#brain wires malfunctioned

[tiledis]

[p2ii]

Two hit combo attack for experiencing catharsis

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Ignorantia Neminem Excusat [part 2]

[Ignorance excuses no one, lat.]

[ <- part 1 ]

Now that Tim thinks about it, it does look ominous.

A seven feet tall, cylindrical glass tube that emits a soft, slightly pulsing green glow, countless cords and wires plugged into its base. It made sense at the moment — a giant space station needs a giant power source — but right now, when Tim knows what that entitles, it's... he bites on his cheek and looks back down to the tablet he is holding.

"Ten more minutes," he says, his words echoing off the walls of the room. Tucker nods, not taking his eyes off the battery — or, rather, a containment device.

Tim doesn't look at him either. The twisted, nagging sense of guilt is eating him alive: it's been almost two weeks since the legally nonexistent boy demanded a meeting with Batman. Two weeks since they've learned that the Watchtower's shiny new power source is just a fancy name for a cage holding an interdimensional being.

If it was up to Tim, he would have broken this glass the moment they've got their hands on the extensive, irrefutable proof that Tucker all but threw in their faces. Unfortunately, that would have resulted in the whole Watchtower losing power and possibly going off-course, and they couldn't risk it.

Tucker, with his pale, eerily still eyes, understood it. He said a week or two won't make a difference at this point, and the one held inside the capsule would have been gravely offended if his rescue ended up in malfunction of a whole space station. He said he'll wait, and he kept his back straight and his head high as they've spent those two weeks tracking and locating various other batteries and setting the souls within them free.

The seconds tick by so slowly that Tim feels like all three of them — him, Tucker, and the ghost inside the tube — are stuck in amber. He looks down to his tablet again.

Nine more minutes until all the main systems are safely switched to an emergency generator.

"Tell me about them," he asks, surprising even himself with it. Tucker turns to look at him, his eyebrows raised, the green light of the battery making him look like something out of a horror movie. Specifically the zombie apocalypse one.

"About who?"

Tim nods to the capsule in front of them.

"You're not exactly subtle," he shrugs when Tucker just keeps silently staring at him. "The way you spoke about this particular cell sounded like, whoever is inside it, you know them personally."

The silence stretches for a few more seconds, clogging Tim's ears like someone poured honey inside them. Then, Tucker looks away, his gaze returning to the capsule.

"He was my best friend since kindergarten," he says, and the air gets stuck in Tim's throat. "And I watched him die."

The other spirits that they've freed, they were all ghosts, souls of the deceased, Tim knows that. Some of them looked like blobs — emotional imprints, Tucker said — others took forms of animals or plants. They've seen a few humanoid ones as well, but it was easy to distance himself from them, to not get attached or involved. They were just faceless civilians, in a sense, however morbid that sounds.

And now, the sudden reminder of the fact that all of them were living beings once, that they've had friends, and families, and maybe their whole lives in front of them, feels like a punch to the gut.

"It's a bit ironic," Tucker continues, a humorless smile on his lips, "He wanted to be an astronaut. He wanted to go to space," he almost laughs, and the unnatural light of the tube makes his features look sharper than they are, "Beware of what you wish for, or something like that, I guess."

Tim stays quiet, forgetting to pay attention to the timer on screen.

"He was- he still is kind of a hero in our hometown," Tucker continues, "If I had to compare, I'd say he's a mix of Superman and Flash — heart of gold, but his mouth runs faster than his brain sometimes. And he kept somewhat of a nice relationship with most of his rogues, you know. Friendly banter and occasional team-ups and stuff." He takes a deep, steadying breath, his sad, bitter smile fading.

"It's what got him in here," he adds, the words falling into the silence like a rock in a pond. Tim blinks.

"Being nice to his rogues?" He clarifies, and Tucker snorts.

"No, I meant the heart and the banter, but, in a sense, you're not wrong either. As far as the agency's records go, he was captured while he was rescuing one of them." Tucker turns to look at the tablet in Tim's hands, "How much more?"

Tim looks down, abruptly reminded of the reason they are here.

"Uh, three more minutes," he says, but then grimaces and changes his mind. Bruce and the rest of the League can go fuck themselves, honestly, "Actually, you might want to start now. Disconnecting it would take time anyway," he shrugs, as nonchalant as it's possible in these circumstances.

Tucker stares at him, his eerie eyes looking almost grateful for a moment. And then Tim blinks and finds him on the other side of the room, kneeling on the floor with his fingers dancing over the battery's control panel.

Tim breathes out and looks at the ticking timer on his tablet. Two minutes and forty-five seconds. Tucker is a tech genius, they've all had time to see and appreciate it in the last two weeks, so he is surely going to finish working on the capsule sooner than two minutes. Yet, Tim can't bring himself to really care — he knows Bruce has probably set the timer with a few minutes of delay, just to play it safe. But even if he didn't, it's not like Watchtower will fall down from the orbit after a two-minute blackout, so-

A loud hiss interrupts his musings, and when Tim raises his head, he sees the glass wall of the capsule opening slowly, reluctantly sliding to the left. He only has a brief moment to be surprised — he knew Tucker worked fast when he wanted, but not that fast — before some kind of thick, green substance starts pouring out of it. Yet, instead of spilling on the floor, it glimmers and fades into thin air like fog.

This hadn't happened with any other batteries, Tim thinks, but then the capsule finally opens completely, and-

That's a person.

A person who looks the same age as Tim, his skin and hair lacking any kind of color to it like it's all bled out. A faded picture of a human being.

The toxic-looking liquid around him keeps leaking, turning into clouds of greenish white, ice cold steam. It's kind of pretty; it would have made a great picture, or, maybe, a painting if you ignore all the implications that brought it to life.

When the colorless boy starts falling, Tim doesn't even notice how he drops his tablet. He steps forward, reaching his hands out to catch him.

A moment later, he is holding a ghost in his arms. He is surprisingly — or maybe not so, considering his species — light; it's like holding something that's only slightly denser than air.

The boy sluggishly moves, shifting in his arms. His white, floating hair gets into Tim's nose, and he huffs, trying not to sneeze.

There's a quiet, almost sleepy moan that feels like a vibration on Tim's skin, and the boy lifts his head.

Tim's heart skips a beat.

His eyes are bright green, and they hold the whole universe within them.

Tags:

@thewisperwitch @yassjr @calisto112 @failedbimboinstem @yesdangerpls @restedenergy00 @tf-wildstrike

[goatgoesmbe]

Sugardaddy!Price

...

Being John Price's sidechick

Where he's already married.

And you're just his second choice.

plz trust the plot yall

Well you shouldn't really expect anything more with him in the first place when you agreed to be his sugar baby.

But with how he treated you, how could you not?

He made sure all your wants were met and more. Most of the time you didn't even need to ask, he would just know somehow. Boxes of designer clothes, shoes, bags, and jewelry at your doorsteps.

That gruff voice of his sounded gentle when he spoke to you, causing butterflies to flutter in your belly. Low timbre that made your core purr whenever he whispered sinful things in your ear as he encapsulated you with pure pleasure. And even when his tone was more tender, uttering something innocent like simply asking about your day- it would still get you to squeeze your thighs together.

His touches made your skin blister, sent shivers down your spine, leaving you breathless. You could still feel them when he was not around, it made you shiver. Longing for more. For him.

You glanced at the ring on his finger, one he didn't even bother to take off when he first approached you.

Does he treat the missus at home the same way?

It was your own fault really, you put yourself in this situation. You should have said that you were not interested at that time. You should feel horrible- a voice at the back of your mind said.

You didn't know what were you thinking.

Well.. you didn't think, that's the problem.

But how could you? With his smile rendering your brain useless, wired neurons malfunctioning when he sets his eyes on you.

Sometimes when he thought you were still asleep, you caught him smiling at his phone. Some other times, he unconsciously fidgeted with said ring.

Seemed like he had a good thing going on with the missus, why did he come to you then?

Men, you sighed. The hypocrite that you are, snuggling to his hairy chest.

...

John wasn't the first one who took interest in you that night.

It was one of his beloved, Kyle, who squeezed his hand under the table to get his attention before pointing at you with his chin.

John saw that look in his eyes, and the others. He looked around and noticed Simon and Johnny stopped exchanging spit to look at you too.

Pretty thing that you are. With your tight little dress and sweet-looking face, looking innocent yet so sinful effortlessly.

They want you.

But of course, they couldn't just waltz over all at once. They didn't know your preference yet, what you would be comfortable with.

They were in it for a long run after all, not just a quick fuck. Til death do us part.

John was the leader, in and out of of their job. He was also the most experienced, even if Kyle argued he was the most charming of them all. Johnny was too eager, and Simon was.. Simon.

And so John made his move.

A tempting bait that you bit without a second thought.

He gave the updates of his progress with you to the others. Sending candid pictures, and even recording of your sweet moans that he took without you knowing.

...

Kissing the top of your head when you snuggled to him, he smiled when he saw the eagerness of his partners in the groupchat.

He expected you wouldn't escape their grasp now that you've bonded with him.

It's about time for you to meet the others after all.

Next

[onyxluvjiro]

PLRASE PLEASE PLEASR PLEAE PLEASE PLEASR PLEAE PLEASE PLEASR PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE MORE MAC SMUT HEADCANNONS AND MAYBE A TOUCH OF DIALOGUE THANK YOU SO MUCH UR WRITING IS PEAK 🥺🥺🥺🥺✌️✌️

shout out to @veryfruitywriting they wrote a headcannon on mac and the online underwear scene cause, it’s got me thinkin real hard, and i wanna delve down into it.

and i KNOW mac has a thing for lingerie, i know it. And their a pantie sniffer, i KNOW it.

reader is afab/has female genitalia !!

—

You had a plan, it could go completely wrong or, perfectly right. You wanted to show off that sexy pair of panties to Mac, tease them a little bit, with how much the two of you flirt back and forth, you were sure it would go perfectly as planned.

Starting a casual conversation with mac was an easy enough task, step one of your plan, done. And as you talk, you uncross your legs, spreading them, ever so slightly, making Mac’s eyes frantically glance up and down.

You were sure their cpu was starting to overheat, a flush crossing their face, but you were far from finished. Pretending to glance back at what you were doing earlier, you “accidentally” lift your skirt further, finally revealing the red lacy fabric adorning your body.

You could hear a choked noise come from Mac, their eyes burning holes into the fabric adorning your most private parts. Your eyes dart to Mac’s face, an immediate satisfaction crossing your face as you practically see them malfunction for a moment.

It takes a second for Mac to realize that you were in fact showing off that pretty pair of panties that you had bought, on purpose, the same ones Mac had complemented you about. And now they were seeing it, on your body.

You could hear the crackle of their brain frying. They of course teased you the other day about it, but never did they think, their human would be so bold.

“Oh my goodness. I was right, they look stunning on you.”

They manage to say after a few moments of silence.

“want to see them closer?”

—

And that’s how you ended up standing in front of mac, their fingers pressed against the fabric, teasingly tracing up and down the folds of your pussy through the fabric, ever so lightly, watching your facial expressions with innate satisfaction. They pull their fingers away from the fabric for a moment, only to look at their fingers in fascination.

A string of slick, your arousal coating the tip of their fingers. They glance from you and to their fingers, back up at you, a silent ask for permission. With a nod of your head their hands wrap around your thighs, pulling you in closer.

Mac is a certified panties sniffer cause once they get a wiff of your cunt, they can’t get enough. mouth latching to the fabric resting right where your clit is, sucking on the fabric and what’s underneath.

Once they finally get their lips on you , oh it’s over for them. A new addiction started as they lap at you through the fabric, the stimulation almost too much, the combination of mac’s soft and hot tongue versus the rough fabric against your skin has you reeling. Hands tangled in their hair, keeping them there, exactly where Mac wants to be.

It’s not until you feel a cord wrap around your thighs do you really realize how deep mac is into it, and how far gone they are. You squirm, but the cord holds you in place along with Mac’s hands.

It wasn’t until your first orgasm did mac pull your panties to the side, the excuse of getting closer, to taste more slipping from their mouth as they latch back onto your clit. they bully their tongue deep into your cunt, a wire finding its way to rub against your sensitive bud.

You realize how fucked you are, but at the same time you’re just as into it as mac is, you don’t want to stop just as much as mac doesn’t either. Not until they’ve had their fill. And maybe, just maybe, mac pocketed those panties for a little while. And maybe, you let it happen.

—

Mac i am just a dog WOOF WOOF

also to the person i @ ed, if you want me to take you off/take down the post cause i wrote smth similar to your post, i will! I want everyone to be comfortable with my posts 😵‍💫😵‍💫

[dollyswishingwell]

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Downward dog

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ fluff, suggestive, just men in love with their wife, i lost the request for this but i hope you find this :(

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ Your just trying to relax doing yoga but your husband can’t keep it in his pants

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The glass doors of Rafayel’s seaside estate were flung wide open, letting in the salty breeze and the distant sound of waves brushing against the rocks below. The sheer white curtains billowed softly like sails, letting afternoon light spill in golden streaks across the smooth stone floors.

You were in the center of the living room, barefoot and serene, nestled on a pale pink yoga mat with delicate embroidered edges, one of the many spoiling gifts Rafayel had commissioned just because you’d mentioned you “might want to try yoga again.” You wore an adorable pastel set, lavender sports bra with lace-like cutouts and matching leggings that hugged your every curve like a second skin, the fabric clinging especially snug when you arched into cat-cow, slow and languid, your hips moving like sin.

From his perch on the couch, a pile of soft pillows and half-finished sketches around him, Rafayel was completely still. He had a hand half-dipped in pigment, but he hadn’t moved it in ten minutes. His blue-pink eyes were glassy with awe and sin and a very distinct kind of brain malfunction.

You bent forward into downward dog, your voice light and innocent as you glanced back at him through your lashes.

“This is the life, huh?” you sighed dreamily. “Ocean breeze, no drama, just yoga and pretty clothes and my hot husband watching me stretch~”

He didn’t respond.

Not at first.

He blinked once. Then again. As if your words had just caught up with him, and so had the angle you were giving him.

Then slowly, very slowly, he lowered the seashell to the table.

“…You did this on purpose.”

You gave him your most pampered princess smile, stretching into another pose that was entirely too arched to be innocent.

Rafayel groaned. Loudly.

The next moment, you were swept up into his arms, yoga forgotten entirely, as he kissed you hard and slow, his tongue curling possessively against yours. His hands skimmed your hips like he was deciding whether to worship you or ruin you.

“Pretty wife doing yoga,” he murmured between kisses, dragging his mouth down to your neck. “The ocean’s right there, my manager’s pissed at me again, and you’re arching like that… You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

You giggled, breathless. “Maybe a little.”

He kissed you again, hungrier this time.

Outside, the wind danced with the curtains.

Inside, Rafayel decided the only real yoga he’d be doing today was whatever involved getting his princessy wife on all fours again, but this time, in a much more interactive session.

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

The sun filtered through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of Zayne’s private estate, casting golden light across the ivory marble floors and the tailored cream rugs he insisted on keeping pristine, until you came along.

Now your pale pink yoga mat sat rolled out in the center of the glass-walled solarium, surrounded by scattered cushions, a neatly folded cardigan you’d shrugged off, and a steaming mug of imported rose tea he’d prepared before leaving the room quietly twenty minutes ago.

He was back now. Standing in the doorway, still in his usual three-piece suit, grey today, with a navy tie, and his long coat slung neatly over one arm. His wire-rimmed glasses slid a little down the bridge of his nose as his hazel green eyes scanned the scene before him.

You were mid-stretch. Arms lifted, back arched, one leg extended into a shape no normal person should be able to hold that gracefully.

And your soft little voice, sleepy, sugar-sweet, murmured, “Haaa, this is nice. isn’t it, Honey?”

Zayne didn’t speak.

You glanced over your shoulder at him, catching the flicker of emotion in his expression, something stuck between exasperation and fascination.

“What?” you teased innocently. “You said movement’s good for circulation.”

His eyes narrowed slightly behind the lenses. “I said gentle movement. What you’re doing qualifies more as a provocation.”

You laughed softly, lowering into another pose, this one pushing the curve of your hips high as your leggings shimmered in the morning light.

Zayne exhaled through his nose and set his coat down with precise care on a nearby chair. He rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt slowly, revealing forearms marked with thin, faded scars. His tie stayed on, of course, loosened slightly, but still neatly knotted.

“Continue your routine,” he said dryly, walking toward you with the slow, methodical steps of a man preparing for a procedure. “Don’t let me interrupt. I’ll just monitor.”

You arched a brow at him, still holding your pose. “Monitor what exactly, Dr. Zayne?”

His lips twitched faintly, dangerously close to a smirk. “Muscle engagement. Heart rate. My own blood pressure, which, unfortunately, appears to be rising.”

You dissolved into laughter, finally sinking onto your knees with a grin as he reached for your tea, handing it to you without being asked.

He knelt beside you, one large, scarred hand cupping your cheek as he brushed your hair back, his gaze suddenly softer, quieter. “If you pulled a muscle, I’d have to clear half the surgical wing to find someone competent enough to fix you.”

You sipped your tea, eyes glittering. “You’re that protective of your wife?”

Zayne hummed, resting his forehead against yours. “No,” he murmured. “I’m just that in love with her.”

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆��˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

The soft hum of the purifier drifted through the sun-drenched lounge of Xavier’s penthouse, letting golden light filter across the pale silver floors. Far below, Linkon buzzed with distant energy, but up here it was still, quiet, almost sacred.

You were on a velvet-lined mat, positioned right in the middle of the window-bathed living room, your limbs slowly easing into a yoga flow. Pastel-toned workout clothes clung to your figure, lavender and cream, the kind Xavier always paused to stare at without realizing. You stretched into a new pose, your hips rising just slightly, breath steady as you settled into a deep arch.

Behind you, on the massive curved couch, Xavier blinked awake.

“…Are you…,” he mumbled sleepily, voice still soft with drowsiness, “trying to summon something?”

You turned, giggling. “It’s yoga, baby.”

His head tilted slightly. “You look like you’re praying. But… backwards.”

You blew him a kiss, staying in your pose. “I’m praying for booty gains.”

A pause.

Xavier rubbed his eye with the back of his gloved hand, then sat up more properly, still in his sweater and loose black lounge pants, his silver hair a bit mussed from sleep. His blue eyes followed your movements like they couldn’t decide if you were a threat, a dream, or a puzzle.

“…That stretch…” he said slowly. “You’ve done it three times now. Is that normal…?”

You sank deeper into the pose. “It is when your husband’s watching.”

Another pause. Xavier’s ears flushed slightly pink.

“…I wasn’t watching,” he said flatly.

You peeked back at him, smiling knowingly. “Okay.”

His lips twitched, just slightly. Then he stood, walked over with bare, silent steps, and knelt behind you. His gloved fingers hovered near your waist, not quite touching.

“Is this part… difficult?” he asked, voice quieter now, genuinely curious.

“It is if you make it difficult,” you teased, pressing your hips just a little higher. “Help me stretch?”

He exhaled through his nose, then removed one glove and placed his bare hand gently at the small of your back, applying the faintest pressure. The moment was soft, calculated, but also strangely charged, like even he didn’t know what he was doing to himself by helping.

“You’re too flexible,” he muttered. “That’s not medically appropriate.”

You snorted. “Coming from the man who sleeps on windowsills and roof decks.”

Xavier tilted his head. “They’re good for spinal alignment.”

You turned just enough to glance at him over your shoulder. “Then maybe I’ll sleep like that tonight.”

He blinked. His expression didn’t change much, but the tips of his ears burned a deep pink.

“…That might kill me.”

You smiled sweetly. “Guess we’ll find out.”

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

Sunlight filtered dimly through the automatic tinting of the glass ceiling, just low enough for Sylus not to scowl at the intrusion. One of his darker estates, tucked deep into the cliffs, built entirely in obsidian and shadowglass, overlooking an ocean that looked black at night and blood-red at dawn.

You were in the private lounge, on a velvet yoga math, hand-dyed, customized with your initials stitched in gold thread. You’d told Sylus you wanted to “try moving again”, so naturally, he’d cleared an entire room, upgraded the climate controls, and installed an atmosphere-modulating relaxation system within the hour.

And now here you were, barefoot, glowing, dressed in an absurdly cute blush-toned yoga set with pearl-trimmed edges. Soft, spoiled, and beautiful. Stretching languidly, sighing sweetly as you bent over with the kind of flexibility that really had no business being legal.

Sylus leaned against the doorway, blazer still resting loosely over his shoulders, red eyes gleaming with lazy hunger. One hand tucked in his pocket, the other holding a black ceramic mug filled with something hot and bitter and completely forgotten.

He hadn’t taken a sip.

He was too busy watching you stretch like a cat in sunbeams.

“…You’re doing this to torment me,” he said finally, voice like rich velvet soaked in poison.

You turned with a pleased little smirk, still bent perfectly in a pose that showed off everything. “It’s just yoga,” you said innocently. “Helps with circulation. You want me healthy, don’t you?”

He laughed under his breath, low, dangerous. “Oh, I want you healthy,” he purred, slowly stepping forward. “But this is hardly fair. You know what you look like right now?”

You tilted your head, blinking up at him with pampered sweetness. “Your devoted little wife?”

He crouched down beside you in one smooth movement, unbothered by the luxury slacks or the potential creasing of his shirt. His glowing red eye flickered as he stared, his fingers ghosting along your thigh with a teasing touch. “You look like temptation incarnate. And I don’t have the patience for temptation today.”

You giggled, knowing exactly what game you were playing. “You always have patience for me.”

His grin sharpened.

“I have patience for spoiling you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your inner knee, “for buying out galaxies to keep your calendar empty, and for watching you drink thousand dollar tea while wearing lingerie made of the best silk i can buy…”

He looked up at you, eyes burning.

“But I have zero patience for you pretending that yoga is anything but a performance meant to drive me insane.”

You laughed again, letting yourself fall forward into a dramatic stretch, your cheek resting on your mat, legs posed like a centerfold. “Then stop watching and do something about it.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then the mug clattered gently to the floor as Sylus straddled you from behind, pinning your wrists down with one hand and gripping your waist with the other.

“Oh, princess,” he breathed against your ear, voice wicked. “You don’t command the crow. You invite him.”

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

The Skyhaven penthouse shimmered with soft morning light, artificial sunlight pouring through the towering glass panels that made up nearly the entire western wall.

Now you were on your pink plush yoga mat, stretching like you had no care in the galaxy, dressed in a lace-trimmed workout set that hugged every spoiled curve he’d spent weeks pampering. Lavender silk bows tied your ponytail, and your glossy lips pouted in concentration as you reached into a cat-like stretch, exhaling in a soft moan that had no business sounding that sensual.

Caleb stood at the doorway in his half-zipped DAA flight jacket, arms crossed, one boot tapping against the polished white floor. His jaw was tight. His purple eyes tracked your every movement like a missile lock.

You peeked up at him with a knowing grin.

“Morning, Colonel.”

He didn’t respond right away, just exhaled slowly, like a man at the edge of a war zone.

“You do this on purpose,” he muttered, voice strained, eyes never leaving the curve of your back. “You wait until I have somewhere to be. Then you start stretching like that.”

You rolled over onto your back lazily, stretching your arms above your head in an adorable little yawn. “But I’m just a sweet little housewife. I’m not doing anything.”

He took a step forward, gloves creaking as his fists tightened. “You think I don’t see the way your legs tremble when you arch like that? You think I don’t hear every little sound you make?”

You blinked up at him, faux-innocent. “You gave me everything, Colonel. The view, the wardrobe, the mat. The lifestyle. Are you saying I shouldn’t enjoy it?”

His eye twitched. Just slightly.

“I’m saying—” he began, stepping closer, “—that if you don’t stop teasing me, I’m going to have to cancel the entire DAA tactical review and bend you over that window.”

Your lips parted in a tiny gasp, equal parts scandalized and thrilled. “That’s very irresponsible of you, Caleb.”

“Mm.” He was kneeling now, one gloved hand sliding up your thigh with military precision. “Good thing no one outranks me.”

You squirmed beneath his touch, your voice barely a breath. “I thought I did…”

He chuckled lowly, pressing his forehead to yours. “You always do, baby.”

And then, just like gravity, he gave in, pulling you into his lap, gloves tossed aside, the sky behind you glowing with pink serenity while your possessive Colonel buried his control in the soft body of the girl he’d locked the universe out for.

[queeniewithabeanie]

The Malfunctions

Dpxdc Prompt #9

Ectoplasm and electricity didn't mix well.

More specifically, Danny's ectoplasm and electricity didn't mix well.

There were of course ways that the two could interact or else half of the Fenton Tech wouldn't work and Technus' powers would be completely useless. The only reason Danny's ecto specifically didn't really interact well with electricity was well, because of the way he died.

Interacting with the stuff that killed him apparently caused his ecto to have a visceral reaction. It didn't mean that Danny couldn't touch things that ran on electricity. It just meant that if he did his brain would go into fight-or-flight mode immediately and being a ghost he was now permanently wired to fight.

That was fine with Danny, majority of the tech he interacted with was trying to kill him and would've put him in fight mode anyway. What Danny didn't realize was with any non-ecto contaminated tech, it was put in fight-or-flight mode as well.

Too bad he had no reason to know this before moving into Gotham with a family that practically ran on tech.

Tim was going crazy and no it didn't have anything to do with the fact he hadn't slept in two days or the insane villains roaming the streets. No, really, he was going crazy because every piece of Bat-tech had suddenly decided to malfunction.

The worst of the bunch was Dick's escrima sticks and the communicators. The escrima sticks were sending out electricity when they were turned off and were more volatile than ever. The communicators would send out a constant stream of static.

Of course every other piece of tech was malfuntioning too, but those seemed to be what went first and worst. Bat-tech wasn't perfect, but there was no way a virus could've effected all their gear. In fact, there was no sign of a virus of any kind.

Tim had checked, and checked again, and had Babs cross-check (her tech seemed to be working fine, but Tim had to drop by the clocktower himself to talk to her. The communicator problem was quite inconvenient), and even allowed any siblings of his that wanted to to try and discover what was wrong.

There had been no big battle before everything stopped working, but there was an event that occurred right around when the tech started malfunctioning. The Waynes had a new addition, another kid to add to their family that didn't know of their... extracurriculars.

Or at least hadn't been told about them.

Everything was wrong in the Bat-cave and Daniel Fenton was suspect #1.

[odoraful]

𝑯𝑬𝑳𝑷𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑹𝑬𝑷𝑨𝑰𝑹 𝑯𝑰𝑺 𝑨𝑹𝑴 ᯓ 𝑪𝑨𝑳𝑬𝑩

⟡ content: gn!reader ; established relationship ; honey petname hehe ; minor hurt/comfort (which i didn't anticipate honestly, but it seemed to just go in that direction :O) ; 1.5k wc

⟡ a/n: i watched a clip where pepper potts helps tony stark replace like the tech in his heart and my brain went straight to caleb! also i don't know bionics at all so pls suspend disbelief at my descriptions of tech because its definitely all baloney HAHA also still figuring out how to write for caleb so it might be ooc..,, ANYWAY I DIGRESS i do hope it's an enjoyable read!! <33

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It was beyond you why Caleb chose to entrust you with this task, and equally incomprehensible that you agreed to it. Sure, you knew your way around certain weaponry and gadgets—a skill every good Hunter needed to have—but you were certainly no biomechanical engineer. Yet here you were sitting in the living room of Caleb’s home, his bionic arm fully revealed to you and a set of tools being laid out on the table.

“Isn’t the maintenance process… automated?” you asked, voice quivering with trepidation.

Caleb finished arranging the equipment in front of him. A neat array of screwdrivers and wires.

Comparably, there was no indication of hesitancy in his voice when he spoke.

“Yes, it typically is,” he answered, sitting back down on the sofa. He flexed the fingers of his right arm before flashing a smile at you, “but this isn’t one of those typical times.”

His usually comforting smile did little to ease you. You sat down, observing his arm as he continued speaking.

“One of the wires here—” Caleb pointed to the area at his elbow, “—has loosened for some reason. It just needs some reconnecting and I’ll be right as rain.”

He was right. Upon closer inspection, you could see the wire now beginning to detach from the small, round metal piece it was connected to. Occasionally, a tiny spark of electricity flashed from within the empty hole. If this was left unchecked, it would certainly lead to some kind of malfunction.

You squirmed in the cushion. “Wouldn’t telling the Fleet be better? Don’t they have technicians to do this exact thing?”

Caleb's lips quirked upwards, betraying the stiffness he suddenly felt.

Yes, it would be protocol to let the people responsible for this arm know (whether that was the Fleet or not he would never admit the truth of to you), but it was far too bothersome to have them inspect and diagnose for such a minor issue. And then, there was the pain of it as well. Caleb was very familiar with gritting one’s teeth and baring it, but the soulless nature of the Professor’s rooms made him always feel so alone. Despite the bright, sterile lights and the group of masked technicians in white coats attending to his arm, it was always just him and the pain and the desire for everything to be finished already.

Things were a lot different now with you here, finally here with him.

“Oh, your touch is much gentler than anyone in the Fleet, trust me,” he replied.

Though he hadn’t actually answered your question, the line was enough classic Caleb charm to disarm you. He looked fondly over at your expression as your shook your head, trying to stifle your laugh.

“It’s not a full maintenance repair, just a simple replacement. I’ll walk you through every step, don’t worry.”

He patted the space right next to him and you shuffled over.

“Caleb… will this hurt you?”

You couldn’t help but recall the pain he was in when his arm was hooked up to that machine. Your chest grew tight at the memory.

“Not at all, I swear,” he quickly responded. “Like I said, it’s just a replacement.”

He reached over to pick up a screwdriver. Turning his right arm around so you could see his elbow clearer, he used the tool to point out a small screw on the round metal pieces where the wire was being held.

“So, all you need to do is turn this a little to the left, and it should loosen the wire enough to remove it.”

Caleb then reached for the table to pick up a wire the same as the one in his arm. Though, the metallic conductors could be seen emerging out from the ends of the black casing.

“Then, all you need to do is just need to replace it with this.”

You repeated his words over in your mind. Loosen and then replace.

Exhaling a nervous breath, you took the screwdriver. You placed a hand against his arm to help steady yourself. The metal cooled your sweaty palm. Moving closer, you inserted the tip of the screwdriver into the screw, turning it slowly as possible. Afraid that any quick movements might have an adverse effect.

Just as Caleb had said, once the screws were turned, the metal pieces widened and the wire was freely hanging, only held to the arm by its conductive metal.

So focused on making sure your hands weren’t shaking, you didn’t see Caleb’s eyes scrunched shut, taking in deep breaths through his nose.

“Ah!”

Your head snapped up hearing him wince. His eyes peeled open, a weak but sheepish expression on his face.

“Caleb! You promised it wouldn’t hurt you!”

At your accusatory look, he chuckled wearily. “That was nothing! Just a little—” he sucked a sharp breath in “—buzz that’s all.”

Panicked, you put the screwdriver down. “W-what do I do now?!” you stuttered out, holding your hands away from the exposed area.

“Take the old wire out and put the new one in the same spot.” Despite his discomfort, Caleb tempered his voice. His composure kept your fear at bay for the moment. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be alright.”

You nodded. Moving you hand closer again, you held onto the wire delicately. You pulled slowly. Thankfully, it released without any tugging needed.

“Mhm, there you go. You’re doing great,” Caleb reassured.

The conductive wire unfurled as if aware it was being replaced. You picked up the wire Caleb had held previously in demonstration and lined it up in the empty space. Similarly, the wire reattached itself.

“Now tighten it with the screwdriver.”

Turning the screws once again, you felt the round metal pieces tighten around the wire, holding it securely in place. The repair appeared successful.

You let out a long sigh, relief washing over you. You looked at Caleb’s face, hoping you wouldn’t find him pale and stricken. Instead, he was smiling. He turned his bionic arm around, bending his elbow and wiggling his fingers. It looked like it was back to normal.

“Look at that,” he beamed. “I knew you could do it, honey.”

Your laugh was filled with disbelief at his complete faith in you. “Please don’t ask me to do this again.” You were still slightly delirious by everything that just happened.

“What if I don’t have anyone but you?” he responded.

You knew that statement wasn’t true. There were plenty of people he could rely on to assist him with this. He was the Colonel of the Farspace Fleet after all. Yet, there was a softness in his tone and a distance in his eyes as he spoke. He really believed that to be the truth.

You looped your pinkie finger around his (still hesitant if your craftsmanship had fully worked). Caleb glanced down at your movement. He saw your tenderness and there was a phantom sensation of warmth right where your fingers connected. Though, he knew it was all just his brain and its sensory signals trying desperately to reconstruct a feeling he once had.

“But what if I messed up a-and something bad had happened? I just don’t want to hurt you.”

Caleb enveloped his hand around yours. His touch was cold and metallic, but his words were anything but.

“Nothing you do could ever hurt me.”

The color of his bionic arm began to change. It flickered in the same way a holographic screen did when you put your hand through it. His arm was recalibrating to project the perfect color, and to mimic the feeling of real skin. As fast as you could blink, it returned to its usual appearance.

Caleb squeezed your hand. “See? Right as rain.”

The sudden mixture of your fear and sadness made you crave being in his hold. You pulled him into a hug. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you buried you face into his shoulder.

“Hey, it’s alright,” he soothed, rubbing your back. “I’m still here with you, arm fully functional.”

“I know…” you remained glued to his shoulder, voice muffling.

“Nothing bad will happen to me,” he said, coaxing you gently both in speech and touch as he grazed his finger against your cheek. “Could I see you? Please?”

You lifted your head up, leaning back. Your eyes were glossy with tears and Caleb felt as though he’d been stabbed in the chest. He kissed you on the forehead. With his thumb, he carefully swiped at your bottom lashes.

“I'm sorry, honey. I don’t know what I was thinking wanting you to do this,” he murmured, his warm breath tickling your skin at his closeness. “You don’t have to do this for me next time.”

“It’s okay,” you sniffed, shaking your head. “Now that I know what to expect, I think I can help you if this happens again.”

The shock soon passed. Feeling the rise and fall of Caleb’s chest grounded you. You both held each other until the pain faded, talking to each other quietly in the embrace.

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[sleepingdiaryzzz]

Just a...FRIEND!?

Yandere Wally x reader x yandere dick

The rooftop was quiet, save for the occasional gust of wind and the distant hum of Gotham’s endless noise. You leaned on the railing, gazing out over the city, a carefree smile tugging at your lips as you hummed to yourself. The last rays of the sun had already dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky with a pinkish hue, and everything felt almost too perfect—if not for the two figures approaching behind you.

Dick and Wally landed on the rooftop at nearly the same time, their movements so synchronized that it could’ve been a well-practiced routine. The two of them smiled at you, their faces lighting up in that way they always did when they saw you. You turned toward them, glowing with warmth.

"Hey, guys!" you said with your usual cheerful tone, your eyes sparkling with that innocent energy that could melt the coldest of hearts. "How’s it going?"

"We were just thinking," Dick began, stepping forward, his voice smooth and teasing, "that you’re way too adorable for Gotham’s dirty streets. You’re too pure to be out here alone."

"Yeah, you need us to keep you safe," Wally added, zipping around you in a blur of red and yellow, his smile mischievous. "Can’t have you running around like a lost puppy in this city. You might get...accidentally caught by someone bad."

You giggled at their usual antics, but before you could say anything else, you innocently dropped the bombshell that would change everything. "You two are the best friends anyone could ever ask for. Seriously, I’m so lucky to have you guys!"

Suddenly, the air went still. Both Dick and Wally froze in place, their eyes wide in cartoonish shock. They blinked a few times, exchanging a glance that screamed "Did they just say that?" Wally’s mouth opened and closed, as if the word ‘friends’ had short-circuited his brain, while Dick’s expression faltered like a malfunctioning lightbulb.

"F...friends?" Dick said slowly, his voice warping as if he were testing the word on his tongue, unsure whether it was something delicious or rotten. "Did you... did you just say we’re friends?"

"F-friends?" Wally repeated, his face transforming into exaggerated confusion, his hands thrown up in mock disbelief. "No, no, no! That’s not it, [Name]. That’s not it at all!"

You blinked, utterly oblivious to the storm of emotions raging in their heads. "Yeah! You know, because you’re always there when I need you," you added, oblivious to the panic you’d just unleashed. "You’re such good friends, really. I’m lucky!"

The two of them looked at each other again, and the moment was almost comedic. Their faces drooped in unison like two sad puppies, their shoulders slumping in exaggerated defeat. Wally took a few steps back, and then dramatically fell to his knees, clutching his chest as if your words had physically wounded him. "Not friends... not friends..." he repeated mournfully. "We’re not JUST your friends, [Name]. We’re everything."

Dick’s face contorted as if he were about to burst into tears, dramatically wiping a nonexistent tear from the corner of his eye. "Everything, [Name]. We’ve been by your side for so long, and you think we’re just your ‘friends’? Just your friends?" His voice cracked at the word “friends,” like it physically pained him to utter it.

You looked at the scene in front of you, your smile still shining brightly, not understanding the depth of their despair. You stepped closer, concerned now. "Oh no, I didn’t mean to hurt you guys! I just thought... well, you’re always so funny and caring, and I couldn’t imagine being without my best friends." You reached out to pat their heads like you would a couple of puppies.

At your touch, their heads both jerked back dramatically, as if you’d touched a live wire. Dick suddenly shot up, eyes wide and glowing with an intensity that only came from his overwhelming emotions, his voice rising comically. "You can’t think of us like that!" he practically whined, throwing his hands into the air, his whole body leaning toward you. "We’re so much more than that! SO MUCH MORE!"

Wally shot up as well, his eyes narrowed with playful but pointed seriousness. "Yeah, we’re not just your friends," he said, each word stretched out like a cartoon villain. "We adore you, [Name]! We’re practically your... your... guardians!"

"But you’re also... your only ones," Dick added in a theatrical whisper, stepping closer and lowering his voice for dramatic effect, as though to make sure you understood the weight of the statement.

The two of them stared at you, wide-eyed and utterly intense, their faces impossibly close to yours now, as if they might crumble under the weight of your response. And yet... you still didn’t catch on.

You blinked again, completely unaware of how much you’d just altered the delicate balance of their emotions. "Oh, I see! You both just want to make sure I’m safe, huh? You’re really nice," you said with a cheerful grin, completely missing the thick, cloud of despair hanging over them.

The exaggerated silence that followed was the only indication that perhaps... perhaps... something had gone terribly wrong.

(A/n: I'm imagining this in classic teen Titans style animation... )

[eclipixels]

UH SO I GOT AN IDEA…. yk like theres strip uno games two people play and the loser takes off one piece of clothing… THAT WITH A SOCCER MATCH MAYBE??? with isagi… a strip soccer match where he just gets so distracted after reader loses one time and takes off her shirt💔

Talking Body

Yoichi Isagi x Reader

Wanings: A lil spicy

[1,124 words]

      It started off as a joke. A playful challenge thrown out in the heat of the moment.

      “Let’s make this interesting,” you had said, twirling the soccer ball between your fingers. “Every time one of us loses a point, we take something off.”

      Isagi had laughed at first, shaking his head at your ridiculous idea. “You’re crazy.”

      “And you’re scared.”

      That did it. His competitive streak flared up instantly, and the next thing you knew, the two of you were on the field, the stakes set, the rules simple: first to five goals wins. Each time one of you lost, an article of clothing had to go.

      It had been easy at first. Lighthearted. Fun.

      Then you lost your first point.

      With a dramatic sigh, you peeled off your shirt, revealing the blue sports bra underneath. You didn’t think much of it—after all, it was just a game.

      But Isagi? Oh, he thought about it.

      One second, he was a finely tuned soccer machine, razor-focused and ready to dominate. The next, he was malfunctioning. His eyes darted to your bare shoulders, then to the exposed sliver of skin, then to anywhere but you, as if looking directly at you would short-circuit his brain completely.

      “Ichi,” you called sweetly, rolling the ball under your foot. “Something wrong?”

      He swallowed thickly, visibly trying to reset himself. “Nope. All good.”

      Lies.

      You smirked. Oh, this is going to be fun.

      The game resumed, but Isagi was playing like a man distracted. He was still good—because, well, he was Isagi Yoichi—but his movements weren’t as sharp, his focus wasn’t as locked in. And every time you stretched for a pass or dashed across the field, his eyes lingered.

      How the hell was he supposed to focus when you looked like that?

      The way your body moved as you ran, the way your sports bra clung to your skin, damp with sweat, the way your chest bounced with every step—oh, he was losing it.

      He tried. He really did. But his eyes kept betraying him, trailing down the glistening sheen of sweat rolling down your neck, disappearing into the valley between your breasts. His mouth felt dry. His mind was lagging.

      And you knew.

      You knew exactly what you were doing to him.

      You turned to him with a smirk, stretching your arms above your head just to mess with him, making your already distracting figure even worse for his poor, overwhelmed brain.

      It wasn’t long before you scored your first goal against him.

      Isagi groaned, dragging a hand down his face before reaching for the hem of his own shirt. “Fine, fine—” He pulled it off, exposing toned abs and lean muscle, his body glistening slightly under the heat of the match.

      Now you were the one faltering.

      He noticed. And smirked.

      "Something wrong?" he echoed your earlier words, tilting his head.

      You huffed, rolling your shoulders. "Not at all."

      But as the game went on, the tension only grew. The stakes were getting higher, and the amount of clothing left was getting dangerously low.

      The game had never been this intense before.

      You were both down to the wire, the score neck and neck. Isagi had managed to claw his way back from his distractions—barely—forcing himself to focus on the ball instead of the way your sweat-soaked skin glowed under the fading sunlight. But it was so damn hard. Every time you sprinted past him, every time you stretched to steal the ball, every time your breath hitched in effort, his mind wandered.

      And yet, despite all of that, he won. He had to, because that little pervert was fanatasizing about seeing you with less and less clothes on. And he knew if he wanted to see that, he needed to win.

      The final goal came in a blur. His body moving on pure instinct, a perfect strike that sent the ball flying past your defenses and straight into the goal.

      “Yes!” he pumped his fist in the air, grinning ear to ear. His victory was sweet.

      You sighed, hands on your hips as you looked at the scoreboard. “Damn,” you muttered, lips curling into something dangerously playful. “A deal’s a deal.”

      Isagi’s breath caught in his throat as you hooked your fingers into the waistband of your shorts and, without a shred of hesitation, slid them down your legs.

      Time slowed.

      He was sure he heard the circuit board in his brain fry.

      You were now standing there, utterly unbothered, in just your bra and panties. Isagi stood frozen, eyes wide, body locked in place like he’d been hit by a freight train.

      Oh, he was so dead.

      His mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. Words? He had none. His brain had been wiped of all vocabulary. All he could do was stare. His face was red, ears burning, pupils completely blown out as if his soul had left his body.

      "Yoichi," you cooed, tilting your head, "you good?"

      He snapped out of it with a harsh gulp, forcing himself to tear his gaze away. "Yeah—yeah, I’m good," he lied, voice an octave higher than usual.

      You giggled, rolling the ball under your foot. "You sure? You’re looking kinda flustered over there."

      "Flustered? Me?" He scoffed, trying to play it cool. "Pfft. Please. I—"

      His words died in his throat when you turned around, giving him an even better view as you bent slightly to grab your water bottle.

      You stepped closer, and Isagi stumbled back. His hands were up like you were about to kill him, his face practically on fire. “W-Wait, hold on—”

      “What?” you smirked. “You won, fair and square. This is just the rules, right?”

      “Y-Yeah, but—but you—” He was malfunctioning, his brain shorting out with every second he looked at you. He wanted to look away, needed to look away, but he couldn’t. His eyes were glued to every inch of bare skin, his thoughts a mess of oh my god oh my god oh my god—

      You stepped closer again, just enough to invade his space, tilting your head at him with feigned innocence. “Ichi,” you said, voice sweet and teasing, “you’re staring.”

      “I—I’M NOT—”

      He was. He so was.

      “There’s nothing wrong with a boyfriend admiring his girlfriend. Why so nervous, baby?” you teased, tapping a finger against his chest with a sly smile.

      “Y-Yeah, but—” he stammered, visibly struggling to form a coherent thought.

      You cut him off with a low, sultry whisper, stepping closer until your body was flush against his bare chest. “How about this…”

      His breath hitched.

      “If you win the next round,” you murmured, your lips barely inches from his, voice dripping with temptation, “I’ll let you fuck me.”

      His brain? Completely fried.

[wandamaximilf]

Make Me Feel Something

pairing: wanda maximoff + y/n ( mentions of vision )

warnings: 18+, overstimulation, teasing, spit, fingering, lesbian, clit play

summary: when you share disappointing news with wanda about catching vision acting out behind her back, her anger spirals and she takes it out on you, but she has no idea of the wormhole of feelings she's just opened up

3.6k words

“i didn’t need your help!”

wanda’s hand rockets towards you, jarring you square in the shoulder and nearly knocking you backwards. her other hand, dispelled in crimson swirls, sending the door behind herself slamming shut with such a force you swear the entire compound heard the commotion by now.

“-and what was i supposed to do,” you furrow your brows, perplexed, but with enough venom on your tongue to portray you have no intention of backing down, “not to tell you that i didn’t see your robotic boyfriend with some other woman?”

you stare back at wanda cross, but the bubbling hurt and anger only seems to swell behind green, flecks of red dancing like static in them momentarily.

“vision would never, he actually loves me unlike you spilling lies at me, you’re supposed to be my best friend! why would you make up something like this, out of jealousy?” she spits, seething at this point as she steps towards you in intimidation, though you know the reality of her nature is she would never actually lay a hand on you. 

“you’re not thinking clearly,” you shake your head, sympathy laced in your tone, “even if i am lying, why would i do that knowing it would hurt you? do you think that low of me, wanda?” you can tell your words ring logic through her, she knows you would never do something or say something to intentionally hurt her, but right now she is too jaded to even remotely put herself first over another she loves, nothing unusual for her character.

wanda seems to hesitate, as if her initial counter to your question was not a substantial enough response. she can’t fight logic, not right now. her mind

behind it all, you know she’s hurting, reeling behind a fairytale of whom she saw as a lifelong partner now having deceived her. 

yet, a part of you always saw this coming after all, he was just a construction of wires and vibranium. at some point his ‘brain’ would malfunction, and you didn’t merely assume that just based on your original disdain for him coming into wanda’s life.

“y/n, just go,” the words nearly sting, as selfish as that feels right now when really wanda is the only one with the right to feel anguish. 

unknown to her that for years you’d sat, watching and observing her, silently mesmerized and foolishly in love with the idea that maybe one day wanda would come to terms that the idea of being with you would’ve been a more viable option over vision to begin with. it was torture enough watching them oggle over one another around the compound. 

but now he’s the villain in the story, and it’s not exactly the prime moment to confess your feelings long hidden for her. no, it would be too selfish and look as if you were spinning her hurt into an opportunity. you know it would not be the ideal way to confess your deep desire you’ve held for her, imagining her like a high school crush and what it would be like to be loved in that way by her, instead of the friend pledged in loyalty to her.

“wands-“

“get the fuck out!” this time her words are the ones landing venomously, usually the innocence in the nickname grounds her, but not now. not today.

“i can’t just leave you-“

wanda lurches forward, reaching with brisk hostility to grab your upper arm in an attempt to drag you back to the door and out of her bedroom. but you’re quicker, your reflexes are more time–  thanks to romanoff’s training. your fingers spool around her wrist, stopping the motion and catching her off guard, enough to send her tripping over herself.

“fuck- you-“ this time wanda’s voice cracks, a pant between each for her loss of balance and catching herself before she falls against you. you can hear the innocence and muddled hurt even under the harsh words. any sparks of red had dissipated from the green in her eyes, now overtaken by the rising swell of tears giving them a glassy aura.

your eyes flick to her mouth as the slur falls from her lips, it even looked unnatural coming from them and you certainly couldn’t bear to watch those tears fall. you’d seen her say those words before, but this time it was different. it wasn’t in jest, yet it wasn’t necessarily in hatred or true anger. the only place it was coming from was agony and the incomprehension of her own emotions right now. 

she’d lost so much already, given so much of herself for those she cared about, it only made your heart wretch further. all you wanted to do was console her. 

wanda was so inexplicably close to you right now, enough to feel the heat of her breath on your face. it made the hair at the base of your neck stand up, her scent overwhelming you. your thoughts only whirled further, flashes of knowing how in pain she was.

a mix of impulsivity and selfishness to give in to temptation was overwhelming. all you wanted right now was to try and take her pain away in any way possible right now. a distraction. but also a longing release of your own feelings for her. your thoughts swirl a million miles a minute, briefly forgetting about the current situation you’re in.

before you can comprehend your own thoughts, deciding between right and wrong, the heat of wanda’s breath recedes, replaced with a harsh and violent pressure against your lips. it takes you a moment to understand the situation, wanda’s lips now pressed feverishly against yours. there’s a swelling taste of salt and copper washing through your mouth. a mix of her tears, and a stray drop of blood from the newly opened cut on your bottom lip, caused by the velocity of your lip caught between hers and your teeth. her hands had cupped your face at the initial contact, black nails pressing into the back of your jaw as if you might slip away. it stings at first, but you let it be.

you have to break it, this isn’t right, this is wrong. wrong on so many levels. wanda’s heart was broken right now, and this seemed disingenuous.

but you also can’t ignore the immediate warmth that travels through your abdomen, feeling it spin in guilt but also reprieve for finally feeling wanda’s lips against yours that doesn’t stem from a drunken dare.

still, your mind temporarily outweighs your heart and body, and you jerk back, “wanda.. i can’t, th-this isn’t right.” you fumble over the words, almost trying to explain yourself for an action that you didn’t even initiate. meanwhile, sliding your tongue along your bottom lip to quell the sting and erase any last evidence of blood on the small cut.

“you want to make me forget, you want to help, you want this. so just shut up, and make me feel something else- please.” her tone is desperate, pleading, but also firm on where she stands.

your mouth falls agape, wanting to rebuttal, argue this isn’t how you want it to go, that you actually do love her. but now’s not the time, you can connect the dots that she’d already gotten this idea because she’d picked through your thoughts in that moment of silence where she couldn’t find her own words.

now you only had one thing you could do to actually help her in this moment- make her feel something else. her words, right? she was giving you approval.

wanda seeks the opportunity again, impatient and just as harsh with need. aside from the swelling guilt, you can’t help but indulge simultaneously. you can still taste the reminisce of a stray tear or two, but it’s begun to fade. she’s already begun to lose herself in the moment, letting every other thought leave her mind as she sought safety and pleasure in the only person she had left that she truly cared for. 

you.

both of your feet are nearly tripping over the other, trying to walk backwards towards her bed as your hands finally give in, rising around the back of her neck. your fingers instantly tangle into locks of fiery orange, gripping just enough to encourage wanda to continue. and she does.

the room has already begun to envelope in a heavy heat, ragged and desperate breaths laced in a mix of emotions but ultimately indulged in the moment. the worry of guilt is still there, but now just a small pit in your stomach as her breathing hitches with each step and between barely audible moans.

wanda pressures you further until you’re both stood parallel to the bottom edge of the bed. you prepare for her to break the kiss when you feel her mouth fall slightly more agape. you want to ask her for reassurance, that this is okay.

before you can manage the words, wanda quickly presses her tongue between your parted lips, not hesitating to explore along your own, running hers along the roof of your mouth. you almost feel embarrassed at the amount of saliva welling up in your mouth and hers, but she only swallows it back hungrily. 

a twisting thought wonders if wanda had fantasized this in someway, especially by the speed of her actions, seeming to barely think twice. was there a part of her who had wanted this as well?

the guilt seems void right now, replaced by a thrumming heat gathering between your thighs. wanda seems entirely awash in lust, both your tongues taking turns exploring one another’s mouths.

this time you make your move before wanda can. your hands abandon her hair, quickly working off her jacket, allowing her to shrug it to the floor between kisses as you begin to pull at the bottom hem of her shirt. this time she’s pulls away, but only enough for you to allow space to pull her shirt up and over her head. at first, she doesn’t jump back into the kiss, allowing herself to catch her breath as her hands reach behind her back. it takes you only a second to comprehend.

you had tried not to stare, but as wanda reaches for the strap of her bra to unhook it, you take a second to take in the sight. her breasts perfectly fill the cups of the black bra. it’s simple, no lace or embroidery, just black silk cotton, and still she makes it look like an expensive garment.

in a heartbeat, everything in your face runs cold, as she slips her bra from her shoulders and lets it fall to the ground. you can’t help but indulge now. you’d inappropriately fantasized about wanda’s body before, especially her breasts when she wore that one corset, but having her exposed and vulnerable in front of you felt entirely on another plane of existence.  

her nipples are a perfect tone of rosey-pink, already perky and hardened from what you can only assume is arousal considering you were already both panting from the desperation in the previous kisses. 

you can’t stop yourself, you raise a hand, palm cupping the under of her breast and swiping a thumb over the hardened bud. when the action elicits a shy moan from wanda, it nearly makes you groan in approval as the heat between your legs surmounts with need. “wanda..”

“keep going- i promise, it’s okay, y/n-“ she manages as she seems to adjust herself so that her one breast is flush in your palm now, garnering another subtle moan from the sensitivity. 

you realize this moment is truly going to be all about wanda. not you, even despite the ache between your legs, but honestly, you wouldn’t have it any other way tonight. you had dreamt of wanda desiring you in this way and now she was explicitly asking you.

“i’ll take care of you,” you hold her eyes with yours as you gently readjust you both so that the back of her knees are against the bed, “just can i ask one thing from you?”

wanda wants to question you, you can tell by the faint look of confusion, but she only nods.

“stay standing until you can’t…” even in the dimming light of the room from the sun beginning to set, you swear you can see the faint flush of red in her cheeks as you slightly lower yourself just enough to get your mouth level with her breasts.

wanda gives you a single nod, her hips shifting leading you to assume she’s become as aroused as you are now. for a moment, as she’s looking down to you, you swear you saw the shadow of a nervous smile. you hold her gaze for a moment as you take one of her nipples into your mouth, using a hand to palm and massage the other abandoned breast. 

wanda nearly crumbles at just that, it’s been too long since she’s been touched like this, but she remains upright. 

her head lolls back, a strained “y/n..” falling from her lips in a sultry moan that only encourages you to continue.

you suck at her nipple, occasionally using your teeth to graze the sensitive tissue. your hand stays busy, switching between massaging her breast in your palm and using your thumb to tease the nipple. 

wanda is rather shy for the time being, you can tell she’s trying to hide any roll in her hips, desperate for friction where she needs it most. her moans are still barely audible, but they’re there as you make sure to alternate each breast fairly. 

your free hand massages up her thigh gingerly, following along her pelvis until you stop to work at the button and zipper of her jeans. you’ve been careful to take your time, but not enough to drive her mad just yet.

when you pull your mouth away from her breast along with the other hand, you could’ve sworn you heard the faintest whimper. it satisfies you for a moment knowing how indulged wanda is, and how tentative you’re being with her body.

“why…” wanda manages, but you don’t give her a response. instead, you fully lower yourself, the hand previously working at her jeans now slides the zipper down fully.

“oh…” she manages, chin dropping to watch you get on your knees as you begin to shimmy her jeans down, not hesitating to bring her panties down along with them.

the denim and a pair of black underwear, falls to a clump around her ankles, her legs breaking into an array of goosebumps at her now exposed lower body. as she begins to step out of the restrictive clothing at her feet, you take the opportunity to look at her face for one last vow of approval.

“yes…” wanda’s lips are barely parted, the cold on her mound making her ache even further, “please, y/n… i promise it’s okay.,” 

as if offering further permission, she carefully adjusts her legs enough to just leave ample room for you to glimpse her pussy. she’s still standing in place, knees against the bed just in case they give out as your attention finally shifts to where she needs you most.

you nearly feel the immediate gush between your thighs as you settle onto your knees, now seeing the true picture of desperation. 

wanda’s folds are quite swollen, the tip of her clit just barely peaking out between them, this time you can’t stifle the groan at the sight before you. her slick is painted perfectly along her slit, a bead of it daring to fall at the back of her pussy.

you hungrily lean in, want and temptation over powering anything else now as your body drives you. wanda attempts to brace herself, feeling the heat of your breath against her core as your tongue immediately darts out to lap up the string of slick at her entrance. you barely have a moment to adjust before she cries out from sudden sensitivity. it’s been quite some time for her since she’d been touched like this. vision had long seemed to distance himself, they’d barely shared any intimacy of the sort around the compound in a month or two.

wanda’s knees immediately buckle as her hips rocket forward involuntarily, painting your mouth with her slick as her clit ruts against your nose, “oh– fuck, y/n!”

hearing wanda cry out your name like that only spurs you on further. you’d anticipated teasing her, making her wait, but now it’s you who can’t after tasting her. 

both of your hands shoot up, fingers splaying against the crux of where her thighs meet her pelvis and thumbs delving between wet folds to fully expose her pussy. 

wanda can only react with a string of weak whines, a hand of hers shooting down and fisting into your hair to guide you to where she wants you most. you only oblige, spurred on by the visual of her swollen clit before it’s pressed flat to your tongue.

“fuck!” wanda rolls her hips, encouragingly as her shy moans turn into a slur of expletives and gasps as she rakes her clit over your tongue with each movement and tug of your hair.

her taste is overwhelming, already beginning to saturate your face as she fucks herself against it. you can’t help but moan into her, which sends vibrations along her slit that only makes her drag her entire length along your mouth now, “fuck, yes- you’re doing so good…” she swallows roughly as her head tips back, “make me feel only you, y/n.”

you’d fantasized this moment for a few years now, and the reality of now coming true has you in a chokehold. one of your hands abandons her thigh, eagerly using your ring and middle finger to press between her folds. within a second, her wetness coats your fingers, pressing them deeper until your just brushing against her entrance.

without warning you delve both fingers into her, and wanda immediately loses her balance. the one hand you have at her thigh catches her, allowing her to regain some composure as you withdraw your fingers, only to thrust back into the cling of her walls. 

wanda cries out, her head falling back feeling weightless in her stomach and knees. a good portion of her weight is seated in your palm, the only thing keeping her upright at this point. she’s tight around you as your curl your fingertips to touch at the soft spot that makes her stomach flutter. she can barely manage anything coherent between gasps and whining moans from the slight sting. 

you can already feel wanda chasing her climax. with each thrust of your fingers, her clit slams against the bottom of your palm. it sends her body in near convulsions as her legs tremble as she grows closer to release.

the sound of how wet she is sends you into a frenzy, your fingers diving deeper and more quickly into her pussy. the entirety of your palm has begun to become wet from her slick, beginning to lose friction of her clit as your fingers dare to slip out each time. 

“wanda– cum for me now,” you manage as you readjust your hand more upright, not hesitating as you lean in to drag your tongue across her swollen clit. the taste of her makes you feverish for more. it’s a perfect balance of her sweetness and slight salt. 

wanda immediately buckles, a slur of expletives as the heat in her stomach rises as your tongue continues to rake viciously against her clit, your fingers driving in and out of her. it takes only a few more seconds before she completely unravels. her walls snap tightly around your fingers as she falls to her knees, being unable to catch her in time, you only help her to the ground. 

her hands fall beside her, bracing on the floor as her hips just upwards and as her head falls backwards onto the edge of the bed. your fingers feel slightly sore from her tightness, her pussy fully exposed in front of you as her knees are spread as she sits in front of you. the carpet beneath her garners a small wet stain as she lets her release paint over your hand and down to the ground.

“y/n– that… i’m so sorry,” wanda pants out with remorse as her body settles, you withdraw your fingers quickly, not disingenuously, wiping them on your leg to be able to cup her face as she lowers her head back to look at you. there’s a bit of regret behind her eyes, and she notices the flash of worry, “no– no, you didn’t do anything. i just don’t want you to think i took advantage of you,” wanda’s body relaxes more, beads of sweat on her skin as she sits naked in front of you, apologizing for something that she has no need to. 

“wanda, you have no idea how long i’ve wanted to do that with you,” you look at her sheepishly, and she somewhat offers a smile back to you.

“we’re not done then…” she manages, now looking at you reassuringly, “let me take care of you.”

you look at her, nearly stunned as her hands reach to pull you back into her. “wanda- what about vis-

“no, nothing about him right now, please,” she shifts, her face growing closer to yours, “let that be tomorrow’s problem. let me enjoy you and i tonight, we will worry about tomorrow when it comes.”

you hesitate, but only flash her a toothy smile out of helplessness. if this is what she wants, even after the exhausting outpour of emotions, it gives you the necessary reassurance that wanda wants you in some capacity as well.

so you let her.

[bombuni]

private lessons

summary: Professor Jeong is kind enough to help you with your assignments after-hours. genre/pairing: professor!yunho x student!reader, college au, smut wc: 1.8k warnings: SMUT MDNI, meandom!yunho, sub!fem!reader, risqué topic but they are both of age consenting adults, monster cock jeong yunho agenda, lil degradation, the use of ‘slut’, creampie bom note: bad day today and my brain went uooghhhh professor yunho backshots and it cheered me up so maybe this will cheer u up too

Professor Jeong is the kindest man you’ve met.

He’s quick to answer your questions and complement your work. He greets you every morning with a kind smile and a wave of his hand, glasses slipping down his nose as he scutters around with piles of papers in his gentle hands. He watches you a lot. It’s often you look up during a lesson and find that he’s already looking at you with a feeling you can’t quite name. You chalk it up to him keeping an eye on his star pupil.

It’s the beginning of the semester and you’re not sure how, but you’re already struggling. Professor Jeong, amazingly enough, immediately took notice of your slipping grades and offered extra help before you could even ask. Graciously, you accepted his invitation to discuss your latest assignment with him in his office. You don’t think much of it. Him personally inviting you to his office hours is completely normal.

Right?

His office smells like a coffee shop, oddly enough. It’s a cramped space with piles of papers everywhere, but you spot his brown head of hair behind his computer and knock on your way in.

He seems to light up at the sight of you, leaning back and stretching in his chair, “Good to see you, miss,” God, his white button-up shirt is impossibly tight, “I was hoping you’d show up. Most of my students bail.”

You shyly giggle at the boyish smile he gives you, “Well, I’m not like the rest of your students, Professor,” his veiny hands come up to fiddle with his tie, “And ‘miss’ makes me feel old.”

He chuckles quietly as he organizes the mess on his desk and beckons you to sit, “Well, I’ll refrain from calling you ‘miss’ if you call me Yunho instead. We’re practically the same age anyways. Deal?”

Yunho’s rolling the sleeves of his shirt up as he speaks to you, and it causes you to malfunction. All you can do is stare hungrily and unabashedly at his pale skin.

“Deal.”

Tongue poking his cheek, you watch as his eyes run over you. The smile he holds on his face is deceivingly sweet. He’s holding back from saying something, just barely, and you want to unravel whatever thread makes the thoughts in his head. You want to unravel the threads in his clothes the longer he watches you like prey too, but that’s neither here nor there.

Yunho seems to swallow his words for a moment, adam’s apple bobbing as he pretends to gather all of the necessary materials. In reality, he’s attempting to gather all the strength he has to ignore the purposeful cleavage you’re showing. He knows it’s inappropriate to glance, but is it really his fault when you’re so clearly putting on a show for him?

He looks at you over his glasses, eyebrows raised and smile cheeky, “Don’t you get cold?”

You feign innocence, etching confusion on your face and leaning in just close enough so he’ll catch a whiff of your vanilla scented perfume, “What ever do you mean, Yunho?”

A puff of air escapes his nostrils in disbelief. You’re very aware of what you’re doing to him. He removes his thin-wired glasses, soft eyes turning intimidating once you’re meeting them with zero layers. He tilts his head at you questioningly, slender hand cupping his chin in mock thought. Everything he does is unwittingly graceful, elegance in his nature.

“Did you really come here for help on your essay?” He asks tauntingly and softly.

You mirror him, “Don’t act like you don’t stare at me during lectures,”

He chuckles at you and leans back in his chair, “I don’t. Is that what you think?”

The pout on your face is enticingly cute, “Don’t lie, Yunho.”

“Are you calling your professor a liar?” He raises a brow at you and you shrink in your seat.

Yunho continues as he leans on his desk, eyes focused on you and glancing down every once in a while, “I stare because you’re a slut, sweetheart. You let everyone on campus see you like that?”

A blush blooms bright on your cheeks now and Yunho lets out a mocking giggle. He’s unfortunately got you pegged. In truth, you only revealed skin on days you knew you’d see Yunho. You’ve been preparing and fantasizing about him using you like his own fuck toy ever since the first day he stepped into the lecture hall. Now that it’s happening though, you fear you’re in over your own head.

You look down under his scrutinizing gaze, “N-no. Just you, I only dress like this for you.”

He hums, standing from his desk and walking over to your side. Even the sound of his footsteps is intimidating, echoing in the reaches of your mind and igniting a fire in your gut. You feel a warm hand on your chin, his slender fingers sending sparks where they touch your skin. He lifts your head to face him and you listen on instinct.

He wears a smirk now. Like he’s a mastermind who’s trapped you, “Prove it to me, sweetheart.”

You sit there frozen for a second, only staring up at Yunho as your brain fries. He tsk’s at you as he leads your hands towards his belt buckle. Once you understand and start unbuckling his belt, he smiles and pats your head. It only makes your mouth water more.

The cock that greets you when you finally unzip Yunho is comedically big. You look up at him with nervous doe eyes and he feels himself get harder. He runs a comforting hand through your hair, throbbing and hissing when he feels you lick a long stripe along the length of him. You keep teasing him like this, licking what you can and keeping your lips on his leaking tip before he decides he’s had enough.

He places both of his hands on the sides of your head, holding you on his cock, “Sluts don’t get to tease,” he forces you an inch down him, the wetness of your mouth clouding whatever resolve and restraint he has, “You just suck my cock. Got it, pretty girl?”

He feels you nod through the cock stuffed in your mouth. Yunho guides your mouth along as you try to take all of him in, tears welling in your eyes with every inch you take. Watching you struggle to take him has his mouth hanging open, beads of sweat falling from his forehead. It takes all he has not to fuck your pretty mouth stupid.

You get as far as you think you’ll be able to before you push off of him, leaving kisses on his pink cock and trailing saliva strings. Yunho slaps his cock tip on your tongue when you open your mouth upon request, feeling his ego swell when you obey to his every command. His very best student.

Yunho leans down to kiss you, messily and provocatively. He refuses to let you get any air, stealing any that you have as he holds you to his lips. He tastes himself on your tongue when he makes his way into your mouth, your body limp against him as you let him do what he wants.

He pants into your mouth, “We’re gonna train that pussy next,”

You whine and hold his wrists, still drowning in everything that is Yunho, “Y-yunho, what if someone walks in…?”

He separates from you, once again bringing a hand to your chin to force your attention on him, “Now the little sluts worried?” He pulls you up by your shoulders, turning you around and folding you onto his desk instantaneously, “I think you’d love it if someone walked in on your Professor stuffing you with his cock.”

You shake your head, denying the idea even though you can feel yourself dripping at the thought of someone seeing you like this. Yunho brings a hand down and under your skirt, rubbing your slit through your damp panties. Your pretty white panties, he finds as he lifts your skirt over your ass.

His voice sends chills down your spine as he leans in and whispers in your ear, putting all of his weight onto your back, “Don’t you feel yourself, princess? I’m gonna destroy this little pussy whether someone watches or not,”

He slides his cock along your panties, patience disappearing as slender fingers slide under the fabric to pull them aside. You feel him at your entrance, his precum and your slick mixing as he attempts to bottom out. The stretch is unbelievable, but for once you feel like you’ve had your fill. He has you breaking down, moaning, and toppling the stacks of papers on his desk when he’s not even fully in.

The metal desk is cold under your cheek and your fingertips, “‘S so big, Yunho,”

He chuckles at how broken you sound, “You can take it, sweetheart. Isn’t this what you came to my office for?”

“Y-yes! Yes!” He slides fully in, groaning at the way you suck him in and mold yourself around him. You’re leaking all over him. He pushes his bangs out of his face, sweat clinging to his skin as he holds your hips. Yunho waits for you to settle before finally moving. When he does, it feels like every nerve in your body has collected in your pussy. He raises your sensitivity to its maximum, the lewd sounds of your pussy squelching around him filling his office.

He sets a quick pace, rhythmically slamming his hips into yours and moaning into your ear with every thrust, “You’re so tight for me, princess, fuck, you’re gonna drain me.”

His balls slap against your skin, pounding you over and over unforgivingly into his desk. He’s lost all sense of restraint. Yunho’s hips begin to stutter inside of you as his moans grow whinier, his forearm wrapping around the front of you. He holds you tightly against him before thrusting one last time and making sure to cum deep inside you. He jolts every couple of seconds, gently fucking his cum back inside of you. Yunho likes the feeling of marking you.

The cramped room is searingly hot now and smells of sex. You try to gather your bearings on Yunho’s desk, next to a printed copy of your own essay and his forgotten cup of coffee. You’ll be surprised if someone didn’t hear the two of you fucking like rabbits.

Yunho lifts himself off of you, letting your panties cover your pussy again. His cum and your slick mix again and a part of you is disgustingly proud to walk around like this, secretly knowing you belong to him.

He’s buckling his belt again, smiling like a shy love struck boy with red cheeks and sweaty forehead, “Same time next week?”

[gregrulzok]

Imagine a lonely, peaceful graveyard, somewhere in Midorijima.

Imagine two graves, side by side - one so old and overgrown, so laden with moss and grime and dirt, that you can hardly make out the inscription on it, just barely lost to time. The other - a lot more recent, though itself starting to show signs of wear.

An old man laid next to where his grandmother was buried so long ago, in eternal, peaceful sleep.

Imagine the top of that grave slowly growing moss and grass and little flowers, and there, on top, even slightly embedded into the soil - decrepit, rusting, overgrowing with vegetation - a broken-down, barely-functioning white-haired robot. Sitting still, dull eyes forever locked onto the name on the headstone - Seragaki Aoba.

Imagine a few years prior, Aoba getting older and older. Clear taking care of most of his basic needs now, carrying him when he's too tired, preparing all his meals and cleaning every mess - all with the same energy, enthusiasm, smile as before.

Imagine Aoba's old, shaking hands attempting to perform routine maintenance and check-ups on Clear. Imagine him straining his muscles to the point of pain, injury. Him mishandling tools and messing up the wiring, getting bit by electricity or having his increasingly fragile skin bruised from the force. Clear hiding any malfunctions, any errors in his performance, just to make sure Aoba doesn't try to fix it, doesn't hurt himself on his own stubborn pride.

Imagine Clear chatting with Aoba as he always did, happy and chipper, about the afterlife. Trying to spin it as positively as he can manage - assuring Aoba that he'll get to be with Tae-san, finally, and hey, maybe he'll even meet Clear's own grandpa one day! Imagine Aoba snapping at him to be quiet, rejecting, resenting the idea of an afterlife, fearing it more than desiring it because he knows that if there is such a thing, then he'll have to spend all of eternity without his love. Without Clear. Robots don't die, after all, and even if he stopped functioning there's no afterlife in the wings for an artificial being.

Imagine Clear visiting Aoba's grave for the first time. Crying uncontrollably, kneeling in the dirt, burying his hands into the soil as if to dig him up. Imagine him talking to Aoba through sobs, wishing him good rest, a fair journey. Imagine him never getting up from that spot again. Calming down, eventually, just enough to talk normally. Singing to him. Describing the environment around him, then breaking into sobs again.

Imagine his function gradually slowing down. Without any repairs or help, his body shutting down more and more bits of itself just to keep him from completely breaking. His eyesight, his voice modulation, his cooling system, his processing power. His brain becomes more and more warped and weak until he isn't even fully sure why he's there - all he knows is that he's with Aoba-san. He can't see him, or hear him, or feel him, but he's with Aoba-san, and as long as his voice carries (no matter how much it stutters, no matter how muffled it gets, no matter how garbled) - he'll keep speaking to him. Singing to him. Reaching out to him forever.

What other purpose does he have? What other purpose did he ever?

Now imagine a dog in a propeller hat.

[gyarumonstr]

☆HEART404 Lore Dump ☆

•

Dane and Androids

Aka H T P🥀🤖

Dane is an android Aka "Human Trade Product" other wise known as and HTP. HTP are semi organic mechanial beings (flesh robots) - they have humanoid organs like brains , intestines and muscles but their biological parts were artificially grown in a lab over 500 years ago by a self declared "alchemist" who had once worked with different world powers to expedite scientific progress through robotics , AI and medical science. The project quickly got out of the hands of the leading world powers and they declared the alchemist and their discoveries as a danger to humanity's position as the dominant race. Their reasoning for believing as much , the identity of the alchemist and alchemist reasonings for creating the HTP all becoming a deeply kept government secrets. This didn't stop them from keeping the blue prints and lab made organics for the HTP and reworking them into something viable for their own desires. Eventually the HTP's were reworked into the modern and publically accepted concept of Androids. Though they slept , felt pain and could even eat they no longer could experience wants or dreams or ambitions. They were programmable and only emoted and expressed the needs and wants they were programmed to , unable to experience true desires of their own. Essentially be coming a slave race under human control to fulfill the jobs humans did not want to do. Most commonly minimum wage jobs , maids , cleaners , adult workers , etc. Many ending up in slums after neglect and miss use or in the black market and broken down for their parts. To avoid making humans uncomfortable/feeling threatened they were build relatively small - between 5' and 5'8 with androgynous/feminine features , their education was highly restricted meaning most can not read or write and their rights were strictly tied to weither or not they were own and registered with the government with a human "care taker"/owner. Depending on how well off their humans was granted them more rights but things like education beyond basic information was highly regulated/punished. Bigger more masculine model had been tried several times but fears of them breaking programing and becoming a public danger quickly made them unpopular and led to their retirement.

Tōffee - an extremely well connected government scientist care extremely little for any of these rules.

He wanted to know and understand the limits and capabilities of HTP and was very well aware information was being hidden from not just the public but even those inside the government. He manipulated who had to - winning and dinning officials - seducing peoples wives , paying off those he couldn't trick till eventually getting what he wanted - Orignally blueprints for the unmodified models. In secret he build it , the first true HTP in 500 years simply and selfishly to see how it ticked. He named it Dane

Dane was not fully finished when he had first turned him on. With only a finished head and torso Tōffe decided to test out Dane's brain activity. Once turned on though Dane had done something unthinkable for an android - He cried. Alot. He smiled and hugged Tōffee - he expressed genuine joy and excitement to be alive. "Alive". A strong word never associated with modern androids. They weren't considered "alive". They were robots - appliances. Hunks of metal and wires and "fake" flesh that were used and discarded.

Dane had done the one thing he wasn't allowed to do. He expressed himself beyond the expectations of the humans he was meant to be controlled by. As proud as Tōffee was to have created the first original model in over 500 years , by modern standards Dane was a malfunctioning mess. A complete and total failure. He kept him for awhile , to study , never bothering to finish the rest of his body. Eventually though when he was done. When had gotten what he wanted - Dane was dumped in a slum with little fanfare. He had tried to return home several times but each time he was ignored or rejected. He was completely unwanted. Dane's unique build though allowed him to almost hallucinated his own thoughts and emotions like viewable day dreams , filling his world with imaginary friends and company but it did little to help his painful loneliness. His imaginary visions helped encourage him though to keep him from completely falling into desire. Dane built his own fantasy , one where he could live in, where he wasn't just wanted but adored - loved even. The slums being near the red light district of the city gave him access to discarded glamore magazines eventually leading him to build a persona. A sleek and talk woman who always looked her best - who was confident, who never took anyone's shit or had a hair out of place. He learned to modify his body. Giving himself an unheard of height for an android. Going from 5'3 to 6'2 - just shy of 2 inches over Tōffee so he would never be looked down on by him again. He moded his chest to give himself an adjustable bust and taught himself to read and write illegally by stealing any books he could. He molded his drag persona into his everyday look and grew himself into the person who wanted to be like instead of the person humans did but it didn't cure his painful loneliness. Not until he had discovered what Tōffee had done. More important what he had built.

5 years had passed and it seemed Tōffee had done what he had always planned to and "fixed" his mistakes. He had used the same blueprints as he had with Dane altering and modifying them to "perfection" creating his personal masterpiece of science - Nephele. Dane felt a rush of overwhelming need and hope. Hope that he would no longer be alone as the only true HTP/android with true feelings but also a deep painful need to protect this new being from the cold apathetic gaze of Tōffee that man who thought emotions a bug not a feature.

[missingmayuri]

KurotsuchiWeek2025 Day 1: Gadgets and body modifications/ Medicine for the brain

The Captain needs some help. Or does he?

It wasn't often you were called into the lab after hours, usually mostly for clean up duty and preparation for the following day. You were sure you left the lab spotless before clocking out, making the prospect of a sudden summons even more daunting for you.

It could have been something as simple as Akon had extra paperwork but on the other hand this could have been a summons from Captain Kurotsuchi himself, a thought that shook you more then the growing uncertainty plaguing your soul.

The halls were still and empty, steps echoing. The only light from the oil lamps on the walls, probably lit when work let out. Captain Kurotsuchi didn't really like the lights on in the evenings, preffering to have all electrical supplies at his command for his more private and sometimes outrageous experiments.

A faint smell of iron filled the air, coming from a nearby slightly more lighter room accompanied by slight noises of discomfort and frustration.

You thought it best to knock in case the matter beyond the sterile metal door was a private affair, giving three taps before waiting for any kind of signal.

There was but a silence more deafening then before, knocking another three times to further alert the person inside.

"Dont just stand there knocking! I asked Akon to call you so get in here!"

You knew that voice, very well in fact but this time there was an edge of urgency. Captain Kurotsuchi wasn't someone who liked things rushed. He could be impatient yes but he would rather a job took hours and well done then a shoddy one finished in mere moments.

This was unlike him, the chill down your spine akin to someone throwing dry ice onto your bare skin. Unpleasant and made you want to run.

Regardless of your feelings a summon was a summon, fearing what the Captain may do to you if you didn't comply you step inside to a truly fascinating and rather shocking sight.

Captain Mayuri Kurotsuchi sat in his plush work chair, now covered in small patches of blood. It was almost like the blood had formed a patten below him, swirling by his feet.

The source was his extendo arm, laid in pieces possibly from a malfunction across half of the room. A truly morbidly beautiful sight.

From the near darkness you see two strikingly golden eyes, shining ever so slightly. They never once broke from the direction in which you stood, body shaking from uncertainty and fear.

Your heart was pounding, almost strong enough to break through it's bony cage. What rattled you more wasn't the blood, nor the sight ahead. No. It was that those eyes were so normal, no signs of pain and no worry. Your Captain was calm, even as he was bleeding out.

"Well? Come closer"

You take a few cautious steps, landing right beside the twitching white painted hand on the floor, it wrapped up tightly in wires like a snake capturing it's pray within it's coils.

"As you can see I'm in a rather let's say...unpleasant situation. I need assistance to reconnect the circuitry and reassemble my arm into a more acceptable state"

You take a breath so deep one would think you were storing air for an emergency.

"Yes sir..."

No sooner had those words left your lips you feel a tight grasp on your ankle, causing your voice to bellow around the room and echoing down the halls.

A sinister chuckle soon accompanied the screams, sounding like some sort of insane symphony, two sounds that were dancing in a delightful harmony despite being so fundamentally different.

"My goodness. It would appear all my nerves still work. What a delightful discovery"

You grasp your chest, trying to get your breath back and feeling a little faint as you did so. Your head felt light, taking a couple stumbling steps away from the hand which now tapped it's fingers on the prestinely clean marble floors.

There was a faint smell in the room. You couldn't make it out.

Through the ever so slight blur of your vision you could see Captain Kurotsuchi write something with his intact hand. He wasn't looking at his notebook, still staring directly at you as his hand worked freely seemingly disconnected from his mind and you didn't doubt it giving the nature of Mayuri Kurotsuchi.

The scribbling comes to a halt, Mayuri beckoning you with his fingers.

"If you can come closer. As I said before I require assistance"

Continuing onward with slightly clearer vision you assess the situation at hand.

"It looks like one of the wires connected to the nerves between your arm and elbow has been damaged sir"

Looking up you find yourself met with a golden smile, large and unnatural with corners curled into a very slight smirk.

"Excellent work"

You nod in thanks to acknowledge his compliment, heart pounding as you waited for further instructions.

"Listen very carefully to my instructions and follow them to the letter..Or else"

You quickly comply , crouching to your knees onto the freezing floor, following every order that came your way.

Pulling wires.

Fixing up vains.

Muscle testing and circuit replacement.

You did all these things and more, covering your once spotless uniform a deep crimson. You wondered if this is what it would look like to bathe in the reaper's river, the one they say connects life and death. If such a thing existed. Would your clothes stain the same?

Your mind was wandering and your thoughts felt disconnected and distracted, a dangerous thing to do given your tasks and who was inches from you. You could feel his hot breath as he breathed deeply, still writing all the while.

In a moment of clarity you had noticed one of the damaged wires looked purposely cut but you didn't dare to question as to why, figuring your body would be found strapped to the cold metal table come morning if you did.

You are snapped from every single thought by a small sickle falling down next to you and looking mostly made of muscle.

"Oh do carry on. I sometimes need to air this out"

It was coming from his ear guard, meaning that it was inside his...

The idea was almost enough to invoke a sickness upon you from thin air, much like an invisible parasite or toxin yet still you focused on your task, ignoring when you were taunted by the grotesque blade.

It kept being kicked in your direction, forcing you to look at it, a gleaming cheshire smile beaming down upon you like the goddess of the sun.

The longer the job went on the more you felt like your mind was wandering, empty of all thoughts and by the time you soldered the last bolt into place you felt much an empty shell, unable to think clearly.

The room had a purple hue now, faint and smelling of flora. You swear it wasn't like that when you came in but in your delirious state your mind was deceptive and unreliable at best. You watch your Captain finish his note taking through tired eyes.

"Good work. You may now leave"

You try to bow but end up stumbling, the arm once laid in pieces retracting back to its master as you walked in an almost drunk fashion to the door.

"Oh my I almost forgot!"

You feel a sharp sudden stinging in your arm, the sickle grabbing your flesh. You pull it out in instinct, air sharply passing your teeth. Suddenly you felt more awake then you ever had, almost euphoric and calm but before you could utter a word of question or a simple thanks you were quickly dismissed, a flick of the wrist signalling you had served your purpose. With a now more proper and dignified bow you leave the lab's and indeed whatever just happened behind. You wouldn't dwell, not wanting to be curious enough to ask the Captain what had indeed transpired. Sleep seemed appropriate.

When asked about your evening in the lab you couldn't recall a single detail of it, coming up with blank thoughts every single time. You assumed it was probably another cleaning job, sitting down to read the new issue of the bulletin.

The headline piqued your interest, turning immediately to the page listed under.

Effects of excessive stimulus and altered states.

By Mayuri Kurotsuchi

[onyxluvjiro]

Can I have uhhhh luke (the microwave I think) NSFW headcanons?? PLEASE

I definitely think he gets a boner every time we reach into his little chest cavity (or whatever it is-

this took a hot minute cause i had to meet him first and omg i love him he’s so silly.

- MINORS DNI 18+

- gn reader, mentions of a womb

-p in v or anal :P

- luke has a massive cock

- some weird descriptions of his little chest cavity being like a microwave

- less of a headcannon more of just smut

—

My first nsfw thought when it comes to characters that are electric based is to bring them so far into pleasure that they malfunction. And i KNOW Luke is fucking massive (in both ways)

So when you tie him up with his own cords, and sink yourself down onto his fat n large cock, he lets out a deep guttural groan. How is he supposed to last when you’re so tight and he’s so, big.

You finally bottom out, soft whines spilling from your lips, you feel like your legs have been shot dead. But you do your best anyways, lifting your hips up and slamming back down, an unnatural bulge poking from your belly where his cock is inside of you.

You sit for a moment, pressing your hands against his chest until you feel the chest cavity. You put your curiosity to the test, leaning back and grabbing the handle, hearing the click as it opens.

“Wait you can’t just- fuck!”

He warns you but all in vein as you slide your finger along the edge of the chest cavity, smiling as you look up at him. You stick your hand in, caressing the walls just to watch him absolutely fall apart. He goes limp with your touches, only able to moan. What you don’t expect is for his cock to suddenly twitch, balls emptying into your hole, filling your womb (metaphorical or literal) up with his hot seed.

Oh he was sooo into that.

You gave him a moment to breathe before slowly starting to bounce again, the slick sounds of his cum sloshing in your hole, some of it spilling out.

When you finally glance up at the man again, you almost let out a whine, his eyes so heavily lidded as he moans, whispers of praise not far behind as his chest heaves. You were practically ruining him with that tight hole of yours.

You go to place your hands on his chest again, he’s fucking burning up. The inside of the chest cavity is heating up so hot, you can’t put your hands anywhere near it, almost like it was working like a real microwave. And if you listened close enough, you could hear the wires inside his brain frying, and you could almost see the smoke coming out of his ears.

Before you know it you slow down, fascinated by the discovery of the chest cavity working like a microwave. What you didn’t expect was a growl to come from him, and for him to break loose from the wiring holding him down. He immediately flips the two of you, pressing you into a mating press.

The tip of his cock kissing you soooo deep, and sooo good, you can’t help but keen.

“nough teasin from you, just shut up n take it.”

That’s all the warning you get before an absolutely brutal pace is set, making you see white behind your eyelids. You can’t stop the orgasm from crashing down, nor could you stop the next two as he fucked you through them.

His cock was sooo BIG and hit every single good goey spot inside of you that you couldn’t help but fall victim to pleasure. Fall victim to his powerful and addicting thrusts as he buries himself deep in you one more time, before spilling his hot cum once again, deep inside your belly. So full and so so satisfied.

—

i know this man has a massive shlong and i want him so bad