Ha! Fair enough, reading some of them felt like going back in time a bit too, sense your writing style actually reflected the year it was made, especially 2023, 2020, and 2018. It was so fascinating to notice ngl. You have gotten Incredibly better each year though <3
I do have some requests that haven't been done/Ive seen before.... Or at least not anything I can remember seeing:
1. Plus size reader in any way, NSFW, headcanons, or short story
2. Misanthropist reader that is human (lol), Id find that sorta interaction fascinating. I always see the readers being good hearted people... But what if the reader was hate filled with humanity themselves? And encourages his genocidal side.
3. Wireplay. For some ungodly reason I CANNOT find anyone doing NSFW wireplay with him!!! Oughhhh it's such untapped goodness.
These are more ideas than anything, and don't all have to be done, just some things I see missing within the Ultron x readers! Tysm again.
The first Prompt was answered HERE. The second one is HERE.
Thank you so much for all your new ideas. And again I encourage anyone else to take these ideas and do your own spin on them!
Overclocked and Overheating CPU
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Pairing: Ultron/GN!Reader
Warnings: mild burns, technically medical gore, but its Ultron's guts not organic that gets played with, Teasing, Established Relationship, Sexual Activity without Orgasm, Mutual Satisfaction, light humor, I went overboard on my love of mechanical systems hehehe
Rare was the opertunity to just indulge in romantic antics. The stuff of Hollywood, or maybe hallmark intimacy. Like curling behind your robotic boyfriend to hug him from behind.
"You're in an affectionate mood today." Ultron remarked. Hands still working on an upgrade for himself. Soldering metal wires below, allowing you to nuzzle his spinal struts.
"I finally have someone to be affectionate with." You replied. Trailing your hands over his abdominal plates to trace the lines of his form.
"That has never stopped you before, and sounds sad without context." He snickered.
You could hear the buzz of his tools still going as you continued to touch. Trailing up and to the sides. Tracing your way to the gaps in his hips until-
"Hnm?!" Ultron's voice glitches with static. The soft lock ensuring your hands did not endure an unfortunate fate with all the gears. The buzzing tools immediately shut off and drop to the workbench tabletop. Freeing his hands to rest against it instead.
"Woah." You purred. Though you leaned around to watch his face. Pulling your fingers away from the cords of insulated wires that ran through his back through the hip gap. "Good touch?"
His face shifted. Not pained not happy either. Considerate maybe.
"Insufficient data. However, I think you would get better results in a different environment."
"Oh?" You probed.
"Meet you in our room in..." He looked off to the right, letting you know he was checking his queue of tasks and time. "Half an hour?"
"Don't be late," you smiled. Giving another teasing pluck of those surface wires. Giggling at his static sounds.
As you raced down the halls. Bursting into your space, with the mix n match comforts of what deliveries could be made to a conflict zone. You debated on what to wear while freshening up. Ultimately thought 'fuck it'. Grabbed the metal rose he had made on your first anniversary. Laid out sexy-like on the bed, in your birthday suit, and waited.
Not even ten minutes after your departure, Ultron walked through the door. Grinning and laughing at the sight of you. Not a mocking laugh of his now, but that low pleased chuckle he did, when he absolutely adored what he saw.
"Consider me wooed my love." Ultron crooned. Pointedly locking the door behind him. "Now make room for me-"
With grace he laid beside you while you scooted over. Welcoming the warm touch of his fingers on your side. Knowing well how his body was designed, you carefully plucked the metal rose from your lips and with a quick kiss to metal lips, you tucked the rose itself whenever his internal heart would be. Leaving the blossom tucked between the narrow sheets that made up his skin.
"Lay back beautiful." You urged him sweetly.
Easily straddling him your hands went wild over his form. Every edge was traced, every curve trailed with lips. Where your fingers could curl internally, you plucked with surface wires you could. Each one no harsh than a guitarist playing a slow lullaby. But with how loud and rapid the static gasps or cries from ultron were. It made it feel like you were a Rockstar playing for a rabid fan in the crowd.
"This is messing with my systems-" ultron gasped for air he didnt need. Though with how hot his body was getting, your toying was certainly pushing it.
"Want me to stop?" You asked. Resting your hands over his solid chest.
His head shook. Demanding instead: "Lift your hands a moment."
You did. And with awe, glee, and sadistic delight, his plating pulled back to reveal the interwoven network of wires, gears, and systems inside him. His hands went back to the metal bar of your headboard. Already bent in previous gratifying encounters.
"Keep going." He begged. Locking His limbs and what motors he could do without, in place.
It was like watching the beauty of a Flagman & Co. steampunk wristwatch, with the futuristic sleek-ness of a cyberpunk computer set up. Blood red lighting dazzling on Vibranium silver and the occasional glimmer of gold and copper. Trailing your fingers over the electrified lines insulated as they were almost burned with how hot his system ran. Were he not voluntarily paralyzed your hands likely would have been crushed by shifting gears. Deep in his body you played with his coolant lines, pushing his heat higher. Power lines that zapped like a doorknob to your hand, getting both you and Ultron to yelp. At one daring point: you cupped his arc core in your hands, and kissed the light encased in glass. Pulling the rare sound of whimpering from the voice box above it.
"Enough, please. Stop!" He cried. Just as those little indicator lights flashed their warning pulses. Overheating.
When you dismounted him, gut clenching with need, but mentally satisfied. You noticed your skin was burned in some places, mostly your hands where you had been so close to the heatsource, and between your thighs though to a lesser degree. Like sitting in front of a heat lamp for too long. Ultron looked wrecked. System huffing, fans whirling hard and all his plates were fanned out. Blowing away as much heat as he could from his drives.
You treated your injuries first, with some burn cream and large patches. Putting on shorts thick enough to prevent chafing. Your hands were run under cold water as you filled to bath tub for him. Then wrapped one hand on your own.
Ultron came in after you. Once his body was set right and air cooled with high running fans. Seeing to your other hand and wrapping it for you. Tending to you first before he dunked himself. The bathroom filling up with steam as his overheated body evaporated the water as he cooled.
"You alright?" He asked as you sat on the bath edge.
"I'll be alright. Did you enjoy yourself?" You affirmed.
"Immensely. You?"
"Immensely." You parroted with a grin. Giggling into the kiss he leaned forward for. When his hand rested on your cheek, it was finally cool to the touch.
(cw: cursing(some), alternating pov's, fear of adults, mentions of cults, mentions of organ harvesting, mentions of trafficking, mild burns, arson, attempted murder, mentions of animal abuse, animal abuse, scarring, extreme hatred of animals.)
A twisted wonderland entrance ceremony au
"Holy fuck," Yuuto tapped the interior of the coffin with wonder. outside the wood he could vaguely hear the sound of screeching and chatter, and Yuuto realized all of a sudden that he was likely kidnapped.
Because that's what this was. A kidnapping.
How cool. And fucked up, where was Yuula?
Putting his two hands on each side of the coffin lid, he experimentally pressed against it, just to see if it would budge.
It didn't.
What a crappy transmigration so far.
His sister was probably with him but they didn't land together. He was hit by a carriage. He was trapped in a coffin.
And some aggravating, grating voice wouldn't shut the fuck up.
He had no time to dwell on that thought unfortunately, ad the same grating voice had finally managed to open the coffin lid.
Hurrah.
What the fuck-
----
Holy Shit
Holy Shit
Holy Shit.
Yuula ran through the strange, antique halls quickly, looking in and out each window and door just to see if she could catch a glimpse of Yuuto.
So far she saw nothing.
Fuck.
In normal circumstances she would call out for him, loudly, as she knew that would be the best case in which he would respond.
In this case, she was in an antique castle and had no way of knowing who lived inside it.
Most likely, it was a cult, but ion worst case scenario it could be some strange eccentric rich kidnapper.
Or her brother could not be here at all.
Which would sound okay until you realize that that would mean that he was left to be somewhere else. Still kidnapped like her.
Or he could be strapped down to some fucked up operation table as people steal his internal organs.
He could be sold to some terrorist organization too as a meat shield.
Fuck-Fuck- Fuckity-Fuck.
"Holy Shit what's wrong with you?"
---
The cat was on fire? How the heck was the cat on fire. And where could he get one-
"Hey!" Yuuto screeched, rolling out of the way of an incoming fireball(Holy fuck), sent his way.
The strange fire cat was yelling about something or another- asking to steal his clothing.
Yuuto didn't really know at the moment. The ringing in his ear was far too loud to properly hear any of the crap.
"Agh," His eyes watered and he looked down to see burning flesh. The smell of it was nauseating and Yuuto really wished he had strangled the damn thing. "Bastard-"
"Stop running human!"
Yuuto should probably see if he can find his sister, fast, before anymore fire-cats come and kill them both.
---
Yuula smiled politely, trying her best not to bring attention to the wy she looked at their robes for a sign of any weapons.
Unlike her these two teenagers didn't seem to have any issue with where they were.
So the likely hood of this being a cult got higher and higher by the minute.
"You okay, man?"
Yuula laughed, resisting the urge to scream.
"Just nervous. I'm having trouble remembering where we are to be honest."
The taller of the two laughed.
"Really? We're at Night Raven College," He looked at her proudly. "One of the top colleges in the world!" The shorter one scowled and elbowed the other kid.
"That's exactly why he's nervous Jackass."
He?
---
Yuuto didn't say anything as the man held him within the magical 'Lash of Love' (a terrible name).
The man had apparently come looking for Yuuto an assumed that the strange cat was his familiar?
"Sir,"
"HOW IRRESPONSIBLE"
"Sir."
"In all my!"
"SIR!"
The man still hadn't paused as he dragged Yuuto throughout the halls. Taking the stupid abusive cat with him.
Yuuto grit his teeth, already done with this stupid place.
They brought him here. Treated him like crap. Then expected him to be grateful? Ain't no fucking way.
The audacity.
He hissed as his burn wound was aggravated by the whip.
The stupid man didn't even have the fucking decency to heal his wounds.
---
Yuula had never been that observant, so she understandably couldn't have been able to notice the two very angry looking teenagers moving her way.
"You three! What are you doing outside orientation."
Yuula fucking knew it was a cult.
The other two didn't seem to get the memo though. As they were also apart of the cult.
'Oh shit." The taller one hissed. "The housewardens."
Yuula made careful note of that as she, along with the other two, ran away from the aforementioned housewardens.
"What the fuck?!" Looking towards where the shorter one pointed, Yuula gasped. Next to the coffin room Yuula had escaped from, a large plume of smoke rose, blue fire resting just bellow it.
Yuula realized suddenly that she had been looking in the wrong place all along.
---
The chamber lit around him in a haze of fiery blue flames. The warmth caused Yuutos' burns to hiss in response, Yuuto himself getting flashbacks from the horror that was his welcoming into the world.
"AGHH!" Next to him, one of the cultists was running in circles, screaming as his but had been lit on fire. Yuuto wondered if he was stupid.
"Stop, drop, and roll!" He shouted.
The floor wasn't on fire. So he'd probably be fine so long as he did that.
looking away once he saw the man do just that, he winced seeing the rest of the damage the fire cat had done.
After this there was no way in hell someone wasn't going to advocate for it to be put down.
Sentient creature or not.
---
She leaves her brother alone for five minutes and he decides to burn the entire castle down.
What an arsonist she helped raise.
She was reluctantly proud.
And enveous.
---
"There is no such place." Ouch. So not only was Yuuto lacking in a soul, he apparently belonged nowhere. Nice.
"Dark mirror!" The stupid crow man gasped. "This has never happened before! Boy! Where did you say you were from again?"
---
"Well that sucked."
"I don't know I mean you got to light a school on fire."
"Yuula???"
---
"What do you mean the cat burned you! Didn't they at least offer to heal you!?"
"They were a little busy for that."
"That's no excuse when the bastard gets back he's going to fucking help you."
"Whatever."
---
"No. No he's not fucking staying with us Yuuto."
Yuula rolled over, looking at her brother quietly.
Although they had been given this whole mansion to themselves, it hadn't been cleaned in years, so they had to share the one room that was clean.
The cottage had a fire pit, set right out in the open when they had first moved in.
Crowley makes the mistake of lighting a fire in it one morning, only they don’t realise just how much of a mistake that had been until it’s too late.
Notes:
Title from Bad Decisions by Bastille.
It’s winter here and that means my family’s dusting off our fire pit again. And as much as I love the concept of sitting around a fire, Crowley wouldn't.
Changed my formatting for fics again.
CW/TW: potentially graphic descriptions of a corpse (imagined/hallucination!Aziraphale's; he does not die).
Read on Ao3
-x-x-x-
Winter had well and truly arrived. The weather had been getting colder. Cold enough that Crowley’s knees and ankles declared winter’s arrival with a vengeance. It was getting to the temperatures where it made sense to sit around a fire; where you could do that comfortably without sweating through all of your clothes.
Fire weather, some humans would call this particular shade of grey and cold.
The cottage had a small, moveable outdoor fire pit. When they had moved in, it had sat accompanied by two chairs and a bench seat just outside the back of the cottage where it looked onto the garden. Since then, the concrete and cast iron fire pit had been moved to where it was now, propped up against the wall of the cottage.
Aziraphale had gone out that morning, heading into London to check up on his bookshop. Crowley would have gone with him, but the rapidly dropping temperatures that made them awfully sleepy in the mornings had also made it hard to really focus enough to insist upon that.
“I’ll only be gone four hours at most,” Aziraphale had told them before he had left.
At some point around eleven Crowley had finally gotten up, wrapped themself in far too many layers to still be considered fashionable but still was and made themself a cup of coffee.
They were standing in the kitchen nursing the mug when they spotted the old fire pit through the window. They should set that up, Aziraphale would probably enjoy sitting by a fire.
A fire…they ought to be able to at least see one without seizing up in panic. It had been six years since the bookshop fire, they should be over that fear by now.
Crowley’s now-empty mug was left beside the sink before they headed outside.
They rolled the fire pit back out to where it had originally been in front of those chairs. A miracle took care of not having any wood. A box of matches appeared alongside the pile. Good, now all they needed was something for it to catch on.
There was an apple tree in the corner of the garden that had dropped a decent amount of sticks recently. Crowley scooped up the ones that hadn’t already gotten damp from the grass.
Setting up the fire pit was easy, lighting a fire in it was less so. Crowley pulled a match out of the box and struck it against the side. Orange bloomed from the tip.
Their eyes were stuck on it, unable to look away or even blink. But then they blinked, shook their head slightly to dislodge the memories that were rearing their heads, and tossed the match into the fire pit before it could snuff itself out.
The sticks and dry leaves he had gathered up from the base of the apple tree caught quickly, it grew from a flicker to a small fire within moments.
If the lit match had been bad, this was far worse. The flame was mesmerising, in the worst way. Their entire body threatened to freeze up at the sight of it — and not just from the cold. But at the same time, something within them screamed for them to get up, to run and find Aziraphale.
Then the memories hit them.
Brittle, centuries-old paper being swallowed up as fire races about. It surrounds them and the heat presses in on them from every side, closer and closer and closer. Aziraphale’s diary, still sitting on his desk surrenders to the torrent. The metal of the staircase leading up to the flat above creaks and groans as it gives way. Ash settles heavily against their tongue, clogging up their throat and making it hard to breathe, let alone speak. Yet they persist, pushing one name out through their ash-dry throat. Each time more frantic than the last. Shouting is made ever harder by the fact that they’ve stopped breathing, not that they’ve realised that.
“Aziraphale!”
Crowley whirls around, fully serpentine eyes raking over the burning shell of the bookshop.
Where is he? He’s always here; Aziraphale would remain in his bookshop even as bombs fell and destruction reigned loose on Soho. So why can they not find him?
“Aziraphale!”
There is silence, save for the roar of fire. But then their eyes fall on something — a corpse — and Crowley’s heart stops. The blood in their corporation’s veins freezes solid.
No. No. No. No. No. Please, no. Not him.
Their foot catches on something as they race towards the corpse of their best friend and they go crashing to the ground. They yelp rather undemonically as red-hot pain blooms across their palms when they hit the floor. Was the floor really that hot?
Someone is talking. Shouting their name? The firefighters? Why would firefighters know their name?
Crowley blinks, their eyes are stinging from the smoke. Someone else is screaming. Aziraphale’s corpse is lying mere centimetres from where they went crashing to the ground. They pull themself towards him — it.
The angel’s name falls from their lips frantic and distraught as the smell of burnt flesh hits them.
His vest and overcoat are blackened and unsalvageable. Near the cuffs, his pants are burnt away in parts to reveal charred flesh underneath. The flesh melted away to reveal bone beneath. The worst of all? Aziraphale’s face. An angry red line had been seared across the pale flesh like he had been struck by a fervent piece of wood. Stretching across his left eyelid and down across the bridge of his nose to end by the right side of his mouth. The rest of his face seems to have been pot-marked by embers, as small red dots litter it.
They touch burned-and-blistered fingers to Aziraphale’s neck in the futile hope that he’s still somehow alive.
Something rolls down their cheek and they swipe it away with their other hand, the back of their hand comes away wet. Their face is wet. Why is their face wet?
The voice is back (did it ever leave?). Is it the same as before? They’re not sure. It sounds like it’s coming from underwater.
Someone is grabbing at their arms, pulling them back, twisting around as they try to get free and get back to Aziraphale. But then a wave of something washes over them. It is so intense it would have knocked them clean off their feet if they hadn’t already been kneeling.
Crowley blinked, long and hard. The burning remains of the bookshop, and their angel’s corpse along with it, disappeared like someone took a cloth to the dry-erase board of reality. They blinked again and the sand-coloured pavers and the rest of the cottage’s back garden came into focus. The next thing they noticed was that Aziraphale, unburned and whole and alive, was holding them. The two of them were sitting on the pavers.
Oh.
“‘Ziraphale?” they croaked, then coughed. Crowley’s throat was raw, not from ash but from overuse.
“Crowley,”
“You’re—” They cleared their throat and then winced at how painful it was to do that. “You’re home early,”
The demon felt, rather than saw, Aziraphale nod.
“Yes, the shop that I was planning on going to after checking up on the bookshop was shut today,”
Crowley sat up properly, pulling themself out of their angel’s arms. They twisted around to check on the fire pit… which had a small pile of ash at the very bottom of it.
“It’s a good thing that I arrived back when I did because I found you’d started a fire,” Aziraphale said. “You’re terrified of fire. We both know that. So what were you thinking?”
They ducked their head, embarrassment colouring their cheeks.
“Thought you’d like sitting by a fire, it being ‘fire weather’ and all,” they said. “‘nd I should be over that bloody fear by now, it’s been six years since the— since that happened,”
How pathetic of a demon were they that they couldn’t even say the word ‘fire’?
“Thank you for that consideration, love. But you shouldn’t have done that. I wouldn’t have enjoyed it if you weren’t,” he told them. “And there is no deadline for you ‘getting over your fear’; There is nothing wrong if you never get over it,”
Crowley wished they could disappear into the ground (actually, what they really wanted to do was bury their face against their angel’s chest again but they’d never admit that out loud).
“Now, may I see your hands?”
It was only when Aziraphale asked about their hands that they realised they were still stinging, and rather badly at that. That hadn’t been part of the flashback…hallucination? Illusion?
Their palms were red and puffy, and badly blistered in some places. It looked like they had touched a hot stove.
Crowley hissed when Aziraphale poked slowly and gently at the worst spot right by their thumb and black spots appeared in their vision.
“What happened?” they asked as he finished looking at their hands and released them. They had no memory of doing anything that could have caused this.
“You tried to brace yourself on the fire pit when you tripped,” he said. “And I wasn’t quick enough to stop you from touching the metal rim,”
The angel said that as if it was some great failing. As if it was his fault that Crowley had been enough of an idiot to trip over their own feet and touch a fire pit with fire in it.
“Isn’t your fault,” they said. “‘s mine, shouldn’t have tripped,”
Then they waved their right hand over the left. The skin healed, mostly, with the miracle they weaved over it. But blisters were left behind, although less angry than before. They tried to miracle that away but nothing happened. So they repeated it with their other hand and got the same result.
“Hmh,” Crowley huffed, displeased.
“If miracles aren’t working, would you allow me to treat your injuries, the human way?” Aziraphale asked.
They shrugged.
“Sure, might as well try,”
The two of them got to their feet. Crowley stumbled a bit. Their ankles were stiff despite the boots.
Wow, okay, maybe they were colder than they’d thought.
The pair relocated inside. Aziraphale headed to the heater to turn it up before joining his demon in the bathroom.
When the angel made it to the bathroom, Crowley was standing with their back to the door, staring at nothing.
“Crowley,” he called, making sure that he wasn’t standing directly behind them when he did and that they could see him.
They blinked once. And then a second time. The dull look in their golden eyes receded as awareness filtered back in slowly. They looked up at him.
“Hold your hands over the sink, palms up, please. I’m going to wash them out and then bandage them,” As he spoke, a miracle made a roll of bandages and a cloth appear on the counter beside the sink.
Crowley did as he requested. Aziraphale turned on the faucet and dampened the cloth with it. A tremor ran through them when the cloth made contact with their palms but they didn’t say anything so he continued.
Their gaze drifted off again as he worked. Aziraphale finished with the cleaning part and picked up the bandage roll, planning to bandage their hands. The moment that it made contact with Crowley’s hand, they yelped and flinched backwards. So far back that their back bumped into the doorframe.
“No no no. Somebody, no. You— can’t be —you’re not,” They sucked in a breath that caught in their chest. “You’re not dead. You’re not!” Crowley was pleading, and Aziraphale’s stomach had dropped into his shoes. They hadn’t even said a name but the angel had a hunch he knew exactly who they were rambling about: him.
“Aziraphale!”
He stepped towards them, hands raised but not touching, yet. He didn’t want to make it worse.
“I’m here! I’m fine; I’m alive!” he said. The words fell on unhearing ears.
Unblinking, fully golden eyes, much like they had been out in the garden flickered about the bathroom, not settling on anything. And not a flicker of recognition anywhere.
Damn ‘making it worse’, Crowley didn’t appear to have heard him and he wasn’t going to stand around and watch his demon get tortured by whatever they were imagining any longer.
Aziraphale reached out again, but not with his hand this time. The miracle slipped cautiously into Crowley’s mind to rid it of whatever horrific thing they were seeing, and to bring them back to the present.
Gold started to shrink, white returned to the sclera. Their eyes settled on him, saw him.
“Alive?” The doubt and the careful hope in the single word made the angel’s heart ache.
Are you alive? was what Crowley was asking.
He nodded. “Yes, I’m alive and I haven’t been discorporated,”
“We’re not in the bookshop?”
“No, we aren’t. We moved out here to our cottage last year, don’t you remember?”
“Right…” Crowley trailed off. “You were gonna bandage my hands?” They nodded towards the bandages that had been abandoned by the sink.
“I was, but I can do it later—“
“You can do it. Best to get it done now or it’ll never get done,” They stepped forwards, towards the sink.
Aziraphale nodded and picked up the roll again. This attempt went far smoother than the first and soon enough the demon’s hands were bandaged up.
If Crowley didn’t take their eyes off of their angel for the rest of the day and refused to be more than three meters away from him for the next week, well that was for only them to know. And when their closest neighbour woke up the next morning to find a fire pit had appeared in his living room, he believed it to be a Christmas miracle.
So I burned a couple of my fingers trying to cook tonight. The pot roast turned out really well, my left thumb and middle finger are just killing me. The skin on them is uncomfortably tight and hard and hurts and I hope they don't blister because they'll never heal if I have the chance to pick at them.
