flesh, nature, and thermoplastic 🔞
LightNews LightNews
banner
aqualotic.bsky.social
flesh, nature, and thermoplastic 🔞
@aqualotic.bsky.social
160 followers 140 following 890 posts
Hatchling | 30's | Lurker | Writer | Fandom Old

Contains 🔞 content, minors will be blocked on sight

Icon by https://bsky.app/profile/plaguedpriest.bsky.social

Neocities: https://hatchling524.neocities.org/
Posts Replies Media Videos
aqualotic.bsky.social
Sweetie.............
November 24, 2025 at 1:57 AM
aqualotic.bsky.social
Goddamn my boy looks good :D
November 23, 2025 at 4:26 AM
aqualotic.bsky.social
🔞 Something something deriving humanity through acts of intimacy something the thought of this Grade A asshole (iykyk) being such a Bottom has made their dynamic so much fun to explore.

(I mean hey his ex-wife towers over him soooooo :3)
“Please… “ He whimpers, voice cracking pathetically. “Drifter, please, I--” The grip Drifter has on his head cinches tighter, pulling his fire taut to the point of pain. A ragged gasp is punched out of him as he’s yanked upwards, away from where he desperately needs to be. For a moment, Beheaded’s field of vision flits with stars and streaks of blinding white, and he swears he might finish just from this. When it clears, his partner has risen from his comfy cushion perch, moving to curl over him like a sliver of the moon. His wrist flexes, wrenching his flame backwards until the cut tendons of his gore-filled neck start to strain. The wanderer leans the rest of the way in, his fangs glinting dangerously in the hazy pink and sunset-orange emitting from his skull. His lips brush the blazing plasmid surface, and then smile warmly against it. “Touch yourself.” Drifter commands in a rasping growl. His broken, illness-ravaged voice is barely audible over the sound of his undead heart pounding in his not-there head. But he may as well have shouted it the way the immortal’s hand flies around from behind his back, scrabbling for his slickened shaft. No sooner does a moan of desperate relief and fathomless gratitude escape him, he is shoved roughly back into place. “Good boy… ” He hears, and has to promptly pinch the base of his dick in order to keep himself from coming immediately.
November 20, 2025 at 5:34 AM
aqualotic.bsky.social
Remembered today that I actually *can* just write anything I set my mind to :3 🔞🔞🔞 #Driftcells
For someone who was, quite literally, a flaming ball of necrotic ooze piloting whatever corpse it could get ahold of, physical stimuli that he shouldn’t be experiencing registered more often than not. Beheaded doesn’t let himself think much on that, just as he never lets himself think of who he could have been prior to being thrown into a gauntlet of malaise-twisted monstrosities. That mindset persists even now, dropped smack dab in the middle of a race to save a colliding, collapsing multiverse. It’s not worth the headache trying to figure out the logistics of literally any of that crap, but some part of him can’t help but find himself grateful that this aspect of his humanity has been miraculously preserved. It isn’t just things like blinding pain and scorching heat. The taste of food lingers on his phantom palate, scents tickle nonexistent olfactory nerves, a lifeless heart performs backflips when inky black eyes smile at him. All these certainly fall among things that a dead, possessed body shouldn’t be feeling, but somehow Beheaded can. Newest to that particular collection of sensory discoveries is the familiar rhythms of two willing bodies, getting down and dirty with one another. Regardless of the homunculus’ distinct lack of situational knowhow when he had first woken up in the depths of a prison, some things had been simply too innate to be completely forgotten; things he knew he had experienced before on an instinctive level. Granted, the differences between then and now are fairly stark. Lacking an actual mouth, for starters. For anybody else, it probably would’ve put a damper on copulation attempts, but the immortal was anything but a quitter. Some initially clumsy experimentation, conducted in-between the mad-dash raids of robotic strongholds to restore captured dimensions, has already yielded very interesting results. There’s also the matter of his burning head being… more recipient to certain kinds of touches than others. Namely, when a gloved hand had grabbed hold of his flame in a desperate effort to keep him from tumbling into a sea of smelting, bright red matter just last week. And how despite the existential threat to his everything as the doomed realm began to collapse, something about the strange sensation of his fire somehow being pulled taut bypassed every panicked train of thought he’d had, and gone right down to his loins. It doesn’t come as a surprise to learn that Drifter had taken notice of that, nor that he’s more than happy to replicate the experience come their next moment alone together. What Beheaded hadn’t been expecting, though, is just how quickly the mere act of claws tugging curiously at the veil of luminescence can make him hard as a rock. Naturally, the cherry on top of all of this, is that the tangible parts of his flame effectively doubles as a makeshift handlebar. Go figure. Not that he’s complaining about that discovery in the slightest, especially when it chases away all coherent thought and fills his head with a warm, pleasant haze. (Especially when it makes him melt beneath the touch of the handsome wanderer who’d stolen his heart.) “Nnng--fuck… ” Beheaded so eloquently says between gasps for air he does not need. Somewhere over the static clouding over his consciousness and the delicious pain prickling across a scalp he does not possess, he catches an amused hum emitting from his normally-silent partner. “C’mon… can’t I just--mmmph!” His complaint is cut short by a firm yank, promptly muffling his surprised yelp in soaked, swollen lips. Drifter’s claws, feather-light, caress the side of his head, and Beheaded needs little further encouragement to dive back in. He’s discovered a lot about himself these past few weeks (months?); namely, reciprocation when it came to matters of--ahem, oral persuasion. It had a lot to do with what sense he still somehow holds onto, awoken the first time the immortal dropped to his knees before him in a fit of adrenaline-induced lust and uninhibited desire. Instinct grips Beheaded, stirred by faint memories of another time he’d been sunk upon his knees at the foot of a bed and framed by two gorgeous thighs. Lapping at that faintly metallic-salt flavor, wrists pinned to his back by order alone, that long, terrible, wonderful hour he'd gone without relief. He catches the rim of his drooling pussy, and pushes in, chasing his taste to its source. There's a hitch in Drifter's panting, his hips lifting right off the bed to meet him as he burrows inside him. His partner grinds fervently against his mouth as Beheaded drinks from him, pressing far as he dared into his molten core. Slick-soaked fur bristles, his brow knits and furrows with euphoria, and he desperately wishes to make him finish like this-- And then sword-steady fingers suddenly grasp tightly around the flame that crowns his fiery skull, abruptly dragging him away from the crux of his thighs. The rough treatment makes lightning bolt down his spine and right to his weeping, unattended dick, twitching painfully against the empty air. A whine escapes him, staring dazedly up at the other man as he catches his breath. Drifter keeps him there, inches from his drooling cunt, and grins down back at him with half-lidded, lust-dark eyes. Slick dribbles down the plasmid surface of his face, its flavor lingering upon his phantom sense of taste. He suddenly can't help but feel like a starved dog being teased. Several seconds pass before the wanderer eases him back in, claws stroking down the flames soothingly. He mindlessly follows the slight, upward nudge, nuzzling against his petite dick until his flames can engulf it entirely.
November 16, 2025 at 6:08 AM
aqualotic.bsky.social
She would not get away with anywhere near as much crap as she does if not for her little face.
November 15, 2025 at 1:14 AM
aqualotic.bsky.social
Shitbaby who I had to wrangle with for two fucking hours today for the crime of *checks notes* trying to wipe her ass of whatever fucking insect she ate yesterday that gave her indigestion.
November 14, 2025 at 10:11 PM
aqualotic.bsky.social
A friend gave me some image search suggestions, and I picked my favorite of the first pages! Stripper, Nurse, and FFVII Honey Bee costume.
October 28, 2025 at 2:29 AM
aqualotic.bsky.social
October 27, 2025 at 4:13 PM
aqualotic.bsky.social
Beheaded, probably: Yeah sure I'm down to mess around some more in between all the crazy battles and mad-dash attempts at keeping the multiverse from collapsing. It's not like I'm gonna fall in love with him!

🔞🔞🔞

#Driftcells #NSFW
The thick door doesn't even have time to click shut before gloved hands are upon him, tugging at his scarf and scrabbling for the buckle to his pauldron. Sheathed claws scrape at his skin, and something about the thought of them raking down his back in fervent ecstasy already has his dick jumping in anticipation. “What, is this a race or something?” He gripes toothlessly, for his own fingers have, miraculously so, located the clasp for Drifter’s cloak. It floats from his shoulders to join his scarf on the plush carpet below, to be forgotten until the next morning. The clattering of metal follows as he's pushed backwards, and Beheaded has just enough time to get his tunic up and over his flaming head before lips find where his own once belonged. The back of his knees swiftly find the edge of the bed, and the two of them go toppling down onto a ridiculously cushy duvet. Drifter remains entirely nonplussed by the sudden shift in vectors, kissing at the semi-solid surface of his flames with a frenzied sort of hunger. As soon as they're free from their binds, the immortal’s hands swiftly find the small of his back and waist, guiding him as he clambers up the foot of the mattress to straddle him. It takes another five seconds for Beheaded to remember what he was going to say, already thoroughly distracted by the hands working to get his sash off, and the soft lips eagerly massaging sensitive plasma. “Uh, hey.” He manages at last, and the huskiness of his own voice comes as a small shock. The wanderer falls still, his clever hands having already started working on his sash, and pulls back just enough to be able to look him in the eye. “I wanted to ask you something, real quick.” His head tilts a fraction, almost imperceptible in the gathered dark of this strange, snowy world. He chews on his words a moment longer, before deciding the bluntest possible approach is probably key here. “So, is this--” Beheaded gestures between them aimlessly. “--just gonna be a one time thing? Or are you gonna keep on jumping my bones every time we kick some ass together?” Inky black eyes blink down at him, as if surprised by his query. The uncertainty of the moment stretches on for another ten seconds before it gets to him. “All I'm saying is, if we go through with this now and then never speak of it again after, I'd be alright with that. But if you wanted to… y’know, if we happen to find ourselves another chance to be alone while we're doing this entire ‘saving the multiverse’ song and dance--” A single gloved finger lands on where Drifter had previously put his mouth, and it's almost worrying how effective it is in silencing him. Then, from over one skinny shoulder, appears his drone. It chirps once before a projection spills out of the little opening at the top. “Is that thing sentient?” He can't help but blurt, and what little he can see of Drifter’s face beneath his mask visibly flushes. It had to be connected to him in some capacity; how else would he manage to get it to do what he wants without a single spoken word? Technomancy mysteries aside, he turns his attention to the flickering screen. This time, it plays not a series of vaguely connected images, but instead, a video. The backdrop of familiar emerald architecture and the haze of endless rain is cut through by the red glow of a portal. Before it stands the star of the show: himself, glancing back at the lens of the camera during his short-lived farewell to the wanderer. Through the filter of a speaker somewhere within the tiny bot, his own words are repeated back at him, crackling with static. “Make your days count! I guess… “ “Heh, I did tell you that, didn't I?” Battling a terminal disease, one that makes him black out at the worst imaginable moments, is certainly a good excuse as any to seize any scrap of leisure and living possible obtainable. “Can’t say I’d imagined we’d wind up like this at the time, but when you put it that way… “ A nod in agreement, but the movement is almost vacant, distracted. Razor claws dance up his pecs (when had Drifter slipped his gloves off?) to come to rest on his bare shoulders. Beheaded’s hand, in turn, slides down the ridges of his spine, fingers tangling readily in the leather ties of his tabard. Even with all this to say, the tattered remains of his common sense yet nag at him. Yeah sure, they’re both more than willing, and the chances of squeezing in a good fuck while they're running around the shattering universes have skyrocketed. But as Drifter ducks in to resume their make-out sesh, a tiny red flag stands stubbornly amidst the descending haze of lust. Arrangements of this nature tended to fall under a particular label, one more widely known as ‘friends with benefits’. It's a magical place where everything flip-flops until something breaks. And Beheaded certainly considers Drifter a friend. Nobody goes out of their way to find a method of reversing golden-statue-ification, break into a stuck-between-dimensions vault at risk of terrible bodily harm, and then narrowly escape with all their lives intact for anything less than a friend. But would any of that matter down the road, as they throw themselves into their tentative plan of action to restore all their homes? They’re all stuck together in this whirlwind of a colliding multiverse, for better or worse, until they get their shit together and fix it. What harm could a few rounds of sex do between then and now?
October 23, 2025 at 5:53 AM
aqualotic.bsky.social
it is finished.... this was genuinely one of the most rewarding experiences I think I've had in... years, now. Team Cherry, thank you. You fucking cooked with this game, and I'm so excited to throw myself into Silksong :D
October 19, 2025 at 11:58 PM
aqualotic.bsky.social
Eh, fuck it; snippet upon ye.

🔞🔞🔞
“Shit--shitshitshit… “ He gasps, tone embarrassingly high, and almost misses the breathy whine The Drifter makes when he finally bottoms out. Fingers dig into the gaudy red sheets below as shudder wracks the other’s lean frame, and it takes every ounce of willpower he’s got to keep still, to keep still let the other adjust to the intrusion. Not even fifteen seconds into that decision, the other's hips begin gyrating in small circles, grinding his dick deeper still. Hot, slick walls clench down with a shuddering sigh, like he’s relishing in the sensation of him fully sheathed in his pussy. Fire bolts up his spine and punches another groan out of his ribcage. One of his hands finds The Drifter’s skinny hip entirely on some urgent instinct, gradually guiding the other into a steady but languid rhythm. The Beheaded can still only recall “jack” and “shit” about himself and the world he hailed from, yet there remained multiple more occasions where sensory memories would somehow surface. The phantom taste of food, the smell of a breeze drifting in from the surrounding sea, the bite of a blade at his nonexistent neck. And now, the familiar rituals of two willing bodies getting down and dirty with one another. “God--fuck.” Every upward thrust sends lightning burrowing through all his undead nerves. Has sex always felt this good? “You feel so… “ Brilliant pink and orange flares over pearly tattoos and thin, blue fur. He watches, transfixed, as his own colorful flames dance in the sheen of his inky black eyes. They are hazy and unfocused with unrestrained want, and rapt upon where they're connected. A hand lands upon his shoulder, gripping it for balance as he leans over the homunculus. Claws scrape at his overheated skin, and the idea of them drawing blood makes his dick twitch violently. That line of thinking is immediately discarded when searching lips land upon everlasting flame, molding perfectly against warm, rosy-pink plasma. It's not enough to muffle his ragged moan as his thumb finally finds the other's clit. “Y'know, last I checked, sex was a two-man show,” He teases, bucking his hips upwards and grinding his dick fervently into his throbbing cunt. The Drifter’s head snaps back, a soft but utterly debauched moan erupting from his scarred chest. “C’mon, lemme hear you.”
October 11, 2025 at 6:00 AM
aqualotic.bsky.social
Forbidden fruit 🫀

#GabV1el #ULTRAKILL
Gabriel glances intermittently between the sacred fruit they hold in one hand, and the cocky lilt to their optic shutters. “What exactly are you proposing?” He inquires. “A BET.” They spell. “IF I CAN ‘EAT’ THIS, THEN YOU TAKE A BITE, TOO.” Damn his competitive streak, striking him with the impulse to immediately accept as their absurd wager catches him off entirely guard. But these years have tempered his patience against their impossibilities. The archangel weighs the confidence in their stance against the morbid shape of the stilled-heart held aloft on their grip, thinking. V1 had long since confided in him that they entirely relied on the blood ripped directly from flesh, hot and perfect, to be viable fuel they could absorb. This particular bearing of the Tree of Life has remained unused and unpicked since the days of his Father’s reign. Surely Heaven’s eternal stasis did not account for that sort of visceral freshness. “Very well, Machine.” He answers, pivoting on his heel to face them fully, and ruminates briefly on his own counter-proposal. “But if I win… I get to take one of your arms, and do whatever I please with it, for the next month.” A heartbeat passes, two, as their accelerated thoughts clearly contemplate the stakes that have been raised, before they confirm the wager with a firm nod.” “DEAL.” Alright,” He raises his gauntlets to the empty air, in a grand gesture of steadfast conviction. “Prove me otherwise.” With little further fanfare, they promptly bring their Feedbacker, and its handful of unused flesh, right above their head. Optic fixing Gabriel square in the visor, V1 proceeds to sharply crush it in their fist. It splatters with their blue plating with a deep crimson, the excess of which rolls off their shoulders and onto their hips in thick droplets. For a moment, nothing happens. Heaven hangs silent all around them, timeless as it's ever been. But its deathly silence swiftly shifts to a dumbfounded one as, just the same as it always has, the blood from the Fruit of Life seeps into their systems leaving only a few telltale smears behind. What remains of its morbid rind drops from their hands, and pumped thrice in their victory. Gabriel, meanwhile, struggles to find any face-saving terms. "But--I thought--you told me that--" Irritation flares, hot on his brow and bared in his fangs. He so desperately wants to shatter the thin lens of their eye as it lilts with vindictive (and rather surprised) glee. In answer to his frustrated growl, the crack of their Whiplash fills the space between them, snagging a second fruit from its stem, and holds out to him with a mirthful whirr of their fans. His first instinct is to backpeddle. But he's an angel of his word, and he'll be damned if he gives them the satisfaction of a certainly-bruised ego. "Give me that." He snarls, snatching the offered forbidden fruit from their outstretched hand. He’s witnessed the utilization of its purpose many times before; many a mortal life has been brought about upon the Earth’s surface beneath both his and his Father’s watchful eye. But never once before has he laid a hand upon it himself. Its flesh has an unsettling give to its veiny surface, in spite of its living counterpart's resilient cardiac tissue. A thick sloshing of liquid resounds in its core. The sound alone both nauseates Gabriel, and piques his accursed morbid curiosity. "Ugh." He grunts, if simply for pride's sake, and then, "Off." His fingers are hooked beneath his helm before V1's light finishes flickering out, hanging loosely at his fingertips when it’s removed entirely from his skull. Even though they are blinded to his expression, Gabriel winces regardless as he observes the morbid fruit he holds. The archangel braces himself, brings it to his widening maw and glinting fangs, twisting with a reflexive grimace as he bites down and tears-- He's savored it countless times before, these halcyon years, but Gabriel is somehow thrown back to the moment of his second loss. The pain that gripped him as he reeled, raw yet steeled for the mortal reality that awaited him, the bursting of this iron ambrosia that all but surged across his refined palette. The rhythmic sinking of his teeth into the rind of the fruit is.. not unpleasant to experience, and neither is it a revulsive-tasting flavor. Just strange to experience alongside the bitter flavor of blood. He swallows his mouthful down before that ever-persistent sense of restraint can kick in, and that is that. It rolls down his throat and settles in his stomach with a strange, heavy feeling. One that only makes him crave the warmth of fresh bread and the sweetness of a wild cherry tenfold. "... I don't know what I was honestly expecting." He admits thoughtfully.
October 10, 2025 at 3:19 AM
aqualotic.bsky.social
If I may!
September 28, 2025 at 3:19 AM
aqualotic.bsky.social
Post a random picture or else everything will go bad in September

(Finally an excuse to upload this somewhere)
September 1, 2025 at 11:16 PM
aqualotic.bsky.social
Home from a housesitting stint. Idunno I think she's happy to see me :3
August 30, 2025 at 1:27 AM
aqualotic.bsky.social
August 20, 2025 at 7:03 AM
aqualotic.bsky.social
Finalized Kinktober list for the time being. May or may not have one or two extra up my sleeve depending on how drafting these go but we'll see :)
A list of my intended Kinktober fills for 2025. Day 7: Gabriel/Mirage, Bloodplay Day 8: Gabriel Solo, Webcam Day 9: V1/MDK, Shibari Day 12: Gabriel/Minos, Kneeling Day 18: V1/Sisyphus, Size Queen Day 22: Gabriel/V1, Gunplay Day 31: V1/Others, Writer's Choice: Free Use
August 15, 2025 at 10:28 PM
aqualotic.bsky.social
Just some pillow talk :3

🔞🔞🔞

#GabV1el #Ultrakill
“Question.” Gabriel murmurs suddenly into the starlit darkness. Two-point-eight seconds pass before V1 can even fight through their self-inflicted sense of laziness to respond. Y-E-A-H-? "If you were to kill me tomorrow, how would you do it?" The warmachine stills for a moment, contemplating this unexpected query. Bloody digital dreams and sordid waking fantasies come to mind immediately, of splitting open onyx skin and crimson muscle to reveal white bone. Seeing for themselves the wild dance of cardiac muscle, thrumming frantically in its collagen cage-- "I WOULD RIP YOUR HEART OUT." V1 informs him with their raised Whiplash, slipping their primary hand up the valley of his pecs to rest over where it beats steadily in his chest. "AND THEN HOLD IT OVER MY HEAD AND CRUSH IT LIKE A FRUIT." The aforementioned organ notably picks up in rhythm following their candid answer. A shiver of excitement wracks their frame as Gabriel's fingers land on the small of their back, the rugged pads trailing up and over their wingpack towards their shoulders. "How greedy of you." He sneers playfully, a husky edge lurking beneath his sleepy tone. "Not to mention dramatic." "YOU'RE ONE TO TALK." They push their fans into a fond huff. "AND WHAT ABOUT YOU?" Gabriel wastes little time finding a single bundle of wires, lying just beneath where their three other arms are joined to their upper torso. "I'd strike this spot first, cut off the power to all your infernal arms." Touches from his other hand scamper down their hip to stop at a single acrylic vein, disappearing into their abdomen. "Then I'd cut here, then here, here, and finally, here." Spine, waist, their thin neck. Simulations give them a statistically high chance of total shutdown should he stun them long enough to accomplish it. Anticipation wracks them as the described scenario is fed to their imagination. They would lose blood flow to most of their limbs, blinded and helpless while Justice and Splendor come down to strike them down- "And then I'd disembowel you, tear every component out of your chest to keep that blasted healing ability of yours from kicking in." "HOT." V1 spells absently, and the body beneath them jumps with a carefree laugh. A rush of affection floods their processors; how the hell did they get so lucky? "I don't know what sort of response I was expecting from you." He teases as their claws come down to start scratching at his hip. They angle their conical head up to look directly at his helm, the light of their eye igniting both the gold of his cross and the too-ornate headboard of his old bed. V1 suddenly wants to fuck him against it so hard the timeless wood snaps in half.
August 13, 2025 at 9:42 PM
aqualotic.bsky.social
Little Thing
August 13, 2025 at 6:11 AM
aqualotic.bsky.social
5/5
Their hips stutter as his tone of vague disgust sinks into their steel; fuck, why does his tone of voice always do this to them? It should be igniting their nerves with annoyance, not arousal. The warmachine slips their hands from under his own, scrabbling for the wall for a better grip, and begins fucking his tits in earnest. It's certainly not a sight V1 thinks they'll forget anytime soon: the head of their dick peeking out from between Gabriel's breasts, the slick sounds that accompany every fervent thrust of their hips, Gabriel's helm craning upwards as if he's just as transfixed by the act as they are. His digits drum thoughtfully against the heavy flesh engulfing them, and a rumbling hum from somewhere within his ribcage is almost their undoing. "Is this all it takes to undo all that smug confidence of yours, Machine?" He asks in a lowly voice, musical and sensual and it all goes right to their overwhelmed reward centers. "A pair of breasts for you to grope, to relish, to fuck?" "Tch. Pathetic." It's like lightning coming down from Wrath's perpetually stormy skies to strike them specifically, arcing through their wires. Their orgasm catches them off guard with it's intensity, knocking all their visuals offline and plunging them into a sea of euphoric static. They hear Gabriel talking them through it somewhere over the white noise, hands alighting gently on their hips in sharp contrast to his scathing words. Video feed comes back to a positively delicious visual: that golden cross emblazoning Gabriel's helm stained white with cum, oozing down the jut of his chin and drizzling down to pool into the dip of his chest. They switch their recording functions from video to photo in a nanosecond, snapping several higher-resolution pictures of a single droplet of their release drooling down Gabriel's visage and onto his onyx flesh. Just as they start to upload it to their long term memory, Gabriel pushes them off of him. "Whatever your makers intended you for originally, I highly doubt it was for these sorts of purposes." Probably not. But hey, they're all dead. Who's to tell them otherwise?
August 5, 2025 at 6:03 PM
aqualotic.bsky.social
Okay I'm awake and have had my coffee here's the titjob fic :D

3/5
It's a wonder that they even fit beneath his cuirass. When the last strap holding Gabriel's chestplate together is unlatched from its hook, his breasts all but spill from their confinement. The armor piece clatters to the ground, forgotten already, as V1 wastes little time in cupping both mammary glands in their greedy palms. Sensors immediately register that one of them is approximately 0.26 kilos heavier than the other. But the sounds Gabriel makes as they squeeze them, one after the other, does not vary much as far as pitch goes. "Fuck--nng..." Their archangel stutters as they focus their efforts on his rapidly-hardening nipples. "Easy, Machine. Those are--ahh!" Shockingly sensitive, considering he had forgone a cloth barrier between the unyielding steel of a cuirass, and his puffy areolas. Rather than launch a query about the process behind this line of thinking, V1 insteads opt to continue their rhythmic massaging of his soft tits. While their Feedbacker and primary weapon arm remain occupied with servicing Gabriel's chest, the warmachine's Whiplash and Knuckleblaster roam his body at their own leisure. The green arm snakes up the back of his skirt to cop a feel of the smooth plane of his ass, while their claws creep beneath the waistband. The tips briefly catch upon the cotton of his loincloth as they slip lower, down to where slick is already seeping through the fabric. S-L-U-T, they spell into the curve of his cheek. Talons tease at his folds through the damp crotch of his underwear, timed with a firm squeeze of his heavy breasts, and they sense him throbbing in answer. “Like you didn’t beg me for this depravity.” He half-heartedly growls. Sometimes they think it’s more to save face than anything else. "Insufferable Machi--ooh!" A bolt courses through their wires and down south at the sound, prompted by their index and thumb pinching both nipples draws from him. V1 rolls the little nubs between their fingers until they're stiff and pert, and Gabriel squirms against the wall of the bedroom they'd eagerly pinned him to. His hips jerk against their claws, desperate for friction, and V1 finally grants him mercy. A quick scratch tears away the thin fabric of his loincloth, and in a heartbeat, they swap out their Knuckleblaster for their Whiplash, driving two of their fingers into his drooling cunt. They haven't been fucking for that long, but already V1's learned how to play him like a fine-tuned instrument; where to crook their digits and how deep to dig their talons into the back of his thigh. Gabriel sings for them in answer as they torment his chest harshly, alternating between tugging on his nipples and kneading at the heavy flesh like a nursing kitten. It doesn't take much more to bring the archangel over the edge; sometimes it baffles them that someone could be so sensitive, so receptive to pleasure. The walls of his cunt clamp down on their fingers right as he unleashes with a strangled shout, trembling violently against them. The warmachine eases him through his climax with slowing thrusts, and follows him down to the shag carpet below as his legs give out from beneath him. V1 slips their fingers out just as they're sure the post-orgasmic daze has taken hold of him, leaving him all too pliant when they further coax him to lie flat on the floor. A thought is all it takes to input a command to open their upper crotch panel, dick springing forth from its sheath. Artificial precum oozes down their length, and the chill of early fall settles quickly on the sensitive silicone. In one smooth movement, they've straddled Gabriel's waist, shifting forward on their knees until they sit between the sloping valley of his heaving breasts. A whine escapes him as they take hold of either mammary gland once more, squishing them together. Static licks at the edges of their visuals as warm pressure engulfs their cock, slick with his sweat and overheated from his release. They can sense his heart pounding against his ribs just below.. "Hahh, wha--" Gabriel regains some degree of awareness as they push their hips forward, weeping cock poking out from between his abused tits. "You--Machine!" Their shoulders shake briefly in a crude imitation of laughter, before it's overtaken by a shudder as they pull back into the snug cavity of smooth skin. Gabriel only stares up at them in a stony silence, before his own hands rise up. They're half expecting him to shoo them off, so when he takes hold of the back of their own hands, squeezing his breasts tighter together, V1 buffers momentarily. "Should've known this is what you wanted from the start." He mutters, and certainly not to himself. "Sometimes I swear you can hardly think past your own gratification; beyond satisfying your own carnal urges."
August 5, 2025 at 6:01 PM
aqualotic.bsky.social
Rough draft and first editing pass ARE DONE. Here's a preview; expect the new chapter by next weekend at the latest because I am not touching at this beast again until at least 48 hours have passed.

#ULTRAKILL
An unusual silence is what greets them when V1 pokes their head into this particular office, leaving only the humming of processors and the creaking of a rolling chair to fill it. A single human occupies the darkened space, unmoving and clearly unhappy. Eli is slumped against his desk, his dark eyes fixed upon the harsh holos of his personal holo pad. The dark locks normally kept in a neat ponytail now hang loosely across his broad shoulders. Entirely out of habit, V1 lifts their curled fist and raps twice upon the faux wooden dooframe. The human starts as though Hollis' cold, condescending bark had reverberated through that cluttered room. Their favorite engineer whirls around in his chair, glasses askew upon the sloping bridge of his nose. "O-Oh, Vee, hi." Rich brown irises meet their dimmed yellow optic. "Thought you were..." For a moment, he trails into a shaky silence, before they at last witness the usual stretch of facial muscles into a friendly smile. All at once, their guard drops, and they step into the boundaries of his workstation. "Hey, you're up early." The human greets, expression warm yet his eyes heavy with shadow. V1 does their best approximation of an eyebrow raise, the best one could without keratin follicles and binocular vision. They gesture for a notepad and a pen, and scribble a flat, but straightforward query in swiftly-drying ink. "You aren't due for the weekly meeting until 800-hours," They point out, and feel the newfound sting of guilt when he deflates even further in reminder. They don't know how to express the tight feeling that follows this observation, so they settle for a default response. "Why are you early?" "I... guess I was getting desperate." He admits, confusing them further even as he elaborates. "I'm kind of stuck." They blink, a habit unintentionally picked up from Hollis' starry-eyed intern. Instead of responding right away, Eli swivels in his chair to face the grainy glow of his personal holos. "I've been working on this one lately, and... I don't know where to go from here." Just as the warmachine recognizes the program spanning the flickering screen, his index finger taps the Play button. Steady synths pour from the tiny speakers, building into an opening melody and blending into a gorgeous symphony of digitized drums and filtered piano notes. For a full minute, Eli's latest composition lulls them to a calm fugue, hypnotic in its call, and at once lighting a fire in their nonexistent soul. But just as the music swells into the second chord, it falls into an abrupt silence. Eli hadn't pressed anything, the song had simply... ended. Then and there. V1's head turns a sharp ninety-degrees to stare at their handler, whose sheepish smile falls into an apathetically dejected expression. "Call it a 'block', of sorts. Happens whenever I got a lot of shit going on." Eli admits, as his head lolls from one shoulder to another and dragging those silky-soft locks along with it. For a moment, they can only think about how it feels when pulled between their fingers, dampened with sweat and accompanied by his heavy breaths. Then they realize they’ve missed half of his ramblings. "...only way for me to overcome it consistently is to sit somewhere else, but even that's not working this time." "Try punching through it?" They write, and quietly delight in his startled laugh. "Nah, it's not that simple, Vee." There's no shortage of fondness to his tone; they're coming to like that about him. "Nothing really for it but a good break, maybe a broader shift in perspective." "How does that work?" "Well, I just don't work on a new song for a bit." They reflexively slump their shoulders, and their technician in turn moves to reassure their disappointment. "It's not forever, I promise. I just... I guess I need to find something else to do aside from work on a song, y'know? Read a new book, see a new place… " "Which, actually, is what I'm gonna be doing tomorrow. Finally taking that vacation I’ve been talking about all of last year." Oh, he was leaving? Sometimes staff members would leave for days at a time. Sometimes they would take V2 with them, and V1 would have to feign indifference for at least two weeks. They hope it's not the latter case. "Maybe it'll help; maybe it won't. But if it doesn't, well, I guess I'll cross that bridge when it comes to it." He doesn't say anything else on the matter after, staring in a listless manner at his half-finished creation. V1 deems it a good time to scribble one final query at the bottom of the text-filled page, circling it for emphasis. It's dropped into Eli's line of vision as they settle their conical helm on the crown of his skull. "Distraction?" "You got a one-track mind sometimes, y'know that, Vee?" They hear the smile in his tone, a hand coming up to grasp at the one they lay not-so-casually on his half-exposed collarbone. "But, well, I don't have to be at that meeting for another two hours, so..." Permission attained, V1 spins the chair round' and presses it to the desk behind him, climbing into Eli's lap with a shutter-waggle. Hollis would likely be in within an hour, and Emily would be right behind her with teeth marks on her neck and a flushed tone to her cheeks. They’d make him come in half that time. (That was the last day they saw him. Ninety-six hours later, humanity began to die en masse. In the quiet moments between hunting and fighting and surviving that followed, V1 would sometimes replay that final memory they have of him, and wonder how the rest of that song would’ve sounded had its composer lived long enough to complete it.)
July 26, 2025 at 8:21 AM
aqualotic.bsky.social
Oh I'm good! This just popped up in the fic bookmarks today and I was all "??????That's a thing?????"
July 14, 2025 at 10:56 PM
aqualotic.bsky.social
*rings dinner bell* GabV1el face-riding, fresh of the presses! Get it while it's hot!!!

🔞🔞🔞

#Ultrakill #Gabv1el #Ultrakillnsfw
July 6, 2025 at 3:54 AM
aqualotic.bsky.social
They are nearing their Long Teen phase.
July 4, 2025 at 11:36 PM