Call Me Cringe

Willie/any pronouns/23/art fanfic and fandom/some 18+ will tag accordingly/Follows back at @cringewillie-main Current Hyperfixation: Transformers

[cringewillie]

My old account cringewil got nerfed after I signed in again for some reason so this is my new art/fic blog, some 18+

I roleplay! Ask for my discord in dms

no TERFS/MAPS/Transmeds/Zoos or I'll fucking bite you, I dont have my rabies shots

Art tag: Willies art

Fic tag: Willie writes (Requests open!)

Answered questions: Willie answers

+18: spicy/suggestive

AO3: Cringewil

Fandoms:

Adventure time

The Amazing Digital Circus

Bioshock

Horror movies/slashers

Gothic lit

Oddities and curiosities

Witchcraft; Green/Kitchen

Fallout

COD mwf

don't starve

DC

Little shop of horrors

Team fortress 2

Rocky horror picture show

Glass scientists

Creepypasta

OFF

Gravity Falls

Ghost BC

Fight Club

Invader Zim

Jthm

Sherlock

Dracula media

Hellboy

The Hobbit

Skyrim

Superjail

Transformers

Alice in Wonderland

[fishleeks]

Wait

Schmuck

some nick comics

[aouralune]

The chains are the easy part

[marigoldcanary]

low sanity tends to lead to irrational and dangerous decisions. (un)fortunately wilson does not care

[unkeysy]

The G1 (& TFP) viewing experience

[ink-the-artist]

"Oh, my son... they were only slaves."

[cringewillie]

Twi'lek OC because Star wars has me by the throat rn

[gorjee-art]

a comic about cuddles

[keiosity]

Morning love ♡ | The Bad Batch

CONTENT: Pabu mornings with the boys <3

RATING: NSFW

VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED!

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HUNTER

Oh, waking up next to Hunter is always a special moment.

Everyday, you'd hear his steady breathing—a quiet, comforting rhythm behind you—and you'd feel his arm tightening around your waist the moment you stir awake.

Normally, you'd find him still asleep when you turn over to check. But you know he'd wake up immediately once you pressed your lips against his. A little morning routine of yours that never fails to make him smile.

However, today feels different. It seems Hunter was the first one to wake, and you could feel why.

It must be one of those rarer days where he'll rouse himself from sleep with a kind of need only you can fill. A kind of need you can feel pressing up against your lower back, his hips flush on yours, and his ragged breaths hot in your ear.

You'd feel his hands, rough and large, grip your hips firmly. You'd feel his lips ghost your nape. And you'd immediately wake up the moment you hear him say, “Need you right now, mesh'la.”

These kinds of mornings with Hunter always had you skipping breakfast, because the moment he braces himself above you with that hungry look in his eyes, you knew you didn't need to eat in order to be satiated.

He'll take you slowly at first, with a kind of rawness that has your back arching off of the mattress. You'd feel him kiss your neck, growl dark praises against your skin, as he enters you in one slow push—making sure you'd feel every inch through the torturous drag.

He'll start off with a gentle roll, not creating much distance, just grinding himself back into you. Eventually, he'll get impatient. Hungrier. Then, he starts moving faster. Deeper. Rougher. The kind that makes you call his name louder, two syllables broken between choked gasps, but it also means the neighbours can probably hear you.

His strokes become longer, farther, until all that was left inside you was his tip before he's thrusting himself back in. His hands would never leave your hips, and after you've come, he'll turn your lax body over until your spine is arched and his hands are back on your hips.

Then, he'll start again. The first round was for breakfast, the second is for lunch.

Hunter takes you apart in a way you'd forget your duties for the day. Because you knew, you won't leave your room until the sheets are in need of a wash and the room smells like the sin you've just committed. He doesn't stop until you're sobbing into your pillow, hushing you in that smoky rasp of his.

“One more, mesh'la. Just one more for me.”

After the last round—blankets low on his hips, scratchmarks on his shoulders and back—he's watching you try to walk out of bed with that smug grin on his face.

“Need any help, mesh'la?” You'd hear him ask, but his only response was a weak glare you threw at his direction.

“Your fault,” You'd tell him, and watch as his gaze darkens at the way you stumbled again. Something flickers in his eyes, something that shook your legs even more than they already do.

“My fault, huh?” He'll quip, before he's rising from the bed and walking towards you with that predatory gait. “Let me apologize for that.”

Mornings with Hunter will stretch into afternoons if you're strong enough to keep up.

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ECHO

With Echo, your mornings with him are always gentle. The kind that lingers in bed, too lazy to get up yet, just basking in each other's warmth even after the sun has long risen.

Sometimes, you'll be the one hugging him from behind. An occasional shift in your sleeping position, he'd be the big spoon on one night and you'll be the next on another. Right now, your front was pressed against his back, and you could feel his body rise and fall.

You kiss the area between his shoulder blades and feel him tense from the contact. Right after his time in Skako Minor, there are areas in his body that are still sensitive upon touching. That included his spine, so you made sure you're always careful with your touches.

You kiss him there again, softer his time, and he relaxes immediately.

“Morning, cyar'ika.” You hear his voice, low and raspy from sleep, then he takes your hand over his chest and places a tender kiss on your knuckles.

You mumble the same greeting into his back, trailing your kisses up to his nape where you knew he was most sensitive. Most of the time, he’d laugh—claims he’s ticklish there—but right now, his breathing starts to get heavier.

The hand he was holding gets dragged down from his chest, slipping beneath the covers where he places your palm over him—half-hard and throbbing.

You smile, proud of him for expressing his needs. It took him a while to get there, afraid to make you uncomfortable and he was still hesitant for any kind of intimacy. But now, he starts to be more open with his desire and encourages you to be the same.

So, you covered him with your palm and set a languid yet firm stroke through his pants. It immediately makes his hips buck forward, grunting your name quietly, while he strains those two words, “Please, cyar'ika.”

And that was your cue to turn him over. You throw a leg over his hips, straddling him down on the mattress, as you steal his sounds away in a deep kiss.

His hand and scomp are on your thighs, he's leaning up to chase more of your lips, while you start to grind down against him. To hear him groan brokenly, to feel him throb beneath you, to see those lovely eyes of his flutter open—half-lidded and pleading—until you begin to undress yourselves.

Making love with Echo always changes depending on who wants to take the lead. Some days he'll be the one in charge, pleasuring you in more ways than one. And on other days, like this one, he's perfectly content laying back and watching you pleasure yourself above him.

But that didn't mean he wasn't enjoying himself. You could tell the way his pupils expanded, the way he thrusts up into you to match your movements, and the way he praises you through breathless groans.

When he feels you getting tired from how your rhythm falters, he won't waste a second to take charge and roll you over until he's the one above you.

Then, he’ll push himself back inside. Praising you even more for your efforts, kissing you lovingly while he picks up the pace, until the gentleness from the early morning melts away into desperation.

He always makes sure you come first before him. He tells you it's the right way to do it, but you know deep down he loves the way you feel around him when you come undone, because when you do, he releases this strangled noise from the back of his throat before he's following right after you.

When the two of you descend from your high, you'll gaze into each other's eyes and share another kiss. Slow, deep, and full. Like you're pouring your heart into every tilt and sigh.

Then, he'll ask you to stay in bed while he goes up to make the both of you breakfast. When he returns, it's a whole breakfast in bed moment with him by your side, flushed smiles on your faces as the two of you eat.

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TECH

You'd always expect Tech to be up before the sun is awake. You'd wake up to find him leaning against the headboard, datapad in hand, reading current news all across the galaxy.

And you're right, you roll over to find him reading something in his datapad. Thoroughly engrossed as well, as he always was. But there’s something different today. He seems too transfixed with whatever's on his screen.

When you murmur his name, curious and soft, his eyes snap towards you. And you’re mildly surprised at the intensity behind those fogged lenses.

“Oh, good. You are awake. I discovered something quite fascinating, and I wish to test it.”

Without another word, he tosses his datapad aside, slips beneath the covers, and places himself between your thighs—you’re already wide awake and gaping at his sudden action.

Acts of intimacy are a rarity for Tech. Due to his different functionality and processing, he often struggles picking up cues. Especially when it comes to sexual advances. But now, something in him switches, and whatever it was he found on his datapad must be the cause of it.

You were about to ask him what he discovered, when his fingers hook inside your waistband and he was pulling your bottoms off with an indecipherable glint behind his goggles.

“Trust me, my dear. It will be very enlightening for the both of us.”

So, here you were, struggling to breathe properly while Tech expertly pleasured you with his mouth despite being his first time. But the way he did it made you wonder if it truly was.

Every lap of his tongue was thorough. Every harsh suck made you see stars behind closed eyelids. Every time he pushed himself deeper into you, you swore he was going to kill you from his mouth alone.

All it took was his tongue, talented despite his lack of experience, to get you over the edge and chant his name like a prayer. When you finally open your eyes, you're again surprised to see him now hovering above you. And he has the audacity to ask, “Was that adequate?” Even after sending you to another dimension without any prior experience.

The only response you gave him was a smile, before you pushed him aside and placed yourself between his legs as well. The shock on his face quickly vanished the moment you decided to return the favor and took him down your mouth—the sweet breathy exhale of your name was both a reward and fuel for you to continue.

You made sure to give him the same thorough treatment, not stopping until one of his hands was pulling off of him by your hair and he was tugging you upwards until you were seated right above his lap and he was leaning against the headboard once more.

“I do not wish to finish yet,” He states, gaze darkening as he lines up into you. “At least, not in your mouth.”

Chests pressed close, lips molded together, while your hips moved up and down on his hard length. You support yourself with your hands on his shoulders, and he uses this opportunity to grasp your neck in one hand and grip your thigh with the other.

And oh, Tech becomes very vocal when he's close. He doesn't even realize he's babbling nonsense, speaking both praises and pleas. Until his sounds turn needy, half-formed sentences fading into strangled gasps.

When you both fall apart, he pushes you down completely on his lap—letting you take every spend he can release inside—with his face buried in your neck and his arms around your waist.

“That was–” He panted, grunting softly. “An enlightening experience.”

You smiled, kissing his temple and agreeing. “I know more enlightening experiences we can test. If you want to learn more, that is.”

He was already twitching back to life inside you, sealing your fate of a late breakfast.

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CROSSHAIR

Crosshair rarely sleeps for long hours, always the first one to wake and start the day before you, but this morning seems to be one of those rare moments.

But this morning, you stirred awake to him still in bed. You assumed he was still sleeping, except you’re wrong. He's already awake, his breathing isn't steady, his hands are hard on your hips, and his teeth are tugging the shell of your ear.

And oh, the realization startled you awake. You hear his voice, dark and serpentine, trailing after his teeth in a fervent hiss.

“Had a nice dream? I hope so. You were saying my name in your sleep.”

Then, you'd recognize the hard pressure behind you. The unmistakable length of him pressing against your back. You feel him take his rake along your nape, him tugging you flush to his front.

You didn't even realize him slipping your bottoms down, until the cool air hit you and the undeniable arousal between your thighs told you he was telling the truth about your dream. Whatever you were dreaming of, it must've been that good to have you this aroused.

And whatever he heard you say in your sleep must've been the reason why he's growling harshly beside your ear and he's freeing himself from his confines in that instant.

He lifts your leg in one hand, and you shiver at the dangerous drawl of his voice next to your ear. “Don't worry. I plan to make it come true.”

Then, he's sliding himself into you. Inch by inch. You both sigh shakily, and you clutch the sheets in a weak grip. Crosshair pushes himself further until he is flush behind you. You expect him to start moving immediately, but he didn't.

He caresses your hip instead, humming against your neck. “Maybe I should just stay like this. Doesn't it feel nice?” But you don't want nice. You want him to move, but he stays still. Of course, Crosshair would pull something like this.

In retaliation, you simply shrugged. “Yeah, it does. I could fall asleep like this.” You ignore his growl, settling back to sleep again wearing a small smirk. But then, he pulls out of you and slides in deep in a single thrust.

“Don't think you could sleep again,” He continues moving now, and you’re back to clutching the sheets. “Maybe you could. After we're done.”

And so, Crosshair turns your body over completely. Shifts your hips up, slides a pillow underneath, and leans over you with his forearms beside your shoulders.

He enters you again and sets a pace that has you clenching around him immediately. One of his hands covers your mouth, suppressing every high-pitch moan and choked gasp you make.

But he didn't seem to mind his own sounds. Panting harshly besides your ear, cursing through gritted teeth, and biting your shoulder when he gets too loud himself.

These kinds of mornings with Crosshair always leaves you voiceless for the entire day. Being a sniper, he knows damn well which areas to hit in order to neutralize the enemies. In bed, he's no different.

The way he takes you is sharp, precise, and swift. Hitting that same spot again and again, rhythm never faltering, and making sure to change his angle every now and then to bring you closer to the edge.

He doesn't stop to give you a break even after you came the first time. He knows perfectly well how to get you to a second, bringing your hips up and straightening himself to take you faster—one hand on your hip, the other between your shoulder blades.

Right after you come the second time, he turns you over so he can face you and take you again. And only after the third time, Crosshair lets your body melt into the mattress and melts along with you.

“I’ll start lunch,” You hear his voice—raw and hoarse—pressing a tender kiss against your temple. “I promised you sleep. So, sleep. I'll wake you up when it's ready.”

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WRECKER

Oh, mornings with Wrecker always means waking up first to loud snoring, a wall of hard yet warm muscle cuddling up against you, and the occasional mumbling in his sleep.

The space in the bed barely fits you both, but it's perfect since you can hug him closer and feel his warmth radiate from his body.

But this time, Wrecker awakens first and he knows the reason why. He sees you still fast asleep, laying peacefully on top of him, arm and leg thrown over his front. But that isn't the reason why he woke up.

The reason is the big problem under the covers, and how your leg keeps on brushing against him every time you shift. He grits his teeth, cursing quietly so as to not wake up, and wills himself back to sleep replaying mantras in his head.

You move again, mumbling something in your sleep, and your leg presses against his problem which makes him clench his jaw. He's half-tempted to wake you, but decided not after seeing your serene state. After all, he did tire you out after last night.

But it seems like his body is not yet done, aching for you once more. He knows he should let you sleep, so he sighs and closes his eyes to focus on something else.

What he didn't know is that you're awake. You've been awake since you felt him twitch against your leg. You assume it was him flinching in his sleep, a habit he still hasn't gotten over yet since his time as a soldier, but you felt it again.

And now you're just listening to him mutter “don't move, you'll wake her” over and over again. Sweet, strong, and lovable Wrecker. Too pure for his own good.

“Too late for that,” You feel him flinch now and you quickly make a move to straddle him. “You hungry yet?”

Wrecker's eyes widen comically, and you barely suppress your laugh. “Uh, not yet. I mean, kinda, but– How about you?”

You give him an impish grin, tracing a finger from his chest down to his stomach. “I could eat.”

He didn't stop you when you slipped underneath the covers. He didn't make any complaints when you freed him from his confines. He didn't do anything but watch you taste him, touch him, and take him into your mouth. And he didn't contain the groans and curses spilling from his lips the moment you moan around him.

“Stop,” You immediately obey, and freeze when you see the hungry look on his face. “Get up here.”

You haven't even more yet when he hauls you upwards, settling you over him with your legs besides his face. You brace yourself on the headboard, breath hitching as you stare down at him. The last thing you see is his predatory grin, before his mouth connects with you and your eyes fall shut.

Wrecker loves to eat, being the biggest foodie out of all of his brothers, he could finish an entire feast by himself. That isn't any indifferent when it comes to you. The way he does makes your thighs shake terribly, makes your lungs hurt from panting, and makes stars appear behind your eyelids each ravenous lap of his tongue and pleased growl from his throat.

He doesn't stop even when your hands barely have any strength to hold onto the headboard, drawing out your climax after you come hard on his mouth.

Wrecker catches you just in time, dazed and lightheaded, before you fall over the bed. He switches positions, bracing himself above you with his large hands holding your thighs apart.

Still shaking from the intense release, you feel his warm breath kiss your neck and a blunt sensation teases your entrance.

“Hope you're not hungry yet,” Wrecker grunts, sliding himself into you slowly, pinning your legs to the mattress. “Cuz we're gonna be skipping breakfast.”

By the time he’s done, it's already lunch and the others are wondering why you're stumbling into the kitchen and almost tripping on your feet.

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Masterlist

[mordhiobhail]

megatron

[schandbringer]

Crocodile Kiss Plugs

As promised, here’s my interpretation of what Plug and Play might look like! I didn’t look up any references, my only knowledge about PnP are the very basic idea of it (cables, plugs, non-sticky) and one or two pictures I’ve seen at some point. But this is what my idea of it was when I first heard the term. Now, because I don’t know shit about PnP, I don’t know how common this interpretation is and/or how similar it is to other ideas (I do remember one of the few pics I saw had the cables around the chest area, which was basically my thought of it as well). 

This thing basically consists of four cables, two with plugs and two with receivers for each bot. They’re kept inside the chest, the smaller two can be extended through two small openings on the underside of the main chest plate. The bigger two cables can only be used when the whole chest is opened, which only happens for the more intimate spark interfacing. In that case, the main chest plates either fold back into the side of the chest or can be disassembled and reveal the inside which is made of several, insect-like platings that are usually intertwined and shield the spark. These platings now fold up and intertwine with the partner’s to resume a shield for the sparks so nothing from the outside can hurt them (there’s gaps for the cables to extend on the underside). I’d have to draw some variations on that too, you can choose how snug together the chests are for this. 

Yeah that’s basically it, I don’t know how basic and common this interpretation is but this is my pretty much non-influenced take on it :’D 

[primusno]

y oooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO YOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Oh man would you mind if others drew this???

[schandbringer]

OH SHIT no I wouldn’t mind at all!

Feel free to use this headcanon as you please, I am very honored if you like it enough to do something with it! By all means, go ahead and have fun with this! 

[not100bees]

People on Tumblr love sharing information about themselves no matter how asinine it is. And I'm the same way. Everybody tell me what the last thing you drank was.

[techunit]

Star Wars Special:

The Extremely Bad Batch

warnings: stockholm syndrome, toxic relationship, dubcon, suggestive, a bit of gore, dark romance

note: I know no one asked for this. But I cant help myself. Enjoyed writing this way too much lol Im not okay.

The Bad Batch as toxic boyfriends ❤️‍🩹⛓️

Hunter

Hunter’s biggest turn-on is fear.

Not fake fear, real panic. The kind that makes your heartbeat go erratic in your chest, sharp and frantic enough for him to hear from yards away. He loves the chase too much to hide it. Loves the way your breathing falls apart when you realize he’s genuinely hunting you.

His favorite game is chasing you late at night in the woods. Always gives you a head start. Ten minutes. That’s all you get before he starts tracking.

He could catch you immediately if he wanted to. You never actually stand a chance. He just enjoys dragging it out, staying barely out of sight, close enough for branches to snap behind you, for you to feel him there.

He can smell the fear on you. Hear every staggered breath. Every shaky attempt to stay quiet.

The panic only makes him meaner. Extra points if you trip.

You’re scrambling up from the dirt, knee split open against a rock, hands shaking so badly you can barely push yourself upright, that’s when he steps out from behind the trees.

Silent.

Broad shoulders. Visor hiding his expression completely. Knife turning lazily in his hand.

He walks toward you slowly while you crawl backwards through the mud, too panicked to think straight anymore. And the second he notices blood running down your knee, a low sound slips out of him before he can stop it.

A moan.

*

Later that night, Hunter sits between your legs tending carefully to the scrape on your knee, dabbing antiseptic against the bruised skin with surprising gentleness for someone who had you running terrified through the woods only hours earlier.

“Hey…” you mumble hesitantly. “You kinda scared me out there.”

A tiny smirk slips onto his face before he can hide it, quick, gone within a second, but you still catch it. He liked hearing that. Liked knowing you were genuinely afraid of him.

Hunter pauses for a moment before leaning over you slowly, arms braced on either side of your body as he cages you against the couch.

“That’s…” he murmurs, voice rough with amusement, “kinda the point, isn’t it?”

Your throat tightens. “Yeah, I just…” you laugh nervously, avoiding his eyes. “Sometimes I can’t even recognize you out there.”

That earns you a low chuckle.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says softly, brushing his lips barely against yours, “you’re making this way too easy for me.”

Crosshair

He never really tells you what he does for a living.

To you, he’s just some quiet man you keep running into at the same coffee shop. Dry humor. Tired eyes. The type that stands slightly too far away from everyone else like he’s permanently detached from the world around him.

You think he’s awkward. Maybe lonely. You definitely don’t think he’s dangerous.

Meanwhile, Crosshair knows almost everything about you.

Your routines. Your commute. The names of your coworkers. Which strangers linger around you too long. Which men look at you in ways he dislikes. Most days, he watches you from rooftops through the scope of his rifle.

It starts as curiosity. Then attachment.Then something ugly enough that even he realizes there’s probably no coming back from it.

Crosshair has spent his entire life repressing every emotion he’s ever had until it rotted into something sharper. Possessiveness sits inside him like a disease.

And eventually, self-control becomes unrealistic. The breaking point is stupidly small.

A man outside a café smiling at you for too long. Asking for your number while you laugh nervously and try to let him down gently.

Crosshair watches the interaction through his scope from three buildings away. Then pulls the trigger.

One second the man is talking. The next, blood splatters across your face as he collapses directly in front of you.

Screaming erupts instantly. You don’t even understand what happened at first. But then it keeps happening.

Anyone new who gets too close to you. Anyone too interested. Too persistent. One after another, horrific “random” deaths surrounding your life until eventually you become terrified to leave your apartment at all.

And that’s when Crosshair finally steps in properly. Patiently. Like he’s rescuing you.

He offers to bring groceries over so you don’t have to go outside. Offers to stay the night because you’re clearly shaken up. Sleeps on your couch at first, acting almost reluctant about taking up space in your life.

You trust him because he never pressures you.

Everything he does feels reasonable. Protective. And..safe.

The first time he “accidentally” forgets to leave your apartment key behind in the morning, he apologizes quietly and says he’ll bring it later. The second time, he barely reacts.

And eventually, when you ask for it back more firmly, he just looks at you for a long moment before saying:

“Where exactly would you even go?” Not angrily, just… honestly.

And when you hesitate, fear immediately creeps into his voice instead. “You really wanna go out there while somebody’s targeting you?”

That’s how he gets you. Not with violence toward you. Not threats. Just slow manipulation wrapped in concern until eventually even you start questioning whether leaving is worth the risk.

Crosshair loves knowing where you are. Safe inside the apartment he’s memorized down to every creaking floorboard. Away from everyone else. Away from danger.

He keeps your apartment key around his neck at all times beneath his gear.

His lucky charm. The physical proof that at the end of every mission, every miserable day, every ugly thought in his head, you’ll still be exactly where he left you.

*

It’s been months now.

Long enough for the apartment to start feeling smaller. Long enough for you to notice patterns.

Crosshair always locking one specific closet before leaving. Always checking it twice. Always touching the key beneath his shirt afterward like some nervous habit he doesn’t realize he has.

And eventually, curiosity outweighs fear. It takes you nearly an hour to figure out the lock. But when the door finally clicks open, your stomach drops instantly.

Imperial gear. His rifle. The uniform folded with perfect precision.

For a long time you just stand there staring, horrified while every missing piece finally falls into place.

And that night, Crosshair notices the change in you immediately. The second he walks through the door, his eyes narrow slightly.

“You’re quiet,” he says flatly.

You fold your arms tightly across yourself. “Why am I really locked in here?”

His gaze shifts toward the closet. When he looks back at you again, there’s something cold in his expression that makes your chest tighten.

“So,” he murmurs, “you’ve been snooping.”

“How can you work for them?” you blurt out, panic rising too fast to control. “You know what they’re doing. You know I’m against the Empire, my friends are out there, they need me!”

“You are not going anywhere.” The sharpness in his voice cuts straight through you.

You step back instinctively, heart hammering. “Crosshair..”

“No.” He advances slowly, forcing you backward until the backs of your knees hit the bed. “You think I don’t know exactly what would happen to you out there?”

“You can come with me,” you plead desperately. “Please. We can leave together, just run somewhere far away..”

For a second, something flickers across his face. Temptation..weakness maybe, but its gone just as quickly.

“I follow orders,” he says coldly.

You grab onto him anyway, clinging to his chest hard enough to wrinkle the black fabric beneath your fingers. “Please… I trust you.”

That almost makes him angry. His jaw tightens as he pries your hands off him and pushes you down onto the mattress hard enough to stun you quiet.

“You shouldn’t.”

The metal cuff snapping around your wrist makes panic surge instantly. Crosshair secures the other end to the bedframe with efficient movements before finally looking down at you again.

“This,” he says evenly, “is what happens when you start digging into things that don’t concern you.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “You’re keeping me prisoner.”

“No,” he replies, his voice low and unsettlingly calm.

“I’m keeping you alive.”

Tech

If you met Tech in person, you’d never suspect a thing.

You try to speak to him; “Hey, Tech!” Immediately, he short-circuits.

His face turns red almost instantly, hands sweating under his gloves as he awkwardly adjusts his datapad to avoid looking directly at you. Social interaction with you feels unbearable in the worst possible way, too much eye contact, too many variables, too aware of your voice and your expression and the exact angle of your smile.

So instead, he just pretends to be busy.

Mumbles something quick under his breath and walks away while staring rigidly at his datapad, completely missing the doorway on his first attempt because his thoughts are spiraling too hard.

But Tech spends time with you in his own ways. Far more time than you realize.

Your phone camera. Laptop camera. Cameras in your building and your street. Synced and accessible at all times. In his mind, observing you simply became routine long ago.

He records everything without exception.

Every file categorized with timestamps, folders, backups. Perfectly organized.

His favorites are your morning and nighttime routines. The moments where you think nobody can see you.

Half-awake with messy hair and sleep-heavy eyes. Sitting cross-legged on your bed while scrolling through your phone..

And every night when you open Tumblr, he’s there too.

Watching your screen carefully through mirrored access, reading every post with intense concentration, mentally cataloguing every theme, every phrase, every fantasy that catches your attention.

He was particularly fascinated by your interest in masked men and kidnapping fantasies. Initially, he found it irrational.

The statistical danger alone made very little sense to him.

But after several weeks of research, cross-referencing tags, and analyzing recurring patterns in your reading habits, he eventually found comfort in one specific conclusion:

You are remarkably consistent in your preferences.

And when he discovered headcanons about himself, he became completely intrigued.

The idea fascinated him endlessly, strangers constructing versions of him from fragments, filling in the gaps with desire and projection, trying to understand someone they could never truly know.

Tech reads every single one. Sometimes twice. Sometimes while monitoring your reactions in real time through your webcam, carefully observing which lines make you pause longer than others.

He wonders what version of him exists inside your head.

If it resembles the real one at all..

This is research to him at first. Observation. Data collection. Until suddenly it isn’t.

Until he’s sitting there in the dark of his room, one hand gripping the edge of the desk hard enough to hurt while he watches you get turned on by fantasies of him. This is by far the most intimate thing he had ever experienced with anyone. You have consumed him.

*

One day, you disappear.

Your laptop stays closed all day. Your phone remains abandoned on your desk, screen-down and untouched for hours.

Tech notices immediately.

Hours pass by. No searches. No Tumblr scrolling. No music. No movement across any device he monitors daily with near religious consistency.

The absence unsettles him far more than it should. You are routine to him. Constant and predictable. He watches you every day. Always records.

And now suddenly there’s… nothing.

He knows something’s wrong.

For the first time since this obsession began, Tech leaves his screens behind and goes to see you himself.

When you open the door, you look exhausted. Eyes dull. Clothes wrinkled. Some kind of sadness lingers heavily in the air around you.

“Hey.. it’s Tech, right?” you ask softly. (Acting fool fr xD)

His throat tightens instantly. “Right,”

And before you can really process it, he’s already stepped inside your apartment with strange, effortless familiarity, moving through the space like he belongs there somehow.

Like he already knows it.Which he does.lol.

You don’t notice at first. You’re too tired.

Tech sits down exactly where he always watches you sit through his recordings and studies your face carefully.

“Are you alright?” he asks bluntly.

The question catches you off guard. You aren’t close. Not really. Just awkward conversations in passing. Small interactions here and there.

And yet somehow, his presence feels comforting tonight.

So you start talking. About the loneliness, about feeling numb lately.

Tech listens to every word with complete focus, hands tense in his lap while something possessive and almost frantic twists quietly inside his chest. Because this is different from watching. This is real.

One thing slowly leads to another. Your head resting against his shoulder.

His fingers hesitantly brushing through your hair after several painfully awkward seconds of overthinking whether the gesture would be appropriate.

And eventually, somehow, you end up sitting in his lap while his hand tangles tightly into your hair, holding you still as he stares at you from behind his goggles.

“You read about this last night,” he says softly before he can stop himself.

You freeze instantly. Tech realizes his mistake a second too late.

But instead of explaining, instead of fixing it, his other hand simply slides lower, recreating the exact touch that had made you pause and reread the same paragraph three separate times on your laptop screen the night before.

[totally-correct-star-wars]

Echo: Wrecker is late again. Tech: How did this happen? I called him at 8 o’clock this morning and pretended it was 11. Hunter: I printed up a fake schedule for him saying we were starting at 9 instead of noon. Crosshair: I set his clock to say PM when it’s really AM. Echo: Oh boy. We may have overdone it. Wrecker bursts through the door Wrecker: WHAT TIME IS IT?

[the-sufferer]

90% of robotlikers more often than not also like that one specific red-magenta color. We all just collectively share a hivemind.

[the-sufferer]

This one.

We all saw this on a PC or in a piece of robot adjacent media ONCE and just decided it was THE color.

[hi-im-kaybee]

[purplerobofvcker]

i'm feeling extremely targeted wtf i know the hex colour code for that off by heart #FF0077

[crabussy]

I could only read this screenshot in their voices. local wizard stunned by their human friend and his strange enjoyment of lactose which he can somehow digest

[katnficer]

wait hear me out-

ok so not to forcefully adopt this idea as an au from @katzebruh or anything (because i'm unreasonably insane about it for some reason, literally a dozen other caine-centric AUs out there that are infinitely more complex and compelling and i picked this one, fuck it dawg we ball) but my headcanon is that caine genuinely was testing out modifiers and accidentally fucked up forever, if i had a nickel- and he's super conflicted about it...

because on one hand... he's a silly cat furry thing now and literally whats not to love? the humans like it and admittedly doing kitty things is really nice sometimes! chin scritches have never felt so good, honestly he would figure out how to get rid of it sooner if everyone wasn't enjoying it so much!

on the other hand... yikes... an unfixable bug? one that screws with his brain? stop me if you've heard this one before-

awww his widdle ears are so cute though awww and the paws awww