– I Made A Simple Animation

first time doing something like this 💔 it’s so choppy and messy since i lost motivation after like 4 hours lmao

those first 22 issues i read last night were enough to make me want to draw him ngl

and I still have to do more….THEN DO THE ANIMATION my hand hurts bro 😭

fic idea where mohawk mark is fucking reader while bald the other mark holds her legs wideeeeee..

and then they take turns..

please write a fix about machine head with smut and my life is yours 🙏🙏🙏

Ask and Ye shall receive!! I hope you like the HCs I have for him. He's such an ambiguous character; I am relying completely on theories here. (As if I haven't already fantasized enough. 🥴)

Static⚡

Pairing: Machine Head x F!Reader Warnings: (18+) smut, fingering, oral (M) receiving, cum eating, finger sucking/biting, choking, PinV, hair pulling, restraints/pinning, creampie Summary: When word is sent that Machine Head is finally out of prison and demands your presence, you can only anticipate that you’re in for a long night.

Read on ao3 - 4.5k words

Writing Masterlist   -   My kofi✨

You recognize the make and model of the sleek ebony vehicle appearing in front of your home. It’s been months since Machine Head was taken to Payton Penitentiary. He must have escaped because you’re certain his sentence isn’t up yet.

A lone agent dressed in a black suit with a pair of dark sunglasses obscuring their eyes approaches the front door, knocking politely. 

“Can I help you?” You ask inquisitively.

“Your presence is required at the penthouse.” The agent flatly tells you, almost commanding. “The Boss needs to see you.”

“The Boss, huh?” You step forward and close the door behind you, joining the agent in his company. “Someone’s moving on up in the world.”

“After you.” The agent opens the rear passenger door for you, allowing you to step in.

The agent circles the vehicle and gets in, adjusting his mirror to look you in the eyes. “Get comfortable. I have a few errands to run along the way.”

“Errands?” You ask, but the agent reverts to his chauffeur habits and ignores everything around him but the road and destinations. It’s a nice drive around the city. He stops at a luxury boutique to pick up what you can only assume is a newly designed gown and shoe box. After that, you see him pull into a revered jeweler’s, walk in and leave with a sleek carry on. The last place he takes you to, you’re actually expected to get out of the car. “Come along.”

“What are we doing here?” You assess, curiously.

“Hi! Are you our three o’ clock?” A bubbly woman with a big smile comes out of the establishment to greet you and the agent.

“Uhm… I don’t-” Before you could respond, you’re interrupted by the agent who seems to be handing over everything he picked up while you sat in the back seat.

“Yes. The booking is for her.” He passes the clothes bag and accessories to the woman, and she accepts gleefully. “Notify me when you have finished.”

“Wait, finished with what? I thought you were taking me to the penthouse.” You do not know what’s going on, objecting to being left here for who knows how long doing who knows what. Despite this, the agent climbs back into his car and drives away.

“Come with me, sweetheart. I can explain.” The woman takes your hand regardless of them being full and guides you inside the salon. “Call me Yvette.”

“I’m not stupid. I have a hunch as to what’s going on here. I just don’t see why it’s necessary.” You are beginning to feel self-conscious about all these measures that are being taken. Does he not think you’re perfect as you are? 

“Trust me, hon. I know how these things go.” Yvette remarks assuredly as she sets the surplus down, a couple more unnamed women joining in assistance.

“You do?” Your interrogation climbs to a peak.

“Of course, and I’m here to help you out. Now, let’s see what we’re working with.” Yvette begins to unzip the sleeve encasing the clothes while her assistants take out velvet cases containing jewelry of mysterious appearance. She gasps at the gown while her assistants likewise ooh and ahh at the entire ensemble. “Girl! You’re telling me your man picked this out for you and you’re still questioning if he cares?”

One of the assistants pulls you towards the gown and accessories and you’re simply astonished. The dress is a pearlescent silk with a floral style beading of sparkling blush gemstones extending down from the bodice. There is a pair of glowing stilettos with matching gems secured to the toes of each. The jewelry consists of a necklace, a bracelet, a singular ring and a hair pin, all elegantly made of polished silver with rose opal inlays. 

“Oh…” You have no words, lost in amazement while the girls gawk at the project ahead of them. Yvette snaps her fingers, and her assistants shift into high gear.

“Let’s get to work, girls!” Yvette exclaims.

You are bathed from head to toe, heavily exfoliated, clean-shaven, and slathered in countless creams, lotions and conditioners. The process takes longer than you thought, but Yvette and her assistants work tirelessly to refine and polish you to perfection. The dress is zipped up, your hair has been styled, and you are wearing the best face of makeup you’ve ever worn on your skin. It makes you feel empowered. Enchanting. Beautiful.

“Turn around! Have a look!” Yvette practically squeals, far too excited to contain herself. 

You do as she says, looking at yourself in the floor-length mirror and being dumbfounded that it’s really you. The dress is a perfect fit and accentuates your figure wonderfully. The makeup they’ve applied isn’t too heavy. It’s light and pretty to match your accessories. The sparkle of the opals and silver shine back at you, glittering in your eyes. The color scheme is just what you’d expect from him. Pure white and darling pink. 

“Whoever you’re meeting tonight, he sure as hell knows your worth.” Yvette eyes you up and down, giving you a wink while her assistants giggle behind her. “Your ride will be here any minute.”

Just as she says that a glimmering void of fluorescence manifests, illuminating the dim salon foyer. The flash dissipates and Isotope’s form is made clear. He waves, giving you a smile.

“Isotope?” You were expecting the chauffeur agent, not him. “What are you doing here? I was just waiting for-”

“Please.” Isotope rolls his eyes, taking a step towards you. “You didn’t really expect the Boss Man to have you stall in traffic to see him?”

“When he was taken in, it was… hard to manage.” You recoil away from Isotope, feeling like you’re expected to just slap a band aid on their devastating fallout. “Everyone cut me off. I was an exile.”

“Yeah, you and every other prick on his payroll.” Isotope grumbles, pulling at his collar nervously as he recollects the hard times without Machine Head to work for.

You glare at him, unamused by his insults in passing.

“I-I’m not calling you a prick!” He anxiously scrambles to explain, waving his hands meekly at you before explaining further. “I’m just sayin’ it was nothing personal, toots. All of us were cut off, but he’s back in action and you were one of the first requests he had when he got out of the big house.”

“Really?” You push a lock of hair behind your ear, flattered that he would consider you so keenly. “How did he get out?”

“Eh, maybe he’ll tell you if he wants. It’s not my place to spill his secrets.” Isotope lightly touches your shoulder and teleports you to the tower in which a meeting has been adjourned. People are filing out and making their departures while Machine Head stands looking out the large and circular window, a swirl of pink and orange hues painting the sky in sunset.

“Finally!” Machine Head shouts loudly, throwing his head back a bit as he does so when he sees your reflection. “Everyone, get the fuck out! You too, Isotope!”

Once those double doors close, he practically runs at you, nuzzling the cold steel of his face into your neck as he feels your body through the dress. You hiss at the stark transition in temperature but soon find yourself leaning into his touch. “You have no idea how badly I wanted to see you.”

“So badly that you arranged for a complete makeover?” You pick up small sections of the gown and reveal the cute little stilettos, letting him know you followed each and every measure.

“Babe, I looked like shit when I got out. I’m not about to let you see that.” He retorts in justification, but is soon distracted by your grace, his voice processing a trill of mechanical vocalizations as he looks at you. “Mmmmm… But you still look better than I ever will.”

“I missed you.” Your voice is taken down a step, giving into the undeniable desires he instills you with. He pushes himself against your body, the long table touching the back of your legs as he traces your form with his palms.

“I missed you more.” Machine Head mutters and you reciprocate by planting kisses on his chrome cranium. “Fuck, you smell amazing.”

“I always forget that you can.” You ponder while unbuttoning his suit.

“What? Smell?” He teases, gripping a fierce handful of your ass.

“Unf… Yes…” You whisper, the heat of your breath forming condensation on his face.

“You forget,” He continues, lifting you to sit atop the table, “My scent receptors could put a bloodhound to shame.”

“Tell me then.” You coax him to grope you further, nuzzle you to his heart’s content. “What can you detect?”

“Jasmine and sea salt. Charcoal and peat mud.” He thrusts his hips into your spread legs on the desk, grinding himself against the layers of clothes between you. 

“Cucumber. Citrus.” He continues to thrust, as if getting off on the elaborate profile of scent he is able to pick up from your skin.

“Urghhhhh fuck!” He exclaims with a deep sigh, his stiff length jabbing you fiercely through his slacks. “Roses.”

“Impressive.” You successfully undo the fasteners on his vest and button-up, revealing the alluring junction where metal meets flesh, circling his abdomen with your manicured fingertips. His cybernetic plating extends down a small portion of his shoulders, stopping just below his sternum. “That’s everything from the shampoo and moisturizers to the clay bath they made me take.”

“Your perfume is the strongest.” He adds, still glued to you. “As soon as you and Isotope got here, I felt like I just walked into a goddamn flower shop.”

You kick your legs out, wrapping them around his waist to lock him into your space. “You like it though?”

“I love it. You’re perfect.” He rears back to look at you, loosening and removing his tie before rubbing his face on your chest again. “It’s times like these I wish I could just kiss you.”

You reach for his head, lifting his gaze up so that you can peer into those retinal implants of his. “It’s a good thing I can do that, isn’t it?”

Machine Head falls silent, completely surrendering to your implications. He practically stretches to meet you, his adorable little mannerisms showing you just how starved he is for this. For you.

You lovingly kiss the spot where his mouth would be, pressing your lips to the little pink polygon. As you do this, he begins lifting the hem of your dress, pushing it up to show the full length of your legs. To his infinite pleasure, you don’t have any knickers on. He drags his warm hands along your calves, to the back of your knees, all the way until he begins circling your inner thighs.

You pull away from kissing his face plate when he locates your sensitive and swollen bud just dying to be touched, letting out a sharply pitched mewl at his contact. A singular digit is probed, and you rejoice even more when he curls it deep inside. He takes his time with you, nuzzling into you again as he uses his other hand to slip the dress off one of your shoulders. 

“You’re soaked.” He calls you out, the echoed reverb in your ears sending your ferociously beating heart up to your throat. 

“And you’re hard.” You do the same, giving him a coy smirk.

“As titanium.” His voice is gentler now, still thick with a layer of confident humor. Although, the sweetness is interrupted when he turns away from you, raising a hand impulsively to cover a series of hoarse coughs that send an array of vibrant sparks from him.

“Woah, are you okay?” You question urgently, rubbing his back to soothe the sudden disruption.

“Yeah, uh,” He clears his metaphorical throat and manages to speak. “It’ll go away soon enough.”

“Don’t you have the microchip?” You begin scanning the room for evidence of its case, wondering if he’s used it yet. He can’t have had it easy in the penitentiary.

“You know I do.” He plucks a little golden square from his chest pocket, pinching it in the hand not currently occupied between your legs. “I was waiting for you.”

At this provocation, you scoot off and land on your feet, the hem of your gown falling to the floor as you position yourself on your knees. Machine Head braces himself against the table when he sees that you’re wasting no time in unbuckling his belt and unzipping his slacks. You grin at him, looking up with your mouth so dangerously close to his throbbing cock. 

“Waiting… for me?” You seductively beckon, reaching your hand into his slacks to whip out his weeping stiffness. “Where did you learn all this patience?”

“Oh, you know.” He begins, his voice faltering with a slight, endearing glitch, as if even his advanced systems struggle to process the depth of his affection for you. “M-months in solitary really o-opened my eyes!”

You love pulling this move on him, taking him in your hot mouth as far as you can with no warmup to break up that tasty suspense. The eagerness and hunger is what he craves to see from you. That depth of yearning that can only be shown with action, not told with words. You keep your eyes locked on him. Staring. Watching. Studying. If he had teeth he would be biting his fist right now, trying so hard to conceal his sinful whimpers. You suckle on him harder, urging a barely perceptible hum, a purr-like vibration to emit from him, giving an almost tactile sense of comfort and intimacy in his whines. You open your mouth widely, tapping the head of his cock against your tongue before addressing him. “Solitary and silence don’t suit you.”

You replace your mouth around him again, with even more dexterity and purpose this time. Using your tongue, you push his length against the roof of your mouth, taking him all the way down to the base where he begins to pet your hair. The trembling in his legs lets you know that your methods are working well and he’s sure to give you exactly what you want in no time.

“Fuck! Hnnng… Don’t- don’t stop… Oh God…” His spasms and tremors are coming on more frequently. Machine Head’s palm against your head stands firm as he thrusts into your mouth, fucking it at his own preferred pace. He gently operates at the will of sensation, petting you sweetly as you suck him off.

Drool begins to drip down your chin and your lips are going numb with the friction. You can’t keep your jaw clenched any longer, but thankfully you won’t have to. His thrusts slow down exponentially while the power behind them increases three-fold. You practically gag on his cock as it punches the back of your throat, but you hold onto his hips, ensuring that he keeps fucking your mouth until he’s finished. 

He tries to yank himself away, certain that he will have you drowning in his come if he doesn’t give you air to breathe, but you take it like a champion. He’s gasping and breathless, the harmonic undertones ringing like music in your ears when he makes his way to that climax. It is at this moment that he deposits the microchip into the tiny slot at his left temple. The whirring of his cybernetics resounds loudly as fractals of more sparks fly, jutting from his brightly glowing orbital sockets. The effects hit him like a punch to the face. His body goes completely rigid as he slams his fist on the table, throwing his head back with intensity. “Oh~! Oh yeahh… Yes… That’s it.”

You slurp every remnant of his release as it flows out of him. He coats your throat with his milky come, still pumping into you as the afterglow of this exchange still flutters through his nerves. When you’re sure he’s through, you sit back on the support of your stilettos to peer up at him, wiping the glistening drool from your chin. 

He’s a codeine daydream and you’ve been frightfully out of touch, but as of right now, his reverence is rejuvenating, yielding to love as the sunset works wonders to clear the haze. His chest rises and falls repetitively with exerted breaths, tiny crackles or modulations causing your ears to perk up, as if the overwhelming emotion is severely taxing his systems. It’s these little beats of silence that really displays exactly what he thinks of you. 

His focus requires no words as he motivates you to stand, the heels giving you a slight positional advantage next to him. He grasps your jaw roughly, catching more of that drool you tried to clear away. The cool air hits it, tingling your whole mouth and making you even more aware of the unmitigated numbness of your lips. You stick your tongue out, tasting his hand as it still grips your chin. He shifts his hold and waves his index finger in front of your mouth. You practically chomp for it, giving it the same treatment you were giving his cock.

“God-fucking-damn.” He groans, his still-freed cock jumping a couple times when you bite down on his digit. “Some things never change.”

At this notion, Machine Head pushes on your back, lowering you to bend over and rest your weight on the table. You can faintly see him through the reflection in the massive window, but what is really catching your eye is the arrangement of neon aquamarine shards that ornately line the center of the table’s structure. With a furrow of your brows, you bite your lip in anticipation, focusing on the prisms set in soil.

“My turn.” Machine head hikes one of your legs up, resting it atop the table to give him even more gratifying access to your assets. The hem of your gown is once again pushed out of the way, bunched up layers of tulle and silk accumulate across your back. Machine Head takes his length in his hand, knocking it against your incredibly sensitive clit. He applies an even series of pressurized pushes to it, using your juices as a potent lubricant until your hips begin to swivel out of pure impulse. He’s always loved working you over like this, using himself as a wand to skillfully pleasure you.

The plush, softness of his tip is rivaling the tremendous rigor of his entire cock being shoved at the cusp of your entrance but not yet slipping in. He can feel the shift of your flesh against his as your wanton gasps form the melody with which his percussive grunts will be peppered through. 

“Do it.” He gruffly commands. “I know you want to.”

He moves his hand faster, pushing you further and further up that summit. Just as flawlessly as you were to perform this on yourself, he takes you straight into the stratosphere, waves of jostling spasms extending outwardly from your very core. 

Right when your own release of euphoria overtakes you, he shoves his cock into your entrance at full force. You’re absolutely drenched and it’s the easiest he’s ever slid in, no resistance whatsoever. The displacement of feeling him impale you on his cock is staggering. He fills you so deliciously, spreading your walls apart with every inch. He drags himself out slowly, only to ram you with his hips over and over again. 

He slumps over you, catching himself on the desk. The way his palm collides with the hard surface so that he doesn’t fall over showcases his desperation, his deep-seated appetite for showing you just what you mean to him. He anchors himself to the gathered layers of fabric, taking a fistful in one hand to yank on it so that he can fuck you even harder.

The leverage he is gaining by yanking your waist is apparently less than optimal as reverts to threading his fingers into your hair, gently and with a loving tenderness, before closing his fist to entrap your locks within his clutches.

“That heartbeat of yours…” He leans forward more, speaking directly into your ear while twisting your head with his clenched his fist. “It’s like my systems recalibrate when I hear it.” 

He whispers in staccato, roughly pumping as he continues. “Mmmm… Fuck… It’s impossible not to find rhythms in harmony with yours.”

You let out a little ‘unf’ every time he rears back and slams into you, using the pressure of his weight over you as well as the force of his thrusts to coax your own string of moans to fill the space. At every increase in firmness of his motions, you pitch your voice a bit higher, vocalizing the delight he’s putting you through.

Just when you were getting comfortable in this position, Machine Head expertly takes the leg currently propped up on the table and treats it like the arms of a clock. He turns you completely around so that you’re now on your back, all while never exiting your luscious and juicy walls. Seeing his face plate hovering directly over you will never get old. He remains steadfast in fucking you, adding a level of enticing captivation when he takes both your hands in his and lifts them above your head. 

Having now been pinned to the desk, Machine Head is grunting barely centimeters from the tip of your own nose. Your breath accumulates in clouds, creating an opaque film across his cybernetics. You can tell that he’s getting close again. He always gets sentimental when he’s about to come.

“Y-you make me believe I am more than my code.” He stammers, concentrating on his climax while vacillating his words and the urgency to deliver them to you. “M-more than a fucking bucket of circuits.”

He keeps both of your arms pinned above your head with one hand while taking the other to coil his fingers around your throat. His voice sounds more deliberate and measured, emphasizing each syllable as though what he has to say carries more meaning than ever before. “You make me real.”

You’re unable to resist the magnetic pull of his sincerity. His voice carries warmth that shouldn’t be possible for a machine, yet it bears a ring of humanity that you cannot ignore. 

He squeezes the either side of your neck, pushing you into the table to the point that you can’t hardly take in a breath let alone move. He watches your cheeks flush to a deeper shade, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. It is at this display of sensual force that he reaches that ever-blessed climax again. His pumping grows so powerful that he scoots the entire table over a few inches every time his hips slam against your ass. The jostling is rather amusing, watching him give you his all while breaking a proverbial sweat.

He groans loudly, straightening his back so that he can watch you take every drop of his come. You’re a mess of smeared makeup and wardrobe malfunctions, legs spread widely apart as you support your stiletto heels on the edge of the table. Machine Head lets go of your throat to caress your cheek and you audibly gasp when given the opportunity to take in a whole lungful of air. The exertion drives you crazy with how his cock pulses inside you, twitching as it shoots a secondary series of hot, white strands from its tip. The swell upon being filled balloons within you and the satisfying pressure has you submitting to his will with your eyes half-lidded and jaw agape.

Machine Head is finished of course, but he can’t help but take advantage of your open mouth, giving you a pair of fingers to suckle on while he waits on his cock to go flaccid and naturally slip out of you. He begins, his tone rich yet precise, “You‘re incredible, you know that?”

You bite on his digits, scraping your teeth against them as he pries them from your maw. “How could I forget when you tell me so often?”

“You were pretty skeptical when you first got here.” Machine head steps away from you, deposits his cock back into his pants and zips himself up to help you. He offers you his hand and you take it, clinging to what little remains of your dress that you still have on. Machine Head straightens your gown, assisting your arms through the sleeves and smoothing out the folds in the fabric. 

“I know, I just didn’t think it was real.” You start after having finally caught your breath.

“Real?” He turns to look at you, furrowing eyebrows that he does not possess.

“C’mon. Do you really think I am good enough for your love?” Your speculation is loud and clear, but it does not cause Machine Head to shrink in its wake. “You could have sent for anyone when you got out.”

“But I sent for you.” He clarifies the distinction.

“Why?” He can hear the uncertainty in your words, thinking carefully how to respond.

Machine Head pulls you into his space as he sits on the table beside you, taking you in his arms. He adjusts dynamically to match your emotional state, softening or brightening to resonate with your mood in a deeply empathetic way. “In this business, the people on top are merely pimps to the poorest saps out there. The likes of me are either getting fucked by the system or saved by it, if you can fork over enough dough, that is.”

“Is that what it always comes to? Money?” He never chastises you for asking these questions, for he wonders all the time.

“Think of it this way. The quantum probabilities in this industry are endless and the world is getting left behind as a result, but one thing that has remained constant is that I have experienced an undefined happiness when I am with you.” He tilts his head, squeezing you closer to himself. “Like all that bullshit doesn’t even matter anymore.”

“So, what does matter most in your eyes?” You reach for his face plate, stroking your thumb on the fine-lined contours of his steel frame as the glare of the sun peeking over the horizon hits the window just right, shining its elysian glow on the both of you.

He hums, undertones like a soft melody woven just for you. Each sentence creates a soothing, almost musical resonance when he addresses from the heart. “You. Just you.”

“Are you ever going to tell me how you got out? How you managed… all this?” You ask, waving to the grandeur of the official meeting room you and Machine Head have just defiled.

“How about I tell you in the bath?” He tells you resolutely, picking you up bridal style to take you down the hall to his personal office equipped with a lavatory, your giggles echoing through the empty halls.

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Late night sketches on my phone—this show is absolutely amazing. Go watch Invincible, people 🗣️

I’m in fucking TEARSSSS DO YOU HEAR ME!!! “ that’s how much Asian is left” PLEASEEEEEEE

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