaving it to soften in your overworked valve. You can’t feel your peds, not after the overload you just experienced, and your entire frame shudders when he nips at your neck cables once again.

For a while, he hovers above you, his EM field embracing your frame. Softly, your servos caress his upper back struts, the tips of your digits dancing along his seams. His servos finally release your hips, revealing he’s left shallow dents in your armor. No matter, you’d wear them proudly. 

“Do you have fiber cloths in your refresher?” Megatron asks, breaking the comfortable silence, his vocal processor crackling only slightly. A twitch of the helm is the best “Yes” you can offer, and brutally Megatron parts from you, drawing a soft whimper as his spike and warmth leave you. The thought of sliding your interface panel back on crosses your mind, but your anterior node and valve are still throbbing so tenderly you can’t will yourself to do it.

You hadn’t realized you closed your optics until Megatron’s approaching pedsteps makes you open them again. He stands before your sprawled, ruined frame, a sheer fiber cloth in his servo, reaching to clean you. Silently, he wipes up the glowing transfluid that’s stained your berth, then moves to clean what’s left on your body.

For a long few moments, the sounds of your cooling fans cycling down, wings softly scraping on your berth, and Megatron’s movements fill your habsuite. At some point, you hear the distinct click of Megatron’s interface panel closing and you tilt your helm up to see him putting his spike away. Also distinctly, the slight burn of soreness as Megatron wipes your exposed valve of excess transfluid.

You’d need to wash regardless, but it’s the thought that counts.

“That was...” And you have no words. Your voice sounds distant and far away, like you’re listening to yourself whisper from miles away. Megatron hums to fill your silence, then you hear the muffled sound of the cloth being discarded somewhere in your room.

“May I join you for the night?” Your Lord’s question is far more polite than it needs to be, considering the circumstances, but it’s 

“Of course.” Your answer is quick and sure, marked by the tremendous effort you put in to roll onto your side, even though you still can’t quite feel your legs. You watch Megatron around your berth and sit at your side. He stretches, silver armor plates shifting and whirring back into place, the length of his back struts revealing his hidden Energon lines.

Then he swings his peds up and lays beside you like it’s the most normal action he’s ever done. Though you do have to scoot over until your wings stick out past the edge.

“I would like for this to be a repeated venture,” Megatron teases after he settles himself, “And if you will accept, for this to be continued past a successful newspark creation.”

He glances at you out the corner of his optic, its glow dimmed. You smile.

He’s never been one for grand romantic gestures, never one to speak about softer, kinder things like “love” or “sparkbonding”. It’s unbecoming of him, the Leader of the Decepticons, former gladiator of Kaon, dark Lord and powerful Master. You don’t know if he’d ever pose the actual question, or if it will remain as nebulous, vague riddles and coded phrases for you to decipher and analyze. It isn’t in Lord Megatron’s making to be tender— At least not in the explicit regards.

“I want nothing less for the sire of my offspring.” You reply, your frame curling around the curve of his chassis, servo finding the same spot it always had: Right above his insignia, above his spark. His engine rumbles evenly, the steady drumming could bring you to power down, though you’re kept awake by the pleasant ache between your legs, the chill of the Nemesis, and the pride in bearing your Lord an heir. 

~ * ~ * ~

epilogue

Your berth is too small, much too small, for two Cybertronians attempting to recharge upon it. Megatron keeps an arm wrapped under and around you to prevent you from falling off, your frame halfway atop his. One of your servos rests under your helm, the other lazily traces invisible shapes on his broad chassis. Both of your EM fields mingle, the waves pulsing to each other in rhythm.

Earthen hours have passed since your coupling, and though you’re tired, you find yourself unable to slip into recharge.

“My Lord?” You catch his attention, Megatron optics flickering back as he pulls himself from the onset of recharge. Part of you regrets keeping him awake— Primus only knows how many sleepless nights your leader subjects himself to— and the other part of you quietly marvels at how he was nearly dozing in your arms. What show of trust is as great as that?

“If I am to carry, this means the Decepticon cause loses one of its strongest warriors—” You sigh happily as the warlord shifts so that his servo rubs your wings, tenderly caressing sensitive transformation seams and Energon lines. What more you wanted to say dies on your glossa, too caught up in the tender display of affection your Lord gives you.

“A temporary hindrance.” Megatron rumbles, shuttering his optics once again and stating, “The Decepticons will prevail.”

It falls quiet, fully so for a handful of clicks until you pipe up again.

“... And, we will need protoforms. And transitionary metals and alloys. And start the process of distilling Energon into low-grade, sparkling-safe—”

Megatron silences you with a deep kiss, one that has you purring in delight and cupping his faceplates. He lingers on your dermas for a few beats, his EM field heavy and warm on yours, lulling you closer to recharge. Megatron parts, settling down on his back struts, his frame creaking and hissing air as he relaxes. Then he sighs:

“We will discuss technicalities in the morning.”

[altocat]

When Gast left him and died Sephiroth gave up hope for ever finding another kind person that could be like a father to him. He resigned himself to being alone and searching for his mother instead.

Then he met Glenn and his hope was reborn. He started to wonder if he had found someone that would stick with him this time and help him learn and grow into a better person.

But then Glenn left and Sephiroth lost hope again.

Years passed and he met Glenn as an adult. Glenn was entrusting him with something.

Though Sephiroth tried not to be excited, he realized he was already failing to withhold his eagerness to win back Glenn’s approval through following his lead.

A tiny sliver of hope was renewed. Maybe, just maybe, Glenn had reunited with him for a reason. After all, Gast never came back, but Glenn did. Maybe fate would be kind this time.

Sephiroth felt like a child again. He was considering letting his trust bloom once more…

And then Glenn was murdered in cold blood by a Shinra.

By Shinra.

Just like Gast had been, even if Sephiroth had never known that.

It was strike 3. He never should have gotten his hopes up. He never did again.

This isn't even scratching the surface of losing Angeal and Genesis as well. And those are equally the result of Shinra's meddling. One of the more underrated aspects of Sephiroth's story is the fact that he is consistently and repeatedly abandoned by those he cares about, and subsequently loses them permanently through whatever cruel means the universe decides to dish out. It begins with his mother and then just gets worse and worse over the years.

After a while, it sorta makes perfect sense that Sephiroth would choose to simply prioritize himself and Jenova over everyone else. Even if it means discarding his humanity and memories. The alternative was simply an endless cycle of loss and broken relationships. Jenova is the only relationship he'll ever want or need. And maintaining his "bond" with Cloud is easy--he's the only one who gets to be in control. And he gets to dictate whether or not Cloud gets to leave. Sephiroth will never let him go.

[odinsblog]

Look closely enough and you’ll find that Eric Johnson was always a Republican, or at least very susceptible to becoming one. Conservative “Democrats” are one bribe or one hurt feeling away from switching parties.

This highlights the significance of how much more important primaries are, because after the primaries are over, then it becomes an endless chorus of, “vote for the lesser evil” and “vote blue no matter who,” and we have more than enough bad examples of where that can lead to, right??

Honestly, always vote for the most leftist, progressive candidate you can in the primary elections, before it comes down to voting for a Republican vs. Republican-lite in the general election.

I don’t think there are primary elections for mayoral races, but I still love the idea that if a candidate switches political parties (any time after the primaries, I’d suggest), then they should A) not be allowed to hold the office they ran for until they run + win as a member of their new party, B) pay heavy fines from their personal funds, C) they should be forced to resign, and D) the election should be re-done.

The Democratic Party needs to tighten up and make some rules regarding who can and cannot run as a Democrat.

Literally months before SCOTUS overturned Roe v. Wade, Nancy Pelosi was backing a homophobic, anti-abortion, “Democratic” 🙄 candidate named Henry Cuellar, saying that a candidate’s stance on abortion wasn’t important. And Cuellar’s opponent was a young pro-abortion, pro-LGBTQ immigration attorney named Jessica Cisneros! And it was a relatively safe blue district, meaning that whichever Democrat the DNC backed, they were likely to win and a Republican hadn’t won that district in forever. AND before that, Pelosi and the DCCC threw their weight behind another openly homophobic “Democrat” named Dan Lipinski.

Could you even imagine Mitch McConnell or Kevin McCarthy openly throwing their support behind a pro-abortion candidate who wanted gun control? No? So why tf does Democratic leadership constantly foist GOP-lite candidates onto the Democratic Party when other viable options exist?

Just a guess on my part, but if you want fewer anti-abortion laws getting passed, then you should probably back fewer anti-abortion candidates. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

“Vote blue no matter who” has bitten Democrats in the ass wayyy more than any converse slogan has bitten Republicans. Because Republicans actually vet their candidates and make sure that those candidates want the same deplorable things that their deplorable base wants.

And just for clarity, because I know how the internet works and how sycophants love twisting words: I am NOT saying don’t vote for Biden in 2024. I’m not even saying to support a third party candidate. I want Trump and all Republicans gone in the next few election cycles. What I am saying is, once the election is over and hopefully Trump/DeSantis have been vanquished, we need to seriously rework how the Democratic Party has been run. Losing Roe v. Wade is indicative of how poorly it’s been mismanaged.

Anyway, new laws can be made, so especially after the Supreme Court has ignored and undone so many standing legal precedents, I don’t wanna hear jack shit about “pie-in-the-sky” or “be realistic.”

This centrism bullshit ain’t working, yo.

[ethanjhake]

I'm curious, why have you chosen Neocities to host your comic, as opposed to a mainstream webcomic site such as Webtoon or Tapas?

Well actually, now might be a good time to mention that I will also be posting the comic to Webtoons.

I haven't said anything about this before, and that was because I wasn't sure I wanted to post on either Webtoons or Tapas. The main reason for that being that I'm using the classic page-by-page format, and Webtoons and Tapas are both built for mobile apps and are better suited to the infinite scroll format.

I know you can still post single pages or even a sequence or pages on those comic apps, but the format just doesn't lend itself well to that, and I wanted to go with a more page by page format like indie comic websites do (like gunnerkrig court, daughter of the lilies, etc.)

However, I will be posting the comic to Webtoons just to help with visibility (I'm going with Webtoons just because I'm more familiar with it than Tapas). It's just a little harder to find out about an indie comic if it's only available on some random website. But even still, I want to have my own random little website.

So why go with Neocities then? The short answer is: I hate working with corporations.

In our modern day, big companies call the shots and tell us what we can and can't do. If I post my comics to Webtoons, some executive higher up can just decide that they're "moving in a different direction" and dump me and my comic out on the streets.

I used to work for a company that seemed to have actual people's interests at heart. I was skeptical at first, and then I grew to love working there. But just over the course of a year and a half the company changed so drastically that I was forced to resign. It was all about making more money, shoving out more products, and they simple stopped listening to anyone who complained. Not even any of the managers liked this either, and they had no way to voice their concerns in any way that mattered.

I know this sounds like an angsty back story, but you seriously cannot trust companies for anything. One of the reasons I want to be an independent comic artist is so that I don't have to rely on a company for consistent pay. Companies aren't built for people, they're made to make more and more money in an endless cycle.

Neocities is different. it's almost like a workers union for internet freedom. They feel to me like a group of rebels united against the conglomerates. A rag-tag group of people who still believe that you should be able to do what you want to do, how you want to do it, (within reason of course) without having to ask some company for permission and paying upfront first.

Neocities lets you customize your website to make it look exactly the way you want it to, and they let you do it for free. I tried looking into making a website with Wix (what I determined was one of my better choices for a websites builder) and I was bombarded the whole time with little pop-ups trying to make me use their Ai assistant to do everything for me. What is even the point of making my own website if I have to follow some set template and use an experimental technology to set it up?

But all this to say, I want to have more freedom in how I publish my comic to the world, I've been burned by companies before, so there's no way I'm entrusting them with my labor of love.

TLDR: I chose Neocities because I wanted more freedom, but I will be posting SotF to Webtoons for more visibility.

Thank You for the ask! :D

[shuri-sahu]

Name: Reflection

Show: Hazbin Hotel

Warnings: Canonical character death, bad english

Summary: The story of Adam and Lucifer's daughter right up to the final battle

Author: I apologize in advance for my poor English! it is not my native language. And so. I am glad that after a long time my hands came to writing this idea, or rather its prologue, and looking at the interest in it, I will also develop and continue it. I already have a couple of ideas for storylines.

Adele's descent from Adam and Lucifer, the daughter of the king of Hell and an angel, made her a precious soul in the fiery domain. Although her childhood was spent in the shadow of the halls of the embassy, the presence of Evangeline, the exorcist, who was born just a year before her, was a ray of light for the young princess. From an early age, Adele was aware of the gloom of her "home", but communication with Evangeline and time with Father Adam filled her days with joy and laughter.

Despite attempts to hide her from the rest of the underworld, Adele's curiosity and adventurous spirit often led her to explore the embassy's confines. Evangeline was always by her side, and Adele slipped away to discover the secrets of hell, striving to see what lies behind the flames and shadows.Indeed, during her secret forays, Adele witnessed the horrors and debauchery that permeated Hell. She understood the whole point of it. The sight of endless torment and suffering left an indelible mark on her soul, making Adele doubt the nature of sinners. Her initial hopes, Adele discovered that many sinners seem to have resigned themselves to their fate, trapped in an eternal cycle of evil and despair. This realization made her believe that souls might not be redeemable.

Redemption is a stupid and impossible idea. That's what her father said, because if it were so, Cain would be with him. In heaven.

But - all this is nonsense.

However, Evangeline's unwavering optimism and her faith in the power of light continued to give hope in the darkest depths of hell.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Despite the fact that Adele was hidden from Lucifer, she was cherished by another father, Adam, the first man. Adam's love for his daughter was immense, and he made sure to create a caring environment filled with love for her. However, he hid her existence from heaven due to fears for her safety. Adam knew that revealing Adele's true parentage to Lucifer or heaven could simply kill her. Thus, he hid her from prying eyes with the help of extermination, ensuring her peace and safety in the fires of hell.

Adele's dreams of finding connection and understanding with her demon father Lucifer were shattered when she discovered that he already had his own family, headed by his wife Lilith and their daughter Charlie. This revelation deeply hurt little Adele, as she realized that her father had abandoned her, leaving her to grow up in the shadow of hell without his love and guidance.

The burning flame of bitterness and resentment fueled her hatred of Lucifer, forever imprinted in her soul as she struggled with the pain of being unwanted and unloved.

Dad threw her.

Her dad doesn't need her.

Adele's hatred of Lucifer, demons and their hellish realm, was a trait she inherited from her human parent, Adam. Despite all her father's efforts to protect Adele from the horrors of hell and instill love in her heart, Adele could not get rid of the bitter resentment that festered in her soul. It was as if the shadow of the fallen Lucifer had cast a dark shadow over her soul, leaving her with a deep-rooted contempt and contempt for the very depths in which she was born.

Adele's pain and confusion became even deeper when she was faced with the fact that the worlds around her did not want and did not accept her. She longed for answers to a long-standing question about her purpose and why she was created. As she screamed into the dark abyss, her voice echoed through the halls of hell:

"Father, why did you create me just to send me to this hellish realm? Why am I not needed in heaven or on earth, or even here, in the very depths of your domain?"

Adele did not hear the answer.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Despite her hatred and despair, Adele found solace in the gentle touch and gentle presence of Dad - Adam. The moments she spent in his arms, in his loving embrace, brought her a sense of security and a sense of how to be loved.

There, under her father's eye, she could find a brief respite from the turmoil and chaos of the hellish worlds, at least for a short time, before surrendering to the shelter of sleep under his protective golden wings.

The words "I will protect you from everyone" were reflected in Adele's memory. These simple words, spoken with such sincere sincerity, became a magnet in Adele's heart, a lifeline that went through all her stormy childhood in hell. In a hellish world where love seemed to be absent and compassion elusive, Adele clung tightly to this unshakeable bond with her father, cherishing it like a jewel in a world devoid of warmth and affection. The concept of love had a special meaning for Adele. In her father's arms, she found refuge and a sense of security that remained unshakeable amid the chaos and despair of hell.

Adele believed that the love of her father and devoted Evangeline for her distinguished them from the darkness surrounding them, because she knew that true love could blossom even in the most unforgiving worlds, illuminating the darkness with its radiant warmth.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

During the chaos of the battle, Adele watched as her father's army was almost destroyed. The exorcists have been killed. Those immortal angels who bring her every year are now lying while their bodies are getting cold.

Stop.

Her Evangeline is also an exorcist.

My Evangeline, close your eyes!

Desperate to protect her, Adele now harbored a deep grudge against all her hellish relatives, but especially her biological father Lucifer and stepsister Charlie.

She saw it.

I saw those things kill her father. She saw Adam being beaten up. She saw him struggling. She saw him being driven into the ground with a bright smile on his face. She saw his eyes closing forever.

So why didn't she do anything?

There is pain in my head, and a burning and acrid hatred has spread in my soul. She spreads poison through her golden blood, releases the hated horns and spreads her wings. But Adele is silent.

He watches the bastards who killed him rejoice. He watches this scum Charlie standing with a smile, building his fucking hotel. She screamed with those same lips that Adam was a pig and pierced him with a damn trident with those hands.

Hate.

And he squeezes Evangeline's hand harder and harder. Adele looks at her and covers her eyes with her hand. Evangeline is the only thing she has left. They'll kill her too, since they didn't spare her sisters.

continuation

[helluvaoutlaw]

Fever

Striker stood in front of the grimy mirror in his dimly lit dressing room at Ozzie's, scrutinizing his reflection with weary eyes.

His bare chest rose and fell with each heavy sigh, muscles taut with exhaustion and resignation.

The hitman (was he even a hitman anymore?) ran a comb through his hair, meticulously arranging each strand as if trying to restore some semblance of control. Beside him lay the outfit Asmodeus had personally chosen, a garish ensemble that clashed with Striker’s own tastes. But rebelling would only complicate things, and he was lucky that the King of Lust wasn’t abusing his body every night.

He slipped into the tight, revealing clothes, the fabric clinging to his form uncomfortably. The bitterness within him simmered as he questioned the endless cycle he was trapped in.

When was Asmodeus going to set him free?

Would the insatiable Deadly Sin ever be satisfied with what he demanded? Was their infernal deal destined to last until he was either too old to perform or death finally claimed him?

The sense of hopelessness was suffocating, but he knew he had no choice but to face the stage once more, his smile a mere facade for the emotional storm raging inside.

"Keep it together. Ya can do it."

Striker murmured to his own reflection, taking a deep breath before exiting the dressing room.

@the-only-noonstar