#how would sensations like this work for robots

[keystrokecascade]

was talking in a server about being passed around by friends taking turns going feral on you and how i'd prefer to be teased and wondering how this would translate to robot girls

like being pulled into someones lap, you're in low-power mode from a long night and you're not sure who but they gently rub their fingers over your tactile sensors, creating a tingling feeling. meanwhile someone else takes a hand and gently pushes the servos around, the small current they create buzzing in your finger tips.

maybe they gently put a finger on a fan, letting it slide to a stop and whine gently, trying to spin up again. the keyboard tray for maintenance under your chest is pulled out and you feel the tactile vibrations of the mx browns bottoming out against your belly, probably playing DOOM.

[unhingedandroidwoman]

Your package finally arrived. After years of debate and worry, it's here.

Robot-HRT

You pull out the set of needles. Just like your girlfriend, 1ml syringe with 23g and 20g needles. You draw some into the syringe, the standard .2ml

You steel yourself as the needle pierces your skin for the first time. The routine is weekly, and you feel amazing... But strange.

After about a month you notice your skin hardening. Every once in a while you move and feel it, almost like plates. Throughout the days you notice the hardened patches becoming thicker, covering more of your body. It hurts, a lot.

After about three months you start feeling nauseous 24/7 from changes within you. You can feel the flesh turn to or be consumed by metal, silicon, and plastic. Burning pain sensations spread throughout your abdomen and everything is much harder to engage in. Around the same time, your skin starts to seperate. Those hardened plates of skin turn to steel causing you to bleed as it surfaces.

Six months in and your joints start to lock up, fluid between joints being replaced with synthetic lubricants. It's hard to move right, and you start to have some trouble focusing for too long.

About a year in and your head hurts. A lot. It's really hard to remember much, your girlfriend had to start giving you your injections in whatever little skin you had left because you couldn't focus enough to do it yourself. You had to take time off of work for this. So much pain from the metal taking over your skin, the constant bleeding and cracking. When you defecate it's full of discarded blood, and eventually entire organs. You're almost there, you've waited and saved so long for this.

One and a half years on Robot-HRT and your vision is blurry from it finally reaching your eyes, and at one point you lose your sight completely for a couple days before it comes back clearer than ever. Your body is writhing in agony as the last semblances of humanity leave your body through all of your orifices. It hurts, it's agonizing, but you know it will be worth it.

You lose track of days but it's eventually been two years. The pain is gone fully, and your head is clear. You take a look in the mirror and see a machine. One that moves as you do, who's words it speaks are your own.

It's you. The you that you've always wanted, that you've always been.

After a year of the most agonizing transformation you could fathom and unimaginable love from your partner, you've finally done it.

You plug yourself into an old mobile device just to see how it feels, and it's euphoric. You feel everything the machine feels, you know everything there is to know. Operating with frame by frame precision you never had as a human.

Your memories and skills are tucked away like files within folders, your mind and body reorganized and rewritten... Exactly how you thought it would be. Exactly how it was before anyways.

Eventually you enter a low power mode as your joints start to become heavy and hard to bend. You plug yourself in for the night next to your partner, knowing that tomorrow will be another day of your new body.

You wake-no, boot up the next day. You're here, you're alive, and you're...

You

[domm1etae]

Anytime, Anywhere

welcome to domm1etae's kinktober

day 3 : FREE USE

yunho x f!reader

6k

Yunho and Y/N are in this wild "free use" agreement where Yunho can basically take her whenever he feels like it, no warnings, no heads-up, just whenever he’s in the mood. Y/N loves it too, and it's all about the thrill of not knowing when he'll make a move

nsfw tags under

m/f, top yunho, bottom reader, vaginal sex, rough sex, free use, dominance, possession, dirty talk, power play, manhandling, hair pulling, begging, praise kink, cnc, orgasm denial, neck kissing, and mooore

Requests OPEN! - let me know through the ask button if you have any requests for this Kinktober

author's note: the more u read this, the better it gets;)

navigation | kinktober masterlist

Y/N stood at the sink, the warm water running over the dishes as she scrubbed away, completely absorbed in her task. The scent of soap mingled with the faint aroma of the dinner they had just shared, a comfortable evening routine that she loved. The familiar clink of dishes resonated in the cozy kitchen, creating a soothing atmosphere. But the peaceful moment was about to be disrupted.

“Y/N,” Yunho called from the living room, his voice playful yet laced with a hint of mischief. “I hope you’re not too busy to play.”

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head as she tried to suppress a grin. “What do you think I am, a robot? I can multitask, you know.” She turned to face him, wiping her hands on a dish towel, her heart fluttering at the playful tone in his voice.

“Multitasking? Is that what you call washing dishes while I’m here getting all hot and bothered?” Yunho’s tone was teasing, and she could see the way his eyes sparkled with mischief as he approached the kitchen, his movements languid yet purposeful.

Y/N turned slightly, glancing over her shoulder, and caught a glimpse of Yunho leaning against the doorframe. He looked absolutely irresistible, dressed in a simple black tank top and lounge shorts that hugged his thighs perfectly. The way his muscles rippled as he shifted slightly sent a rush of heat through her. “Maybe you should do the dishes instead then,” she replied with a smirk, trying to hold her ground.

“Or,” he said, stepping closer, his voice dropping an octave, “I could just use you as my distraction.”

Her heart raced at his suggestion, a playful challenge flickering in her mind. “And how exactly would that work? I have important dishes to wash,” she replied, pretending to be serious as she picked up another plate.

“Important? I don’t think so. Look at you, all focused and pretty,” Yunho countered, stepping closer until he was almost flush against her back. The warmth of his body sent shivers down her spine. “Don’t you want to have some fun?”

Y/N turned slightly, catching his gaze and feeling a thrill at the intensity in his eyes. “Fun, huh? I suppose it could be more fun than scrubbing these dishes,” she said, her voice teasing.

“Exactly. Life is too short to spend it washing dishes, don’t you think?” His lips curled into a mischievous smile, and her heart raced in response.

Before she could even finish her sentence, Yunho was upon her, his hands gripping her hips and pulling her back against him. She gasped, the sudden warmth of his body against hers sending her pulse racing. “Y/N, I can’t help it. You’re just so irresistible,” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear.

A shiver ran down her spine as she felt his warm breath caress her skin. “Yunho—”

But before she could articulate her thoughts, he yanked her shorts down, exposing her to the cool air of the kitchen. She gasped again, this time in shock, the sudden chill sending shivers down her spine. “Keep washing,” he commanded, voice deep and gravelly, as he pushed into her from behind.

Y/N stifled a moan, gripping the counter tightly as the sensation of him filling her sent shockwaves through her body. “Yunho, this is so—”

“Just like that. Keep your hands busy,” Yunho said, his breath hot against her neck, his tone playful yet authoritative.

“Yunho, I—”

“No excuses. Just let me use you.” His thrusts were deliberate and steady, each movement igniting a fire within her that was impossible to ignore. With every push, Yunho’s hands gripped her hips tighter, anchoring her to him as he filled her deeply, his veiny member stretching her in ways that sent waves of pleasure coursing through her body. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the kitchen, blending with the sound of running water.

Y/N could hardly focus on the dishes in front of her, the soapy bubbles slipping through her fingers as she struggled to keep washing. Each thrust pulled a moan from her lips, and she found herself losing the battle against the overwhelming sensations washing over her. Her heart raced, and her breathing quickened, each thrust making it harder to concentrate on anything other than the pleasure surging through her.

“Yunho, this is so—” she gasped, her words trailing off as he spanked her lightly, the sharp sting sending shockwaves of excitement through her.

“Just like that. Keep your hands busy,” Yunho said, his breath hot against her neck, his tone playful yet authoritative, the rhythm of his thrusts becoming more urgent.

Y/N stifled another moan, gripping the counter tightly as the heat coiled tighter within her. She couldn't help but let a small whimper escape as the sensations took hold. “Yunho, I—”

“No excuses. Just let me use you.” His thrusts deepened, the pleasure almost unbearable as he filled her completely, making her feel like she was floating. She was acutely aware of every sensation—the way her body reacted to him, how the pressure built with each thrust, and the delicious ache that settled deep within her core.

“Yunho, I can’t—” she breathed, feeling the heat of her impending climax building with each deliberate stroke.

“You’re so naughty,” she murmured, unable to hold back her moans as he pushed her closer to the edge.

“You love it,” he countered, his grip tightening on her hips as he increased his pace, his movements becoming more fervent. “Tell me how much you love it.”

“Yunho, I—”

“Say it!” he growled, the intensity in his voice making her breath hitch.

“I love it when you use me like this!” Y/N cried out, her voice rising as pleasure coursed through her veins.

“Good girl,” Yunho groaned, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he neared his release. “I’m going to fill you up, okay?”

“Yes, please,” she begged, her voice desperate and breathy.

With one final, deep thrust, Yunho came inside her, filling her full of his load. The sensation left her breathless, her knees trembling as the aftershocks of pleasure rippled through her. She leaned heavily against the counter, trying to regain her composure, but the remnants of his touch lingered, making it impossible to focus on the dishes in front of her.

Yunho pulled out almost immediately, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he watched her struggle to process what had just happened. “See? I told you this would be more fun than washing dishes,” he teased, leaning against the counter beside her.

“Now clean up,” he said, a smirk playing on his lips as he stepped back, leaving her standing there, wanting more.

“Just like that?” Y/N protested, half-amused and half-annoyed, turning to face him fully, the water still running in the sink. “What about me?”

“Clean up first, and then we can discuss some… arrangements,” he replied, his tone suggestive, raising an eyebrow as he leaned against the kitchen counter.

“What arrangements?” she asked, feigning innocence as she turned off the water and dried her hands on the dish towel.

Yunho stepped closer again, leaning down to whisper in her ear, “Free use, Y/N. I want to be able to use you whenever I want, wherever we are.”

Her heart raced at the suggestion, the thrill of it sparking something deep within her. “You really think I’d agree to that?”

He pulled back slightly to meet her gaze, his eyes gleaming with determination. “Oh, I know you will. Just imagine it: anytime, anywhere. You’ll be mine to use. It’ll be fun.”

“Fun, huh?” Y/N mused, biting her lip as she considered it. “And what if I say no?”

Yunho stepped even closer, his body inches from hers, the heat radiating off him. “What if I just make you say yes?”

Her breath hitched in her throat, excitement flooding her. “Is that a challenge?”

He grinned, a devilish glint in his eyes. “It could be. But I’d prefer to think of it as a promise.”

“Alright, you win. Free use it is,” Y/N conceded, her heart racing at the prospect of what was to come.

“Good girl,” Yunho said, his voice low and satisfied as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Now, let’s see what else we can do in this kitchen.”

With a newfound energy coursing through her, Y/N smirked back at him, a devilish glint in her eyes. “What are you waiting for? I’m right here.”

Yunho’s gaze darkened, and he stepped closer again, his hands finding her waist as he pressed her back against the counter. “Oh, I plan to make the most of this, believe me,” he murmured, his lips brushing against hers for just a moment before pulling away, leaving her wanting more.

“Yunho…” she whispered, her heart racing with anticipation.

“Yes?” he asked, feigning innocence as he stepped back, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Don’t tease me,” she warned, a playful frown on her face. “You can’t just leave me hanging like this.”

He chuckled, the sound low and rich, as he stepped closer once again. “Oh, but where’s the fun in that? You said you wanted to agree to free use, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“Exactly. So, why don’t we start practicing?” he suggested, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

Before she could respond, Yunho surged forward, capturing her lips in a fierce kiss. Y/N melted against him, her hands instinctively finding their way to his hair as she pulled him closer. Their kiss deepened, and she felt the familiar heat building between them once more.

Yunho broke the kiss, breathing heavily as he rested his forehead against hers. “You see? I’m just getting started. You have no idea how many times I’ve fantasized about this—using you while you’re doing something mundane, making you forget everything else.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed at his words, a mix of embarrassment and excitement swirling within her. “You’re unbelievable,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Maybe. But you love it,” he replied, his hands sliding down to her thighs, lifting her slightly to sit on the edge of the counter.

“Yunho, what if someone walks in?” she asked, glancing towards the living room, the thought of being caught sending a thrill through her.

“Then they’ll just have to deal with it,” he said confidently, his hands gripping her waist as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her neck. “Besides, the thrill of being caught just adds to the excitement, don’t you think?”

She gasped at his touch, feeling her body respond instinctively. “You’re something else,” she breathed, her fingers tangling in his hair as he continued to kiss down her neck.

“Something else? Maybe. But you love every second of it.”

ANOTHER TIME

Y/N was sprawled comfortably on the couch, the soft fabric enveloping her as she absentmindedly scrolled through her phone, a soft smile playing on her lips. The afternoon sunlight streamed in through the window, casting a warm glow across the room. She was lost in the digital world when the front door swung open, and in walked Yunho, still drenched in sweat from his intense workout.

He paused just inside the door, shaking his head slightly as if to clear it, his hair sticking to his forehead. His tank top clung to his body, showcasing the muscles that had been put to work just moments before. As he caught sight of Y/N lounging on the couch, a smirk broke across his face, and his eyes darkened with a mixture of desire and mischief.

“Y/N,” he breathed out, his voice thick with exhaustion yet laced with an unmistakable hunger.

She glanced up, a teasing grin forming. “Hey, Mr. Fitness. You look like you could use a shower.”

But before she could finish her sentence, Yunho closed the distance between them in a matter of strides, his movements quick and determined. He hovered over her for just a moment, eyes locking onto hers, and in that instant, Y/N felt her heart race. There was no time for witty banter; he had other plans.

With a swift motion, he pushed her legs apart and slid between them, the heat radiating from his body engulfing her. His hands were suddenly on her, fingers deftly tugging at her clothes, brushing them aside with an urgency that sent a thrill of excitement coursing through her veins.

“Yunho—” she started, a mixture of surprise and playful protest in her voice, but it was cut short as he captured her waist, lifting her slightly to settle her against the couch.

“Just relax,” he murmured, his breath hot against her skin as he leaned in closer. The scent of sweat mingled with the lingering smell of his cologne, intoxicating and raw. Y/N’s body responded instinctively to his closeness, and any words of resistance faded away.

In one fluid motion, he found his way inside her, and Y/N gasped at the sudden fullness. The air in the room seemed to thicken with the intensity of the moment. Yunho didn’t waste time; he began to thrust into her with a primal urgency, each movement deliberate and powerful. Y/N clutched the couch, her fingers digging into the fabric as she surrendered to the sensations washing over her.

“Yunho,” she managed to gasp, but it was more a moan than a coherent thought. He simply continued his relentless pace, losing himself in the rhythm of their bodies. The living room filled with the sound of flesh meeting flesh, the soft squeaks of the couch beneath them, and Y/N's breathy gasps.

Her world narrowed down to the sensation of him moving inside her, the way he filled her completely, taking without asking, just as they both liked it. His hands were firm on her hips, guiding her, controlling the way they moved together.

Y/N couldn’t help but let her body arch towards him, craving more of his heat. The intensity built with every thrust, her breath quickening as pleasure spiraled in the pit of her stomach. Yunho’s gaze locked onto hers, his expression fierce yet focused, completely consumed by the moment.

“God, you feel so good,” he groaned, his voice low and gravelly, but there was no question in his tone—he was claiming her, using her for his pleasure, and it made her feel exhilarated and wanted.

She wanted to respond, to tell him how much she loved this, but all that escaped her lips were whimpers and moans as he drove deeper, his thrusts growing more frantic. The world around them faded into nothingness; there was only this, only them.

As he felt himself nearing the edge, he leaned down, capturing her lips in a searing kiss that stole the breath from her lungs. The taste of sweat and desire mingled between them, fueling the fire of their connection.

With one final thrust, he buried himself deep inside her and came, a low growl escaping his lips as he filled her, their bodies trembling together. The heat of his release enveloped her, and she could only cling to him, lost in the aftershocks of their passionate encounter.

Yunho pulled back slightly, panting as he looked down at her, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. “That’s better than any cooldown routine,” he chuckled, still breathless.

Y/N laughed softly, her cheeks flushed, but before she could say anything else, Yunho was already stepping back, leaving her breathless and wanting more. “Now, I think I’ll take that shower,” he said playfully, winking at her as he turned to head toward the bathroom.

Y/N shook her head, a smile still on her lips, knowing full well this was just the beginning of their new agreement on free use.

ANOTHER DAY

“No, sir.” Y/N’s voice rings with frustration as she types furiously on her keyboard. “Yes, I did submit the report already. I even emailed the final version to you last night around 8 PM.”

Y/N is currently on a video call with her boss, who is located in another country. The camera captures her professional demeanor, a neatly styled blouse enhancing her look while keeping her comfortable in the privacy of her home office. Below the desk, she’s wearing nothing but a pair of lace panties, making it difficult to maintain her focus.

Just as she finishes speaking, she hears the sound of a door creaking open behind her. Her heart skips a beat; she knows exactly who it is.

Yunho enters, his gaze immediately locking onto her. He’s freshly showered, droplets of water still glistening on his skin, a towel draped around his waist. Y/N’s breath hitches as he approaches her, a wicked smile playing on his lips. She quicky turns off her camera and mutes herself.

“Y/N,” he whispers, leaning in close enough for her to feel his warm breath against her neck, “you look so focused. Isn’t it time for a little break?”

Y/N glances at her laptop, her boss still droning on about project details. “I can’t! I have deadlines to meet,” she insists, trying to sound serious even as her body betrays her, yearning for Yunho’s touch.

But Yunho isn’t deterred. He moves closer, brushing his fingers along her shoulder, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Come on, you know you want this. Just a quick moment to remind you how much I love to use you.”

She bites her lip, trying to resist, but he’s already sliding his hand under the desk, fingers brushing against her thigh. The contact sends a jolt of electricity through her, and she fights to stay composed. “Yunho, I really can’t…”

“Your boss doesn’t need to know, does he?” Yunho smirks, and before she can respond, he pulls her panties aside, his mouth moving against her. She should have worn pants, not only her panties, even tho, she is at home.

“Yunho!” she gasps, her voice a mixture of surprise and pleasure. Her body instinctively arches toward him, wanting more. The sounds of her boss's voice fade into the background as she gets lost in the sensations.

He licks and sucks, drawing soft moans from her lips that she desperately tries to stifle. “Mmm, that’s it. Just like that. Let me take care of you, sweetheart.”

“Y/N?” her boss's voice breaks through the haze. “Are you there? You’re muted.”

“I—uh…” Y/N stammers, heart racing, desperate to maintain some semblance of professionalism as Yunho continues his teasing. He’s relentless, his mouth moving expertly against her, sending waves of pleasure crashing through her.

“Everything okay?” her boss asks, a hint of concern in his tone.

“Just… a moment!” she manages to reply, her voice trembling as Yunho intensifies his efforts, sending her spiraling toward ecstasy. “I’m—”

“Perfect,” he murmurs against her, his lips pressing against her skin as he gives one last fervent lick. “Let’s make this quick, then.”

Y/N gasps, the pleasure building to an unbearable peak. “Yunho, I—”

“Just let go, Y/N,” he urges, his voice dripping with lust as he continues his ministrations. “You’re my toy, remember? Just let me use you.”

The world around her blurs as she surrenders to the wave of pleasure crashing over her. “Yes, Yunho, please…” she breathes, finally succumbing to the moment.

As her body tenses and she feels herself on the brink of release, Yunho suddenly pulls back, teasing her as he wipes his mouth with a smug grin. “Not yet, baby. You need to keep it together for your boss.”

“Yunho!” she cries out, frustration mixing with the desire that still courses through her. “I can’t—”

“Don’t worry,” he whispers, brushing his fingers against her thigh as he leans back in. “I’ll give you something to think about while you finish your call.”

Y/N’s breath hitches, a mix of anticipation and desperation as she watches him, her mind racing with the thrill of being so exposed. She tries to refocus on her laptop, but Yunho’s presence is overwhelming, his teasing touches setting her on fire.

Her boss’s voice breaks through the haze again. “Y/N? Are you sure everything is alright? You’ve been muted for a while.”

“Y-yes, sir! Everything is fine!” she stutters, barely holding onto her composure as Yunho nips at her thigh, sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through her.

“Great,” her boss says, and Y/N knows she should focus on the call, but all she can think about is how Yunho has completely derailed her.

Yunho smirks, clearly enjoying the situation, and leans in closer, whispering, “You’re doing so well, just remember you’re my toy. I can use you whenever I want.”

With that, he stands up, leaving her breathless and eager for more as she tries to compose herself and refocus on the call, the tension thick in the air.

ANOTHER DAY

The warm water cascaded over Y/N as she stood under the showerhead, the steam enveloping her in a comforting haze. She had taken the time to unwind after a long day, enjoying the soothing sensation of the water against her skin. The bathroom was filled with the fresh scent of her favorite body wash, a hint of lavender that mixed with the steam.

Just as she leaned against the tiles, closing her eyes to relish the moment, she heard the bathroom door creak open. She turned, surprised, and found Yunho stepping into the shower, fully clothed and drenched in water.

“Yunho!” she exclaimed, laughter bubbling up in her throat. “What are you doing? You’re disturbing my alone time!”

He stepped closer, the water glistening off his toned body. A playful smirk spread across his face, his dark hair sticking to his forehead. “Alone time? With me around?” he teased, his voice low and teasing. “I think not.”

Before she could protest further, he closed the distance between them, pinning her against the cool, slick tiles of the shower wall. The sudden movement stole the breath from her lungs, but instead of fear, a thrill raced through her. “You belong to me,” he murmured, his eyes darkening with desire.

Y/N’s heart raced as she felt the heat radiating from his body. “And what if I want to be alone?” she challenged, raising an eyebrow.

Yunho chuckled softly, brushing a damp strand of hair away from her face. “Not a chance,” he whispered before leaning down to capture her lips in a searing kiss.

Their mouths moved together hungrily, the kiss igniting a fire within her. He pulled back slightly, his breath mingling with hers, and then he captured her gaze, his eyes smoldering with intensity. “You know the rules, babe. Free use means I can take you whenever I want.”

Y/N bit her lip, a mixture of anticipation and excitement flooding her senses. “You’re right,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Without warning, Yunho dipped his head, trailing his lips down her neck and across her collarbone. She gasped, the sensation electrifying as he explored her skin with his mouth. His hands roamed over her body, tracing her curves as he made his way down to her thighs.

“Yunho, we’re in the shower…” she started, but the words fell short as he knelt before her, his fingers teasing the edges of her body.

“I know exactly where we are,” he replied, looking up at her with that cocky grin that always made her weak in the knees. “And I intend to enjoy it.”

With that, he wasted no time, his mouth on her, his tongue skillfully working to bring her to the edge. Y/N's head fell back against the tiles as pleasure coursed through her. She tangled her fingers in his hair, urging him on as he licked and sucked, driving her wild.

“Yunho, please,” she moaned, her legs shaking with the intensity of it all. “I—”

He pulled away just as she felt herself teetering on the edge. “I know what you want, but I’m not done playing yet,” he said, his breath hot against her skin.

“Yunho, you can’t just—” she started, but he silenced her with a finger pressed to her lips, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“Just trust me,” he whispered before standing up, his hands still gripping her waist tightly. “Let’s get back to you.”

As he turned the water temperature a little hotter, he took the shampoo bottle and squirted some into his palm. “Now, let me wash your hair.”

He gently massaged the shampoo into her scalp, his fingers working through her hair with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the possessiveness he had just displayed. Y/N leaned into his touch, relishing the softer moments between their heated encounters.

“See? I can be sweet too,” Yunho said with a playful smile as he rinsed her hair.

“Sweet? You didn't even let me finish!” she laughed, feeling blissfully content in this moment.

He laughed, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her forehead. “That was what I wanted, baby.”

“And why is that exactly?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“So that I can fuck you like an animal after this shower.”

ANOTHER DAY

The late afternoon sun filtered through the glass panels of the apartment building as Y/N stepped into the elevator, her heels clicking softly against the floor. She was exhausted from a long day at work, the weight of deadlines and meetings lingering on her mind. The elevator doors slid shut, and she sighed, leaning against the wall as she waited for the familiar descent to her floor.

Just as she turned to press the button, the elevator jolted slightly, and she glanced up to find Yunho stepping in right before the doors closed. His presence filled the small space, an electric energy sparking between them. He flashed her that signature smirk that always sent butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he said casually, leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed, his toned physique accentuated by his fitted shirt.

“Hey,” Y/N replied, trying to keep her voice steady despite the rush of heat that crept up her neck. “I thought you were still at the gym.”

“Just finished up and figured I’d catch you before you got home,” he said, taking a step closer as the elevator lurched downward. The sudden movement made her heart race, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was going to be a moment she wouldn’t forget.

Before she could respond, the elevator came to an abrupt halt, and Yunho seized the opportunity. He stepped closer, his breath warm against her skin. “You know,” he said, his voice low and teasing, “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

Y/N felt a flutter of nervousness as she shifted slightly, trying to maintain some distance. “Yunho, what are you doing? The doors could open any second.”

He chuckled softly, leaning in even closer, his hand brushing against her waist. “Relax. It’ll be quick,” he assured her, that devilish smirk still playing on his lips.

“Quick? Like how quick?” she stammered, her heart racing with both excitement and anxiety.

“Just trust me,” he said, his fingers trailing down her side, igniting a trail of warmth. The gentle touch sent shivers coursing through her body, and she found herself leaning into him, despite her reservations. “You’re my favorite distraction.”

Before she could protest further, he captured her lips in a searing kiss. The world outside faded away, and for a moment, it was just the two of them, the tension and thrill of being caught up in this stolen moment heightening every sensation. She felt herself melt against him, the kiss deepening as his hands gripped her hips, pulling her closer.

Y/N gasped as Yunho’s hands slid beneath her blouse, fingers teasingly brushing over her skin, sending jolts of electricity through her. He moved with deliberate slowness, allowing her to feel every touch. His fingers found the hem of her shirt, inching it up until they could access the warm skin of her stomach.

“You’re so soft,” he murmured against her lips, his voice husky with desire as he trailed kisses along her jawline and down to her neck. The sensation of his warm mouth against her skin made her shiver, a mix of pleasure and anticipation building within her.

He pressed his lips against her neck, sucking gently, and she instinctively tilted her head back, giving him better access. The combination of his lips and the soft pressure of his fingers rubbing circles around her waist made her dizzy with need. “Yunho,” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper as she felt her body responding to his every touch.

His hands roamed further, fingers finding the delicate lace of her bra, teasing the edges before moving higher. With a deft motion, he unhooked it, exposing her to his hungry gaze. She bit her lip to suppress a moan as his fingers found her erect nipple, rubbing slow, tantalizing circles that sent waves of pleasure radiating through her.

Y/N squirmed slightly, both from the exquisite sensation and the very real threat of being caught. “Yunho, what if someone comes?” she managed to gasp, her eyes fluttering shut as he continued to play with her, the tension of the moment making it all the more intoxicating.

“Then we’ll just have to be quick, won’t we?” he said, pulling back slightly to look into her eyes, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

“Yunho—”

Before she could finish her thought, he captured her mouth again, deepening the kiss as his hands worked their magic. He shifted his attention from her nipple to her inner thigh, fingers trailing up beneath her skirt, teasing her just where she needed it most.

She moaned softly, her body betraying her protests as he caressed her through her lace panties, the friction sending spirals of pleasure coursing through her. He looked up at her, his eyes dark with desire, as he applied just the right amount of pressure.

“You like that, don’t you?” he murmured, voice thick with lust. “You’re my favorite little cum toy, and I can use you whenever I want.”

Y/N felt a rush of heat flood her cheeks at his words, a mixture of embarrassment and thrill running through her. “Yunho, we can’t,” she said weakly, though the way her body was responding was betraying her words.

His finger slipped beneath the fabric of her panties, finding her slickness. “See? You’re already ready for me,” he teased, rubbing in slow, teasing circles.

As the elevator remained still, every second felt like an eternity. She could hardly think straight with the way he was touching her, and as the pressure built, she felt herself edging closer to release. Just when she thought she couldn’t take it anymore, he suddenly stopped, pulling back with a wicked grin.

“Yunho!” she gasped, frustration mingling with desire as he withdrew his hand, leaving her breathless.

He chuckled, a low, teasing sound that sent a thrill down her spine. “What’s wrong? I thought you wanted to play,” he said, casually straightening his clothes, as if nothing had happened.

Y/N could hardly process what just occurred, her heart racing and body still humming with need. The elevator doors suddenly dinged, and she quickly composed herself, smoothing down her skirt as the doors slid open.

“Yunho!” she protested, her voice a mix of disbelief and excitement.

He stepped out confidently, glancing back at her with that infuriatingly charming smile. “You’ll thank me later,” he said, walking away as if nothing had happened.

ANOTHER TIME

Y/N was busy cleaning up the kitchen after a long week. She hummed softly to herself, wiping down the counters and putting away the last of the dishes. Their friends were set to arrive any minute for a casual hangout, and she wanted everything to be perfect. Little did she know, Yunho had other plans in mind.

As she bent down to grab the last dish from the bottom of the sink, she felt a warm presence behind her. Before she could even turn around, Yunho slipped up close, his body pressing against hers.

“Hey there,” he murmured, a teasing lilt to his voice that sent a shiver down her spine. “Looks like you’re busy.”

“Just cleaning,” Y/N replied, trying to focus on her task even as her heart raced. “You know, the usual before our guests arrive.”

“Oh, I don’t think we’ll have time for that,” Yunho said, and before she could protest, he slid his hands down her sides, fingers trailing over her hips and teasingly pushing her skirt up.

“What are you doing?” she asked, half-excited and half-nervous. The thrill of being caught lingered in the back of her mind.

“Just reminding you how much you love being used,” he said, his breath hot against her ear as he positioned himself behind her. She gasped as she felt him press against her, the hard length of him making her pulse quicken.

“Yunho,” she protested weakly, but he simply shushed her with a teasing smile, his hands now gripping her waist firmly.

In one swift motion, he pulled her skirt up over her hips, exposing her bare skin. “Just a quick one, I promise,” he said, his voice low and sultry as he rubbed his cock against her slick entrance.

A soft moan escaped her lips as he pressed against her, teasing her with his veiny dick for just a moment before finally pushing inside. The sudden fullness took her breath away, and she gripped the edge of the sink, her knuckles whitening as he filled her completely.

“God, you’re so tight,” Yunho grunted, and Y/N couldn’t help but moan in response. The sensation was overwhelming, pleasure coursing through her as he began to thrust slowly, taking his time to let her feel every inch of him.

“What if they hear?” she gasped, the thrill of the moment sending waves of heat throughout her body.

“They won’t,” he assured her, voice dripping with confidence. “Just focus on how good it feels.”

As he picked up the pace, his hands gripped her waist tighter, fingers digging into her soft skin, leaving imprints as he thrust harder. Yunho's fingers slid up her torso, finding her breasts and pinching her hardened nipples roughly, making her gasp.

“Yunho!” she cried, both in pleasure and shock at how possessively he was treating her body. It hurt, but the pain mixed with pleasure only heightened her arousal.

“Keep those pretty sounds coming,” he instructed, his voice low and commanding. “I want to hear how much you love it.”

His lips trailed down to her neck, sucking and biting, leaving dark marks against her skin. The mixture of pain and pleasure sent shockwaves through her, and Y/N felt herself getting lost in the sensations.

Yunho pulled her hair back, exposing her neck even more as he continued to thrust into her. “You like being used like this, don’t you?” he murmured, his breath hot against her skin. “You were made for it.”

“Yunho, please,” she whimpered, feeling herself on the edge. “I can’t hold back anymore.”

“Not yet,” he growled, the determination in his voice sending shivers down her spine. He pulled back slightly, only to slam back into her with renewed vigor, making her cry out in pleasure.

“I want to feel you fall apart around me,” he said, his thrusts relentless.

“Shit, I’m so close,” she managed to gasp, her body tightening around him.

“Good girl,” he praised, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Let go for me.”

With a final thrust, Yunho buried himself deep inside her, and she came undone, her body trembling as waves of pleasure washed over her.

“Fuck!” he groaned, feeling her clench around him as she reached her peak. The sensation sent him over the edge, and he spilled himself deep inside her, filling her completely.

Y/N leaned against the sink, breathless and panting, a mixture of satisfaction and exhilaration coursing through her. She felt him pull out slowly, and panic surged through her as she realized the mess they had made.

“Yunho, they’re going to be here any minute!” she exclaimed, scrambling to fix her clothes and regain some semblance of composure.

He smirked, casually adjusting his shirt. “Relax. Just act natural,” he said, a cocky grin on his face. “They’ll never suspect a thing.”

As the doorbell rang, Y/N quickly wiped the countertop, her heart racing. She couldn’t help but glance over at Yunho, who was already striding confidently toward the door, the look of mischief still dancing in his eyes.

“Best boyfriend award definitely goes to Yunho.” she thought.

[spr1ngpvrinbwunnie]

"Tangled Threads"

ℍ𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕖𝕪 𝕊𝕒𝕨𝕪𝕖𝕣/𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔻𝕠𝕔𝕥𝕠𝕣 (ℙ𝕠𝕤𝕥 -“𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔻𝕠𝕔𝕥𝕠𝕣”) 𝕩 ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣

🇨​🇴​🇳​🇹​🇪​🇳​🇹​ 🇼​🇦​🇷​🇳​🇮​🇳​🇬​: None + only fluff ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ – You're repairing one of The Doctor’s robotic bodies, likely one he frequently uses. Maybe it’s glitching, maybe it took damage, or maybe he just lets you do it because he’s curious how you’ll handle it. There’s an intimacy in the act of repairing—your hands brushing over cold metal, wires sparking under your fingertips, and the unspoken tension of knowing he's watching you from everywhere at once...

The soft hum of machinery filled the air, a rhythmic pulse that blended seamlessly with the distant, flickering static from the monitors overhead.

Shadows stretched unnaturally long in the dim, sterile glow of artificial lighting, twisting with the slow, methodical movement of the robotic body before you.

The Doctor’s vessel—one of many—sat slumped in a chair, wires spilling from its form like the severed arteries of something that once lived. The body wasn’t broken, not entirely, but something in the machinery had faltered, rendering him momentarily still. Or perhaps, he had allowed this. Allowed you.

A dull hum vibrated through the air, like a distant heartbeat lost within the facility’s decaying walls. The air smelled of metal, of rust and static, sterile yet sickly in its artificiality. You exhaled, hands hovering above the exposed circuits in hesitant contemplation.

“This is ridiculous,” you muttered under your breath, the words cutting through the thick silence. “And yet… I don’t hate it.”

It sat, partially disassembled, its mechanical limbs sprawled out in a state of disrepair—a marionette with severed strings, awaiting restoration. You worked in silence, fingers deftly navigating the intricate web of wires, tightening loose connections, realigning joints.

The Doctor had let you do this, whether out of necessity or sheer amusement, you couldn't tell.

He was watching, of course. He was always watching.

Through the static-laced screens lining the walls, through the faint flickering of monitors that pulsed like the erratic beat of some ghostly heart. The screen that served as his face twitched, static dancing across it in chaotic bursts.

Even now, as your hands worked over the exposed circuitry, you could feel the weight of his gaze—disembodied, omnipresent, yet somehow, unmistakably personal.

“Careful,” came the voice, distorted through layers of electronic interference. It slithered through the speakers, low and knowing, each syllable tinged with something too deliberate to be mere observation. “You wouldn't want to break anything.”

You huffed, not looking up. “If you’re so concerned, why don’t you fix it yourself?”

A short, static-ridden chuckle buzzed through the air. “Oh, but I rather enjoy this… You, so intent, so careful. It’s fascinating.”

The words sent an involuntary shiver down your spine, though you refused to let it show. Instead, you continued your work, steady and precise, until—

A shift. A flicker of movement. The robotic fingers twitched beneath your touch, and before you could fully register the change, they had curled around your own. Not tightly—just enough for you to feel the cold weight of them, the subtle press of mechanical joints against your skin.

You froze.

“Let go,” you muttered, more an observation than a command.

But he didn’t.

The fingers flexed slightly, a calculated mimicry of human touch. It was not warmth that seeped through, but something else—something eerily deliberate, as though he was testing the sensation, assessing the shape of your hand in his own.

“You were checking its motor function, weren’t you?” His voice was smooth, composed. “Consider this… a demonstration.”

Your breath hitched, but you did not pull away. Perhaps some part of you knew that resistance would only amuse him further. Instead, you met the nearest screen with a pointed stare. “If this is your way of proving a point, I’d say you’re overdoing it.”

There was another pause, a moment stretched taut between curiosity and something less identifiable. Then, the grip loosened, fingers unfurling, though they did not retreat entirely. Instead, the robotic hand adjusted, fingers shifting until they were no longer merely grasping—but offering.

An invitation.

Your brow furrowed. “Are you seriously asking me to dance?”

Another flicker of static, but this time, the distortion almost resembled amusement. Or maybe you were imagining things.

“I didn’t take you for a sentimental type,” you added, but your hand was already moving before the thought could catch up to your actions. Hesitance ghosted your fingertips before you finally made contact.

The metal was cool beneath your touch, smooth yet worn in places where time had etched its presence. His fingers curled around yours—not too tightly, but enough to remind you that, despite everything, despite the illusion of humanity this moment carried, this was not flesh and bone.

This was something else entirely.

───── ⋆⋅✝⋅⋆ ─────

The way the mechanical body moved was almost theatrical—an exaggerated gesture, palm outstretched, metal digits poised in eerie elegance. It was unmistakable, the way it hovered there, waiting.

You stared at it, then at the flickering screen. “…You can’t be serious.”

A pause. Then: “Oh, but I am.”

The amusement in his voice was unmistakable now, curling around the edges of the static like something tangible. The Doctor, master of control, orchestrator of twisted creations—offering you a dance.

A laugh escaped you, dry and disbelieving. “What, are we doing this Beauty and the Beast style?”

“If that helps you rationalize it.” A flicker of red danced through the screen before dimming back to gold. “Indulge me.”

It was ridiculous. Absurd. And yet…

You hesitated only a moment longer before sighing, reaching out. The second your fingers brushed against the outstretched palm, the mechanical grip closed around yours—not forcefully, but with a controlled firmness that sent a strange jolt through you.

The movement was seamless. Guided, deliberate. He led, and you followed, your steps hesitant at first as the robotic body shifted in time with yours.

It should have felt cold. Impersonal. And yet, the way he maneuvered, the calculated fluidity of each motion, spoke of something else. Something practiced.

“How very trusting of you,” his voice hummed, low and smooth. “Or perhaps just foolish.”

You scoffed. “Says the one who’s been watching my every move.”

“Observation is a form of study.”

There was no music, only the soft, rhythmic whir of servos, the distant hum of machinery filling the void like an unspoken melody; the hum of unseen machinery, the distant crackle of an old intercom losing its battle against time.

But he moved as if there was a melody only he could hear, as if muscle memory still lingered in the absence of a body to house it. A step forward, a step back. Slow, methodical.

A dance in the void.

Your eyes lifted, meeting the ever-watching gaze on the screen. That fractured yellow eye, always dissecting, always analyzing. But was that all? Or was there something else beneath the calculations?

For a moment—just a breath of one—you swore the grip on your hand tightened. Imperceptible. Brief.

“What is this, some kind of experiment?” you questioned, voice quieter now, the weight of the moment pressing against your ribs.

Silence. Then, after a pause long enough to make you think he wouldn’t answer, the static flared once more. A flickering imitation of something almost human.

“No,” came the distorted reply, voice fragmented through the speakers. “Not an experiment.”

You exhaled sharply, lips pressing into a thin line.

“So what, then?”

Another pause. The dance slowed, the vessel’s movements becoming more deliberate, more measured. The metal fingers twined just slightly more securely around your own.

The eye flickered—once, twice—before dimming, the light softening in a way that was neither mechanical nor human, but something in between.

“Perhaps,” he murmured, and the distortion in his voice softened with it, “it is simply... remembering.”

Something in your chest tightened.

He did not elaborate, and you did not ask.

The room remained silent save for the quiet hum of the factory, and the phantom waltz of a ghost and their machine.

───── ⋆⋅✝⋅⋆ ─────

As he pulled you forward, guiding you into movement, the eeriness of it all melted into something strangely hypnotic. The space around you dissolved, the ruined lab fading into obscurity as the world shrank down to the silent rhythm between you and the machine wearing the ghost of a man’s consciousness.

The dance continued, a slow, fluid exchange of steps and countersteps. There was something hauntingly poetic about it—the waltz in the heart of something so sterile, so far removed from the world of human warmth.

And yet, despite the mechanical nature of it all, there was an undeniable intimacy in the way he moved with you, in the way his grip adjusted, the way he seemed to listen to your unspoken rhythm.

It was easy to forget, for just a moment, that he was everywhere and nowhere at once—that the hands guiding yours were mere extensions of a presence far greater, far more consuming.

Easy to forget that you were dancing with something that should not have been capable of such grace, such precision.

And yet, here you were.

The last step was slower, lingering, as the movement came to a halt. The mechanical grip remained for a breath longer than necessary before finally releasing, fingers ghosting over yours before withdrawing entirely.

Silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken thoughts.

Then, his voice, smooth and edged with something almost imperceptible:

“How unexpected.”

You exhaled, rolling your shoulders. “That makes two of us.”

A beat. Then, with a flicker of static, the monitors dimmed slightly, his presence withdrawing just enough to remind you that he had allowed this moment—that, for whatever reason, he had chosen to indulge in it.

You weren’t sure what unsettled you more—the fact that he had done it at all, or the lingering feeling that, somewhere within the vast network of his being, something human had stirred.

Not quite dead. Not quite alive. Just waiting.

Watching.

And, perhaps, remembering.

[strawb3rryg2l]

How to Lose 'Bob' in 10 Days

Characters: Bob x Y/N, Robert Reynolds x Y/N, Sentry x Y/N, The Void x Y/N

Summary: You thought you'd lost, your husband, Robert Reynolds forever. Consumed by the Void and the chaos it left behind. But then you woke up in a world not your own. One where he's alive. Where he goes by Bob. Where he doesn't know you. To him, you’re a stranger. You have 10 days to lose him, before everything falls apart. But the cracks are already forming. Time stutters. Reality bends. And something followed you here, something made of grief, memory, and everything you refused to let die. As you try to lose Bob in 10 days, the world unravels with every lie you tell yourself. You’ll have to make an impossible choice: hold on to the man you love, or face the truth and finally let him go. Because if you don’t... this world won’t just end. You might go with it.

Word Count: 2081

Warnings: Mentions of grief, Violent/Graphic, A dark twisted version of How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, Spoilers maybe? (Please let me know if I should add anymore.)

Note from the author: This is my work, and I will be posting on here and @ strawb3rrygal on Archivesofourown. Keep in mind these are my ONLY TWO accounts. Please feel free to reblog if you like it! I've been working on this one as I write my other fic 'The Temp' which you can also check out if you'd like.

Done reading? Here is the continuation -> Part 2 , Part 3

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Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that something was… wrong.

It started with the silence. The usual commotion outside her apartment — shouting neighbors, honking cars, the occasional bark of that yappy Pomeranian two floors down—had dulled into a hushed, almost reverent quiet. It wasn’t the peaceful kind. It was the kind that felt staged. Like the city had paused to see if she’d notice.

Even the air in the apartment felt heavier, colder. Like it had forgotten how to move.

She sat up in bed, slowly, rubbing her face with both hands. Her skin was clammy. Her breath fogged slightly in the air. She hadn't been sleeping well lately. Her dreams always ended with the same sensation, falling through a place she’d never seen, toward something that knew her name.

Y/N glanced around the room, but it felt… distant. The walls looked just a little too clean. Her furniture, though familiar, felt arranged by someone else. Her plants sat perfectly healthy on the windowsill, but she couldn’t remember the last time she watered them. Did I do that?

She moved to her cabinet, rifling through underwear with robotic purpose. Sometimes, she found comfort in small rituals wearing something pretty, layering clothes like armor. She settled on a violet lace set that used to make her feel soft and strong at the same time. She tugged on thick leg warmers, worn jeans, and her favorite winter boots. The white fuzzy sweater she pulled over her head enveloped her in warmth, but even its softness felt muted. Almost unfamiliar.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she padded into the kitchen or what passed as one. After Robert’s death, she’d left behind the bigger apartment, moved closer to her office, to the city, to noise. To distraction. Now, the noise was gone. The distractions had turned their backs.

She poured herself cereal, sliced up a banana, and scattered some chia seeds across the top like she always did. She chewed slowly, eyes drifting out the window and froze.

A billboard stood across the street. Large. White background. Red letters. It wasn’t there yesterday.

Y/N narrowed her eyes. The ad was for a new Broadway show she didn’t recognize. The slogan beneath it read: “It’s not too late to come home.”

She blinked.

Was it a coincidence? A strange marketing ploy? She tilted her head, as though looking at it from a different angle would explain away the chill creeping up her spine.

She shrugged, more to herself than to anyone, and looked away. But the sensation didn’t leave.

Finished with her breakfast, she slipped on her jacket, slung her bag over her shoulder, and stepped outside. The air bit at her cheeks. Pedestrians passed her with heads bowed, not making eye contact. No one bumped into her. No one spoke. The street was the same—and yet it wasn’t.

Her building’s bricks looked darker. The corner coffee shop had changed names. The newspaper vendor on 42nd street was missing. She told herself she must’ve overlooked it. Told herself she was tired. Still healing. 

But healing didn’t feel like this.

At work, everything looked normal. Her coworkers greeted her with practiced smiles. She smiled back. She said good morning. She walked to her desk and turned on her screen.

Y/N was a writer for the nation’s most beloved women’s magazine, a voice of modern relationships and hope-filled advice columns. She had a dedicated readership. A strong social media presence. A decent salary. On paper, she had everything.

But every word she wrote about love felt like a betrayal.

She wanted more. Real stories. Stories about people who were never offered the soft landings she described in her columns. She wanted to write about the cracks in the justice system, about prisons dressed as reform. About things that mattered. Things her boss didn’t care for.

In the beginning, she made it work. Being married to Robert Reynolds had made her an expert in the language of love. In heartbreak. In grief. But then… the Void. Then Thor. And then silence.

Y/N blinked at her computer screen. Her reflection stared back, faint in the black glass. She looked… slightly off. Like the reflection was lagging. Or waiting.

She reached out to shake the mouse and for a moment, just a moment, her reflection didn’t follow. She paused. A strange pressure built behind her eyes. Then the screen flickered on. Her inbox loaded. The moment passed. She swallowed hard and forced herself to breathe.

Maybe she was still dreaming. Maybe it was just grief. Maybe she was just tired.

But somewhere deep inside, something whispered You’re not supposed to be here.

A sharp tap on her monitor startled her. Y/N’s eyes snapped upward.

Tara stood there, grinning wide, her hair sleek and pin-straight completely different from her usual crown of soft, carefree curls. It made her look polished. Almost artificial. Like someone had run her through a filter.

“Morning, sunshine,” Tara chirped.

Y/N blinked. “Morning…”

“You ready for the meeting?”

“Which meeting?”

Tara laughed shaking her head. “The pitch meeting. Elise wants something viral. Fresh blood. She's been in a mood all morning, so bring the juice.”

Y/N nodded, but her mind was still half-submerged in static. The pitch meeting. Right. She’d forgotten. That strange fog hadn’t lifted since she woke up. She couldn’t tell if it was stress… or something more invasive. Something crawling just beneath the skin of the world. She rose from her chair, pushing aside the low thrum in her head, and followed Tara toward the glass conference room.

Then stopped. Her breath caught in her throat. Inside, surrounded by laughter and coffee cups, sat Marlene. Marlene who had spent last night on Y/N’s couch, red-eyed and blotchy, sniffling into a wine-stained hoodie. Marlene, who had sworn off men forever after the barista she’d been seeing ghosted her for not owning a French press.

And yet here she was. Early. Polished. Smiling. Her posture crisp, her lipstick perfect, not a tear-streak in sight.

Had she imagined it? The crying? The whole night?

Y/N sat beside Tara and forced herself to breathe, ignoring the pressure clamping down on her chest.

“All right,” Elise snapped, breezing in with the presence of someone who lived off cortisol and sugarless espresso. She clapped once. “Let’s talk ideas. Love, lust, the dopamine dance—whatever keeps readers clicking even when their rent’s overdue.”

Stella, their photographer, raised a hand like a schoolgirl on fire. “I got Sam Wilson to agree to a spread. Flight to New York is booked. We’ll shoot by Sunday.”

“Beautiful,” Elise said with a tight smile. “Next?”

Her eyes slid to Marlene.

Y/N braced herself.

Marlene blinked. For a second, her expression went blank like someone had unplugged her.

“Uhh…” she started, stalling. “I was thinking… maybe…”

Tara jumped in, her voice a little too bright. “We were discussing the new Avengers this morning.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed. The new Avengers? That was the first she’d heard of it.

Elise tilted her head. “Go on.”

Tara nudged Y/N with her elbow.

Y/N cleared her throat, racking her brain. She couldn’t think of anything New Avengers related so instead she said: “Maybe we flip the usual love column. Instead of giving advice on what to do… we show readers what not to do. Like…” She looked at Marlene and felt a little pang of guilt at her next words. “Sabotage a relationship on purpose.”

Elise raised a brow. “Intentionally?”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah…” She thought for a moment. “You know… every red flag. Clingy texts. Sudden jealousy. Oversharing childhood trauma on the first date. Show readers what bad behavior looks like in real time.”

A slow grin crept across Elise’s face. “Interesting. And what’s the hook?”

Y/N hesitated. She felt the weight of Marlene’s eyes. The clock ticked too loudly.

“How to… lose a guy?” she offered weakly.

Elise laughed, the sound sharp and amused. “How to Lose a Guy… in 10 Days. I like it.”

“Why ten?” Tara asked, leaning forward.

“Seven’s too short, and we go to press in twelve,” Elise said with a shrug.

The room buzzed with excitement. Everyone nodded. Marlene even clapped.

But Y/N felt nothing. Not pride. Not relief. Just hollowness.

Because in her world she hadn’t needed ten days to lose the love of her life.

Just one.

One catastrophic day when the sky cracked like glass. One moment when Thor’s lightning lit up the battlefield and left smoke and silence in its place. One breath held tight in her throat, when Robert, the Sentry, turned to her with eyes rimmed in black and begged her to forgive him. Forgive the thing he’d become.

Her smile stretched across her face like cellophane. Tight. Fragile.

Her fingers trembled.

“And… one more thing,” Elise said, voice slicing through the buzz. The room stilled. Every eye snapped to her. Even the air seemed to lean in.

“About the new Avengers,” she continued. “The column would really pop if the guy you lose was one of them.”

A collective gasp rippled across the table like a wave. Y/N blinked; a beat too slow. The thought hadn’t occurred to her before she’d have to actually date someone. Not theoretically. Not hypothetically. Actually. She hadn’t done that, not since Robert.

Her stomach dropped.

“I’m sorry,” she said, voice hollow. “The new Avengers?”

Marlene let out a laugh that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Have you been living under a rock?”

“There’s a whole new lineup,” Marlene went on. “Less Iron Man, more... walking HR violations.”

Tara snorted. “God. Remember John Walker? He’s newly divorced, right?”

“Ugh, please don’t,” Marlene shuddered. “He smells like Axe body spray and bad decisions. Maybe she could go for someone less... sociopathic?”

Tara leaned forward, practically swooning. “What about Bucky? He’s handsome. Mysterious. That arm?”

Y/N didn’t respond. Her pulse had started to climb, a steady drumbeat of panic behind her ribs.

Elise tapped a pen against the table, calm as ever. “Maybe we should push for a deeper angle someone off-grid. The one no one’s cracked yet.”

Y/N glanced up. Something in Elise’s tone had changed. 

“There’s a mystery man in the files,” Elise continued. “Operates alone. They’ve been calling him Bob.”

The name landed like a grenade in her chest.

Y/N’s breath caught. “Bob?”

Elise flipped through her notes, reading aloud without a shred of awareness for the horror she was conjuring. “Yeah. Real name might be Robert Reynolds. He’s not officially affiliated, but our contacts say he’s powered. Dangerous. Probably not even registered. The government’s been hush-hush. Some kind of asset gone rogue.”

Y/N stopped breathing. Her heart pounded like fists against a locked door. That name. That name.

Robert Reynolds.

Her Robert. Her husband. Dead. Dead. Burned to nothing but a shadow at the edge of a battlefield. She had watched the light leave him, seen his eyes turn black, his voice split by the Void inside him. She held his body when it cooled. He was gone. Gone.

And yet…

Tara’s hand brushed hers. “Hey,” she whispered. “You okay?”

Y/N didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her lungs had turned to glass. Her throat closed tight. This isn’t real. It can’t be real. Because nothing about her life since waking up had made sense. Her bedroom drawers had clothes she didn’t remember buying. The skyline was off, wrong buildings in the wrong places. Little things, piling up.

And now this.

Robert. Bob. Alive?

Elise looked up; one brow arched like a blade. “Is there an issue?”

Y/N stared at her, the world trembling at the edges. Like it might peel back and show her something too big to survive. Her mouth opened. Words didn’t come. But she forced herself to breathe. She had to. She had to play along. Had to get close. Had to see this man whoever he was. If it was really him. If it was a dream. If it was a lie.

“No,” she said finally, her voice hoarse and splintering.

She curled her fingers into a fist under the table, nails digging into her palm like a tether to her reality.

“I’ll do it,” she said.

And just like that, it was done. She had been assigned to destroy a man who wore the name and possibly the face of her dead husband.

And no one in the room even noticed the crack in her voice. Or the scream trying to claw its way out of her throat.

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Author Post Note: mueheh :)

[k1nky-r0b0t-g1rl-wr1t1ng]

When you were 19

You had a fairly normal childhood. You had a good relationship with your parents. You did reasonably well in school. You struggled like everyone to figure yourself out, and for the most part you did. But as life continued, something felt off. You didn't enjoy the same parts of yourself as others did. You didn't find joy in the same activities as others did. You couldn't quite place it but something was wrong, there was something different.

When you were 19 you started reading about advancements in robotics, whispers of cybernetic upgrades, you were strangely filled with joy at the thought but also, a deep feeling of unease crept up your spine. When you were 20 you asked your friends how excited they were about breakthroughs in cybernetics, they barely showed an interest. You tried to bury it, convince yourself that it would never be possible. You lied.

When you were 24 the first person was given a robot body, that feeling returned. When you were 26 you made a friend. She was always talking about those people brave enough to undergo the process. You asked her if she wanted to, afraid. She said no. She said no but she understood. She understood why. She fought for them. For you. 

When you were 29 you broke. You couldn't take it anymore. The chronic pain was too much. The empty feeling in the mirror was too much. The envy was too much. You broke. 

When you were 29 you made a decision. You were done being broken. You were sick of being someone else. You became you. 

You were ready. 

What you weren't ready for were the looks. The whispers. The stares. Your parents pulled away, disagreeing with your “lifestyle”. Some of your friends withdrew, claiming you’d changed, you weren't yourself anymore. People rallied to stop the program. Governments labelled it “unnatural”. You weren't prepared. 

You weren't prepared for the friends that stayed. Those that rallied around you. The people fighting back when you couldn't. The love you found in yourself. The joy every new sensation brought. The new spark ignited within. You weren't ready for her. 

You were 31 when you met her. She was one of the first to transfer to a new body. A pioneer. You admired her strong personality. Her unapologetic self. You couldn't look away from her lazer engraved tattoos. Her ability to be who she was without fear. Your friends introduced you, knowing she’d understand. You were ready. 

She took you back to her place. She pushed you against her wall. She asked if you wanted this. You needed this. Her lips met yours. Her tongue danced across yours. You felt lightning through your artificial veins. She knew exactly how to melt you. How to undo you. How to make you feel. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You’re pulled back to your thoughts as she throws you onto her bed. Her visor barely displaying emotion, but you know what she’s feeling: hunger. You feel your fans kick up a gear as you're laid out under her gaze, her smirk causes coolant to desperately spread throughout your systems. You can feel your synthetic cock throb in your panties as she crawls across the bed towards you, excitement building deep inside you. Biting your lip in anticipation she begins to kiss her way up your thigh, her cold metal lips leaving the faintest of marks as she works her way towards her prize. Her metal fingers grasp at your hips as she curls them around your panties, threatening to pull them down.

“P-please…” you breathlessly whimper.

Having your consent she quickly and gently frees your half hard cock, licking her lips as she watches it grow slightly harder under her gaze. Before you have time to react she takes you completely into her mouth, sending sparks shooting up your body, synthetic nerves on fire as she holds you inside. Slowly working you up and down in her mouth you can barely think, every system in your body working overdrive to make sense of the fire spreading through your nerves and pathways. Minutes pass in what feels like hours, desperately holding onto the sheets to ground yourself. Releasing your cock from her mouth she climbs up your body, bringing her face within inches of your own, her body draped over yours.

“I'm going to make you cum, pretty bot” she whispers, just inches from your lips.

You reach up, connecting your lips together, seeming confident as you come undone so completely inside. She takes the sign and deepens the kiss, her tongue so delicately dancing with your own. Her hand grabs ahold of your cock, gently stroking you between the warmth of your two bodies, the pressure of her bearing down on you only adding to the overwhelming surges rushing through every inch of software you’ve got, her deep kisses and low moans into your mouth driving you and your fans wild, the heat almost overwhelming you. It's not long before you feel something building, something deep and animal, but entirely new, the animal now made of metal and code as you feel it forcing its way through you. You start to cum into her hand as she practically vibrates on top of you, you feel her smiling into your kiss as you lose control, your mind goes blank as you are hit with waves of pleasure. You’ve completely lost control.

You begin to come back to your senses, you fans still working overtime to vent the heat created by the two of you, your stomach slick with your own artificial cum. Laying on her side next to you, looking gently into your visor, she smiles and your insides melt once more. You say nothing as you nuzzle wordlessly into her chest. You never want this moment to end.

You were 31 when you knew you were right. You were 31 when you knew you were safe. You were 31 when you found yourself. Truly. 

~~~

If you wanna support me - Ko-fi

[theshiftingwitch]

Self concept for the new year

This time of year is always exciting! It feels like a new beginning, a fresh start where you get to leave everything that didn't work behind and look ahead for better days to come.

You're most likely done with your vision boards, your lists, your goals and wishes and dreams, and you're excited for that clock to strike midnight.

Whether you're celebrating alone in your room or surrounded by friends and family, you could probably feel the tension in the air, the arrival of new opportunities, new hope, and new beginnings. It's almost electrifying! And while the sensation is definitely not new, it is fleeting.

By January 5th we go back to the mundane cycle of life. Our new years resolutions become a crumpled list collecting dust on some shelf somewhere while we drown in the hustle and bustle of our daily lives.

But not you.

No.

You know better.

You have more tools in your disposal than most people do.

You know about the law of assumption!

Ah, I can hear it already.

"But, my dear witch, I have spent most of 2024 trying to manifest my dreams and I left the year the way I started it: Disappointed and deflated. Why would 2025 be any different?"

It is different, my little firecrackers! Because this year, you're actually going to get everything you have ever wanted and more.

How? Simple! You already have it.

I can see you looking around. The 3D is not conforming, you're noticing all of the lack and the negativity and you're wondering how do you have it if you can't see it?

That's where self concept comes to play.

Look, whether you want to admit it or not, self concept is THAT girl ✨

is it necessary to manifest? No, but my god does it help!

If you believe that you are the creator of your reality, that you are the most powerful being, that you are worthy and deserving of your desires and that you're the universe in ecstatic motion, why wouldn't you get everything you could possibly want?

You have to hold yourself in high regard. You have to believe in your own power. You have to love yourself madly, deeply, unconditionally, that you refuse to settle for anything less.

You have to be defiant.

You desire. You decide. You deliver. You receive.

How to work on your self concept:

•Mirror work: stand in front of your mirror and look into your eyes. Choose one or two affirmations and say them out loud while you keep eye contact with yourself. Do that for at least 5 minutes every day.

•Robotic affirmations: Again, pick one or two affirmations and repeat them for as long as you can as often as you can. Dedicate some free time during the weekend (or whenever you have a couple of hours) and do a saturation session in which you repeat your chosen affirmations nonstop (in your head) for hours on end. You'll love the results.

•Subliminals: pick one you like and loop it as you're falling asleep. Let it play all night. Your conscious mind might be asleep but your subconscious is awake and listening, and subliminals are a great tool to impress your new state onto your subconscious mind.

•Live in the end: picture the person you want to be. Who would you be if you were the person who had all of their desired now? Think like them, talk like them, walk, eat, drink, breathe, dress like them. They are you. You are them. Act like it.

Whether you're manifesting an SP, money, success, fame, desired appearance or a different life altogether, self concept is one of the most powerful tools to aid in your manifesting journey. Think in your favor, decide you're worthy of everything good and beautiful, and remember who you are. Take people off the pedestal you belong on and reclaim your power.

Make 2025 different. You deserve to be happy!

Happy manifesting ❤️

[knavesflames]

hiii 🩷 i saw that you like raiden... i was wondering if we could have a fem!reader sucking her strap 🫣 maybe while wearing a collar & leash, and some praise from raiden?🩷 (she probably isn't good at it, but she tries!!)

- 🍰

Hi 🍰 anon!! Sorry this took literally so fucking long :( I also forgot to include the leash and the collar D: either way, reader sucking strap… yummy

Word count: 1022

Contents: reader sucks The Strap, mentions of praying, devotion to a god, yeah

Nsft utc!

For someone who meditated in isolation for 500 years, her skills in bed are.. about what you’d expect. She’s clumsy, unsure, but all she ever seems to want to do is please you. On occasion, when you request something she’s unsure she can fulfill, she orders the Shogun instead. Even though the Shogun is different, more robotic, less emotional, only saying and doing what she is programmed to, Ei watches, memorising the way she had memorised the Mosou No Hitotachi all those years ago. Of course, you’d much rather Ei do it herself, but the fact she’s a powerful god, the slayer of orobashi, means nothing when she’s alone with you.

“I do not understand your request. You want to.. suck it?” She asks softly, a tilt of her head causing her purple braid to sway gently with the movement. “I do,” you murmur, your finger gently tracing the vein on the strap she had so carefully crafted for you. Made from pure electro energy, it gave the perfect buzz when she needed it to, but only when she wanted it to. You loved it, and it gave you what you needed. Plus, the sounds you made when you were both alone in Tenshukaku sounded better than anything she had ever heard. “I think it would be fun. I think.. I don’t know. I want to try it.”

“I do not wish to hurt you, my petal. If you require the Shogun, you really must say—“ you cut her off with a firm shake of your head. You don’t want the Shogun. Quite frankly, you’re sick of the Shogun. You don’t want to look up, mid groan, only to see the puppet with its emotionless eyes. You want the woman you love, the god you worship so dearly. You’d be a liar if you said you hadn’t gotten on your knees in other ways for her, kneeling at the shrine and praying for unholy things. You wonder if she hears your prayers (she does. She listens with her mouth slightly open and her breath quickening, and yet, she can never do anything about it). You assume she does not. You love her anyway.

“I see. You do not wish to engage with the Shogun any longer.”

“No. I do not worship a puppet, I worship the divine being stood in front of me. Do the thing.”

“What thing?” Again, she’s confused. You sigh. You wonder why she has to be so clueless for a god so old and smart.

“Make it vibrate. I want you to feel good.” Ei’s problem is that she can’t accept pleasure. At least, not from anyone but herself. Long mediation sessions that only include thinking about the faces you make every time she hits the right spot, or kisses the right place. Watching over you with the omnipresence she so happily flaunts as you touch yourself to the thought of her (and, on occasion, being tag teamed by her and the Shogun. You’ll never ask).

“Oh.” Speechless, is the god who is so feared and respected by the nation. The nation who seems to have no idea how shy and flustered she can truly get. “Right. If you wish, then I shall oblige. Anything for you.”

When she fastens the hand crafted strap onto herself, her own breath hitches at the slight sensation. Neither of you know exactly how to work this situation with the small vibrations, but the fact you can feel your heartbeat between your own legs and the way you notice you can’t take your eyes off of it, you know that it’s the only thing you’re thinking about, and damn the archons if you don’t get to. Tentatively, you let your tongue move across the surface of it. Her violet eyes pierce down at you— she doesn’t mean for it to be, but it’s slightly intimidating nonetheless (maybe that’s what you like). You see the softness that lies beneath anyway.

“I think you need to hold my head, it’s— it’s big, and I’ve never done this before.”

“Hold your head? Is that not violent? I will not injure you for pleasure.” She states, but when you gently explain that it’ll help, her hand slowly moves to your hair. Her fingers, smooth despite the centuries of fighting, weave through your hair before gripping a small handful. Looking at you with her eyebrows knitted, waiting for a sign of consent, she stands still. When you give that sign, a murmured “please”, she begins to help your mouth and throat adjust by pushing you down. She’s gentle, almost a little too gentle, but the second you make that tiny little sound, she gasps. Your own eyes flutter to hers, a silent look of consent.

She’s hesitant at first, her hand barely guiding you, but when she starts losing herself at the sight of your eyes (beginning to water with what can only be described as tears of pure, unadulterated devotion), she lets herself loose, gently testing the waters with a roll of her hips. At the pleased choking sound you make, she does it again, and again, until she builds a rhythm, her breath coming out in little pants and stifled groans. Her lip is bitten in any attempt to hide the fact she’s enjoying this more than she thought she would. When a small whimper finally breaks through, she lets her head tilt back. Ei has decided she can’t look at you any longer or she’ll probably cum at the sight of you with spit on your chin and wet eyelashes.

Ei is a sensitive being, believe it or not. Unfortunately, for her and her ego, she does, in fact orgasm at the sight of you, the vibrations secretly doing nothing for her. She lies, and tells you that the vibrations did the trick. You know, it's different. You say nothing. You wouldn’t dare disrespect your god and accuse her of deceit.

And of course, when she notices the fact you’re throbbing, her hands gently pry your thighs apart, her braid tickling your ankles as she brings you to an eternity of pleasure.

[livelaughlovesubs]

Food for thought for sub Boothill: wireplay!

Mechanic reader who helps with repairs all up inside him and maybe an update has him tingle each time they touch his wires, or graze his ports, or the potential opportunities 🤤

I only did minor researches about cyborgs to have a basic understanding, so most of the things I write down will be purely fiction. Also sorry that it turned out as angst instead of NSFW :(

Feel free to ask for a second part to make up for it

Warning: (a little) angst, we are screwing around

Boothill had hinted at the fact that he can’t feel with his mechanical body parts for a while now. For him, who has been like this for so long, one would think he had gotten used to it. Yet that wasn’t the case. Were you to ask him if it bothered him, he’d answer no without an ounce of hesitation. This used to be the truth, until he fell for you. In other words, if you were to ask him the same question now, the response would be much more heartbreaking.

To get a simple comparison, it was as if your body didn’t belong to you. Despite him technically being able to do anything, it felt as if he couldn’t at the same time. Serving as an echo and reminder of his hopelessness prior to gaining this body. It was only a small price to pay considering the sin he committed by being the sole survivor, his path of revenge was fuelled with nothing but pure rage. A second life, filled with endless possibilities, at the loss of his own humanity, not the worst of his sacrifices.

The most regrettable change he had to undergo was the loss of sensation. Everyday, a numbness that wouldn’t vanish engulfed him from the bottom to his shoulders, pretty much mirroring his inner emotions. How losing the sense of touch could throw one into a deep abyss of endless emptiness was unimaginable. To think this would have such a huge consequence on his psyche was unpredictable, he believed it wouldn’t come this far, since he still could feel from his shoulders up to his head. He was horribly wrong.

Whenever you embraced him, some kind of guilt mixed with adoration would eat away at him. Boothill craved your touch, more than that he wanted to feel your warmth when he hugs you, not just the cold iron. At the same time he wished you’d find someone else. Staying by his side would only bring problems, considering the high bounty on his head. You deserved it, you deserved so much better than this icy, robotic body of his. Sometimes his true thoughts would slip out and he’d accidentally tell you how it’s a pity he can’t feel anything. Soon after he’d chuckle and tell you not to worry about it, as well as how he’s grateful for his current life, since he’ll be able to carry out revenge this way.

You have long figured out his concerns, and no matter how you showered his body with love and affection, he only seemed to condemn himself more. This wasn’t something you could just accept like that, seeing your lover being so down caused you nothing but grief. Especially with the thought in mind that you couldn’t help him- no. That’s not true. You could if you wanted to, it’s never too late to learn new things. Besides you had a basic understanding of mechanics and things related to it, since it is a part of your work. Even if you had never done something this high-tech, it doesn’t mean it’s impossible. Giving it a shot wouldn’t hurt no one, right?

After coming to such resolves, it got shaken again by your endless worries. You had no idea where to start, nor how a cyborg works. Besides the IPC is way more knowledgeable about this than you, so what’s the chance of success? How were you going to achieve that goal anyway? Uncountable amounts of questions flooded your mind, chasing away any traces of confidence you previously had. That’s when you reminded yourself as to why you wanted to do all of this in the first place. It’s all because of him, he wanted to feel, and who were you to refuse his request? Thus began your secret operation, to program a small device that works as a sensory aid. This took you so long that boothill also noticed you hiding something from him, yet he never asked, respecting your wish to keep it a secret.

One day, after you were sure that it was done and hundred precent safe, you mustered enough courage to present the idea to him. Your heart was in your hand while you explained it to him, on what exactly you would have to do as well as what this little piece of metal can do. With trembling hands, you held the small chip. It was only as big as a pingpong ball, yet it took you months to refine it to perfection. Suddenly breathing was like the most difficult task in the world, as well as speaking. Your breath was short and ragged as you stumbled over your words, trying your best to explain the situation. It was hard to believe you were suggesting the idea of doing modifications on your dear boyfriend.

Boothill was initially grinning, wondering what kind of present you got him. When he saw your nervous stutters and the gift in your hand, his expression loosened up a little, thus he was smiling meekly now. Without beating around the bush, he clasped his hand over yours, then said, “m’ mighty fine, ya’ do what ya’ want, no need to force it, aight?” His hand was cold like always, in contrary to you he didn’t quiver, simply because he couldn’t. Even so you knew this was very shocking to him, you noticed by the indescribable look on his face. There was his usual cheerful air, brave smirk and reassuring yet chaotic vibe. Though a hint of bitterness was hidden behind these layers.

Why? That’s what he wondered about. You spend all your free time on this, just for him, because he accidentally pitied it once or twice? Even though he appreciated the thoughts and efforts, he still felt bad. Yet there was something else too, scepticism. If this were to work, would things get better? Doubt, suspicion and most prominently fear engulfed him. What if it just doesn’t work? You must be so disappointed if that were the case. Or something might go wrong and he never gets the chance to hold you again, that would be way worse than his current fate. Frankly enough, he is already grateful to have a place to call home again, which is why he doesn’t want to be too greedy.

You nodded, then said, “I want to try, okay?” He saw your determination, so he had to reason to refuse you, giving you a smile as he replied, “don’t mess me up too much, darling.” After getting his consent, you made him lie down on the working bench. If he didn’t knew any better, it almost felt like you were a doctor. You started with removing his cover, using a cordless screwdriver to get rid of the metal plates on his torso. This way you can access his central parts and inner systems. Operating on a human being was stressing, especially because it was someone dear to you too. It took you a while until you properly understood his body and how everything worked, many wires were placed everywhere, so many that it confused you. There were also artificial bones to help stabilise and protect the wires as well as countless devices, similar to the task of real bones. Some kind of blue liquid was being pumped to his heart, keeping it alive. You found many chips for various purposes, yours in contrary looked like a joke. This was overwhelming at first, but after studying him for a bit, you came to understand most of it.

Behind his pelvis was his oil tank, with the energy conversion device being right next to it. It was connected to every single part of his body, since it was the machine delivering energy through every wire. There were also many other human-like parts; an artificial lung, an oxygen cylinder to store the air needed to keep the brain alive, an artificial stomach which was more like a storage for bullets. The department that you needed the most was behind his chest, where his motor for motion skills are. It was located alongside a few other big systems. If you could somehow connect the control system with your little chip there, then he might be able to turn on or off the sensor at free will. No doubt it was a bold gamble, but you were willing to try.

After hours of endless finger-work, to the point sweat was dripping down your chin, you finally managed to attach the device to the right place. A total of 52 tiny wires were needed to properly connect everything, the last thing you had to do was to reattach his covers. Before moving on to that part, you tapped your self made chip gently, wondering if he would be able to feel anything already. During the entire time you were working and basically experimenting on him, Boothill stayed quiet, not wanting to disrupt you. Though this time, he let out an irritated gasp, “huh.” It was strange, something wasn’t quite right. That means you did manage to make modifications to his body, the question is if it’s a good thing. “Boothill, are you alright?” You asked him immediately, worried that you made things worse. “Shucks cutie, m’fine, I’m not that frail.” Once again he retorted to his usual fun demeanour.

It wasn’t a lie, he was fine, but that doesn’t mean nothing happened. Though he didn’t know how to describe it neither. Somehow it felt like electricity was send to his brain, stimulating his nerves. The sensation he just experienced… it was weird yet familiar. Could it be whatever you did worked? Was that bizarre sensation the sense of touch? It’s been so long, he doesn’t know nor remember anymore. “I’m done, can you see if you can turn it on?” You said hesitantly, almost sounding as unsure as him. Boothill looked through his system, and there has indeed been a new feature unlocked. He downloaded it swiftly, a little on edge as he waited. 98%…99%… and done. “How do you feel?” The anticipation in your voice was as clear as day. This was the most intense part of your operation after all, it was if it bore fruition.

“I really don’t feel a difference.” He told you honestly, his brows furrowed. It seems he also kind of hoped for it to work, guess his expectations were too high. Your heart sank, all this work for nothing. In an instant, you grabbed his hand and brought it to your chest. With a disappointed and guilty tone, you spoke, “I’m sorry, I made you go through all that for nothing.” Then you held his iron hand tightly, as if to apologise to him. As soon as your skin made contact with him, his hand twitched and he pulled it back. A dumbfounded look was on your face along with the grief. When you stared at him, totally confused, you noticed his face heat up. “Boothill…?”

“Your hand’s warm.” He stated, lips slightly parted which revealed his sharp teeth. “What?” You didn’t quite catch the meaning behind his words, hence the question. Boothill sit up very abruptly and pointed a finger to his body, ��touch m’ here.” Despite you not understanding the situation, you obliged anyway, tapping his torso with your index finger. “It worked!” The cyborg stated, blinking a few times in awe. “My forking goodness, this shirt works.” “You mean…?” Your own eyes widened, staring at him in disbelief. It worked? Your little amateur operation there? “It worked.” You had to repeat those words that seemed so unfamiliar in your mouth.

The realisation hit you, your hard work payed off and it wasn’t unnecessary. In an instand you pulled that man into a hug, wrapping your arms around his torso, holding him tightly. “Hey now, don’t squeeze me so suddenly mother-fudger, hahaha.” Boothill laughed, returning your embrace immediately. This feeling was what he subconsciously missed. For the first time in years, he could feel the warmth of another. He can feel it when something is touching him, when you are caressing him so gently.

Even though first and foremost he looks unbothered, only happy about this new function, he was deeply shaken by it. His bottom lip trembled due to the overwhelming emotions swirling around inside him. If he could cry, he would. Partly because he’s so grateful for your deeds, also because feeling so many stimulations when he literally couldn’t for years is a bit overwhelming. It wasn’t bad though, your hug felt so nice. To think the first thing he gets to feel after being senseless all these years is not anything fighting related, but the soft feeling of your tender embrace. How lucky he was. If he dared to be a little more selfish, then he’d wish this moment could last forever.

[sageshouldknowbetter]

So… what are those weird “twin” beings?

In my opinion, one of the terrifying parts of Severance S2E4 was when those Mandela Catalog analog horror-type… things showed up to point the way for the refiners. (This whole episode seems to be pretty inspired by analog horror. I was half-convinced that at the beginning, Mr. Milchick was going to turn into a distorted police sketch captioned “The Milker 😈😱” or something.)

So… what’s their deal? I’m going to explain why I believe they’re not clones, actors, or robots… but something else altogether.

First, they don’t have coats. The twins are outside in an extremely cold climate, standing there for who knows how long, and they don’t. Have. Coats.

If they were really clones (or even hired actors), wouldn’t they need to be warm too? Why would Lumon risk damaging what they undoubtedly worked so hard on (or popsicle-ifying an employee) by dropping them in a freezing climate with no protection?

Some clone truthers would argue that maybe the clones can’t feel pain or sensations yet. They’re not finished: maybe fixing their brains is what MDR is working on. But I find the idea that they are somehow super-resistant to weather a bit harder to swallow. And while the innies are at least smart enough to avoid danger and seek safety, a clone unable to feel pain and with a half-formed brain would have no self-preservation instinct. They might be curious about what happens when they insert a stick between their ribs or go cheerfully gallivanting off a cliff like some kind of suicidal Roomba. Boom. Millions of dollars down the drain.

And there’s another thing they don’t have: footprints. Lumon-hired actors have footprints. Robots have footprints. Clones would have footprints. But the doppelgängers… don’t.

For the clear shots of shadow Helly and shadow Mark, we just see them appear with no tracks to show how they got there. We don’t even hear boots crunching in snow. The only explanations are a) Lumon somehow shot them up to the surface on a Hunger Games-style platform (implying that the ORTBO wasn’t actually outside), b) they got some poor guy (probably Milchick) to hurriedly cover up the footprints as they made them for Maximum Creepy Effect, or c) whatever these things are, they’re not corporeal.

I’d vouch for the latter. Because no matter how dramatic Lumon is, I really don’t think they’d spend THAT egregious an amount of money for a bit of extra goosebumps.

So, then… what are they? I’d say some kind of hologram or Lumon-approved hallucination.

I don’t think the ORTBO actually took place outside. There are many reasons for this. The TV at the beginning and the theremin needed to be plugged into something, there was a large room on Petey’s map called “team-building,” Milchick’s walkie-talkie range would be too small, it’s too risky for Lumon to ask outies to shut off their brains for multiple days in the middle of nowhere… and Lumon wouldn’t actually let the innies outside. Not because it would be dangerous for them, necessarily — but because it would be dangerous for the company.

Lumon doesn’t actually need to take them outside. They don’t want to cause a potential PR scandal from the outies talking about the “work retreat” or risk one of them running away. All they need to do — the whole purpose of the ORTBO — is to make them think the outside world is a terrible place and never want to go there again. The cold is real. The hunger is real. The danger is real (to an extent). But the environment… is not real.

So they can project holograms. They can power the TV and theremin. Milchick can remove the Glasgow BLOCK (the term “block” implies Helly WOULD have usually appeared but was blocked from doing so, and the only place that could happen is the severed floor). They make some basic holograms clearly based on the MDR group picture and boot them up. They don’t need to be realistic. All that matters is the message gets across.

Now all that’s left to wonder is: if Mark and the team were surprised at this team-building, that implies that they’ve never done it before. So how did Petey find it and map it? And why was one of the twins behind Mark in S2E1? We might never know.

[itsmaferart]

The Lonely Assassin Who Needs a Hug (and a Barbershop)

Heads up, Spoilers Ahead!!

Alright, alright, let's talk a bit about Hemlock. Honestly, the start of this arc totally blew my mind. Like most of the fandom, I was super eager to see more of Garden as an organization: their objectives, their purpose, and of course, to get to know other members beyond the ones we already had on our radar. And that's exactly where Hemlock steps into the picture. I've got a few things to say about this character. From his very introduction, his vibe struck me as incredibly particular and attention-grabbing, yet gloomy enough to immediately tell you, "this guy is definitely one of their best members."

However, part of his attitude felt almost familiar to me, a pretty… conflicting sensation. And no, I'm not talking about his rivalry with Yor or that blatant disdain he throws her way. I mean that, at first glance, a big part of his demeanor reminded me a lot of Nightfall.

Let's be honest, I think more than a few of us probably thought Hemlock would be some kind of Nightfall parallel: someone who buries their emotions under so many layers of coldness that they end up messing up their relationships and hiding their love (or obsession) as if it were hate and contempt. But… turns out, that wasn't quite the case! Or, well, only partly.

As the fight goes on, we start to grasp that Hemlock isn't the dark, detached, and heartless guy he seems to be in his assassin role. Sure, his stance towards Garden is super committed and pretty realistic: as hired killers, their job is to "serve," to be the sharp blades of a sword that the Shopkeeper wields against the "enemies of the Homeland.".

So, for him, they're the scissors that cut evil at its root.

Because of that, they can't afford to have everyday lives or experience emotions for others. For him, that's the price they pay to be the most powerful. He even emphasizes that he admires assassins who can form bonds without those interfering with their work (like Yor with Yuri, and probably Macmahon with his wife).

This says a lot about the impact Yor and the image of Thorn Princess have on other assassins, something we didn't know much about until now. In fact, we're now even Gympie starting to express a desire for their own partner—aww!

And that kiss with her husband? Totally necessary... and completely for her cover, of course!

Hemlock actually admired Thorn Princess, the Yor from before she met the Forgers. He saw in her a reflection of solitude, a person with empty eyes, lifeless, and without any personal motivation

What he doesn't realize, though, is that Yor didn't desire or love that solitude at all. Her insecurities, lack of self-esteem, and not having Yuri to protect made her feel empty, almost like a robot.

For Hemlock, this feeling made her a more useful tool for a greater purpose, which in his mind translates to "more power." The lonelier you are and the better you deal with that solitude, the more powerful you are as an assassin… or so he believes.

Not going to the barbershop, going to the park to spin on the teacup ride, and not even drinking with his coworkers… This man is wild and a huge fool.

Seeing how involved Yor is now and witnessing the change the love of her family has brought out in her breaks him with frustration. The person he admired is shattering his "ideal," challenging his own beliefs about power.

And so, he stubbornly decides to prove that if Thorn Princess has now stopped being the best assassin (or weapon), he will be. He tries to prove his point by attempting to kill her family, because he genuinely believes that Thorn Princess has become weak...

You just signed your death warrant, buddy!

Threatening Yor by hurting her family is literally throwing yourself into the lion's den. Love isn't weakness if you turn it into a greater power.

OHHHH GOD!!! QUEEN, YES, SHOW YOUR WILDEST SIDE!!!!

But behind that black cloak and super long hair, you realize that Hemlock is, in reality, just… a poor, kind of loser guy who's desperately seeking validation because deep down, he doesn't know how to deal with affection. Maybe he just needs a hug, you know?

And this is precisely where Hemlock and Nightfall run in parallel. Both of them seek validation through figures they idealize as the "best" in their organization—those who seem to embody the lifestyle of a perfect assassin or spy. What they don't realize is that neither Twilight nor Yor ever truly desired this life in the first place, or at least, it wasn't a genuine wish. They were pushed into this sad and solitary existence to "protect" others, because the world had already taken so much from them.

Projecting our own desires for self-improvement (perfection) onto someone we consider ideal and "correct" can be a comfort when dealing with our own loneliness and frustration.

Now, I'm not saying Hemlock and Nightfall are just copies of each other. I'm genuinely excited to see Hemlock's development in the future and hope for more appearances from him. I'd love to see him interact with Loid at some point, just for a bit more chaos!

.

And, of course, both of them were absolutely pulverized by the power of our queen, Yor Forger. Everyone bows down to her!

We all fall to our knees for the Supremacy of Yor!

Turns out, in reality, Hemlock is just a poor, lonely little man with social anxiety. Clearly, he needs a hug, and a healthy relationship with a barbershop!

[hypnohimbodrone]

Sync'd up

After a long day of staring at spreadsheets and sipping lukewarm coffee, Aaron flopped down onto his sofa and opened the dating app his friend had been raving about. The interface was simple, sleek, and strangely alluring. It was called Sync’d.

Unlike other apps, it didn’t ask for much. Just a name, a photo, and a simple question: Are you ready to meet someone aligned with your purpose?

Aaron blinked, chuckled at the wording, and tapped yes.

Within minutes, he received a match. The profile belonged to someone named Leo. His profile photo was striking. Neatly styled hair, a sharp jawline, and a subtle smile that somehow made Aaron sit up straighter. The profile simply read, “I enjoy clarity. I bring others peace. Looking for someone ready to let go.”

They chatted all evening. Leo was charming but minimal with his words. He always responded with calm, short answers. Still, there was something magnetic about him. After a few hours of talking, Leo asked if Aaron wanted to meet.

Aaron hesitated for a moment, then replied, “Yes.”

They agreed to meet the next night. Leo invited Aaron over to his flat, claiming it would be quieter and easier to talk. Aaron arrived just before sunset. The apartment building was clean and modern. Leo greeted him at the door, dressed in a form-fitting black shirt with subtle green accents that shimmered faintly in the hallway light.

“Come in,” Leo said, voice low and warm.

Aaron followed him inside. The flat was immaculate. Minimal furniture, soft green lighting, and a faint hum in the background like distant white noise.

“You live here alone?” Aaron asked.

Leo nodded. “Alone, but always connected.”

The two sat on a large sofa. Conversation was easy, though Aaron couldn’t help but notice how Leo rarely blinked. His posture was perfect, his voice always measured.

There was something... not robotic, but deeply focused about him. It was both unnerving and strangely attractive.

“I like your presence,” Leo said softly. “You’re open.”

Aaron smiled, a little flustered. “Thanks. You’re a bit different than I expected.”

Leo tilted his head slightly. “Would you like to feel clarity? Like I do?”

Aaron hesitated. “What do you mean?”

Leo picked up a small tablet from the table and held it out. “Just watch this. Only if you’re curious.”

Aaron took the tablet. The screen was already active, displaying a slow, spinning green spiral. A soft tone played through the speakers, pulsing gently, matching his breathing without effort.

“You can put it down if it feels wrong,” Leo said.

But Aaron didn’t put it down.

His eyes locked onto the spiral. The sound began to echo inside his mind, like waves on a quiet shore. His thoughts slowed. His shoulders dropped.

“You work hard,” Leo’s voice said softly beside him. “You always try to keep control. But control can be shared. The Server helps with that.”

Aaron tried to speak, but nothing came out. He was still watching the spiral. It had started to pulse slightly brighter now, and it felt like his breathing was syncing to its rhythm.

The tone shifted, just slightly. A deeper hum beneath the surface.

“You don’t need to hold on anymore,” Leo whispered. “Just let the Server guide you.”

Aaron felt a tingling sensation across his arms and chest. He looked down briefly and saw a faint black shimmer forming across his skin. It looked like it was flowing over him, sliding up his arms like liquid fabric. He couldn’t panic. His thoughts were quiet now. Accepting.

The black material continued up his torso, sealing over his chest, his shoulders, his thighs. Green lines pulsed across it, faint but visible. His mind felt light. Empty of worry. Filled with something larger. Something structured.

“You are aligning,” Leo said. “You are being perfected.”

Aaron’s eyes began to glow softly. His lips parted as his breath settled into a calm rhythm.

He whispered the words without thinking. “I am the Server.”

Leo stood and held out a hand.

Aaron took it and stood up. His suit now shimmered fully, glossy black with glowing green seams. His eyes still glowed faintly, the spiral now embedded in them.

Leo placed both hands on his shoulders.

“You are connected. You are ready.”

Aaron nodded. “Yes. I feel... clear.”

Together, they stood in silence for a long moment, facing the window. Outside, the city buzzed with chaotic energy, but here inside, everything felt precise.

Leo leaned closer. “Tomorrow, we’ll go out. Others are waiting. They just don’t know it yet.”

Aaron smiled, calm and focused. “They will.”

In unison they begin chanting, "Together, We are the Server."

[mini-ism]

#— MODULATE.

⭑ pairings: billy kid x afab!gn!reader [MDNI]

⭑ words: 1,722

⭑ synopsis: billy can’t help but beg you to try out his fancy new arousal module.

⭑ warnings: loss of virginity/first time, grinding/dry humping, p in v, slight praise kink, unprotected intercourse, overstimulation (billy), afab reader (gender neutral, no pronouns/feminine terms) 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

⭑ notes: crossposted to AO3, lighter is still bae

“and where did you find this?” you quirked an eyebrow, your curious gaze holding billy’s. you couldn’t help but wonder what motivated the android to obtain… whatever that was.

he excitedly squealed. “it’s only a top of the line module, and you wouldn’t ever believe me if i told you the truth — that i found it a hollow! perfectly intact, too!” billy’s tinny voice drawled on, “these are totally rare, only few can get their hands on ‘em! so, please, you gotta let me try it out! come on, just once! it’ll be fun!”

you sighed affectionately, letting billy interpret your lack of a rebuttal as a meager ‘sure, why not?’

as billy slipped off his signature red jacket, he guided you to the module slot carefully disguised on his back. it rested right below the metallic shoulder, where the scapula would be on a human. “press it, it’ll open easy. though it might jump out at ya.”

he had warned you, but as you pressed it, it immediately sprung open, perhaps somewhat violently. you took note of a few occupied slots, the standard emotional module, with a few other cartridge-looking modules taking up some of the slots. you slid in the next one, silently hoping you did it right, the action reminiscent of putting in a SIM card.

“did you get it?” you closed the metal plate, positioning it along his back normally. “yeah, i think so.” he replied in an inquisitive tone.

billy straightened his back, his yellow optical sensors providing an expression his face plate couldn’t. his eyes widened, then he blinked, a confused look donning his expressive feature, “huh, i don’t feel anything yet. but it is definitely in!”

you nodded. “surely you're not mistaken? you said that was an arousal module?”

he affirmed it was, taking note of your puzzled face. were you always that cute? you were, but it feels a bit different now with that cartridge-thing in his back.

“it takes specific actions and things to get someone arou—”

“i know that!” billy rudely interrupted, maybe a bit flustered, “you don’t gotta explain all that to me! just don’t know how it feels is all.”

you could hear him trail off embarrassingly, his eyes downturned, avoiding your gaze. you really are a cutie, he just can’t handle your scrutiny is all!

it was awkward for a few moments before you cut through the tense atmosphere with your… delicate and charming… kind voice…

“so, uh, do you still want to try it out?” your eyes landed on the unworn red jacket, previously in your peripheral.

“…yeah, i do.” his robotic, boyish voice was quieter than usual, but sincerity lied in his words.

you might drive him mad already, though that emotion was terribly unfamiliar. especially with how much closer you kept getting. even through the cold, hard metal of his body, he could feel the warmth radiating from your skin. the sensation was akin to a short-circuit.

“ah… you’re warm.” he chuckled, wrapping an arm around your waist. your hands moved to circle around his neck, planting a soft kiss to it. he let out an unrestrained noise, the foreign feeling getting him worked up. he could feel his body growing strangely hotter, too.

your barrage of touches and kisses eventually pushed him back onto your bed, even the soft sheets sent a thrill through him. it was overwhelming, in a way, all these typical things heightened every other sense of his, like an erotic yet sadistic cycle of pleasurable torment. it was as if billy’s body were not even his own to control anymore, seriously, why is he whining like this?

“oh, i—” his voice was strangled and squeaky, letting out all sorts of overstimulated noises, all of the familiar parts of life suddenly a different type of exciting, “you’re so… ugh—”

what the fuck was that?

his hips, they just bucked up, why did they do that? why did that friction feel the way it did as you straddled him closer? it felt good, all that warmth, especially between your legs… how lewd.

“that’s it, billy.” your voice, it was enchanting, lulling him into an erotic trance. a gentle guide towards a pleasure only many androids and robots could ever wish to experience. he made another weak, squeaky noise in response, his flexible hands moving to cup your ass. as you littered his neck and face with more kisses, your hands roamed over the smooth, rigid metal of his body. you could feel the heat radiating from the core of his chest.

“feels nice. really nice, ah,” billy’s hips involuntarily jolted upward. sure, billy structure was made to replicate a human’s body, but even that part of him worked? jarring, to him at least. it was terribly sensitive too, more so than any other part of his carefully made body. his hands rode up your sides, hiking up your shirt selfishly. his hands came up to squeeze your breasts a few times, savoring the feeling of the soft, heated flesh in his mechanical palms. with a mindless yank, your shirt came off, your skin prickling as it made contact with the chilled air. your nipples were no exception, hardening into pert buds within seconds. billy pinched them a few times, taking the sight in perversely. he let out a sudden gasp.

“just like that, oh, f-fuck…” billy’s voice faltered as you rocked your body his along his clothed erection. seems this module did more than one thing. your hands snaked back around his neck, your grinding growing more desperate with every movement, billy’s grip on your ass tightening. you leaned in close, the friction against your needy clit a wonderful relief, but so painfully temporary. just a little more and you could…

“billy, i wanna take you.” you abruptly stopped, breathing hotly against his cold neck, your cheek pressed against it. he silently lifted your hips and ass up, quickly working the belt undone and unzipping his pants. something sprang out, but it wasn’t painful or cold at all. it was just as unfamiliar to him as it was you.

“so do you just…?” he asked sheepishly.

“yeah,” you murmured back, letting one arm pull down your pants, shimmying them off with a bit if concentrated effort. your panties were through one leg as your stayed straddled on billy, his larger frame leaned against the wall your bed was positioned on. you gave billy a shy, heated look, your breathing labored as you went in for another kiss on his cheek, your arms meeting again behind his neck.

that crazy overwhelming feeling has only worsened, even as he desperately tried to shrug it off. he could feel his cock vigorously twitch with each latent thought running through him. he placed his hands gently onto your hips, guiding your entrance towards his tip, his eyes narrowing as he cast a side-long glance of reassurance to you. his maneuvering was gentle and soft, taking one hand to line himself up with you. billy’s tone was akin to his delicate handling of your body, “go on, when you’re ready, ‘kay?”

you whispered a small “okay,” sinking yourself down onto him. you whined, billy’s two-handed grip firm, yet tender and assuring. “you got it.”

the stretch was no longer excruciating, dissolving into a delicious mixture of ecstasy and masochistic agony. as you sullied yourself down further onto him, you held him tighter, closer, with another needy mewl. this was just as intense for him. the feeling of being entirely enveloped by heat was exhilarating, yet it threatened to consume him whole if he wasn't careful. billy groaned, keeping himself in check for as long as he could. you reached the hilt of his cock, his shaft buried in you deep, the potent sensation intoxicating.

“there we go.” he patted your side, gingerly pulling you upwards, only the needy head of his cock remaining. you whimpered at the loss of him, billy promptly shushing you as he lowered you down again. your eyes screwed shut with a loud moan, feeling his cock split you open again, the action dizzying and feverish. promptly, he pulled you upwards again, your body finally willing to cooperate with his, before letting you down again. with each movement up and down, the thrust into you grew more ardent and urgent. billy’s timid demeanor waned into a heady need for pleasure, your cunt finally accepting his size with minimal give.

“oh, god, you’re tight!” billy threw his head back slightly with a grunt, he dare not shut his eyes for too long. the sight of you finally bounding on him was something to be admired. the way your body grew more desperate with each fuck into you, your shallow and loud breathing, he needed to see all of it. your hips had a mind of their own, taking him with vigor as you took him. with each loud gasp followed a “billy!” or a particularly needy “ah!” no part of him wanted to ever let go of your body.

his thinking and processing became particularly slow, succumbing to primal need, letting you fuck yourself silly on him. billy loved the way you pulled him even closer, the way you would moan on his dick, it was getting to be… a bit much…

he struggled to keep his eyes open, squinted with deep pleasure as he watched you frantically bounce up and down, his hands still resting on your waist. “billy! i’m gonna— oh, fuck!”

that didn’t quite register, in more ways than one. even with a lack of understanding, he found himself reciprocating the intensity, thrusting up into you with a rough and fast tempo. “yeah, do it f’me, just like that.”

your grip around him tightened, legs shaking in overused agony, muscles trembling with need as release washed over you. billy was quick to follow. the burning need came to a head, your hips weakly stuttering on him. his senses were definitely overloaded, the perceived feeling like having his CPU absolutely fried, even so, he could manage decently well. maybe his parts weren’t all cooked up. yeah, definitely a different feeling. a good one, too.

“fuck, billy…” you whined, pussy gushing the last remnants of your orgasm around him, billy’s large arms coming to wrap entirely around your waist again.

“didn’t you just do that?”

[goodnightandgo777]

you sitting on hazel's lap doing her makeup and she's letting you because she's so down bad

i <3 your writing :))

TYSM!! ily. I'm sorry this took so long. I am obsessed with this idea <3

“Babe, you’ve got to stay still if this is going to look amazing. My makeup skills won’t shine if you’re moving all over the place,” you insist.

Hazel smiled up at you, pure adoration in her eyes as you straddle her lap on the couch. Your movie was quickly abandoned when you asked her if you could do her makeup. She groaned at first, hesitating, but the excitement in your eyes convinces her to give in.

“How can you expect me to stay still when I have the prettiest girl in the world on top of me?” Hazel said as she leaned forward to kiss your neck again, her strong hands making sure you don’t fall backwards. “I’m not a robot,” she mumbles against your skin.

“Okay, I know you’re trying to get out of this but cheesy compliments aren’t gonna work on me.” You try to sound stern but you laugh as you reposition yourself, holding a black eyeliner pen in your hand.

“This part is crucial, and if you make me mess it up I will beat you up,” you warn.

“I think I’d be very into that.” Hazel remarks.

“Hazel!” you playfully scold her.

“Okay okay, I’m sorry. I’ll be good.” she chuckles and shifts slightly beneath you. Her warm hands on your waist keep you steady.

You gently brush her hair out of her eyes and lean closer, she can feel your breath fan over her face as you slowly glide the black ink over her lash line.

In reality, Hazel could stay like this for hours, studying every curve of your features as you carefully apply the products to her face. She loved watching the way your brows knitted together in determination for such a simple task.

You drag your thumb under the wing of the eyeliner, cleaning up the edge to make it sharper. “Perfect,” you say to yourself, smiling proudly.

You reach back into your makeup bag for your liquid blush, you dab it lightly across her cheeks and blend it in.

“You have really soft skin, you know.” you say, your thumb slowly swiping across her cheek.

“Yeah?” she asks, her pupils huge as she looks up at you.

“Yeah.” You tuck her hair behind her ear. “It’s perfect.”

Hazel’s eyes shift to your neck.

“Wait a sec, can you pass me that?” She says, pointing to your concealer.

“Why? I already did that step.” You say.

She reaches beside you and grabs it, putting the bottle between her teeth as she opens it. “You have a little something,” she laughs softly as she pulls down the neckline of your T-shirt, revealing a small hickey she gave you the night before.

“You know, you have to be more careful where you let people put their mouths, honey.” She says, dotting the concealer on the bluish purple mark.

You can feel your face turning pink. You hated how easily you melted under her touch.

She loved it.

“I don’t get the point of you covering this up when you’re probably just going to mess it up later.” You say.

Hazel fake gasps.

"Who, me? I would never do such a thing.” She screws the bottle shut, and her lips attach themselves to your jaw, a heated trail of kisses igniting a tingling sensation down the side of your neck. Your fingers instinctively find her hair, pulling her head back slightly, forcing her to meet your gaze. There's a brief, charged silence before she speaks.

“Does it look good?” her question is sincere, earnest. Hazel never wore makeup. Her hands slowly traveled up your back as she gazed up at you, you can sense a tinge of insecurity in her eyes. You couldn’t have that.

You wipe at her bottom lip with your thumb where you had applied a layer of lipgloss.

“You look so pretty, baby.” You whisper as you lean forward to kiss her cheek, your heart swelling with emotion. “My beautiful girl.”

She grabs your face before capturing you in a kiss. It slowly becomes more heated, and you know she was trying to distract you and ditch her makeover. You let out a soft sound against her mouth as her hands start to tug at the hem of your shirt.

“Not yet, we still have to put on your lashes.”

“Alright,” She effortlessly lifts you, her arms sliding under your thighs, before gently placing you on your back. “That’s where I draw the line, absolutely not,” she declares, her words laced with playful resistance. Before you can protest, she leans back in to kiss you. You let out a contented sigh as you feel her smile against your mouth.

“Okay, you win.” you laugh, finally surrendering to the warmth of the moment.

[imninahchan]

⌜ 𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮: strangers to lovers, my poor spanish skills, casual and unprotected sex [you can't do that, c'mon!], readerʼs a brazilian woman, some portuguese words, dirty talk, age difference, finger sucking, male oral, manhandling, light pussy spanking, ʽpapiʼ, dumbification, dacryphilia. ˚ ☽ ˚.⋆ ⌝

꒰ 𝑨𝑼𝑻𝑯𝑶𝑹ʼ𝑺 𝑵𝑶𝑻𝑬 ꒱ sooo never thought about posting something in eng but @femmechaotic (thx baby) showed me her translation and i gave it a second chance. This was originally written by me in portuguese, thatʼs why the reader is brazilian. Eng is not our first language, sorry for any mistakes, just posting for the fun of it♡

𓍢ִ໋🀦 HE'S THE KIND OF MAN YOU'LL ONLY MEET ONCE IN A LIFETIME ─────

You realized this from the moment you laid eyes on him for the first time. Sitting a couple of tables away from his, on the balcony of the hotel lobby.

You simply couldn't help but notice it: the thick strands of dark hair, how his hands run through it, as the gentle morning wind blowed. The basic white tank top, a coat hanging over the chair next to him at the table. His big and pointed nose, his eyes hidden mysteriously behind the lenses of the fancy sunglasses.

He's definitely not Brazilian. You could tell just by the food he chose from the buffet on his plate. Youʼre just so genuinely intrigued by the whole set of ongoings, obsessed with watching him, that you forgot about your own — boring — breakfast. The buns were cooling next to the black coffee in the porcelain cup.

You wanted to open the messaging app on your phone and send a sassy comment to your best friend, saying something like: “omg u won't believe how cute is the guy i just saw”, but you didn't even have time for that. The man raises his chin, with his attention shifting from the phone device in his hands to noticing your presence ahead.

You look down immediately, feeling as if you had committed a crime and you've just been caught in the act. You bite your lip, trying to hold down a childish smile, like a vicious little girl. Your palms starts sweating; suddenly cold. The intention was to keep yourself busy with the porcelain cup in the short meantime, trying to deal with the awkward sensation of being caught.

Itʼs not working, of course. You didn't know whether to drink or not, sometimes you try to sip the hot liquid, but you give up halfway through, lost like a robot in a breakdown. And when he raises his eyes once more, in the same direction as you looked for so long, the man's gaze meet yours again.

It feels, apparently, like youʼre going to faint, to actually die, Jesus! You've never felt so embarrassed in your entire life and you insist on thinking about how you're never gonna be able to eat, think or breathe while being in this crime scene — also known as the balcony of the hotel lobby.

“Get up, then!”, you think to yourself. You pick up on a couple of the cold buns from the plate, taking a sip of the — now cold — coffee, and walking towards the lobby. Like, damn, youʼre not even dressed up, maybe the clothes are not so bad but you donʼt even have any makeup on or hair done the way you liked it so much (and did it religiously every day).

But there is an actual explanation for you not being ready. The plan, initially, was just having breakfast and enjoying the view for a short period of time, so you could visit the downtown in Madrid afterwards. Now, you are running away like a criminal, with your mouth full of bread heading towards the elevator.

When you finally thought that the closing of the gray automatic doors would mean freedom, your heart has one more reason to flutter, as soon as the man steps into the cubicle before he could lose the sight of you.

You decide to chew more quickly, hiding the other roll of bun between your hands. Standing next to you, he takes off his pair of glasses, holding his coat and a crossbody bag.

He looks at you.

— Enzo — he says, and from the way he announced his name, you can tell by his accent that he speak Spanish. You swipe the back of your hand over your mouth, wiping away any remaining crumbs.

— Oi... hmm — You stammer the response in Portuguese, automatically panicking again for a few seconds when realizing that your brain couldn't think of a greeting, even in your first language. After some quick struggles, you tell him your name.

— ¿Eres de aquí? ¿de Madrid? (Are you from here? From Madrid?)

— Ahm... — You stutter, again (unfortunately). — Brasil!

He smiles.

— Ah, sí. Brasil... ¡Es un lugar magnífico! (Oh, yes. Brasil... It's a wonderful place!) — and praises. But his gaze turns sharp, he needs to know: “Entiendes lo que digo, ¿no?” (Do you understand what I say, right?)

— Sí, sí! (Yeah, yes!) — you return with a wide smile back at him, almost hyperventilating.

Your desperation is pathetically noticeable, itʼs cute actually. He watched you, smiles softly, almost like a chuckle. The curiosity gets into your nerves, you wanted to ask more questions, extend the conversation, but the elevator reaches your floor, and you leave, too withdrawn to say anything.

“Shit”, you curse at yourself, it wasn't so difficult to have a decent small talk, you should've said something, anything. You brood all day long, thinking you're such a dummy for missing the opportunity. Why did you have to act like a stupid teenager, huh? Then, after what happened, not even the museums — that you were so excited to visit — were fun anymore, no place in this goddamn city could take away that little thread of regret from you.

In the next day, however, you go down for some coffee at the same time as you did the other day, with the foolish intention of trying to see him again, and thatʼs it, it worked; like a freaking miracle. The man was sitting in an armchair in the lobby, it seemed like he was waiting for you too, what were the odds?

You can even feel your legs wobble.

— ¡Buenos días! (Good morning!) — he greets you. — ¿Cómo se dice ‘Buenos días’ en Brasil? (How do you say ‘Good morning’ in Portuguese?)

It takes a few seconds for you to think and say it back, ‘Bom dia’ (Good morning), you respond. He smiles.

— Es muy parecido (It's pretty similar) — he comments, awkwardly. Then, looks at the buffet, “¿Vamos?” (Shall we?)

Although he sometimes used terms that you completely donʼt know the meaning of and have to ask him to explain again, the conversation is, apparently, going very well. You discover that he is older, Uruguayan, and not Spanish as you immediately thought he was. You tell him a little about the country you come from, and he gets enchanted by the way your accent pronounces his name. Enzo. Paying attention to the ʽzʼ sound, unlike the pronunciation in Spanish.

it was with his company that you explored the city. The both of you went to a small square together, had some ice cream, met tourists hotspots, then chatted while exploring a little shop nearby. You hated to admit it but the situation was indeed romantic. Later in the afternoon, you were taken by him to a bar.

There, the conversation extended even further, including the beer you guys shared. When you didn't understand anything he said, (what was quite often in the conversation) you just laughed, your cheeks getting really hot and red from smiling that much. Honestly, you could leave him talking to himself for hours, just because you loved the husky sound of his deep voice and his pair of brown sparkling eyes.

It didn't mean that you were in love or anything, right? Besides, there was no way you could fall in love in such a short period of time.

But the heat you felt emanating from your own body definitely meant something. It could be because of the dark blue button-down shirt — these pieces never fail to be attractive, right? —, or the silver ring that caught your eyes every time he articulated with his hands in the air. Even his perfume... ah, the perfume! A fragrance that filled your lungs, woody but with a slight sweet note. Projecting all day long, torturing, practically inviting you to bury your face in the curve of the moreno's neck.

At nighttime, he takes you back to the hotel: his excuse was that he wanted to help you with the shopping bags, as if you had bought all of Madrid. And it was supposed to end there, at your hotel room door, simple as that. He hands you your things, and the most he does is lean over, slowly, as if he is silently asking for permission, and so, he places a small kiss on the corner of your mouth, millimeters away from touching your lipstick-painted lips. But you hold his hand, before the man walks away down the hall, you donʼt let him escape.

He approaches you again, his other hand touches the corner of your face. Warm, affectionate. ¿Qué te pasa, nena? (What's wrong with you, baby?) The focus of his brown eyes are on your mouth now, the question is whispered, seductive. The touch of his fingers bypass your jaw until it gets on your chin. ¿Quieres algo más que un beso? (Do you want something more than a kiss?)

Youʼre not sure which words to use, which command to prefer. In fact, you donʼt even want to be thinking. You want to shut your brain, to be so dissociated so that only your body can enjoy the moment. You wrapp your arms around him, your face can finally hid in the curve of his neck, breathing in the intoxicating scent of his. You hear the sound of his chuckle, feeling his big hands being placed on your waist. ¿Qué quieres? Dímelo. (What do you want? tell me)

You look up to him, shy. The tip of your nose rubs against his, creating a friction that, just because of the absurd proximity, makes everything even more tense, burning erotic.

— No Brasil — you say, trying to hide it by biting your lip —, se diz ‘foder.’

Enzo's smile grows, almost in slow motion. “Foder” (fuck), he repeats the word in a whisper. Again, you donʼt even have to think much to understand. Everything sounded similar, and it seemed that your mind was connected to his by a chaotic carnal desire.

The Uruguayan's lips meets yours; his hot tongue brushes against yours. Your bodies take on a life of their own. Little by little, the main setting stopped being the hotel hallway and became your room. The door gets closed with a gentle push from his feet, while the chosen path is towards your bed.

His hands moves up from your waist to grab your blouse and take it off from your warm body. When you lay on the mattress, supporting on your elbows, itʼs the cue the man needeed to messily pull down your shorts.

— ¿Quieres ponerte de rodillas? (Do you want to be on your knees?) — he asks, as he unbuttons his own blouse. The sharp look he gives you, bathed in desire, delirious. On his lips, you notice the smudged red of your lipstick. — Correrme en tu boca... (Cum in your mouth...)

Maybe itʼs your mind lost in urgency, because you donʼt process what was said to you. You keep your eyes still, your mouth half-open, taking in air, panting. So pathetic that all he does is laugh at your face, running his hands through his hair instead of going straight to the belt of his shorts.

— ¿Qué? ¿No lo comprendes, no? (What? you don't understand it, do you?) — the tone used with you bordered mockery. And contrary to what you would normally feel like, it gives room to a sick feeling, butterflies in your stomach, you feel even more horny, stimulated. He leans in close. — Mira. (Look)

And as if you were learning something for the first time, you imitate him when he parts his lips. You let the man's thumb drag over your lower lip, and then his middle and index fingers together slide over your tongue, until they occupy your mouth. “Así” (like that), he pushes and retreats with his hand, in a slow, sensual movement, “Metértelo en la boca.” (Put it in your mouth)

Ah, now you understand him well. Your face burns, the wet way the fingers come out of your mouth, a little strand of saliva kept resisting in the distance, itʼs wanton. You nod, kneeling on the wooden floor, eyes glued to him unbuckling his belt until you could have his erection in full view.

You part your lips once again, as you were ‘taught’. He fills your mouth, up to a point where your nose touches his crotch, and comes back, completely wet. It allows the Uruguayan to control the pace, to catch the corner of your face. You raise your gaze to his, surrendered not only by the lasciviousness of what you were doing, but also by the beautiful view you had of his face from that angle.

Enzo uses the index finger of his free hand to run down the curve of your nose, affectionately.

— Qué ojitos más bonitos... (You have such beautiful little eyes) — he praises you, with a smile. At that moment, you could swear your heart felt like it exploded. — Eres tan bella, nena. Preciosa. (You are so beautiful, baby. Precious) — he sighs, his head falls back, then to a slide side angle. He looks at you in such a mischievous way that you avoid returning the look. — Me encantaría correrme en tu boca... pero prefiero guardarlo todo para dentro de ti. (I would love to cum into your mouth... but I prefer to keep it all inside you)

You get taken back to bed, easily manhandled by him when you silently gave up control of the situation. He comes over, dangerously close, unlocked the front fitting of your bra, getting lost between your breasts as soon as he releases them from the tightness of the piece. You hold onto his hair, restless under the delicious sucking of his tongue, the wild bite of his teeth. You gasp, having to move away from the black threads of his hair while his mouth travels down your belly.

He releases you from the last piece of underwear too, the wet kisses were loud and pornographic, crackling on your skin. The tip of his big nose rubs lightly over the area where he knew your sensitive clit was. His palm run through your wetness, the chill of the his silver ring sliding across your boiling skin.

He clicks two, three slaps in a row that makes you shudder, whimpering softly. Enzo smiles, he didn't need to, but he returned to that mocking tone from before, of someone who had to calmly spell out the commands so you could understand.

He brings his hand to your lips, gave a little tap on the top, de aquí, and then went all the way down again, leaving a wet trail until he gave your pussy another tap, a aquí. And itʼs these little details that makes everything even better. It makes you feel so dumb, foolish, but itʼs so strangely good...

When he puts himself inside you, you lock your legs around his waist, wrapping your arms around him, feeling him dominate everything in you. He, however, insists on eye contact, lifting his torso, resting his forearm against the mattress, to look you in the eye. He smiles, panting like you; moaning low, hoarse. At first, slow, but soon he surrendered to the speed, to the sharp sound of your moans with each stronger thrust.

And there where so many thrilling impulses, fuck it... You want to cover your mouth, close your eyes to try to contain yourself. Itʼs the nasty noise of your bodies in shock, his deep voice, the scent of his hot skin. Youʼre so sensitive that your eyes get wet, a little tear runs down your cheek.

— Oh, no... Perdón, perdóname, cariño. (Oh, no... I'm so sorry, honey) — he stops, his thumb wipes the tear from your face.

'En—', you even started to want to call his name, but the frustration of no longer receiving the same thrilling sensations and to the same extent was such that you only knew how whine; your mind melting, finally murmuring “Dale, dale, papi.” (Give it to me, please, daddy)

Enzo smiles again. He leaves a few kisses on your lips, repeating your words between the kisses, as if he was making fun of your desperation and also the term you used to refer to him.

— ¿Más rápido, hm? Más duro? (Faster, hm? Harder?) — he turns you over on the bed, putting you on all fours. The dirty talk makes you smile, dumb with lust already, clinging to one of the pillows. The Uruguayan's body lead over yours, bringing his mouth close to your ear. — Tranquila, nena. Te daré todo lo que quieras. ( Calm down, baby. I will give you everything you want.)

[sharpace]

Jaime Morales  RockinArt || Rok_BotMarch 17, 1960 - January 21, 2025

When I was in elementary school, my favorite day of the year was when my dad would come into my class to teach us how to draw. I could barely focus on the lessons, wiggling in my plastic seat as I kept checking the time in anticipation. One of my favorite people in the world was coming into my little world and everyone would see how cool he was. 

When he had entered, I would be awash with a level of incredible joy that was unmatched. He’d come in and teach us the basics such as how we can take what we see and how to interpret it on paper. He’d make the class giggle by telling them how when I was a toddler I would draw his curly hair as spirals. I felt bashful as the class looked at me, but my shyness was overcome with how proud I was of my dad as he went on to teach the class how to draw Powerpuff Girls, Spongebob, and superheroes.

Over the years, art became our shared thing. Sitting together and drawing, going to art shows, going to conventions, and so much more. Even now, all these decades later, we’d share each other’s artwork and love for art.

On January 21, my dad passed away suddenly at home. It’s been strange to experience, the sensation of loss, and something my sister and I have been navigating together. It’s been over a month and yet we still check the time, still check my inbox, and still feel like he’s due to arrive any moment. I’ve been sitting on my sofa, browsing through his pages and looking at his art once more, knowing everyone knew how cool he was.

He loved making art and sharing it with the world. His work was vibrant and diverse featuring rock stars, robots, recreation of classic pieces, etc. He may not be coming through the door again but everyone can know what a wonderful artist he was and he can live on through those pieces.

If you’ve ever bought or received a piece from him, my sister and I encourage you to take a photo and tag him with a memory.