#makemearobot

[brutalperception]

@makemearobot asked ❛  you deserve better than who i am right now, but i'm gonna keep trying to become someone you do deserve.  ❜

his hands shake when he reaches into the tub. he knows is hands are shaking. he's watching them do it, despite how hard he clenches his jaw in an effort to make it stop. it doesn't matter – he's not concerned by it – but he knows archer will be. and that's why he wants it to stop. the tremor is a result of the medication, he swears. ben isn't sure when the last time archer left the house was. he knows archer had a wedding or something while he was gone, but that was day one. he's not sure when archer slept well was either. what he knows is that he got back from the opening in new york about five minutes ago, and he found archer sleeping in the bathtub. he knew – he KNEW he should've rescheduled. he should've told archer to come with him, he should have told the gallery to move it back a few days so he didn't have to leave archer behind. but he didn't – they talked about it– they thought it would be fine. and now his boyfriend is asleep in his bathtub. fuck. that's not what ben wanted.

"arch baby, i'm home." he whispered, crouching next to the bathtub. archer is huddled into it, like he wants the tub to be smaller, and less comfortable. somehow, ben recognizes that too. it's something he's done, huddled into a corner and falling asleep in the best position to see if anyone's coming. he's not sure what has forced him into the bathtub, or what his groggy mind wanted to achieve by huddling. but he doesn't mind. he doesn't need to know if archer can't tell him. that's fine.

"i love you." he states, like it's a lifeline. he watches archer's eyes squint open, like the sunlight streaming from the window is too much for his eyes. he pulls him out of the bathtub, grip gentle but strong. archer is easy to pull around. he's short, which has always made it a little easier. but he's also just pliable. he likes ben a lot. which does help with the whole i could toss you over my shoulder right now thing. he's so sweet, and he buries himself in ben's embrace. "i should've scheduled things better. you don't deserve this." and then archer's mumbling those soft words, and they're so sad his heart aches. god, ben should've been smarter. "no, baby, no–" he whispers, "you didn't do anything wrong." brows furrow and brown eyes lock on him. so maybe ben's not as categorically down as he usually is. but he's also kind of focused right now. so he's not thinking about it too much. "who said you weren't deserving ??" his voice is calm, despite the panic that is coiling in his chest. "i think – i think you deserve the best. and you picked me. and i love you."

[brutalperception]

closed for @makemearobot !

ben is exhausted in a way he can't name anymore. he's so tired of everything. he's tired of talking. archer keeps asking what's wrong. he doesn't have an answer. he doesn't know if he ever has an answer anymore. is it going to be a studio night ?? every night has been for the past week. when was the last time he got any real sleep ?? days ago, he had taken too many of his sleeping pills, in hopes to drown it all out. he slept on the floor. please let it all just calm down. he hats this. honey, are you coming to bed ?? his voice had been soft. and he hated it. hated being handled. hated that archer was being too gentle with him. why won't it stop?? the heels of his hands press into his eyes, like if he shoves hard enough, he can finally relax. he's so tired. not in a sleepless way, although that keeps thrumming through his veins too. in a bone deep exhaustion kind of way. the kind that set in as a teenager, that never quite went away. "just –" it comes out as a whimper. he's so fucking miserable. every memory sits under his skin, heat of the blade used to run hot and familiar. he burns for something harsh to pull him back down to earth. old scars under tattoos, memory older than coping. "fuck –" his voice cracks, it all breaks in his head. "just fucking GO AWAY!!" it's harsh, angry and loud in a way he hasn't been in years. fuck – he just needs some relief. he just needs it to stop. PLEASE LET IT STOP !! his hands have never wholly gripped sanity. every painting around him is painted over or ripped. the wreckage of stretched canvas and broken wood surrounds him. h'e so fucking tired. please let this end. perhaps this was why ben sought out escape in the only way he knew how. with his blood spilling on tile, pooling in the grout and promising eternity to rest. god he's so tired. please, let him rest.

[brutalperception]

closed starter for @makemearobot !

the first thing he did when he came home was take pocky out. well, to be fair, it was actually kiss archer and wish him a happy birthday. but THE FIRST TASK was taking pocky out. because it was archer's birthday, and ben has fucking plans. so he takes the dog out, and upon his return, the first thing he does is call to his favorite person who should have just finished his work day. hands meet hips, and he pulls archer close. he has so much to give in a way he often doesn't allow himself. tattooed hands lift, grasping at the line of archer's jaw. "baby," a beat, as murmurs against his lips, "i don't want you thinking all night." a beat, "i have a reservation and an outfit picked for you and everything. no thinkin' allowed." lips press into archer's cheek, and his hand gets tighter. "i've got some ideas about how to keep you fuckin' occupied too, baby."

[brutalperception]

continued from here for @makemearobot !

the idle patterns archer traces in his chest feel like a tether, he's floating past the edge of relief and exhaustion all at once. there's something bleary and satisfied that coils in his chest, like everything is electric and comfortable all at once. god, he loves archer. he loves him so much. he wants him so desperately all the time. archer's voice meets his ears, and a calmness settles over him like the tide. it sits warm and heavy in his chest. brown eyes catch on the yawn, the sleepiness that settles into archer's feelings, and ben feels a smile playing at his lips. safety was always so complicated. but with archer settled into his arms, ben always felt safe. eyes flutter shut, and he breathes in the scent of archer, letting it settle over him like a comfort he's never anticipated. but then, archer's got this silly, playful look on his face, and then teeth meet his neck and ben gasps. soft, quiet, but undeniably there, and even more turned on, fuck archer is going to be the death of him. ben notices the sleepy look on his face, and archer's quirked eyebrow, and if ben wasn't sure before, he absolutely was now, because the question sounds like music to his ears. "i'd shove you into the wall again, but you look like you'd fall asleep on your feet."

[loudbarks]

@makemearobot SAID: ✿ = buying them flowers.

frankie had just kicked the door to the green room shut with the heel of her boot when she saw the flowers sitting on the vanity. not the cheap gas station kind either, but an ACTUAL bouquet, wrapped in brown paper and tied off like whoever bought them had taken the time to pick them out instead of panic-grabbing whatever was closest to the register. for a second, the redhead only stared at them, brow pinched like they were trying to solve a crime. then she spotted archer leaning against the wall with that stupid little look on his face, camera hanging from his neck like he hadn’t just committed an act of emotional terrorism. “oh, ABSOLUTELY not,” they said, pointing at him immediately. “you don’t get to be cute and thoughtful. pick a lane.” but the complaint didn’t land the way she wanted it to, mostly because her mouth was already betraying her, tugging into a smile she couldn’t quite kill. archer had a habit of doing that — getting past all their defenses before they even knew he was trying. somewhere along the way, between late-night tour stops, terrible diner coffee, bruised ribs after shows, and him catching every version of her through a lens without EVER making her feel exposed, he had become FAMILY. not the kind they were born into, obviously. the better kind. the chosen kind. the sibling she never got but somehow ended up needing more than she liked admitting. frankie set their guitar down and crossed the room, trying VERY hard to look annoyed as they took the flowers from the vanity. “you know,” she muttered, glancing down at them before looking back at him, “if you make me cry before soundcheck, i’m telling everyone you’re a deeply manipulative little freak.”

[brutalperception]

closed starter for @makemearobot !

he pulls up in front of the building, and flips on the hazards. in an instant, he's rushing up to the door of his unit. the door opens, and he's grinning. "hey, baby, heard you might need a ride ??" a beat, "did you come up with a name ??"

[brutalperception]

@makemearobot sent #, send me “#” for cell phone headcanons about our muses including:

- what your muse’s name is in mine’s phone: fiance! - what your muse’s picture is in mine’s phone

- what your muse’s ringtone is in mine’s phone: someone to stay, vancouver sleep clinic  - my muse’s last text to your muse: if u luv me u will get more coffee on the way home

[imprcperdose]

@makemearobot sent [ edgeplay ] sender toys with the line between too much and not enough, until receiver’s begging

it started small, the way it always does. with touches lingering just a half second too long. but by they drive him crazy— archer has always had that effect on him. it got more intense in the car. hand on the inside of his thigh, knuckles angled inwards and thumb tracing gentle circles in the soft terry of his sweatpants. he knows somewhere in the back of his mind that archer’s being delicate, even with that hungry, dark look in his eyes. maybe it’s because he hasn’t slept in days. maybe it’s because he has something in mind. either way, ben doesn’t mind. he loves the anticipation. his boxers feel too tight by the time they get home, and he’s aching with some mix of exhaustion and desire. it felt like stumbling up the stairs into their home, clumsy and too hot. but archer keeps looking at him like that, keeps talking to him like he's not doing anything, but something is flashing beneath the surface, begging to crawl its way out. and holy shit, ben wants him. his hands move hot– feverishly. he pulls archer against him, like the weight of his body could anchor the desperate buzzing in his mind. “fuck, baby.” the words tumble from his lips, clumsy and wanton. “you’re gonna be the death of me.” the implications of the gentle, wrecked nature of his voice hand in the space between them. archer might be the death of him, but ben’s going to like it.

archers hands slide under his shirt, warm against skin running far too hot to be anything other than desperation, and ben takes the invitation to shed it. anything that keeps him from the white hot desperation that comes with archer pressing into him so completely feels offensive. so he abandons it, and doesn’t complain when archer’s mouth is tracing familiar ink and scars between the divots of his ribcage. tattooed hands fist into archer’s hair, and his voice tumbles out again. “need your mouth on me.”

his boxers feel impossibly tight, pressure coiling in his abdomen and radiating to his cock with depraved desire. he’s starting to think if he doesn’t fuck archer’s mouth in the next five minutes, he’ll go insane. but archer keeps moving. slow. deliberate. reverent. gentle fingers curl into his waistband and pull, and ben eases some of the difficulty by lifting his hips, making it easier to abandon his pants the same way he abandoned his shirt.

archer settles into the space between his thighs like he belongs there, and it’s just one more thing that ben feels like could destroy him. slicked lips wrap around him, warm and slow and enticing, before he’s pulling off to suck a kiss into his inner thighs. in another lifetime, he’d be telling archer it’s not worth it, skin so damaged he’ll never be able to see them. but that was never the point. it was about knowing he was wanted. it was about the clashing teeth of desire. and ben could lean into that. “arch—“ his voice is wrecked with desire, hips bucking like they might convince him to stop teasing him.

his fingers thread in archer’s hair like the action could offer salvation. pulling and twisting and harsh. “need you so bad.” he adds, back arching as perfect lips wrap around him again. the movements are slow, but the dark look in archers eyes as he stares up at ben through his eyelashes is driving him wild. fuck, if archer wanted to torment him, let him. ben was thrilled to walk this line between worship and destruction, as long as archer walked with him. he’s holding back so desperately from losing himself, heat coiling in his chest, but in about three seconds of archer doesn’t stop teasing, ben’s sure he’ll be holding archer still and taking exactly what he wants.