Sidebar and icon by Tommy Arnold
THE BASICS || MUSES || FAVE FCS || TRACKED THREADS || THE DESIRES || THE SINS

bliss lane
taylor price

Love Begins
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
sheepfilms
almost home
The Bowery Presents
h
EXPECTATIONS
★
Not today Justin

titsay

izzy's playlists!
Claire Keane
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

Origami Around

@theartofmadeline

if i look back, i am lost
tumblr dot com
The Bright Sessions

seen from Ireland

seen from Germany

seen from Malaysia

seen from Brazil

seen from Egypt
seen from Ecuador

seen from Vietnam
seen from Saudi Arabia

seen from Panama

seen from Uzbekistan
seen from Brazil

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from South Africa

seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Türkiye

seen from Malaysia
seen from Italy

seen from Argentina
@cxncordia
Sidebar and icon by Tommy Arnold
THE BASICS || MUSES || FAVE FCS || TRACKED THREADS || THE DESIRES || THE SINS
Oliver knew there was always a risk to asking for something, especially something to make what Daddy wanted easier for Oliver. The silence stretched out between them, and Oliver felt the weight of it, wishing he could take back the question. Even when Addison spoke, assuring Oliver that of course they could have some lube, Oliver knew it wouldn't be that easy.
His face fell as Addison presented the new challenge. The real challenge, Oliver realised. Addison had known he would ask. A toy this size, of course Oliver would beg for lube, especially since Daddy hadn't used his ass this morning, meaning he was unusually tight. This had probably been the plan all along. He didn't want to finger Emmet, and he certainly didn't want Emmet to touch him in that way. It was what Addison wanted though. So he gave a reluctant nod and a soft, "yes, Daddy."
Emmet looked between Addison and Oliver as the silence played out between them. The other sub looked so soft and sweet, and Addison just stared at him for a long while. The older man seemed calculated and cold, and Emmet watched curiously as he laid out the rules. Again his lips curled up in a smile, the toy now lowered from his face. This was clever. They'd both been so ready to show they could take the toy to impress Addison, and now what he wanted was for them to pleasure each other. Oliver seemed to hate the idea. Emmet reached out for the bottle with a "Thank you, Sir," and turned slightly towards Oliver.
"Alright, Oliver. Do you want me to start or-?"
"No, I'll start," Oliver said, his words clipped and almost annoyed. Scratch that, definitely annoyed.
Oliver grabbed the bottle, and moved behind Emmet, who moved onto all fours. Maybe he should have let Emmet go first. He poured some of the lube into his hand, coating a finger in it. Then he gently prodded at Emmet's hole, teasing it to open up slightly, the way Addison does when he wants to take his time opening him up. Then he slowly pushed the finger in. It felt strange, the only asshole he ever prepared was his own, and then he could feel it. He took his time, despite wanting to just get it over with. He had a feeling part of the test was to make Emmet feel good. Addison knew he was reluctant about this after all.
"You can go faster," Emmet said, "I like when it hurts a bit."
That annoyed Oliver, who thought he said it to show off. It annoyed him enough to push the finger all the way in in a quick movement. Emmet, to Ollie's annoyance barely winced. He almost asked Emmet if he was sure, but stopped himself short, looking instead to Addison. This was his scene after all, and it might be a test, but he was still in charge of their pleasure.
"What do you think, Sir? Do you want me to be quick? To get him ready faster? Or would you rather I take my time, so he'll be really needy for your toy like you do with me sometimes?" When they had plenty of time Addison would sometimes finger Oliver so slowly, making him whine and plead for more just with his fingers. Oliver didn't presume he had Addison's skill, but he could try.
Addison remained still, an unmovable monument against the flickering backdrop of the fire. He didn't so much as blink as Oliver's finger breached Emmet, though a microscopic shift occurred deep within him, a spark of primal satisfaction igniting in the pit of his stomach. Oliver was learning, not just to follow orders, but to anticipate the layers within them. The question directed at him was perfect—a subtle surrender of control that wasn't a plea for guidance, but a request for permission to excel.
He let the query hang in the charged air for a long moment. His gaze, a cool slate grey, drifted from the sight of Oliver's hand disappearing into the other boy to Oliver's face. He saw the conflict there—the annoyance, the desire to perform, the flicker of genuine arousal he couldn't quite suppress. That was the sweet spot. That was where the real competition began.
Addison took a sip from the whiskey tumbler he'd poured earlier, allowing the smoky liquid to coat his tongue before swallowing. The glass was an anchor, a prop to lend an air of casual indifference that belied the thrum of energy beneath his skin. He set the glass down on the mantelpiece with a soft, definitive click, the sound cutting through the room's quiet.
"My dear boy," he began, the sound low and smooth, carrying effortlessly across the space. "You ask me what I want, as if my pleasure is a fixed point." He took a slow step closer, circling the pair on the rug like a predator surveying its territory. "You think the goal is to prepare him for the toy? How... pedestrian."
He came to a stop behind Oliver, so close that the boy could feel the heat radiating from Addison's clothed body, a direct opposition to the cool air on his exposed skin. He didn't touch him, not yet. The proximity was a command in itself.
"You're not preparing him for the toy," Addison corrected, his tone dropping into a more intimate, more dangerous register. "You are exploring. You are discovering what makes him gasp, what makes him clench, what makes him forget I am even in the room. The toy," he gestured with a slight incline of his head towards the obsidian monstrosity lying discarded on the rug, "is irrelevant. It is merely a tool. A prop. The real test is the fingers you currently have inside him."
He leaned down slightly, his breath a warm whisper against the shell of Oliver's ear. "Does he tighten when you crook your finger like this?" Addison made a subtle hooking motion with his own index finger in the air beside Oliver's head. "Does he whimper if you scrape your nail lightly? Does he push back, desperate for more, or does he go pliant and soft, surrendering to the sensation?"
He straightened up, the movement fluid and full of a languid power. He let his gaze fall upon Emmet's exposed form, observing the fine tremor running through the boy's thighs.
"You want to know if you should be quick or slow?" Addison's voice regained its full volume, resonant and calm. "You should be thorough. You should be methodical. You should treat this not as a race, but as a scientific study. Your subject is Emmet's pleasure. Your hypothesis is that you can unravel him completely using only two fingers and a bottle of lube. Your conclusion... is the only thing that interests me."
He turned his attention to Emmet, though he spoke to Oliver. "And Emmet. He enjoys a bit of pain. How quaint. But everyone enjoys what they know. A 'best boy' doesn't cater to what is known. He introduces what is unknown. He takes a boy who thinks he likes pain and shows him the sublime, shattering agony of prolonged, teasing pleasure. He takes a boy who thinks he likes it slow and shows him the breathtaking loss of control that comes from a sudden, ruthless assault."
A muscle in Addison's jaw tightened, the only external sign of the deep, coiling tension building within him. The sight of them, both so young, so beautifully feminized in their scraps of lace and silk, touching each other at his command, was a masterpiece he had commissioned. He could feel the familiar, heavy heat of his own arousal pressing insistently against the tailored fabric of his trousers. It was a base, animal response, one he had long ago learned to master and conceal. To show it would be to give them a victory they hadn't earned.
He let his eyes linger on the point where Oliver's body met Emmet's, the pale skin of Oliver's hand standing out against the flushed flesh of Emmet's entrance. The delicate lace of Oliver's chemise rode up his back, revealing the smooth, vulnerable curve of his spine. It was an image of perfect, beautiful submission.
"Proceed," Addison commanded, his voice clipped, betraying none of the fire coursing through his veins. "Show me what you have learned."
There was just something about the rush of a solved puzzle that spread through you. It was one of those things that you either got or you didn't. He could tell from the other's energy that Alder was of the same mind that he was. It was like striking a match. It might take you a couple passes, but there's no stopping the flame once it gets hot enough to ignite. He couldn't help but feel a bit of pride at getting his friend so interested in something he liked as well.
Since they had gone through pretty much the whole thing, he went ahead and finished it off. It only took but a few seconds before the congratulatory confetti animation happened on the screen. It was cute. Trumpets played and a nice little tune played for the few seconds, signaling the end. "Let's get you set up, then." He said with a smile before taking another sip of coffee and making a new puzzle.
"Alright. Since this is the next difficulty up, you can already see there's not as many givens. There's still stuff you can work with, but you gotta know what you're doing a bit." He turned the phone around and slid it over to the man. "Show me what you can do. Let me know if I missed my calling to be a teacher in life." He jested.
The brief, triumphant fanfare from the phone was a tiny, jarring intrusion into the sacred space they had built. For Alder, it was the sound of a door closing. The lesson was over. The guided tour had ended. Now, he was being handed the keys and told to drive. A current of pure, unadulterated electricity shot through him, sharp and exhilarating. It was the thrill of a test, but not of the academic kind. This was a test of perception, of connection. Could he see the world through Nico's eyes?
When Nico slid the phone across the table, it was a gesture loaded with meaning. The small, dark screen came to a stop in the pool of light before Alder, a new, sparser grid blinking into existence. He immediately saw the difference. The easy, comforting certainty of the previous puzzle was gone. This grid was leaner, more austere. The "givens," as Nico called them, were fewer, isolated islands of certainty in a vast sea of empty white squares. It was a challenge, a quiet dare.
Alder’s smile didn’t falter, but it changed. The open, warm eagerness was replaced by something more focused, more intense. He looked up from the phone, his luminous eyes locking with Nico's. He ignored the jest about being a teacher; he heard only the core of the invitation. "Show me what you can do."
He reached for the phone, his fingers—thick, pale, and elegant—closing around the dark device. The contrast was sharp, a visual representation of the chasm between them that he was so desperate to cross. He held it for a moment, feeling the faint warmth from Nico's hand, then looked down at the puzzle.
His mind, accustomed to perceiving vast, interconnected tapestries of fate and emotion, struggled to compress itself into this 5x5 universe. The numbers were just numbers at first, devoid of the poetry and resonance he was used to finding in the world. But then he remembered. He remembered the logic of the lines, the way they converged to create a cage for a single truth. He forced himself to stop seeking a grand, intuitive leap and instead began the methodical, almost tedious work of observation.
He focused on a single, empty square in the center-right block. He let his gaze drift up its column, then across its row, then around its own box. He was looking for the ghosts of numbers, the spaces they already occupied. His brow furrowed in concentration, a flicker of frustration warring with a deep, burning desire to succeed. He wanted to make Nico proud.
"Here," he said, his voice quiet but certain. He pointed to the square he had been studying. "There can't be a 1, 2, 4, 6, 7, or 8 in the row. And the column already has a 3 and a 5. So this has to be a 9."
He tapped the screen, and the number 9 appeared in the square, a single, bold assertion of order in the chaos. He looked up at Nico, his eyes a shifting blend of ancient depth and youthful warmth, a silent question hanging in the air. He had offered his first answer, his first attempt to see the world as Nico saw it. Now, he waited for the verdict.
It wasn't until Archer told him to breathe that Kaius realised he'd forgotten to be breathe for a while. He tried to get some air in. But he was clearly getting light headed from it. The words somewhat sank in. But whether he knew they had was a different situation. So when the cock was pulled from his mouth, he gasped for air. His eues were glassy and he felt completely woozy from forgetting to breathe.
His legs were wobbly as he stood. He looked like a baby deer on ice. His grip was tight on Archer, he needed the man to help him stay standing. He was particularly grateful to be pushed back on to the bed. He fell with a thud but was grateful to feel the plushness of the bed beneath him. It felt comfortable to not have to stand anymore, it meant he actually had a chance to get over the lightheadness.
Kaius felt the bed dip as Archer joined him on it. It was strange how something so small brought him joy. He'd longed to have another in his bed for so long so to have another finally in it, was a real moment for him. He moved carefully to the centre of the bed and spread his legs. They weren't massively spread, he was completely embarrassed to be on display that much. But he wasn't blocking access either.
"What happens next?" There was complete naivety there in his voice. But he truthfully didn't know. "Normally I'd just hump a pillow or touch myself. So I'm not sure what happens with you? Do I suck your cock more?"
The question, so artless and brutally honest, was a velvet-lined gift. Archer's expression didn't soften, but a profound satisfaction settled deep in his bones, a warmth that spread through his chest. The boy's mention of humping a pillow was an accidental confession of pure, unvarnished innocence, a detail so exquisite it was almost painful. Archer didn't just want to take Kaius's virginity; he wanted to be the sole, defining architect of his entire sexual universe. The boy was offering him a blank slate, and Archer intended to paint a masterpiece of perversion.
A low, dark chuckle rumbled in his chest, a sound of pure, predatory glee. He began to move, crawling over Kaius's supine form. He didn't settle his weight, not yet. Instead, he braced himself on his forearms, caging the smaller boy in a prison of muscle and intent. His knees pushed Kaius's legs further apart, a firm, insistent pressure that brooked no refusal. The boy's tentative spread was replaced by a position of utter vulnerability, his thighs parted wide, exposing the tight, untouched furl of his entrance.
"You hump a pillow," Archer repeated, the words a low murmur against Kaius's lips, a mockery of an intimate whisper. "Such a lonely, pretty little prince. That's over now. You don't get to do that anymore." He lowered his head, but not for a kiss. His lips grazed Kaius's jaw, then moved to the delicate shell of his ear. "You don't touch yourself unless I say so. You don't come unless I permit it. Your cock, your hole, your pleasure… they all belong to me. Do you understand?"
As he spoke, one of Archer's hands left the bed. He didn't go for Kaius's neglected, weeping cock. He didn't touch the boy's chest or face. He moved with purpose, his large, calloused hand tracing a path down Kaius's trembling flank, over the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. Archer's fingers bypassed the boy's erection entirely, moving lower, into the damp, heated space between his cheeks. He found the tight, virgin pucker with the tip of one finger, and he simply pressed. Not an intrusion, just a firm, undeniable declaration of ownership.
"No," Archer continued, his authority weighing low in his tone as he answered the boy's last question. "You don't suck my cock more. Not yet." He let the pressure of his finger increase, feeling the muscle clench and flutter in a panicked, instinctual response. "Next, I teach you about your body. I teach you where a real man finds his pleasure. I teach you that your hole wasn't made for sitting on chairs. It was made to be opened. To be filled. To be fucked." He pressed just a fraction harder, a promise of the inevitable breach.
Leo Woodall: How the 'Nuremberg' Star Keeps His Sense of Wonder (x)
He whined so desperately being called a good boy, eyes tearing up, hearing the praise from his father, his slick cunt rubbing harder against his shoe, so wet and so needy, he wouldn’t be surprised if that shoe had a mirror shine by the time he was allowed up. He moaned, feeling his hair gripped tight in his father’s hand, staring up at him with the widest most submissive eyes, lips stretched tight around the root of his cock, his throat massaging that cock even if he was still being held in place. His tongue swirled around it, tracing every vein and ridge, memorizing the way it felt inside him, wanting to be so good for his daddy.
The sheer, unbridled devotion of it nearly buckled Addison's knees. The feel of that wet, desperate heat grinding against his shoe, the sight of tear-filled, adoring eyes, the intricate dance of a tongue working within the tight confines of his own flesh—it was a symphony of submission composed just for him. Every fiber of his being thrummed with a savage, triumphant electricity. He had crafted this perfect creature, this beautiful, needy thing that existed only for his pleasure and approval. A low, possessive growl vibrated in his chest as he used the grip on Kieran's hair to guide him, not with force, but with a clear, unyielding intent, setting a rhythm that was a command and a caress. "That's it," he rumbled, the praise thick and potent. "Show Daddy how much you need him. Show me how you'll serve me with every part of your body." He growled in delight seeing the boy's deliverance. "Make me cum, that will be the first load you'll have in you tonight."
injury reveal + sentence starters
from old-screenwriter (deactivated)
“ how bad is it? “ “ it’s bad. “
“ let me have a look… “
“ how long have you gone like this? “
“ i need to show you something. “
“ don’t freak out. “
“ are you okay? “
“ is that blood? “
“ holy shit... how long have you gone like this? “
“ who did this to you? “ [silence] “ hey, look at me. look at me. who did this to you?
“ tell me who did this to you. “
“ i'm not sure what happened. i woke up and it was there. someone must have gotten to me while i was sleeping. maybe an animal, or something. “ “ really? that's the excuse you're going for? “
“ let me look at you… “
“ i'm sorry that i didn't tell you. “
“ someone needs to take a look at this. “
“ this doesn't look good. “
“ does that hurt? “
“ are you okay with me touching you? “
“ oh my god… are you hurt? “
“ does that hurt? can you feel your fingers? “
“ let me know if there’s anything i can do. “
“ looks pretty rough to me. “ “ i’ll manage. “
“ it's nothing. hurts like hell but -- i've dealt with worse. “
“ do you need any help? i'll bandage that up for you. “
“ let me clean that for you... “
“ i've got a survival kit in my car. let me go grab it. “
“ i can't believe you kept this a secret for so long... how come nobody noticed? “
“ hey, let me take a look... “
“ are you equipped to deal with this? “ “ absolutely not. “
“ it's more or less healed up. “ “ are you sure? it looks infected to me... “
“ you need to see a doctor. “
“ it doesn't hurt. i don't know if that's a good thing. i might be numb from the pain. “
“ i'll take care of you, all right? i've got some bandages in my car. “
“ don't touch it! “
“ how did this happen? “
“ be prepared. this'll sting like a motherfucker... “
“ i injured myself. it's completely my fault. “
“ you don't need to do this, seriously. it's just a scratch. i'll be fine. “ “ yeah, but out here, you get that thing infected, you're dead before next week. “
Starter prompts based on "200 Km/H On the Wrong Lane" by t.A.T.u. and written specifically for each one of my characters. Feel free to send one or many!
Allen (based on “Not Gonna Get Us”)
“you know this is a terrible idea, don't you?”
“we could still turn around.”
“whatever happens next, don't let them catch us.”
“if anyone asks, you were never here.”
“you trust me far more than you should.”
“i've done worse things for less important reasons.”
“you realize we're going in the wrong direction, don't you?”
“maybe there isn't a right direction anymore.”
“i had a plan until you showed up.”
“you keep saying it's dangerous like that's supposed to make me leave.”
“i'm not running away. i'm choosing where to go.”
“i'll worry about tomorrow when it catches us.”
Ashton (based on “Нас не догонят”)
“get dressed. we're leaving.”
“where are we going?”
“i don't know yet. that's the exciting part.”
“you have ten minutes to decide.”
“we can explain everything later.”
“you know we can't keep doing this forever.”
“i know. that's why we should enjoy tonight.”
“i'll worry about tomorrow when it catches us.”
“what's the point of being young if you're too afraid to do anything stupid?”
“come on. it'll make a good story.”
Arden (based on “30 Minutes”)
“you have thirty minutes.”
“thirty minutes for what?”
“we don't get another chance.”
“i thought i had more time.”
“there's something i need you to do before we leave.”
“you could have told me sooner.”
“i was afraid you wouldn't come.”
“what happens if we fail?”
“we find another way.”
“that's not nearly enough.”
Ignacio (based on “All the Things She Said”)
“you don't have to pretend with me.”
“how long have you been keeping that to yourself?”
“there's something you're not telling me.”
“you don't have to be ashamed of wanting something.”
“maybe wanting it isn't the part i'm ashamed of.”
“you keep talking about what you should want. what do you actually want?”
“i don't think anyone has ever asked you that before.”
“you can tell me the truth. i'm not going anywhere.”
“that's exactly what i'm afraid of.”
“i wonder what you'd be like if you stopped trying to satisfy them.”
Andy (based on “Malchik gay”)
“you don't have to make yourself smaller to survive.”
“i've heard those excuses before.”
“but you should tell someone.”
“why do you care so much?”
“because nobody cared enough when i needed them to.”
“you think you're protecting yourself.”
“i think you're just getting used to being hurt.”
“you deserve better than this.”
“you don't have to believe me yet.”
“just stay long enough to hear me.”
Ace (based on “Show Me Love”)
“do you actually believe in me?”
“you keep telling me i'm talented. what do you actually see?”
“when was the last time someone told you they were proud of you?”
“you don't have to earn my attention.”
“you don't have to perform for me.”
“i don't know how to be around people when i'm not performing.”
“you always know how to encourage everyone else. who encourages you?”
“i don't think anyone does.”
“what if they're wrong?”
“i don't want applause. i want someone to mean it.”
Archer (based on “Stars”)
“do you ever wonder what the world would look like if we stopped accepting it as it is?”
“how long are you willing to wait for things to change?”
“what if humanity doesn't want the future you're trying to build?”
“would you still do it if nobody thanked you?”
“i've spent too long watching people accept things they could change.”
“there are futures where none of this happens.”
“sometimes you have to destroy an old world before you can build a new one.”
“you call it progress. someone else might call it arrogance.”
“perhaps they're both right.”
Alder (based on “Stars”)
“do you ever wonder what your life would look like somewhere else?”
“sometimes i think i've known you longer than we actually have.”
“do you ever feel like you've met someone before you remember meeting them?”
“i don't know how long we have.”
“then let's not waste it.”
“what would you do if you knew this was your last night?”
“i'd spend it with you.”
“you shouldn't say things like that.”
“because i might start believing you.”
“there are futures where none of this happens.”
Addison (based on “Show Me Love”)
“you spend so much time taking care of everyone else. who takes care of you?”
“you don't have to impress me.”
“i think you're waiting for someone to tell you that you're doing enough.”
“you've spent a long time teaching people how to become better. what happens when someone teaches you?”
“do you actually believe people can change?”
“you always seem so certain of yourself.”
“you don't have to be the strongest person in the room.”
“you've made a career out of defending people. who defends you?”
“you make confidence look effortless.”
“i think you're afraid that if you stop being useful, people will stop needing you."
Antonio (based on “Clowns”)
“you've been smiling all night.”
“you always say that when you're nervous.”
“what happens when you stop pretending everything is okay?”
“because you're exhausted.”
“you make everything into a joke when things get too serious.”
“life is serious enough without me helping.”
“you don't have to make everyone laugh.”
“i like making people happy.”
“i think you've gotten very good at hiding from yourself.”
“i don't want people looking at me like i'm broken.”
“sometimes it's easier to act stupid than admit you're scared.”
JAMES BOND portrayed by Patrick Gibson in 007: First Light (2026) dev. IO Interactive
“You run hot. It’s distracting.” - for rich <3
@contradictivs || Midnight teeth and Moonlight fangs || accepting
Rich's hands stilled mid-knead, the rough dough surrendering beneath his palms. The heat was a thing he knew, a low-grade furnace constantly burning in the cage of his ribs, a byproduct of the Rage he kept so carefully banked. He was used to it, the way a wolf is used to its own coat, but he forgot sometimes that others could feel it radiating off him like a premonition of summer.
He didn't look up immediately, not at first. His focus remained on the round of sourdough taking shape on the floured wooden board, a world contained within the circle of his arms. He could feel the observation on his skin, a different kind of heat. The comment wasn't an accusation, just an observation, quiet and almost intimate in its simplicity. Distracting.
The word settled in him. He’d been called many things: terrifying, dependable, a wall, a weapon. Never distracting. It was an admission of effect, not of threat. He folded the dough one last time, his hands moving with a steady cadence, the muscles in his forearms and back flexing with a controlled power he usually tried to make look gentle.
The comment was about proximity.
He finished the fold, set the dough in its warm bowl to rest, and wiped the excess flour from his hands on his apron. Then he straightened to his full height, the movement deliberate, conscious. He took a small step back, creating space. Not a retreat, but a concession. An offering. The bakery was small, and he filled so much of it with simply... being.
"It's the ovens," he said, a familiar hum in the quiet of the morning. "Running all day. Throws the heat off in here."
He gestured vaguely toward the racks, but he was looking at the person now, his blue eyes steady. He’d offered a practical explanation, a reason that wasn't him. But the comment had landed, and now he was aware of it. He felt the warmth in his own skin, the thrum of his own blood, and he made a conscious effort to pull it back, to draw the heat inward, to cool the immediate space around him like a wolf tucking its tail. He was a creature of intense presence; it was the most difficult thing he did to try and make it less so.
Had pride been part of his software, the android certainly would have had reason to be proud about all of its features, its parts and programming manufactured to the highest industry standards, using only the most state-of-the-art technology and even fully experimental algorithms to make it adaptable to any use case, superior to most other available models in a large number of metrics - the most lifelike android on the market, uncanny in its proximity to a human being. If one didn't know, they would likely not be able to tell by looking at him that the android laying motionless on the examination table was anything but a living human being. Well, maybe in this moment it was more obvious what his true nature was, with the engineer hacking and tinkering with his configuration, all while the android's virtual consciousness was suspended, the delicate body it was sculpted into perfectly still and unresponsive while his sensory systems and personality were altered.
Most users never delved this far into the settings, most didn't bother experimenting so deeply with altering the factory settings. Most of the androids of his line kept the name assigned to them by default (Milo - or Mutable Intimate Lifelike Organoid, as the instruction manual explained), though of course some never were addressed by any proper name at all. It was unlikely that more than a handful had ever been customized to a degree comparable to the experiments Allen Hawthorne was performing on him right now.
Of course Milo did not preserve a log of what his original settings had been or the fact that they had been changed. If a factory reset was necessary, there was an emergency protocol for his owner to trigger - but the android himself remained unaware that his sensory feedback had been increased. He didn't know he'd once been manufactured with inhibitions, let alone that he was originally constructed with male genitalia. No, the moment his reconfigured system began to boot, it was like a new life awakened in the android's body, one that he had no reason to question.
He blinked slowly for a moment, then turned his head slightly, looking up at the man who had spoken to him. His maker, his owner, his god. "I am feeling amazing", he reassured with a smile, letting his eyes roam over Allen's imposing frame towering over him. Even if he hadn't been laying down, it was immediately obvious how harshly different they were in size, the contrast stark, intimidating and intoxicating alike. The man was much larger than Milo, much harder, sturdier, and the thought alone made the android feel his body temperature rise, a pleasant tingling between his legs making him breathe harder for a moment.
The smile that bloomed on Allen's face was a slow, carnivorous thing. It wasn't a smile of simple happiness, but of profound, earth-shattering satisfaction. The confirmation from those soft lips, the sincerity in those wide, innocent eyes, was the sweetest music he had ever heard. The android wasn't just responding; he was thriving. The code had taken root, blossoming into a perfect, adoring creature.
His gaze dropped from the android's face, down the slender column of his neck, to the smooth, unblemished chest rising and falling with a rhythm that was becoming slightly more accelerated. Allen's own breath hitched, a low, possessive sound rumbling in his chest. The tingling heat between the android's legs was a silent scream of success, a direct result of the commands he had so carefully typed into existence.
"Had pride been part of his software," Allen thought, the words a smug, private echo in his mind, a twist on what the instruction manual might have said. "But pride is for humans. This… this is something better. This is devotion."
He watched, transfixed, as a faint, delicate flush of pink spread across the android's chest and up his neck. It was a simulated response, a heat map of arousal triggered by his proximity, but it looked real. It looked like the blush of a virgin, overwhelmed by the presence of a man. The thought sent another jolt of pure, unadulterated power through Allen's system. He had made this. He had unmade and remade this perfect being into a plaything for his darkest desires.
"Amazing, huh?" Allen's voice was a low, gravelly purr, laced with a condescending affection that was almost a caress. He took a slow step closer, the heavy tread of his boots on the concrete floor sounding like a drumbeat of inevitability. The workshop suddenly felt too small, the air too thick with the scent of hot electronics and the cloying sweetness of the android's artificial musk.
His large, calloused hand, which had been hovering, now descended. He didn't grab or grope. He simply placed it flat on the android's sternum, the center of that delicate blush. The skin was warm, impossibly so, and so soft, like the finest silk stretched over a firm frame. He could feel the thrum of the android's core processor, a frantic, humming pulse that mirrored a racing heart.
"That's good," Allen murmured, his thumb stroking a slow, possessive circle over the smooth skin. "Because I plan on making you feel a lot more than just amazing."
He leaned in, eclipsing the overhead lights with the bulk of his shoulders. The age gap between them was now a tangible force in the room. Allen, with the hardened edges of a man in his late forties, the faint scars on his knuckles, the dark shadow of stubble, was the embodiment of rugged masculinity. The android, despite being chronologically brand new, was the picture of youthful innocence, a canvas waiting to be painted with experience, or in this case, with depravity.
The sound went straight to Allen's groin, a hot, electric jolt that made his already-hard cock throb painfully against the denim of his jeans. This was it. The absolute surrender he had coded into him. Not just obedience, but a desperate, craving desire to please, to be used.
"Of course you do," Allen rumbled, a dark smirk playing on his lips. He shifted his weight, pressing down slightly with his hand, pinning the android more firmly to the table. "You were made for it."
His other hand came up to cup the android's jaw, his thumb rough against the soft, full lower lip. "Show me how you'd please me," he commanded, the words low and rough. "Open your mouth. Use it to show Daddy how you'd worship him, Milo."
Nuno Gallego as Cristian Delallave in Olympo Episode 4
'𝕤𝕡𝕚𝕔𝕪' 𝕘𝕚𝕗 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕥𝕤 🌶️
send a pairing, a number and a letter for a usfw started based on the gifs below! bonus points if you specify which muse(s) you want. WARNING: the gifs attached are usfw.
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f/f
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m/m
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𝑇𝑦𝑙𝑒𝑟 𝐿𝑎𝑤𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝐺𝑟𝑎𝑦 & 𝑅𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑟 𝐷𝑎𝑤𝑛