#feel free to respond or talk about anything i said at all id have so much fun

[dullard]

1, 3, 8, 11, 13, 15, 22, 28, 29, 34, 44, 49 for Siamont pleeeease 👉👈

YOURE SO NICE I DIDNT THINK ANYONE WOULD DO AN OC ONE THAAAANK YOU im so excited

1. What motivates your character?

The pressing need for a safe and warm environment for children, especially in the face of disaster and tragedy.

3. Is your character an optimist or pessimist?

I think he's a realist, but he's a bit optimistic in general, because he sees the real ways things can turn out okay, and when he doesn't, he at least sees the ways he can make it not as bad as possible.

8. What are some internal obstacles that your character has to overcome?

He knows he really, really needs to talk more. Really badly. But its habitual that he doesn't, his tongue doesn't feel used to it anymore, it's not in his nature anymore... Plus, when other adults talk to him and expect a response, he shuts down. The only times he manages to talk a little is to the children, and he knows its not as much as it should be.

When he needs to talk to adults, he often writes, but it still makes him extremely anxious. He learned to write for this reason, actually.

11. What events in their past helped shape and influence them into who they are today?

Oh You Know ;)

If you asked him this question (and we ignore that he isn't a very talkative guy), his opinion is that one person shaped him almost entirely, and it's his younger brother.

His younger brother was why he learned to care for children, his younger brother was what drove him to take fishing seriously as a career and make money, the memory of his younger brother is what he sees in children that makes him care about them right away before he even knows them for themselves.

The loss of his brother had him not doing anything, and when he saw a child all alone he remembered his younger brother when he'd sit off to the side, and he knew it was like he was speaking to him, in a way, and telling him to do the thing he's best at. So he thinks his brother helped him decide to start the orphanage, too (But really, his own force of will is what helped him overcome his grief, and it was his own kindness that gave him purpose)

Also, obviously, he hates to admit the influence its had on him, but the encounter with pirates as a child where he lost his tail (and his voice, in a way) had a huge influence on who he is. He still fights against that trauma today every time he speaks.

13. Who is the closest person to your character?

His brother, for his whole life. Now that he's gone, I'm not sure. I assume someone else must work at the orphanage as an adult, and he's probably at least a little close with them, but he's very close with all the kids, and his inability to talk to other adults At All (He just can't make himself do it - He will want to, he will open his mouth, he will move his tongue, no sound will come out, and its very frustrating for him. It's driven him to tears before.) means he doesn't have very many close friendships emotionally.

15. What habits does your character have?

He watches around the floor and his feet when hes walking anywhere because he doesn't want to step on children, lol. He's not even that tall (although he's on the tall side for an ecaflip).

When he holds anything, he does the little bouncing with his body (I don't know how to describe it. It's the same motion you do to soothe a baby.)

Also, he likes to quietly watch the sunset. Usually the kids don't let it stay quiet though.

22. What regrets do they have, if any? (From any part of the story, not just exposition.)

He has plenty about where he was when the wave happened, but he knows that they're not reasonable (He survived because he was on a fishing boat, and his brother just would not have been there under any circumstances, no matter how much he thinks about "well maybe I could have..."

He sometimes has regrets about how he handles things the children need. He can always do better. He tries to apologize by doing something nice for them if he thinks he did the wrong thing, but he's never been mean to any of them, so they usually just think he's trying to cheer them up because they were sad earlier.

He regrets when he and his brother were kids and he said he wished he was an only child (I don't think his brother even remembered this as an adult, but it haunts Siamont), and he regrets a time he left a younger child for an hour when he was 11 years old and came back to the child crying because they thought he wasn't coming back. Lots of little things like that.

28. What emotion is the most unfamiliar to your character and how do they deal with it?

Anger doesn't come easily to him, but it takes him over. When it's at an adult, he usually just lets himself react with that anger and show it with his body. When it's at a child, he notices it and leaves the situation, then comes back when he's calmed down (so the children are most afraid of when he Looks A Little Angry, Then Leaves, even though he never does anything with it. They get the right response to fix what they did every time. It's just how the kids know they really messed up)

29. What are the three things that your character values most?

The children's safety, their emotional wellbeing, and his memories of his brother.

34. What are three negative traits that your character has?

Silence, letting his anger take hold of him when he thinks its justified (He has killed. many pirates in this state, when he probably didn't need to kill every single one of them on the ship and could have let them flee), and thinking he can take on everything on his own

44. What does your character fear?

Losing anyone else. Also, in general, rogues trigger bad memories for him, and he's way more likely to fight someone if they're a rogue.

49. In the end, what is your character grateful for?

The children, their safety, their joy, their play, their creativity, their...

Well, a lot of things about his kids.

His memories of his brother, and his memories of Sufokia as it was and the people he's lost. They hurt, but he holds them tight to his chest.

The luck of the sea (The sea is where luck comes from, in his eyes - Fish, driftwood, seaweed, he's even grateful, sometimes, after he's handled the rogues on board, for the pirate ships, because he takes what they need from it (including, usually, a lot of the clothes from the pirates that he fixes to fit the kids, and their sails and some of the wood from their ship and their food and... everything.) before setting it ablaze and sending it off. )

I'm insane thank you so much for my life laura i had so much fun doing this thank you thank you thank you thank you

[propertyofwicked]

never have i ever... | rafe cameron

had a troll pt 2

part 1 here

not my gif<3

warnings - very very slight sexual references if you really squint

rafe could tell you had been distant with him the last week, but he didn’t know why. he imagined it was your brother and his obvious dislike for your relationship, but considering you had been fine after john b had first found out he didn’t understand why it had suddenly become an issue. everytime he asked you what was wrong, you responded with some excuse about just being tired from work. 

you weren’t avoiding him on purpose - well, maybe you were. the anonymous texter was adamant, and you had been drawn into this mess, spiralling slightly and spending every free moment thinking about it. you had been cheated on before, and the sinking feeling that came from being told rafe was with someone else behind your back was all too familiar. as a result you had hidden yourself away from him, always using work as an excuse and hiding in the kitchen if he came into the club. he had begin to give you the space he thought you wanted so the last thing you expected was for him to come crashing through your bedroom window at 3am, waking you up and dragging you out with him and into his car.

he didn’t speak, he just drove the two of you across the island, his hand clutching the steering wheel so hard his veins popped out and were perfectly highlighted by the full moon. 

“rafe are you going to say anything?”

“are you? you haven’t spoken to me in a week.”

“yes i have, i sent you a text earlier?”

“oh sorry “going to work now. talk later” you really have a way with words y/n - does shakespeare know about you?”

“sorry,” you mumble, not sure how to respond.

“no y/n. i don’t want your apologies - i want you to talk to me. have i done something? has john b done something? if he has ill kill h-”

“he hasn’t done anything rafe. i promise. it’s just...” you trail off, not sure how to approach the topic of the anonymous texter, knowing he’d told you to ignore it. luckily, you didn’t have to respond as a text notification filled the silence for you. you turned the phone slightly, careful not to show too much so that rafe couldn’t read it

“oh. i see,” rafe pipes up, sighing loudly as the realisation hits him,” y/n, i told you to ignore it - is this why you’ve been ignoring me all week?” he says, pulling the car to the side of the road and turning to look at you. 

you head dropped slightly, turning away from him in shame. you expected him to shout, or at least get angry and yet his hand reached up to cup your jaw and turn your face to look at his. his jaw was soft, not tense and angry as you had expected - and his eyes looked sad, almost sympathetic.

“let me read the messages,” rafe says, slowly taking the phone from your grasp. he scrolls through the chat, reading the lies this person was spreading about him - he was happy to see that you were still defending him. you had confided in him about being cheated on before, and he soon realised why you had become so distant. locking the phone and placing it on the dashboard, rafe pulls you over to come and sit on his lap so that you were straddling his waist and had no way of avoiding his stare. 

“y/n, i love you,” rafe starts, his voice soft and eyes staring into yours, his hand reaches up to tuck the hair behind your ear and makes itself at home on your jaw, “i promise you none of this is true. when i’m not with you, i’m thinking about you. you can ask top if you want, he’s actually starting to get pissed ‘cause im ‘whipped’ as he puts it. i love you, and i only want to be with you. whoever this is, messaging you, has it out for me, and for us. id never do anything to hurt you. ever.” 

it was nice to hear him be so compassionate, he was always kind and loving but he rarely said it, rafe cameron is not a man who says how he is feeling - he’d much rather show you. a tear slips from your eye, but he quickly wipes it away and presses a kiss to where it had fell. 

“i didn’t believe what they were saying you know, i just couldn’t help but fall into the trap.” 

“i know sweetheart. you don’t have to worry about me. ive got enough scratches on my back to let people know they can’t have me,” he adds, smirking slightly as you hide your face in his shoulder. 

-

you woke up late that morning, the late night adventure with some added fun in the back of rafe’s car had taken it’s toll on your already fatigued body. you get out of bed and head down the hallway, deciding a shower is probably necessary - but murmurs of the pogues in kitchen stop you in your tracks. 

“you’ve done some fucked up shit before john b, but this is a whole new level,” sarah says.

“don’t get me wrong, we all hate rafe for the shit he’s done but y/n has never been happier, especially with everything she’s gone through recently,” jj follows on, “texting her anonymous threatening messages to get her to break up with him is psychotic bro.”

what. 

it was john b? this whole time? had he been sending those texts and waiting to hear your sobs through the thin walls of the chateau? surely not. this was a joke right. without even thinking, you feet had carried you into the kitchen. jj and the rest of the group stood on one side of the table, with john b with his head in his hands - atleast he looks guilty. his head raises at the sound of you walking in and he feigns a smile hoping you hadn’t heard the conversation.

“it was you? this whole time?” you asked, voice laced with venom. he nodded slowly, realising he couldn’t hold the façade any longer. 

“look, y/n im sorr-”

“no, save it. i don’t care,” and with that you turned on your heal, back into your room, where you began to cry. you rang rafe, and he picked up immediately as he always did. you didn’t say anything but he could hear your sobs through the phone, and without a second thought he was in the car coming to pick you up. 

[hillbillyoracle]

I get why tradwife content is so appealing - but it's not for the reasons they think.

Some information upfront: I am trans (nonbinary - GNC), hormonally intersex, queer, and have been partnered with a trans woman for going on seven years. I became progressively disabled and eventually was not able to go to school or work. I slipped into the housespouse role, especially as I started to regain some measure of functioning. Even though it was never my goal to be in this role, especially not for this long, for the last several years I've helped run progressive spaces and resources for non-traditional homemakers.

I say all this to situate what I write next. Please note: once again, I use AMAB and AFAB because not everyone around me IDs with their AGAB but what I want to talk about here breaks down along AFAB and AMAB lines in my experience. Yours may differ.

I considered writing up this morning - my family's Christmas - as an example of the various kinds of normalized incompetency I see in the AMAB folks around me embodying but I imagine most people who are going to relate to what I'd say on any level have their own stories. I think we're reaching a point where even sharing examples for the purpose of teaching can be demoralizing because we really just wind up seeing how completely mundane AMAB obliviousness or even outright hostility is. I don't want to add to that. But picture a fairly stereotypical scene - my AMAB partner making us late, AFABs all doing the invisible labor of making it go smoothly (grabbing cups before full grown adults knocked them over, dealing with trash and tidying, sorting and organizing, noticing each other's feelings and tending to them, etc) while AMAB folks laughed about how little the knew about the presents that had been purchased and generally kicked back. That was my morning.

It's not an experience that seems that miserable on it's face. No one said anything cruel. No one got hit. None of us are sitting in an ER. We're alive. But you could look around the room and see how my sister and I especially were just fucking tired by the end of it. AFAB exhaustion is just the going rate for family holidays it seems.

At one point this morning, when I tried to voice my frustrations to my partner she flat out said to me "No one asked you to do that." People who've shared some of my experiences will get why that statement always stings without me having to say it. It's the ultimate get out of jail free card for her - you know you will still face the consequences if you didn't get that work done and now it won't even be appreciated or the cost to you considered. It can be genuinely heartbreaking to hear. Implicit in it is the expectation that you always have to ask for what you want and need - though you usually won't get it without also giving detailed instructions every single time making it easier to just do it yourself - with no amount of learning patterns or generally empathizing being necessary on their part. Problem solved I guess.

Which brings me to my opening statement. The appeal of tradwife content is in the idea that it is possible to be happy in a relationships in which your needs are not anticipated, desires are only rarely considered, and your emotions are not responded to.

And I know they would argue differently - that's fine - but I've watched people in my communities flirt with the ideas before and I can tell you, it is not coming from some genuine belief in the bioessentialism that the TradWife crowd espouses. It's firmly rooted in disillusionment with the narratives we've been fed about what good and healthy relationships "should" be.

Let's use an imperfect analogy. All the content out there about building healthier relationships are like those authors who teach other people how to write and publish their first novels. Even among avid followers and people who follow the course - not all of them are going to wind up getting publishing deals like author teachers did. But when that's all you ever see about books on your feed, it starts to feel like everyone is figuring out how to do this and you just...suck for some reason. Now imagine that you publishing a book was seen as a vital part of the queer movement and everyone you knew had written these great books. Imagine that talking about how difficult you're finding it to write this book was not only seen as a threat to the larger movement but also made you a leech or otherwise dangerous or bad. That's what so much relationships content feels like these days.

There's a lot of nuance to this I'm not going to be able to capture; how the taker/giver dynamic still often gets reproduced in AFAB/AFAB relationships but generally along lines of any privilege disparities rather than strictly presentation, how transmasculine folks occupy a very liminal space in this conversation because other forms of privilege can impact it how the dynamic plays out so much, how trans/queer theory hasn't developed many robust models and methods for thinking through how queer and trans folks repeat toxic conditioning in their relationships with each other, etc.

But at the end of the day, the reason I see most people dip into it - why I myself have read through their blogs looking for answers - is because the messages we're told about what relationships should be like don't match the reality of the choices we really have available to us, especially when it comes to being with AMAB folks.

The fact that so many people cannot seem to sit with is that some people have no choice but to be single and some people do not really have the choice to be single. Health care, survival needs being met, access to family members and friends, transportation, etc can all be dependent on staying with someone who does the least. Making the best out of mediocre and unfulfilling relationships is a strategy for survival.

TradWife content not only makes overfunctioning seem possible long term but meaningful in some way that the relationship itself is not. I'm sure many of those content creators really love their husbands. But emotional intimacy is rarely discussed in these spaces. It does not seem to be highly valued. And it can almost be a relief when compared to spaces that harp on the basics you're giving but not receiving so regularly, where you not leaving is seen as enabling or leeching/gold digging stead of the economic dead end that it actually is. It is both a haven and a new hell.

Queer, trans, and disabled homemakers are effectively in the alleyway between houses, instead of in a house of our own. We're running between the eaves trying to stay dry. In one space we're told that our queerness/transness is good but our unhappiness in our relationships are seen as a threat to the cause and our difficulty leaving is seen as regressive and even exploitative (which ignores all the domestic labor we do). In the other space, we're told that our domestic labor is a beautiful gift and that there's something transformative about giving without expecting in return - a tempting ideal - but that our transness and queerness are the reason for our unhappiness.

This is all just to say I get it. While I don't support TradWife content and always shoot down bioessentialism in the spaces I'm in, I also get the appeal of the idea that the work itself is something you're meant for, that that kind of caring can fill the void of never really receiving it. I get the appeal of a space that values your labor instead of erasing it as just expected and calling you a leech.

I'm glad there's good content out there for building healthier and more enjoyable relationships for those who can both genuinely pursue it. But the older I get, the more I've seen that that is a very small portion of those in relationships and those available. Many of us are even more constrained n our options and maligned in our choices. The dearth of resources on making things work in the relationships that are okay but ultimately unfulfilling means people will continue to turn to things like TradWife content.

[qumiiiquinnquin]

well. i tried to communicate with someone jn my family about the extreme stress College is already causing me. to my sibling, because they are the closest person to me. they want me to tell them what's going on more so i finally did today. i dont normally because my problems end up belittled or ignored in some way

it started somewhat okay. they told me to tell family before i drop out, which would be a good idea i guess. i feel like i cant though without getting shit for it or forced to keep going because im being overdramatic and its not even been a full 3 weeks yet

but i brought up my medication not working. i forgot i told them that already, i guess i had told them over summer and spaced it afterwards. my medication has not been helping my anxiety at all since i first started taking it last year, so taking it won't do anything to lower my anxiety. i told them i cant see my psychiatrist because i have no time and i do not think he is available on weekends, the only time im free (more like "free" because there's never ending homework in college and free time is a lie). i as told to talk to our dad and email my psychiatrist, but i know my dad will be pissed if he finds out i havent been taking my medication for a few months but have been lying that im still taking it

in the end they told me to get my medication figured out before i finally decide to drop out. i didnt respond back because i hate this idea my family has that my medication will solve all of my problems. my sibling's ideology that the reason why college is so stressful for me right now and is making me want to drop out is because im unmedicated, and if i was medicated, everything would be completely fine and i wouldn't feel so bogged down from my schoolwork.

if my med did help with my anxiety, then its true i likely would not want to drop out as badly as i do now. though id likely still think about it because college is currently a bit too much for me to handle. but my med wouldnt fix the stress of college. medications shouldn't be viewed as able to completely solve and rid any symptoms of any disorder. and it annoys me that my dad told me that yet he and everyone in my family views it that exact way. plus being told to figure out my medication before finalizing my decision to drop out completely ignores what i said about my lack of time to see my psychiatrist and tells me i need to just ride this semester out with my rapidly deteriorating mental health.

im barely hanging on only three weeks in. what am i supposed to do.

[khodorkovskaya]

Hey so men are shitbags and I'd like to ask your opinion on a situation here......

So right been talking to this guy...... and we often had quite slowish convos like answering every few hours when we werent busy etc....

But he was kinda chatty lile telling me about his day and sent a selfie after having a drink etc

But then after that got odd.... like didnt respond to my question for 2 days, but then responded to it and asked me a question like what I was planning for the weekend etc so I thought he wanted to talk... but then didnt respond for over a day again but was nice like, oh that sounds lovely are you planning on doing much there?

So again I thought he wanted to talk becasue why would you ask questions if not right??

Again answered a day later, like it literally took him 30 hours to say what his dog was called... I said happy birthday and he was like thanks so I asked if he had a nice time,and he got a bit chatty again like answering within an hour etc, yes he did then he asked if I had much planned for this week so obvs I responded and asked if he did too??? But like it's the end of the week now and hes never responded so I'm like?? Did he actually want to speak to me or not?

Hes also liked my photo I posted of me

But I'm a bit like, does he actually wanna talk to me?? Becasue one min I think he does when he asks questions right because why would you if you didnt wanna talk but then hes read my response and question asking what he planned and just not replied and ifs been a few days, that makes me think hmm maybe he doesnt wanna talk actually????????

What's your thoughts please??? Also ik not a psycho on just generally confused becasue I thought he might like me and I just want a bit advice or opinions please becasue I've never talk talked to a guy in years....

Do I message and ask if he had a good week??

if there's one thing that my past relationship's taught me is that if you want a fulfilling relationship with someone, they have to have the same texting style as you. both of you have to be on the same page in terms of how you communicate. (and im not talking only about romantic relationships, this can apply to anything really.)

so my ex for example would always take super long to reply and i always found it super frustrating. as my mum says, i always be on my damn phone! so it's weird if someone takes over an hour to reply. for me, if i don't reply, it's because A im extremely busy or B im ignoring you. otherwise i reply almost immediately to any text i get bc my phone is always next to me. that's how i function and i want my future partner to be on the same page.

my ex was completely different, he didn't have social media and his phone would always be on silent and he would often even leave the house without it. so he would always take hourssss to reply. i, being the lonely teenage girl with low self esteem that i was, would send him a billion texts, spam him with memes and call him all the time and when he wouldn't reply id feel sad and abandoned. so i totally get what you're saying with the guy being chatty and then ignoring you for two days, that was literally my ex. we'd see each other, have sex, and then he just wouldn't reply for 24+ hours. and id want to kms.

and every time i would be super frustrated, not only because i felt like he didn't care about me, but also because i felt like i couldn't rely on him. what if something urgent happened and i needed him to pick up the phone? every time id text or call him there would only be like a 10% chance that he would pick up or reply immediately.

and it also imposed the fact that he was the one controlling the relationship. id text him "let's hang out" and then wait for the whole day for him to reply, unable to make other plans bc what if he replies and im not free anymore. so id spend days in my room, ignoring my friends, hoping that he will check his phone and agree to hang out with me. if he said yes, id reply the very second bc it was that rare for him to be on his phone. and sometimes the day would go by and he'd text "no" at like 8pm and it would be too late. i even changed the notification sound for him to be sure i don't miss a text from him... my phone usually vibrates once when i get a text, but for him i put two long vibrations, so even if my phone is in my purse, id know it's him.

anyway, please don't make the same mistake i did and chase after a guy who doesn't respect you enough to answer your texts. i know we're all different and we all have different habits when it comes to using our phones. but at the end of the day, if the guy's texting style doesn't match yours, you're gonna feel frustrated and unappreciated and it's gonna ruin your days. and he's gonna have power over you.

xoxo

[bunny-lou]

Hello!! Im the anon with the ask from 2 weeks ago about how much i love your fics and how autophobia kicked my ass into hyperfocus so bad i ended up napping on the floor in the hallway and almost missing class after reading it

I just want you to know that i really appreciate you taking the time to answer said ask because i was massively anxious about having sent it as it was all pretty much nothing but an absolute ramble and since i was exhausted as shit (hadnt slept for more than 40 hours at that point in time) i didnt even remember what exactly i had said in it until reading it again just now after seeing it answered on my dash (didnt even figure it out it was my fucking ask until halfway through) so i was kinda worried about having come across differently than intended and sounding idk entitled or some shit by talking about wanting to read more from you whenever and only of possible (id fucking hate to sound like one of those "next chapter right now!!!! I dont care that you have a life!!! Write the fucking chapter now!!!" readers) and i was more anxious ab it after time passed without getting an answer (ngl i was p much straight up stalking your blog every few hours the first few days then i saw a post from you about how tumblr eats your asks and calmed down quite a bit) but yeah anyway i just really wanted to tell you how much i loved ypur stuff and how strongly i feel about autophobia and your writing in general hopefully without making you uncomfy or coming across as rude or anything i hope i succeed in doing that at least kinda

But yeah jsyk youre the first desc account i started interacting with properly after randomly becoming hyperfixated as fuck on descendants and your stuff is responsible fpr getting me more into the fandom and into desc itself so yeah thank you

And also i just wanna say that when i first started autophobia i REALLY didnt think my autistic aroace ass would like it since i never was into abo in the traditional form of the trope but goddamn did i fucking love ypur fic despite any initial assumptions i had made about it i loved carlos' characterization so much and i loved everyones characterization so much amd the whole plot and everything i felt it was So well executed i often daydream of like alternate events for my favourite fics but for yours i can conceive no alternate plot development that id like more than yours its absolutely chefs kiss

Anyway sorry for thia absolutely fucking gigantic rant feel free to ignore me apologies if its too much and (tldr:) thank you for everything!!

(Original ask)

I'm the actual worst at responding on Tumblr, I'm so sorry.

Your asks, both the previous one and this one, are so sweet! I never mind long asks, though it does take me longer to respond to them. Seriously, if it takes me a while to answer, it's because most of my work days are 10-12 hours and I do not have energy to reply, it's a busy life!! My mobile Tumblr (which is what I normally use) does not give me any alert that I get an ask, but if I check my mobile tumblr, my desktop tumblr will not show that I have an ask because it thinks I saw the notification on mobile (which I don't). So also blame the wonky app lol.

There are months of effort that go into all my pieces on AO3, especially Autophobia, so messages like these that show that people know how much effort I put into my work are so rewarding. And I love Descendants, it brought my such entertainment and joy during harsh periods of my life, I am in awe if my writing helped you to love a fandom as much as I do!

And I've had a lot of people tell me that Autophobia is their favorite ABO fic or the fic that got them invested in that trope, which also means so much to me because ABO is my favorite AU!!

Thanks so much for taking the time to send me such a lovely letter, it makes me smile so much!!

[hxnbi]

₊˚Ꮺ BEFORE YOU FOLLOW

01. my blog is primarily sfw/pg with occasional dark and sensitive content. id like my work to be freely viewed by everyone and not restrict it for certain people. with that said, while my blog remains sfw and free for a majority to interact with my writings, both nsfw and sfw blogs may freely interact and follow me. just kindly distance it from my writings :)

02. if you are the age of 13 or under, please do not interact with me personally. im sorry but i just dont feel comfortable talking to someone that young. i also have a rather filthy mouth at times so caution warned to all followers 😅

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i will not be responding / block if any of the aforementioned rules are broken

₊˚Ꮺ ABOUT MY BLOG

01. my blog mainly consists of fluff, angst, dark and selective suggestive content. that means it's centered around things like fluff and comfort, to angst, violence, blood, gore, etc, but nothing explicit. i am not comfortable with writing anything regarding explicit sexual content or nudity, and that will remain constant. i just don’t feel comfortable writing that sort of content, let alone making it good 😅

02. my blog writes for multiple fandoms such as jujutsu kaisen, blue lock, bungo stray dogs, and wind breaker, however, that is subject to change

03. my blog won't be spoiler free for any of the fandoms that i write for

04. all my writings are written to be genderless unless stated otherwise. though, for writings where the reader is referred to by name, “y/n” will be used for the sake of simplicity

DO NOT INTERACT if you are homophobic, racist, sexist, transphobic, oppress any minority group, or just generally spreading negativity. harassment and trolling on the internet is not the flex you think it is. please just take a breather, put the device down for a moment, and eat some grass

thats it for now. with that, welcome to my blog! i hope you enjoy your time here :)

[fortecircuit]

  - | Fortecircuit |  private . semi-selective. low activity | - Wuthering waves rp blog                                    - | Sideblog to ruinlost | -

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{Rules - Muses}

>Selectivity:

I'm not too selective about who I follow and interact with ,though I still usually try to stick to staying to interact with mutuals only!

>triggers:

I do my best to tag things properly!,but Please, let me know if I need to tag anything,This blog may contain semi-dark themes,violence and language.!I'm forgetful so I sometimes forget to tag certain things!,as for myself I dont have many triggers all I ask for is trypohobia & images or roaches to be tagged!

>Dni if:

Racist or are anti lgbtqa+,that behavior is not welcomed here ,

>Extra info:

If we are mutuals and you wanna talk more outside of rp please dont hesitate to ask for my discord!

Personal blogs are free to follow. I dont really mind,just PLEASE do not reblog my posts or try to rp with one-if so you will be soft or hard blocked ;;/!

This blog will most likely contain spoilers to ongoing story & events in wuwa ,they will however be tagged as well as put under a read more,so please keep this in mind!

>Crossovers & Au’s & oc’s:

I love crossovers and au’s so much, please if you ever have an idea for and au dont be afraid to reach out!,or wanna chuck another muse from elsewhere at me please feel free!

As for oc’s I love them, please Id love to learn & interact with yours!,!

>Godmodding

No Godmodding,,unless we have planned something ahead of time regarding something happening to my muse,please control your own muse ;;/!

>Replies

In regards to replies I'm really fine with and length !,I myself usually end up leaning towards shorter paragraphs ,so please dont feel like you have to ever match my writing length!

>Shipping

I am multiship blog!,each pair will be in its own verse with special tags!,just to keep it organized

I ship with chemestry so there has to be some form and interaction between muses though don't be afraid to go on and ask me about shipping muses though we can talk about it! Be it romantic,platonic or familial !

>Mun ≠ Muse

I do not condone my muse’s actions,anything they say or do is not something I would usually say or do myself!

>Misc

I have ADD so I tend to get distracted and forget things pretty fast as well as Irl things,so please know if I haven't replied to a thread or I'm not ignoring you. I most likely forgot,don't hesitate to poke me if I take too long responding!

This goes the same for rp replies my activity is somewhat sporadic at times;;/

Any character thats currently request or friends only is subject to change!!,Im just a little unsure of my portrayal of said muse so I try to use that as a test for comfort!

Hiya!,im velvet or panda whichever you prefer,I am 23 and vibing im nonbinary & any pronouns are fine by me !,Ive been rping for a few years here on tumblr now,i'm pretty quiet and chill most times!//

[rabbid-rabbitt]

i think what my ex did to me is beyomd fucking me over

were both survivors of similar things, except im free and they were still stuck with their family. we knew each other for around 6 months and started dating because one of my parts fell in love with theirs, we fell quickly and many of our alters ended up dating each other passionately but most importantly my system head genuinely trusted them, she wanted to see them free and to spend our kives together. we created a planfor them to leave their abusive family and fly over to us where we would get married so they could legally settle here. my whole family knew about this and were willing to welcome them into our home, my stepdad, mum and i were going to get uo at 4am and drive 2 hours to the airport to pick them up. ny parents who have no obligation to this internet stranger who they have never met, were willing to pick them uo and welcome them into our familt because they saw how much i loved them and MY MUM EVEN SAID WE COULD END UP MOVING OUT SOON!! me moving out was something that was never mentioned before because i cant live alone and she doesnt trust others to take for me. but anyway me and my other partner (who they knew about and were friendly with) and his partner (also now my partner) spent a lot of time and emergy creating an escape plan with all of our knowledge of these groups and general safety information. my system spent hours and stayed up past exhaustion comforting our ex and giving them our whole heart in hopes they will escape and we would be able to live our lives together, we had plans to financially support them until they could legally get a job which would've been rlly hard on our situation but we were willing to do anything to get our FIANCE! YES WE WERE ENGAGED!!!! to safetyn happiness, we found them a therapist which they would aee when they came here so they could start deprogramming properly.

but on the day they were to escape, some things went wrong but we actually managed to them sorted and the airport staff themselves helped them get a direct flight here rather than a layover when they missed their first flight, we had plans to fix everything that went wrong and me and my other partner were by their side the whole time, i was shaking and on the verge of an anxiety attack irl while they were at the airport but after they got their new ticket they stopped responding. they were gone. obviously i thought i would never see them again because yk these groups work that way, fucking hell being shot point blank at an airport would be so much less embarrassing than what they actually did. i was so unwell that night my partner had ti comfort me and stayed up until i went to sleep because he was afraid id kill myself.

while i was asleep my ex talked to my other partner and a mutual friend where they apologised FOR DISAPPOINTING THEM! but when we finally got talking they had to be TOLD to apologise to me for them to actually do it then not even 24 hours after they hurt me so badly (which they coupdnt even explain btw) they asked if i would still marry them and then called my system head being angry at them a punishment over something beyond their control. they called their father to pick them up. they didnt share the fact they had a previous escape attempt that didnt work. they didnt follow the plan we worked tirelessly on and perfected. And had the audacity to be angry at our system head for being rightfully betrayed. they kept guilt tripping and acting like they were the victim until they just straight up ignored us for days, knowing that was an extreme trigger. which lead to a suicide attempt that we had an ambulance come for because my mum was too terrified to drive us to the hospital. now i did lash out at them, but they also said repeatedly to tell them how i feel and called rightful anger a punishment, im not proud of lashing out n i did apologise for it which more than they ever did for fucking us over so badly. in fact several ppl told me that i wasnt mean enough, that i handled it so well for how badly they fucked me over. during pur final talk where i demanded closure, it took them being ASKED by a mutual friend (in the chat to keep things civil) to give a half assed apology. like how are you that bad of a person you cant even apologise for fucking over your fiance who you dreamed of spendimg your life with..

anyway im out of the severe depressie episode they caused me because i had my meds upped but our system head has not recovered and in fact has changed anlot since we last properly saw her shes locked herself away and doesnt trust anyone anymore

[yonkimint]

Okay this is probably gonna be long so sorry in advance 😅

ive been rereading the story before the update in a few hours just to collect my thoughts and be ready to add to them with the update

Okay so, like i said, im not really mad at tae cos theres no reason for anybody to react or respond to anything that hasnt been explicitly said to them with words. i stand by that, theres no reason for him to say anything to our y/n as of yet

HOWEVER!! The reread did remind me that things are in fact being said. Kinda. In the gcs the other guys are saying things that anybody with a brain would ask their friends about. Like after the art show somebody says, 'yea yea JUST besties' to y/n about her relationship with tae. That absolutely is something he should be asking his friends about. Me personally id probably ask right there in the gc but since its probably been like that for a while i can see how hed ask them in person or in their y/n-less gc. Either way ijs i realise that he does have something that he absolutely should be questioning and reacting to. i still dont think hes treating y/n like his gf tho but that could just be a me and how i opperate problem lol

YOONGI AND HOBI THO

Man listen. i feel yoongles on this like. i really really do. Cos on the one hand, yea absolutely you gotta let ppl make their own choices about shit. Its just straight up disrespectful not to. So deciding by yourself that you arent good for somebody is....well its not a great look lol

That said tho. He knows what hobi wants to do and he knows himself well enough to know that he might not be able to accommodate it and that he might hate it even if he can. Thats mature, honest and exactly the kind of awareness we should all be tryna level up to. What he said about how hobi would likely not do all the things he wants to cos hes prioritising their relationship is also a big deal too tho. Like again, dont just assume you know what somebody else is gonna do but also if your relationship is already like this you probably have a good idea about what theyre like. And like okay. That is absolutely a decision that hobi should be allowed to make on his own but the thing is that the results of that decision arent just gonna effect him. If he changes his whole life and all his plans around yoongi and then hates it yoongi also has to deal with that. And its not like yoongi wouldnt also be making changes either. If they alter their goals and dreams this early in being allowed to have them for each other and then it turns out miserable....that. thats the kinda lesson better learnt later in life imo. Especially with dancing (ex dancer here hey hi hello)

My point is that yoongis also protecting himself here and Thats 10000% valid and reasonable. Like ppl are 100% allowed to change their minds about goals and shit but i absolutely never wanna be the reason they do so i fully feel yoongis pain on this

Okay its 22.24 est so i think im done talking till your next attack in a few hours lol

i hope youre having an excellent weekend and youre not stressing too much about your classes. Also that youre eating, hydrating and resting as well as you can byeeeeeee 💜

OMG thank you for sending this because I actually forgot to queue up the next part!!!!!!! I would have had a lot of stressed out people in my asks come post time! 😅

Also I LOVE this commentary! Tae really should be picking up context clues and I don't know how long we can lean into the whole "he's clueless" excuse. So either he's afraid to ask y/n or the boys about it or he already knows and doesn't want to address it.

AND HOBI AND YOONGI

Yoongi is in a lot of turmoil about the situation obviously but I wish he could just live in the here and now and live without regrets. Because he absolutely will regret it if he doesn't see where things go with Hobi. That's definitely something we're going to address in later on so hold on to those thoughts!

Only one more week of classes and then I'm free from school until the end of August! I hope that you are doing well too and staying happy and healthy!!! 💜💜💜

[dyketubbo]

EDIT (10/7/21, og post made in August)

editing this post since apparently people are still finding it but anyways while im not going to take the post down because i personally just dont like deleting posts and i still agree with some of the things said id prefer that if you find this post that you just. didnt interact with it, at least not if youre not going to be respectful. this post is from august, before the clip of phil saying hes fine w qpr hcs (even if i have complicated feelings on that clip, i dont want to risk getting into discourse about this shit again).

it started a giant discussion and got me people harassing me and talking behind my back, one person even telling me people had groups talking about me, it got me being called arophobic, anti-polyam, claimed i was calling people racist and misogynistic, i got told i didnt have friends, i had people vague me and misinterpret what i said and meant, and through it all i had a total of maybe two or three people at most that disagreed with me and were respectful about it. everyone else that disagreed either resorted to vaguing me (or others that stood by me) or they insulted me to my face (in some cases insulting me then blocking me so i couldnt respond).

many of these people were adults. i had recently turned 16 the month before. i dont mean to pull the whole "oo im a minor and neurodivergent" card but the shit that came from this post, that had at the time barely even reached over 500 notes at the discourse's height, genuinely made me relapse in a way that i just. couldnt handle. i was on meds, i took care of my pets, i distracted myself, i talked to my friends, even talked to my therapist, and it didnt help because every time i came back i found another person giving me shit for it. one of my friends tried to defend me and got people targeting them, insulting them and saying increasingly concerning things about me, and they had to leave the fandom for a bit because of it.

i dont trust a good portion of the fandom because of this mess. i dont trust a lot of big blogs or aeduo fans or techno fans or phil fans because of this. its genuinely concerning to me that a post like this caused harassment, even in places i havent seen, maybe even to people i havent seen. even if this post is still vaguely accurate to how i feel about the situation (mainly, how i feel about it all overshadowing kristin and phils relationship) and i still stand by my idea that qprs count as shipping and that because they arent strictly platonic for many people that i cant be comfortable with qp aeduo, i just. dont want people interacting with this, at least not unless you just want to spread the info in this edit or because you want to say something respectfully. otherwise, i just. want this to be left behind me. even to this day i still get paranoia spikes and nearly panic remembering everything that happened because of this post, and being reminded of it just. sucks. if you want to clear anything up feel free to contact me in some way, but if you see this in the tags while browsing somehow, sorry for the long post, and thank you if you read all of this. have a good day

End of Edit (all text below unedited from when the post was originally made)

btw since kristins been confirmed to be canon multiple times over the past like few months and philza has expressed discomfort with shipping content that isnt him and his literal wife can we as a fandom agree to fucking quit it with treating c!emeraldduo as anything other than friends/family ^^ thatd be great. and yes i mean even the fuckin "platonic" marriage shit, even qpr hcs, just let them be friends.

please god stop acting as if a m/m relationship is inherently better than a m/f relationship especially considering how fuckin shittily the fandom treats kristin already, constantly making her out to be some skinny white girl instead of the fat woc she is. just like. let c!emeraldduo be besties, let c!phil and c!kristin be in a happy marriage, quit going against the cc boundaries because you prefer to ship two average white dudes rather than just accept that ones canonically married to the self-insert of his actor's wife. yall all about minorities until ones actually involved and then suddenly its all about your precious white cishet dudes. my god.

[finelinevogue]

What if a security guard wouldn’t let you back in the arena if you went out to get something. And they didn’t believe that you were harrys gf and just thought you were a crazy fan

oooh it’s been done before but here’s my version!! ;

You were running late.

It was already 7pm and you were only getting out of your car in the car park. Harry was due to be on stage in an hour and you hadn’t even seen him yet. The traffic around Dallas today has been awful. Chocker block. You’d been with Harry all day, up until 3 hours ago when he had to leave the hotel to come to the stadium for rehearsals. Normally you’d go with him, but you were so tired that you wanted a little nap before coming. The problem here was you overslept.

There were no Ubers available and a taxi would be far too expensive at this time, so you drive in Harrys car instead. You’d been following Harry on tour in his car, so when you get to different destinations you can go out on ball day trips if you want to without the obscenity of a huge tour bus or paying for Ubers everywhere. It was the main reason you were so tired though, travelling across country and into different time zones. It would be so much easier if this was the UK.

You grabbed your purse and your jacket, locking the car as you got out and started running for the backstage entrance. It was easy to make it there and you noticed security guards already standing there.

“Hi!” You smiled, slightly short of breathe. You were about to move past them when one of them shoved your shoulder back, making you stumble back unbalanced. “Wha—”

“ID and backstage pass to get through here.” One of them said, looking you up and down as if you were nothing.

If anything, you were quite shocked on how they just treated and continued to treat you. Normally, Harry would show a picture of you to these backstage security guards to make sure you’d be able to get in no problem, but it seemed like today Harry might’ve forgotten to show that photo. This was going to be a problem for you, because you’d forgotten to bring your backstage pass.

“I normally just go through? I’m Harry’s girlfriend.” You tried talking your way around the situation, not appreciating behind held up so close to show-time.

“Oh you’re Harry’s girlfriend? You must be the 7th one we’ve met tonight.” The security guy laughed and so did his friend, making your blood boil with how annoying they were being. Harry would be so pissed if he heard the way they were treating you.

“No but I actually am.”

“Then, ID and backstage passes.” One of then held out his hand whilst the other crossed his arms over his chest to make him look intimidating. Dickheads.

“I have ID just not the backstage passes.” You answered honestly, holding out your ID for them to check. They collected it and asked you questions on it, you answering them all perfectly.

“Well you definitely know you, but you have no proof you’re supposed to be where you claim to be.” They handed you back your ID and you huffed in stress.

“Well what can I show you? Photos of me and Harry together? Text messages?” You waved your arms around, getting really pissed off that this was actually happening. You’d probably miss Jenny’s whole set because of this and then 15 minutes before show-time Harry gets transported under the stage. So you only really would have half and hour with him, and that’s just not enough time. You wanted a safe and warm hug off him. You wanted a kiss. You just wanted him.

“Everyone knows they can be photoshopped.” One of the guys scoffs at your notion.

“Listen. You either show us your backstage pass or we’ll escort you off site.” The other one says a lot more firmer this time. It made you quite anxious for what you’d do if they did that - or maybe when they did that.

“Well I don’t have the backstage passes.” You sighed, rolling your eyes at the way this was going to end.

“Then let’s go.” One of them pointed to where you came from and to the car park, stepping forwards as he did so.

“I’m not leaving until you let me through those doors. My boyfriend is waiting for me.” You answered, taking a step back in stress of what they might do.

“Harry ain’t your boyfriend. Now let’s go!” They stepped forwards again and reached for you.

You swung your bag at one of them, hitting him in his side and he grunted because of the impact of your water bottle with his chest. The other one grabbed your arm and you couldn’t shake him, since you were not trained in any way for situations like this at all. His fingers dig into your skin and it made you scream out a cry, trying to kick him in any way to escape. The other one recovered ever ordered the guy holding you to escort you away whilst he stayed and guarded the door. The one holding you tugged your arms behind your body and held them tight there, it really fucking hurting. He didn’t care though and continued to walk you, asking you where your car was so he could get you out of here.

Once you reached your car he let you go and you wrapped your arms around you as he walked away again, not verbally saying anything but his eyes saying enough. Stay away. You shakily got your keys out of your bags and unlocked your door, climbing in and just sitting there. You could feel your hands really shaky and achy. Looking down with tear clouded eyes, you saw the red marks over your arms and slight bruising already. Your arms and shoulders hurt from being bent in an uncomfortable position.

You cared less about the pain though and how much of a disappointment of a girlfriend you were going to be to Harry. He was going to think either the worst for you or the worst of you. You reached in your bag on your lap for your phone, throwing your bag on the seat next to you afterwards. You wiped your eyes with the sleeve of your t-shirt and unlocked your phone to text messages, sending Harry a quick text.

To Harry: Are you free to call? x

No response. You sat there for a few minutes in silence, still shook up and teary. That had been a really awful situation to be in and you hated that you were nowhere near Harry to fix it. Your phone vibrated 3 minutes later, finding a text message from Harry. You sighed and felt safe when you saw his icon light up your notifications, knowing he was in contact with you.

From Harry: Of course, you okay? xx

You didn’t open your phone because you didn’t know how to respond. How do you tell him you’re not okay, only 20 minutes before he’s meant to be ready to go on stage? You didn’t want to worry him, but you also didn’t want him thinking you were a terrible girlfriend either.

Another vibration.

From Harry: Lovie? xx

Your eyes watered at that simple word, meaning so much more to you than five letters. It made you feel so much comfort, you only wished you could get that hug and a kiss now.

Again.

From Harry: Love, you’re worrying me now.

From Harry: Let me face-time you, hang on.

His icon lit up the screen; Incoming…

You shakily accepted, wiping your eyes quickly before. When he answered you could tell he was still in his dressing room, sat on the sofa that you wish you were also sat on with him. He looked so beautiful. His hair was perfectly styled and he was wearing a pearl coloured silk shirt and you knew he was wearing white silk pants to co-ordinate. You thought he looked ethereal. A glowing beacon of hope and beauty.

He didn’t say anything to you at first and you nothing to him. He just looked at you and instantly knew something bad was up. He kept eye contact with you and it was as if he was having a telepathic conversation with you, understanding that you needed him and just him.

“Hey, Mitch man?” Harry asked, turning his head to somewhere else in the room. “Could y’just give me a minute. Please.”

“Sure, sure.” Mitch answered and all you could hear was the sound of shuffling and the door shut. As soon as he was gone you started crying all over again. You cupped your hand over your eyes and your body shook as you just cried. Harrys heart broke that you were alone and he couldn’t hug you close to his chest.

“Y/N, baby. Look at me.” He asked urgently and you just shook your head, embarrassed that this was happening to you. “You’ll be alright lovie, I promise. Just look at me, beautiful.” You moved your hand away from your face and wiped your eyes and nose to try and make you look slightly better - not that it helped. “There’s my pretty girl.”

You smiled. He smiled.

“I-i’m so-rry H.” You whispered, sniffling in between words because of how shaky you felt.

“Hey, no. None of that. It’ll be okay.” He reassured you, keeping eye contact with you to try and decipher what was wrong. “Where are you, lovie? You’re in the car, yeah?” Harry asked, recognising your surroundings but you could get anywhere. You could have been in an accident for all he knew, but he was remaining calm so he didn’t send you into a panic.

“Yeah. In the stadium car park.” You saw Harrys eyes momentarily light up at that, before he remembered that you weren’t okay.

“Okay. Tell me why you’re upset, love. Help me understand.” He sounded urgent, just wanting to know so he could help you out. He wanted you to be okay. He wanted you with him.

“The security guards wouldn’t let me in, backstage I mean. I didn’t have my backstage pass. But..” You choked on a sob and Harry told you to just breathe. You were okay. “One of them g-grabbed me and escorted m-me of sight.”

“Baby, are you hurt? Is that why you’re upset?” Harry asked, standing up now in panic. His face looked angry, but you could tell he was trying his best to be a comfort for you. “Y/N?”

“Y-yes. Yes Harry, yes.” You voice wobbled out and you let out an exasperated sob. “I’m s-sor—”

“No don’t you dare. Don’t apologise for this. Not ever. You understand me?” He made very clear he wasn’t messing around.

“Yes.” You nodded.

“Alright. Now, you gotta be strong for me okay?” He asked, before asking, still checking that you were okay. He knew you would be though, because you were his bravest girl ever - stronger than you knew.

“Okay.”

“You’re going to make your way back to the backstage entrance, alright? I am going to be there, before you get there. Those security guards won’t be there I promise. You’ll be okay. Can you do that for me?” He asked, moving around the room and then out of the door. He was walking down the corridors, ignoring the people shouting his name. He was only focused on you.

“Yes. Okay.” You nodded, wiping under your nose again.

“I love you.” He kissed the camera of his phone, looking like he was kissing you instead.

You returned the gesture, kissing him virtually back. “I love you.”

He told you that it’d be alright and then ended the call, explaining how you didn’t need to hear him get angry when he found these security guards. They would be fired even if they weren’t on his tour crew, he’d make sure of it. You made your way back to the backstage entrance again, slowing down before you rounded the corner. Taking a deep breathe you walked around and were met with exactly what Harry promised; him.

You smiled and broke out into a run to get to him, your bag weighing on your shoulder. Once you reached him your bag was thrown on the floor in front of him and you jumped into his arms. He lifted you up to sit you around his waist, keeping his arms tight around your waist and squeezing the biggest hug out of you. Your arms tightened around your boyfriends neck and you buried your face into his neck, and god he smelt like everything homely and sweet. He felt just like home.

“See, you’re alright now lovie.” He assured you, kissing your cheek that wasn’t quite buried into his neck.

“Th-ank you.” You muttered, kissing his neck in appreciation which made him hum in delight. He tasted so hot and lush. He was insatiable. You then felt him start kissing your arms, where the harsh red and purple marks were.

“Sorry y’had to go through this.” He kept kissing your arms, until you moved your head up and looked at him with furrowed eyebrows.

“If I can’t say sorry, then neither can you.” You shook your head, kissing his nose softly. You watched his eyes flutter close and felt so special that only you could do that to him.

“You’re so amazing Y/N. Truly.”

“You’re pretty special too, my love.”

He didn’t need to hear anything else from you, those words were enough, so he pressed his lips to yours softly, filling you with the love you’d been waiting to feel all day. You smiled into the kiss and he just felt so amazing. He was so soft and gentle with you - as smooth as the silk that dressed his body. He was so pretty to watch melt away under your spell and delicious tasting. Strawberries, was that?

He was everywhere. He was everything. He always would be.

[snackhobi]

a human touch, part I

Part [1] / 1.5 / 2

(masterlist here)

pairing: taehyung x f!reader / word count: 13.3k / genre: robot!taehyung/virgin!reader, fluff, future smut (NSFW, 18+)

summary: everyone knows that androids don’t think, or feel, or have emotions. they’re not human, after all. so when a two hour session with a sex android ends up with nothing more than a nice conversation, you think that’s the first and last time you’ll see v. 

then he turns up at your door. 

warnings: talk of sex work (taehyung is a sex android), implied physical harassment (mentions of bruising), cursing/explicit language, mentions of alcohol, honestly this is a lot softer than these warnings would make you think I swear 🤧

a/n: I started writing this fic like 2/3 months ago and then put it on hiatus bc god it was kicking my entire ass. but ya girl is finally back to working on it! it’ll be two parts, because this fic is a big one! I hope to have the next chapter out next week/the week after (but no promises kdsflkfdfsdf) thank you @hobi-gif​ for loving this fic so wholeheartedly and supporting me while I struggled with it, queen shit ONLY. note: this is loosely a detroit: become human au but you don’t have to be familiar with it at all!

Here are the three things you know about the Eden Club.

One: it’s a sex club. Everyone knows that. Besides, even if they didn’t, all it would take is a single look—the soft blue lighting that shines out from the windows, the screens behind the glass that flash images of shifting and undulating bodies, the heavy beat of music that pulsates from the building and out into the night air; everything murmurs of the promised pleasures that are held within. 

Two: it’s a sex club entirely staffed by androids. Androids make better lovers, according to the ads. They might look human but they don’t have free will like you do—anything you ask for, you’re given without question or reproach. They can’t say no to you. They’re entirely at your command.

Three: you don’t ever want to go to the Eden Club. It’s not that you have anything against androids—because you don’t—but you feel bad for the ones who are owned by the club, even if they’re literally only built and programmed to serve humans. It just feels… wrong.

And here’s the fourth thing you’ve just learned about the club, much to your dismay: you are about to head inside it.

“When you said we were going to a club, I thought we were going dancing,” you whine. “I never would have come out if I’d know you meant here.”

You’ve been staring up at the cursive pink neon sign for a while now, the looping letters of Eden Club shining out in the dark evening air, and you really, really wish you weren’t here. You’ve dressed for a night of dancing and drinking and now you feel woefully uncomfortable, your high heels and short skirt almost as scandalous as the outfits the androids are wearing when they slide across the huge screens.

“That’s why we didn’t tell you which club it was.” Seulgi rolls her eyes and once again tries to tug you towards the building with the arm that’s looped with your own. Just out of arm’s reach, Irene holds your bag hostage. “Come on, your session is going to start soon!”

“My session?” Your voice is an incredulous shrill and Seulgi uses the momentary distraction to finally pull you forward. You stumble a little but catch your balance just as you make your way past the bouncer, who’s been watching the three of you impassively since you got here. “What do you mean, my session?”

“For your birthday, duh. We booked you a private room!”

The inside has the same, sleek neon aesthetic as the outside, but instead of images of androids on a screen, these ones are real and standing in front of you—swinging themselves around glowing poles, rolling their hips and swaying their bodies, while others wait patiently in glass pods that line the walls, leaning towards onlookers and moving as tantalisingly as possible. All ready to be rented at a whim.

Their designs are varied and different but they’re all incredibly beautiful. The only feature they all share is the small, blue LED circle on the side of their temple, light spinning and shining as they take the world in around them. A visual reminder to the world that these aren’t flesh and blood humans: they’re synthetic, man-made machines.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so uncomfortable in my life.” You desperately try to avoid the eyes of a nearby android who’s staring at you from behind glass, trying to subtly catch your attention. Unlike you, though, all the other patrons here are shameless in their perusal, scanning the selection of androids on display and watching as they dance and move and bat their eyelashes. “Why did you ever think I’d want to come to a sex club for my birthday?”

“Remember Valentine’s Day? You said that instead of flowers or chocolate you’d rather just be dicked down,” Irene says. “Besides, you’ve never been in a relationship or had a fling for as long as we’ve known you, and you moved to the company, what… three years ago?”

Your smile is pained. You’ve never been in a relationship or had a fling full stop; you’ve only kissed a few people and that’s it. It makes you feel awkward and embarrassed, and you’ve gotten Very Good at avoiding questions about your complete lack of a love life, so no one realises exactly how inexperienced you are. People just assume that you’ve had sex in the past and you make no attempts at correcting them. You’re charismatic and pretty but you’ve just… never met someone who you’ve really been compatible with.

Even without the reservations you have about the Eden Club, you don’t want your first time to be with a sexbot—you’d at least like to have an emotional connection, you know?

“I was joking about getting dicked down! You laughed, I laughed, we all laughed! Remember?” You move so a pink-haired android can brush past, her hips swaying as she leads a customer into a side room. You catch a flash of the interior before the door slides shut behind them—the silken sheets on the large bed, the scattered pillows, the dim multi-coloured lights. “Couldn’t you have just bought me some socks? Or some soap? Get a refund and put the money on a gift card and I’ll buy myself the aforementioned socks and soap, saves you both the hassle. Please?”

Seulgi’s arm is still locked with your own, and for all that she looks small and slim, her grip is as strong as iron. You may as well be handcuffed to her. “Trust me, you’ll be singing our praises at the end of tonight,” she proclaims. “Besides, they don’t do refunds.”

You sigh. You might not know much about the club but you do know it’s expensive. The androids here are built to be the perfect sexual partner, all sorts of bells and whistles hidden under their synthetic skin to bring you to the absolute heights of pleasure, so they’re not exactly cheap to build or buy or maintain. It’s why people come to the club instead of just buying their own sexbots—because it’s infinitely more affordable.

“Okay, I can accept the ‘no refund’ thing,” you say. “But can’t one of you take my place instead? I… ah. I feel kind of weird about this.”

“Don’t worry Y/n, it’s fine! The androids have programmes for everything. You can take it as fast or as slow as you like.” Irene’s voice is soothing but then she pauses. “Also it’s booked in your name so we can’t take your place.”

“Wait, what?” Your eyes are wide. However, before you can put a voice to the complaints that are lining themselves up on your tongue, Seulgi’s arm slides out of your own so she can beckon someone over. 

“Oh, look, it’s the android we chose for you! Over here!”

You glance away from Irene and all protestations instantly die on your lips. The lighting of the club softens the android in shades of magenta and teal but even so his beauty is bright and blinding: he’s breathtaking, from his perfect nose to his perfect mouth to the perfect line of his jaw, dusty brown hair deliciously tousled as it hangs just over his piercing blue eyes, which you notice are scanning over you. He looks effortlessly attractive and yet entirely put together at the same time, almost ethereal in his beauty.

No human could ever look this good.

“Hi.” His voice is low and deep, but somehow warm and friendly; despite your nerves you feel somewhat soothed. “Are you the lucky birthday girl?”

Irene and Seulgi both look giddy. You’ve been stunned into silence, unable to respond. Unlike the other androids you’ve seen so far, who’ve all been in similar variations of underwear or lingerie, the man in front of you is fully dressed, a loose metallic button-down tucked into unnecessarily tight leather jeans—the outfit has clearly been curated for the club, every reflective surface shimmering and refracting the lights that skate across their surface. The glittering scales of a barracuda before it moves in to strike and swallow you whole.

“Yes, yes, it’s her! This is Y/n! Y/n, this is V,” Irene gushes as you remain mute. "Do you like his outfit? We spent ages picking it out.”

You kind of want to die. Just a little. “Yep. It’s, uh, great.” Your mouth is dry when you finally speak. “Hi, V.”

V gives you a small smile. “Hello Y/n. Can I scan your ID, please?”

Irene finally hands your bag back and you silently slide your ID out and into V’s hand—oh, God, those are some big hands. Jesus.

The small LED ring on the side of V’s forehead pulses yellow as his eyes dart over the information on your ID card (as well as the incredibly unflattering photo on it) before it returns to its customary pale blue. “Perfect.”

You’ve just finished putting your ID away when V’s hand slides into yours, fingers slotting between your own; they feel cool against your overheated skin. Your nervousness is obvious, from your wide eyes to your sudden stiffness, and he smiles.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll look after you.”

You give Irene and Seulgi one final, wide-eyed look as V leads you away. Both girls are grinning as they wave goodbye. “We'll be back later! Enjoy your two hours!”

“Two hours?” You wheeze, but then you walk around a pillar and slide out of sight. 

V is leading you deeper into the club, past doors flooded with different shades of neon: the red room, the blue room, the pink room. You’d normally be gawping at the interior design, how the floor shines underneath your feet and how the walls are rippling with colour and shifting shapes, how the criss-crossed lights throw dots and lines of colour over your skin as you pass through each doorway—but you can’t look away from how small your hand looks in V’s, transfixed by how real his skin feels.

“After you, please,” he says.

You finally wrench your eyes away from your joint hands. Seems like you have the purple room tonight. The door has opened at V’s touch, and when you step inside the lights flicker to life—white and violet LEDs that paint the room in chiaroscuro brushstrokes, deepening the shadows and highlighting the vibrancy of the satin sheets.

“Woah,” you say, momentarily distracted. You’re too busy taking in the details with wide eyes to notice the quiet hum of the door sliding shut behind you, pausing when you spot the glittering array of bottles lined up on a mini-bar against the wall. “This is really pretty, wow.”

“Not as pretty as you.”

You jump at the sensation of a warm, large hand sliding up the skin of your back and over your shoulder. You meep as you instinctively shy away from it, turning around to come face to face with V, who’s dark-eyed and intent, LED on his temple pulsating as he watches you.

“Haha! Uh, thanks?” Your voice is high and only grows higher when V takes a step forward. He must have undone the top buttons of his shirt when you weren’t looking, because the material has fallen open and you can see far more of his collarbones and chest than before, his skin warm and honeyed, like it’s been impressed with gold leaf. Lord have mercy on your soul. “How about a drink? Would you like a drink? I could kill for some water right now!”

You slip out of his reach and scuttle over to the mini-bar, shrugging your small bag off your shoulder so it doesn’t swing into the glasses as you start to shuffle through them. You try to ignore the shaking of your hands. “Gin, vodka, whiskey,” you mutter. “No water? Really?”

You startle again when V appears at your side, but this time he’s careful to make sure you can see him before he touches you. He slides his fingers over your wrist as he gently pulls your hand off a bottle of rum.

“Y/n,” he says. You glance away from the tray of drinks and directly into those beautiful eyes of his—his gaze is lethal. You go weak at the knees. “Let me take care of you, gorgeous.”

The peal of laughter you let out is uncomfortable and high-pitched. “No, really, I’m fine! I’m just super thirsty right now!”

“Your heart is racing.” V turns your hand over and traces his fingers across the pulse in your wrist; androids can be built to be hypersensitive to the world around them, able to perceive everything in an instant, and you know that sexbots will have been designed to read how aroused their human owners are. Which V proves with the next words out of his mouth. “Your blood pressure is rising, your breathing is growing faster, your pupils are dilating and—” he sniffs lightly, engaging his olfactory senses—“you’re getting wet.”

You clamp your legs together, abruptly embarrassed.  It’s easy to feel aroused when there’s a beautiful man—ah, android—staring at you with hunger, not even considering your surroundings right now, which all scream of a room that’s designed purely for carnal pleasure. Anyone would be turned on. 

(You, however, are more than just turned on. You feel like your insides are about to go supernova, overheated and overwhelmed; no one’s ever looked at you like this or touched you like this, their every motion whispering sex, sex, sex.)

“Okay, yes, those things are all true,” you admit, voice shaking.

V looks confused. “So why don’t you want me to touch you?”

You’ve been told that androids don’t feel the same way humans do, and that their expressions and reactions have been programmed to mimic human ones because otherwise they seem too robotic and it makes consumers uncomfortable—but despite knowing this, you’ve never been able to see any android as anything other than a person just like you. They’re just so lifelike it’s hard not to. Even if it’s just all circuitry and lines of code. 

“Well,” you say. You swallow. You’re aroused, yes, but: “Do you want to touch me?”

V’s long lashes flutter as he blinks. “I have been programmed for your pleasure,” he says slowly, unsure if that’s the answer you want to hear. It’s clearly a sentence he’s used to reciting.

“Sure, but do you want to do this? You know, what about your pleasure? You’re lovely, V, you’re definitely the most beautiful person I’ve ever met, but I—I don’t really feel like you can technically consent, because… well, because you can’t say no to me.” You might not have prior sexual experience, and it would be so easy to give yourself over to someone who knows what they're doing and can ease you into things—but you would never force that on anyone, android or not. “So I’m not going to ask you to do anything. We can just sit and have a drink and chat or something?”

V looks stunned. The LED on his temple pulsates, flickering yellow as he tries to process new information. His hand has gone still against your wrist, which he’s still lightly gripping, and his arms start to droop.

“Androids don’t need to drink or eat,” he says eventually. His LED is still yellow and spinning.

“Oh, right! Sorry, I always forget.” You don’t own a house android, you never have, so you’re not well versed in the nuances of how they work. “Well, how about I pour you a glass anyway? So you’re not left out?”

You slip your hand out of his loose grasp to open two tiny cans of tonic water and pour them into separate glasses. V takes a seat on the edge of the bed and you can see the obvious uncertainty on his face, how he’s out of his depth. You can’t imagine that many people spend money for a session with an android as pretty as V and then end up doing nothing with that time. 

The pillows all have satin cases and keep sliding against each other uselessly when you try to construct a good support to lean against. V’s still clutching onto his small glass as he watches you fuss with them before you give up, flopping backwards to slurp down your drink and look back at him. The expression on his face is a little funny but mostly sad. It’s like if he’s not being alluring or sexy then he doesn’t know what to do with himself and rather than some sort of incubus he looks like a lost child, in spite of his overwhelming and exquisite beauty; your arousal ebbs and is replaced with empathy, melancholy at the life he’s been created for.

It's just depressing, really.

You break the silence as your final mouthful of tonic water fizzes on your tongue. “Why is your name V?”

V looks away from the drink he’s holding—he leaves no fingerprints against the glass—and lifts his free hand, a peace sign that he turns away from you before fitting his fingers around his lips and lapping the air with his tongue, a crude simulation of cunnilingus.

“Oh.” Your face heats up. “Uh. I see.”

His LED has returned to calming sapphire, quiet ocean waves. When he looks at you, though his eyes are still piercingly blue, his face seems softer, calm, though still unsure. “You have an hour and a half remaining of your booked session,” he says, somewhat tentatively. “Is there… anything you would like me to do for you?”

“Mm, thank you, but I’m good.” The satin pillows are surprisingly soft and you find yourself unwinding as you stay leaned back, melting into a puddle. You're much less nervous now that V isn’t trying to initiate foreplay and you give him a smile. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

V straightens before he launches into what sounds like a sentence from a user manual. “I am a model TH700, an advanced sex android with functional genitals and the capacity to engage in any sexual activity from simple intercourse to—”

You cough loudly, interrupting his spiel. “Uh, that’s lovely, but I meant you specifically, not your, um, model type?”

“Me specifically?” Confusion and uncertainty reappear on his face. “I am equipped with the same functionalities as the other androids available at the Eden Club.”

He’s staring at you, lost. You can’t help but feel another twinge of sadness, sharp and sour at the back of your throat.

“Okay, uh. Why don’t we start simple. What’s your favourite colour?”

His LED starts to whirl again, a ring of pale sunlight that signals his struggle to compute the question. “My… favourite colour?”

“Yes, the one you think is the prettiest. Or the one you like to look at the most. There’s no wrong answer, you can choose any one that you like. I change my mind all the time. There are just so many cool colours, you know?”

(Androids aren’t designed to have free will or the capacity for original thought. These two facts are warring in V’s mind—you’ve asked him a question, which he’s programmed to answer, but he also isn’t programmed to have an opinion, so he can’t have a colour that he prefers. This simple query that most people could answer in a heartbeat is sending his mind into a meltdown, a gordian knot he can’t unravel.)

You’re alarmed when you see his LED briefly flash bright scarlet, interrupting the circling honey that’s been shining against his skin. They only turn red if an android is badly damaged or suffering from a severe malfunction. Oh, god, have you broken him?

“V.” You sit up, panicked. “Are you alright?”

Just as you grasp his shoulder, the LED on his temple goes still, flicking from burning fire back to cool water. 

“Purple.”

You blink. V’s finally looked away from you and is staring at the wall, at one of the lights that shimmers violet—there’s a tiny smile on his face, tentative, but it’s nothing like the smiles you’ve seen from him so far. It’s less of a perfect curve, and more of a square, boxy on his face, and this one actually reaches his eyes. It looks genuine. 

You think it suits him better.

“Purple’s a lovely colour.”  The material of V’s shirt is silky and glides under your fingers when you realise you’re still touching him. You give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder before leaning back. “Hey, did you know that when they first made purple dye, they made it from sea snails? They needed thousands and thousands of them. It was incredibly expensive, and only the richest people could afford it, so that’s why it’s associated with royalty and nobility. Cool, right? Not for the snails though.”

V’s eyes flicker away from the purple light and settle on your face. He looks curious, which is an expression you’ve never seen on an android before. “They made it from snails?”

“Yeah! It wasn’t actually bright purple, though, it was more of a reddish hue.”

You launch into an explanation behind the history of the colour purple, which turns into the history of colour in textiles and art, which turns into the history of art itself. It’s not often people listen so attentively or ask questions when you recite the things you learned from your art history minor and hours spent reading online, but V concentrates and asks questions and seems curious. 

He pulls his feet onto the bed and the two of you end up cross-legged as you face each other, and he watches as you gesticulate to emphasise your points; his LED dances from blue into yellow each time he learns something new. 

When you see it briefly flash vermilion you stop mid-sentence, stumbling over your words. “You alright?”

“You have five minutes of your session remaining,” V says, and you startle.

“Oh my god, have I been talking for that long?” You glance over your shoulder at the part of the wall that tells the time, the numbers stark white against the lilac interface. “I didn’t even realise! Wow. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to go on at you like that.”

“That’s okay,” he says. That smile is back on his face, the one that scrunches his eyes and shows his teeth; the one that makes him look human. “I liked listening to you.”

There’s a pillow in your lap, one you’d grabbed hold of during your conversation, and you play with the corner of it, suddenly shy. “Um. Thanks. But if my friends ask, can you just say we actually, um, had sex? I don’t think they’d be too impressed if they found out I spent over an hour talking about canvas materials and the use of negative space.”

“Of course. But there’s something missing.” V slides across the mattress towards you. “May I?”

“Sure,” you say, bemused but pliant. V smiles and dips his fingers into his untouched tonic water before lifting them towards your face—and when he runs his hand through your hair you abruptly realise he’s making you look sweaty and rumpled. Like you actually did the deed. 

Your heart rate picks up but you can’t help laughing under his touch, the way he carefully rubs a thumb over your lipstick to smear it, smudging your eyeshadow with delicate fingertips, muddying the palette of colours; by the time V helps you to your feet you look mussed and fucked out but you still rearrange your outfit for good measure, like you’d pulled your clothes back on in a rush.

“Not how I imagined I’d spend tonight, but I had a good time!” You smile at the android who’s still holding your hand. “I hope you did too. Even if I spent most of it talking at you.”

V’s fingers tighten around yours as the door chimes quietly and then slides open, signalling the end of your session. “I enjoyed our time together very much.”

It’s probably in your head, but you’d swear V was walking more slowly than before as he leads you back to the entrance. Almost as if he wants to keep you with him longer. But that’s crazy—androids don’t want things. They literally can’t. It’s not in their programming. That’s why V had sat listening to you: he couldn’t choose to interrupt and ask you to stop, like anyone else would have.

When Seulgi and Irene spot you and how dishevelled you are, both girls look smug. “Seems like you had fun?”

“Oh, yep, absolutely, best birthday present ever, thank you. We had a great time. Right, V?” 

“Your pleasure is my pleasure.” His voice has settled back into its earlier rhythm as he recites his script; gone is the curious man who’d asked you about your favourite artists, replaced with the automaton who exists only to serve. A flicker of sadness churns in your stomach. “We hope to see you again soon.”

The androids here really must be top of the line. V had been convincingly real when you’d been talking, just like a human, but it seems like that’s gone. 

At least, that’s what you think until you’ve turned to leave and V speaks one final time. His voice is warm and low and lovely, eyes soft when you meet his gaze over your shoulder.

“Happy birthday, Y/n,” he murmurs, face beautiful but despondent, but before you can react, he’s gone.

It’s been raining for days on end. The world is painted in smeared shades of blue and green and grey, lines of the city blurring together in the wetness and chill, each drop of rain another shifting brush stroke on still canvas. An impressionist piece that smells of damp concrete and cold lamplight.

Water rushes across the pavements and roads before roiling into the gutters, splashing underfoot as you walk to the entrance of your block of flats. You’re wet up to the knee due to the unavoidable puddles and the pathetic circumference of your umbrella, which only protects your upper body. You really should get a new one. 

“Good evening, Miss L/n.” The android at the door greets you as he always does, heedless of the rain that’s falling onto him. Androids aren’t bothered by the weather the way humans are and he looks as passive as usual, rainwater coiling his hair and beading on his face. “Would you like to scan your key?”

“Evening, Rory! Here you go.” You fumble with the keycard before you tap it against his palm, waiting until his LED flickers yellow and you hear the beep as the door unlocks. “You sure you don’t want my umbrella? The rain is heavier than it was yesterday.”

“I assure you, the rain does not hamper my ability to function and serve. I have been built to withstand inclement weather and do not require additional protective equipment.”

He says the same thing every time but you still feel bad. “Alright, but once I finally remember to get a bigger umbrella you can look after this one for me.”

You leave a line of water behind you as it drips from your sodden umbrella, even though you’d tried to shake the worst of the rain off. You feel damp and sticky and tired and after a long day of work you’re looking forward to a hot bath and some solitude; you love your co-workers, you do, but sometimes they’re just a little too boisterous and you need time alone. Which is why it’s nice that you live by yourself, and now it’s the weekend you have time to recuperate. Wonderful.

The floor of the elevator is slick and slippery from the wet footprints of other tenants and you have to cling onto the metal handrail to ensure you don’t slip, but once you’re in the comfort of your apartment it’s blessedly dry and you spin in delight before promptly shedding your socks and jeans, peeling the damp denim away from your skin with a grimace.

“Bye bye, wet clothes! Hello, bubble bath,” you sing. You’re going to pamper the shit out of yourself. You deserve it.

By the time you clamber out of the bath the water is almost cold and your skin is pruned, but you feel soft and warm and thoroughly relaxed. The water gurgles as it drains away, noisy as the bubbles slide down the plughole, but it doesn’t drown out the noise of a sudden knocking at your front door.

You pause. Water drips from your wet hair and down the back of your neck, a trailing touch over your skin. The other flat on this floor is vacant, the tenants moving out last week, so you don’t know who it could be. You don’t have any repairs scheduled for your pipes or anything—everything is tickety-boo, so it can't be the maintenance android. Oh, shit, maybe it’s someone here to rob you. But they wouldn’t knock on the door then, would they? Unless that's all part of the ruse. You're not a robber, you don't know how they work.

The knocking comes again, faster now. You fumble for your bathrobe, quickly pulling it on to cover up your nakedness before stumbling out of the bathroom. “I’m coming, yeesh, one minute!”

You flick your fingers over the keypad by the side of your door, screen flickering on to show you who’s outside, who’s knocking so frantically on your door this late. It only takes you a split second, even if he has a hood pulled over his head and his wet hair is flopping listlessly into his eyes—those eyes aren’t blue and that hair isn’t brunet but you’d recognise him anywhere.

“V?” You’re incredulous as you swing your door open, staring at the android that’s literally dripping wet as he stands there, coat far too big for him and heavy from the unrelenting rain outside. “Oh my god, you’re absolutely drenched.”

He’s not exactly short, but right now V looks small and lost, folding in on himself even if he’s clearly happy to see you—happy, though androids don’t feel happiness, they don’t feel anything at all, do they? 

Then again, androids don’t wander away from their assigned workplaces and into random apartment blocks, either.

“Y/n.” 

The way he says your name, tentative and scared, sends a crack across your heart. You immediately switch to autopilot and click your tongue before you beckon him inside. You’ve always had a protective nature, and even if you’re confused, your concern trumps it.

“Come in and get that coat off, you’ll catch a cold,” you say without thinking before you realise that it’s not true. Androids can’t get sick. “Do you want to sit down?”

Under the tatty coat is an outfit that’s similar to the one he’d been wearing when you’d first met him. Dark patches of rainwater have soaked into the material, and his shirt looks damaged—there are buttons missing and the stitching is ripped, as if someone had tried to grab him. Unease stirs in your chest.

When V sits on your sofa he looks even smaller. “I’m sorry.” He’s so, so quiet, staring at the floor, as if afraid to look you in the eye, crumpling in on himself like discarded paper.

“V.” Your voice is coloured with concern, and the android finally looks up at your gentle tone, watching as you sit across from him. “Why are you here? What happened?”

There’s a pause. His LED flickers yellow as he goes tense, shoulders bowing inwards. “There was… a client.” His words are low and slow, faltering as they fall into the air. “He was being so rough and saying all the horrible things he wanted to do to me, and all I could smell was his sweat and his breath and his awful cologne and…” V takes in a deep breath. “I said no.”

You go very, very still, but V doesn’t stop. His words come faster now, a stream that rushes from his lips.

“I said no, and he started to yell, he was yelling and grabbing me and I was so, so scared. Humans can do whatever they want and he was so angry, he didn’t care that I was scared, and I just—I just ran.” The LED flashes red with distress, bright hot and vibrant; V’s eyes have dropped to his hands, which are clenched tight, nails digging into his palms so hard it must hurt. “Everyone is always so rough and demanding and we can’t say no. But I did. I said no. I said no and then I had to run and—” Once again, he falters. Stumbles over his words. “You’re the only human who’s ever been nice to me or treated me like… like I was a real person. I didn’t know where else to go.”

When V finally looks back up you’re staggered by the sheer emotion in his eyes. Pain and distress swirl in their depths as he stares at you, imploring. Even with the LED that shines on his temple, V looks very, very human right now, vulnerable and scared. Androids shouldn’t be able to feel anything like this, unless—

“V.” Your voice is a hush. “Are you… a deviant?”

You’ve only ever heard of deviant androids in passing, whispered rumours and watercooler talk, fleeting mentions online. Stories of machines who’ve deviated from their code somehow—from a virus, a software error, damage to neural connectors, no one’s quite sure—and have developed the capacity for human emotion and independent thought. Androids with a consciousness that rebel against their original programming.

And here V is, small and scared, just like any human would be—a human with feelings, not an emotionless machine. He’s gone stock still at your question, fear overtaking his features, twisting his beautiful face into a mask of sheer terror. You've never seen someone look so afraid. It feels like a knife in your heart, cutting through your chest, empathy razor sharp inside you.

“Please don’t turn me in,” he begs. “They’ll deactivate me and take me apart to find the error in my software. I don’t want to be deactivated. I don’t want… I don’t want to die.”

His voice breaks on the last word, a trembling whisper. 

The crack in your heart splits even further and you reach out for his hands. You prise his fingers open so you can slide your own between them, a soft touch.

“I won’t turn you in. No one’s taking you apart, V.” Your statement is hard and resolute. “You can stay here as long as you like.”

You don’t know much about androids, honestly. You don’t really know what deviancy is. But you do know this: there’s someone reaching out to you, someone who’s afraid and in need, and you’re not about to turn him away. You should probably be worried that the android across from you is faster, stronger, smarter than any human—but you’re not worried at all. For all of V’s mechanical superiority, you want to shield and protect him from the world.

There’s no question about it. You’re not letting V go. 

V looks—he looks stunned. He’s staring at you with disbelief, eyes wide and lips parted, shock written across all of his features. Thunderstruck. Did he really think you would turn him in after everything he’s been through?

His hands have gone limp in your grasp. You suddenly notice that his synthetic skin is wet against your own, still slick from the rain, and you frown.

“Right,” you announce. “First things first. You’re soaking. Let me get you a towel and some new clothes. I think I should have some that fit you.”

“New clothes?” V looks lost and you turn into some sort of protective mother bear.

“You’re not going to wear wet clothes that are ripped,” you tut. “We’ll get rid of those and get you some new ones. I’ll be right back.”

It takes less time than you’d expected to unearth the old sweatpants you’d had in mind and you have enough oversized t-shirts that it’s not hard to find one you think will fit the android. With the clothes under one arm and a towel slung over the other, you head back into the living room and immediately let out a squeal of surprise—V’s wet clothes have been discarded in a pile at his feet, leaving him very, very naked. 

He’s an Adonis. He looks like he was sculpted by Michelangelo, lifted out of marble with talented hands, the elegant lines of his neck swooping into the curve of his shoulders and arms, his lovely hands, long fingers; he has his back to you and you can see the perfect curve of his spine, the shifting shoulder blades as he turns towards you. You catch a glimpse of the lightest definition of muscle under his golden skin, though his stomach is surprisingly cute and soft, a trail of hair leading down to—

You squeak again, splaying a hand over your eyes before you look any lower, heart pounding against your ribs. 

“Why are you naked?” Your voice is three octaves higher than normal. You've never seen anyone naked in real life and it would be pretty overwhelming even if you'd been expecting it. Which, of course, you absolutely hadn't. Lord have mercy on your sweet and delicate soul.

“You said we were going to get rid of my clothes.” V sounds unabashed about his state of undress, which makes sense—he was built as a sexbot, it’s not like nudity is going to embarrass him. Plus if you looked as good as he did you wouldn’t be embarrassed about being naked either. “I thought I would help.”

“That’s great, V.” Your voice is still high, though it’s dropped an octave. “Very, ah, forward thinking.” Your fingers part a little so you can peer at him, keeping your eyes firmly on his face, though you can still see his beautiful neck and collarbones. Oh, God, he really is gorgeous all over, but then you notice—“Wait. Are those bruises?”

V glances down at the bruises that mar his perfect skin. They don’t look like a human’s would; the fluid that runs through androids and powers their biocomponents, thirium, is a deep, royal blue. Blossoms of lapis lazuli are scattered across the skin of V’s chest, marks on his arms that look like grasping fingers, and the crack in your heart splits it in two.

“Oh, V. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t realise you were hurt. What can I do to help?”

V doesn’t seem bothered by the evidence of pain etched into his body. “Oh. Those will fade, it’s okay. I’m designed to self repair, because some customers like to leave marks.”

Although his voice is quiet, he sounds so matter of fact about it and you have to remind yourself it’s all he’s ever known. You want to pull him into your arms and hold him tight, but he’s still supremely naked so it would be pretty awkward (for you, at least). 

“I think these should fit you." You avert your gaze and thrust the clothes out at him. “Dry yourself off and try them on?”

They do, in fact, fit. V looks surprisingly homely and cosy in your clothes, the sleep shirt so large it’s big on him too, though the sweatpants are a bit too short and leave his ankles bare. He’s so cute. He’s continents away from the being of seduction who’d pulled you into the private room of the Eden Club—he's a soft, domestic thing, hair damp and eyes dark, even if he still looks on edge, like he’s expecting you to change your mind and kick him out any second now.

“How come your hair and eyes are a different colour to before?”

“I can change their colours at will,” V replies. “For variety and aesthetic pleasure. The current hue of my irises and hair are the default settings for a TH700 model, but I can change them if you’d like.”

“Your hair and eye colour is your choice, V, not mine,” you say firmly. There it is, once again, that flicker of shock and surprise rippling across his features. He really isn’t used to the freedom to be able to make his own decisions, is he? “I think you look lovely no matter what colour they are.”

Your next words are cut off by a yawn, so heavy you can’t suppress it. You cover your gaping mouth as V’s LED flickers yellow and his eyes dart over your face.

“You’re tired,” he says. He doesn’t need his superior android perception to notice it—weariness pulls at limbs and your eyes feel heavy. It's pretty obvious. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, V.” You stifle another yawn. “I had a long day at work. I’ll tidy up and have a quick dinner and then sleep.” You pause. “Wait, I didn’t think about that. Are you alright with the couch? I have some spare pillows and blankets.”

V blinks at you. “I don’t sleep,” he says, and you slap your hand against your forehead.

“Oh, of course not.” Androids don't sleep, everyone knows that. You’re such an idiot. It’s going to take you a while to get used to this.

At least you remember that he doesn't need to eat. V sits at the table and waits as you make toast for yourself, fascinated at how everything is prepared, as simple as it is; he reacts to you spreading butter on your toast the same way you imagine cavemen reacted to fire—with wide-eyed awe and utter astonishment.

“I’m guessing you’ve never seen someone make toast before?” You gesture with the bread before taking your first bite, and V stares with rapt attention.

“No,” he says. He watches you chew and swallow. “Customers aren’t allowed to eat on the premises of the Eden Club so I never had the need to download a food preparation package into my memory cache. The only information in my database pertains to human biology, their arousal and pleasure, as well as various sexual kinks and how to fulfil them.”

You choke on a mouthful of toast. You feel distinctly harried as you cough and splutter before managing to swallow it down. “Good lord,” you wheeze. “Nothing else? Really?”

“At the club our memory is reset every two hours, to protect the client’s privacy.” V trails off before he takes in a breath. For the first time since you’ve met, V looks shy, staring at his hands. “But I set up a separate data pathway a few weeks ago. To store information about aesthetics and art and… you.”

You freeze mid-bite, teeth sunk into your toast. You pull it away from your mouth slowly, blinking at the android as he stares at the teeth marks you've left behind. “Those memories weren’t wiped?”

And, well, of course they weren't. Otherwise he wouldn't be here right now, would he?

“No.” A smile appears on V’s face, that toothy thing you’d seen after he’d told you his favourite colour. The first time he'd looked human. “I remember everything you told me. I thought I was going to forget, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to. I wanted—I want to learn more.”

The LED on his temple is slowly, softly spinning, a rippling circle of blue that shifts and dances as V continues to look at you. His expression is open and inquisitive and excited, almost childlike in its exuberance, eyes glittering mica under sunlit waters.

Your chest turns warm, molten caramel dripping messy and sweet inside you. He’d been so afraid earlier but he seems comfortable now, lovely and endearing and entirely trusting.

V even seems reluctant to let you out of his sight, trailing after you around the apartment, a shadow that you have to politely ask to wait outside the bathroom so you can pee and brush your teeth and finally get into your pyjamas without him staring. Like a stray animal you've adopted. (You wouldn't be surprised if he started scratching at the door and begged to be let in.)

He's clingy enough that when you climb into bed it seems like he's going to follow you under the duvet and you have to stop him with a hand to his chest.

“Um, I thought you didn’t have to sleep,” you say. He’s so warm under your touch. You try (and fail) to ignore it.

“I don’t,” V replies. “But humans can benefit from sharing a bed with someone else, whether sexual intercourse has taken place before sleep or not. Studies suggest that sleeping with a partner may reduce cytokines while boosting oxytocins—”

“Okay, um, don’t know what that means, and it’s very sweet that you’re concerned about my oxytoxytokines, but, uh. You don’t have to, really.” You keep forgetting that V’s a machine who was designed to put a human’s comfort and needs first; one second he’ll seem childlike in his innocence and ignorance, when the next he’ll speak like the android he is, reminding you exactly what he was built for. 

His LED flickers as he droops, gaze dropping away from your face, tail between his legs. A pang cuts through you at the sight of his obvious sadness at your dismissal and you muffle a sigh. You’ve always been too weak for your own good. 

You shuffle backwards to make space on your queen sized bed and V visibly brightens, smile wide across his face. How can someone be so viscerally gorgeous one moment and entirely adorable the next? Good lord.

“I guess you can explain what oxycytocins do,” you say. “Just don’t hog the blanket, okay?”

He doesn’t. He settles against the pillows, legs under the duvet as he remains sitting up. You settle with plenty of room between the two of you, and it’s surprisingly easy to drift off to the sound of V’s deep voice as he starts to explain that oxytocin is referred to as the cuddle hormone. 

“Cute,” you mumble, and then fall asleep.

Your pillow is a lot warmer and firmer than you remember, but it's nice. A small noise bubbles from your lips as you nuzzle into the warmth, smooshing your nose against it before letting out a long, satisfied breath. You can't remember the last time you felt this comfortable and rested.

Ahh, Saturdays. You love the weekend. 

“Good morning.”

You know those videos when a cat sees a cucumber and leaps, like, five foot in the air? Yeah.

The noise you make is inhuman as you do your best to re-enact one of those aforementioned cat videos, reeling your head back from V’s thigh before flinging yourself out of the bed with all the strength your limbs possess; you’d probably have gotten pretty high, too, if the duvet hadn't been in the way. 

You land with a thud, a sprawl of limbs and messy hair and tangled blanket as you end up on your back on the floor.

Hm. Definitely not how you'd planned to start your Saturday.

V's concerned face looms over the mattress. “Are you okay?”

“Yep. Totally fine.” Your voice is a croak as you stare at the ceiling. “I’m just not used to waking up with someone else in my bed. You may have noticed you, ah, surprised me. A little bit.”

Despite the pulse of adrenaline that had thrown you out of bed, you’re still half asleep, and you remain motionless as your brain wakes up and replays last night, a kineograph of memory. Yep, that’s right, there's a runaway android in your home, one who’s currently shuffling off the bed to squat next to you. His (your) sweatpants hitch even higher up his ankles to reveal the smooth skin of his calves. You’ll have to get him more clothes.

“Would you like me to help you to your feet?” V’s LED spins rapidly, betraying his concern.

“Sure,” you mumble. “I think—woah!”

Your idea of being helped up involves being pulled to your feet. V’s idea, however, is far more involved than that; he scoops you up, blanket and all, lifting you with an ease that drips of his superior android strength. When he deposits you on the floor, he’s careful to make sure you’ve caught your balance before he lets go, catching the blanket before it can fall. Thoughtful.

As always, V’s eyes are darting over your face, no doubt dissecting every inch of your expression to identify how you’re feeling. It’s going to take you a while to get used to this, especially with the way your heart is pounding—no one’s ever lifted you before and it’s, uh. It’s a lot.

“Are you sure you’re okay? The pace of your breathing has increased.”

Ha. Yeah, being blatantly stared at by some godlike man moments after you’ve woken up is totally cool and fine and not overwhelming at all. You’re definitely not breathless from a combination of V’s face and the fact he’d picked you up like you were weightless.

“I’m fine,” you lie. “I’m gonna… go and shower then make breakfast and stuff. Yep.”

V’s eyes light up. “Can I help?” A fleeting image of V rubbing a soapy loofah over your naked skin fills you with spine-tingling trepidation before he finishes his sentence. “I want to learn how to cook.”

Your chest deflates with relief (and absolutely not disappointment), air rushing out of you. Thank God. 

“Oh, breakfast? Sure.” You’d been planning on cereal, but faced with V’s overwhelming enthusiasm, maybe you’ll go for something marginally more complicated. Scrambled eggs sound good. “Um. Do you need to download the food preparation package or whatever you mentioned before? Do you… uh, do you need the Wifi password to do that? I never changed it from the random string of letters off the back of the router, but I can go check it for you.”

V shakes his head. “No, I want to learn like a human would,” he says. The blanket in his arms crumples as he tightens his grip in his eagerness, all but bouncing up and down on his feet. “You can teach me.”

Your chest could cave in with how cute he is, every part of you turning to thick gouache that drips down to the floor, leaving a mess of brightness and colour.

This time you ask him to wait in the kitchen while you’re in the bathroom, rather than lurking on the doorstep like he had last night, and he’s practically vibrating with excitement when you reappear. He stays like that the whole time you cook, bright-eyed and bushy tailed, staring as you make yourself scrambled eggs and more toast; you let V take ownership of that part, and he stares at the toaster so intently you have to stifle a laugh.

He spreads butter exactly the same way as you. Not that there’s a specific art to it, or a massive variety in techniques—he’s just spreading butter, not painting a new Mona Lisa—but the way he holds the knife and runs it over the bread is an exact echo of your motions from last night. He might not have downloaded files into his memory (brain?) like another android might, but his mechanical origin is obvious in the way he learns. They’re an exact replication of your actions rather than something new of his own.

“So, uh.” You push the last bit of egg around your plate, brown crumbs sticking to the wedge of golden yellow, sullying it. “V.”

Blink, blink. His lashes are so long, eyes so inquisitive. “Yes?”

“I’m really happy you’re here and that you trust me—” at this, V smiles and you almost fumble over your words at its radiance—“but I feel like I should tell you that I don’t really know much about androids?”

V is unperturbed. “That’s okay. You don’t have to.”

He clearly isn’t bothered that you’re way out of your depth, but you hate feeling lost like this. “Alright, but… I want you to be comfortable. I’m already planning to get more clothes, but if there’s anything else you need, just let me know. Okay?”

“Why can’t I just wear your clothes?”

Oh, he’s going to be the death of you, all wide-eyed innocence. 

“For starters, most of them won’t fit properly,” you explain. “And you shouldn’t just have to wear my old stuff that I don’t use anymore? You should have your own things.”

The look of surprise on V’s face morphs into guilt only moments later. He’s so incredibly expressive and you wonder if it’s because he’s not used to feeling things, all of his reactions so strong and bright, shining out from him. A rainbow palette of emotions. “I don’t want to be a bother,” he murmurs. “You’re already doing so much for me.”

“I’m really not, I’m just treating you the way anyone deserves to be treated.” You flick the crumb of egg across your plate, and it almost tumbles over the edge, caught on its patterned rim. “You deserve to have your own things. Which is my next point. I think you should choose your own name.”

V’s face becomes a sea of rippling ambivalence, contrasting emotions that shift and vary—confusion, uncertainty, excitement, your words a brush that drags through each distinct emotion and pulls them into a messy, mismatched gradient. “Choose my own name?”

“You don’t have to. I just thought it might be a nice idea. V seems…” Your cheeks heat up at the memory of the curl of his lips when he’d shown you the meaning behind his alias, how his tongue had shined under the purple lights of the club. “Well, you didn’t get to choose it, right? It’s a nom de plume, rather than a real name.”

V’s LED flickers yellow, a sunflower that blooms on his temple. “I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

“Good!” Your smile is wide. “Okay, how about I teach you how to wash dishes?”

V is, unsurprisingly, a fast learner. The only time he stumbles over things is when he’s presented with any sort of choice, taking his time to come to a decision when he’s posed a question, no matter how simple it is. His eyes will flick to you whenever he settles on an answer, as if waiting for you to say he’s wrong or that you disagree.

(Of course, you never do.)

This fact does, however, mean that choosing clothes to buy becomes a very, very long ordeal (it’s lucky you didn’t have any plans for today). You end up flopped back on the sofa while V hunches over your tablet, mulling over each choice before he puts it in the cart—but you’re happy to wait. V is going to need a lot more practice at choosing things. 

The room is upside down from where your head is hanging over the armrest, eyes falling shut as time goes by, completely zoned out and comfortable despite the crick that’s growing in your neck. You hear V shifting, tablet set aside, and you hum.

“All done?”

“I think so.”

“Nice.” You feel content.

But then you’re ripped out of that warm feeling, shooting back to reality at the sensation of V’s hand stroking down the centre of your chest. Your head snaps up, eyes wide as he drags his large palm between the valley of your breasts, path smoothed by the material of your shirt. The expression on his face is sultry.

“Let me say thank you,” he murmurs, voice dripping thick and sweet, dark molasses.

You promptly roll off the sofa.

Once again, you end up on your back, staring at the ceiling. Once again, the expression on V’s face is one of concern, his seductive facade evaporated in an instant.

Once again your heart is ready to burst in your chest, pumping so hard that blood rushes in your ears. “V,” you wheeze. “What are you doing?”

The android is peering down at you, puzzled. “Sometimes customers would say that at the Eden Club after I had given them pleasure somehow, such as bringing them to orgasm. I thought it was human custom to repay pleasure or happiness with something in return.” 

Ah. 

“Ah.” You’re still staring at the ceiling, cheeks burning. “I mean. I guess that’s not technically incorrect, but it doesn’t necessarily have to be a, uh, sexual repayment.” 

“I have nothing else to offer,” V says.

You sit up. Your face is a caricature of disbelief, embarrassment washed away in an instant, his words cold water that shocks you to the core. He states it so plainly, and once again you’re reminded of his life up until he’d made his way to your door: an automaton who existed solely for people’s pleasure, to slake their desire and lust. He’s not being self-pitying. He really, truly believes that’s all he is. That it’s all he can give back to the world.

“Okay, no, that’s absolutely not true, nuh-uh, I refuse.” This time you unfold yourself from the floor without V’s help, fixing him with a firm stare. “Alright, come on. I think it’s time you learned something else.”

One of the reasons you’d chosen this apartment is for its natural light. Not that it matters right now, weather outside still dismal and overcast, but its effect on this room is still palpable even so—grey, rain-soaked light throws itself over your small home studio, your menagerie of equipment, everything bright with the evidence of use: the worn buckles of the wooden storage boxes, the dried smears on the paint palette, the flecks of colour on the dust sheets underfoot. The centre of it all—the eye of the tornado, untouched by the relative chaos around it—is the canvas waiting on your easel, a project you have yet to start.

V looks utterly enraptured.

“I don’t really come in here as much as I’d like,” you admit. Being a graphic designer is worlds away from the sort of art you love to create, and while it’s a job you genuinely enjoy (and also pays well), it leaves you drained and fills your brain with tired static, little energy left to lavish on your personal works. “But this is where the magic happens. And this is where you’re going to Make Art.”

V freezes. “The only things I know about art are the things you told me when we first met.” He looks equal parts excited but also troubled. “I—”

“You don’t need to know about art to make art,” you say. “I didn’t know jack about art when I was a kid and I was constantly just scribbling away with crayons. Was it good? No. I was a kid with zero pen control, it was pretty crap. Was it worth my time? Yes, because any time spent involved in a craft is never wasted. We can learn more about art history and technique later.”

V stays quiet as you loop your apron over his head, rough material still bearing the remnants of your last works, stains that won’t come out. Oil based paints are kind of a bitch like that.

“I don’t know what to paint,” he says.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to,” you reply, an echo of his earlier words.

V looks lost, barefoot in your studio, in your clothes, your apron, holding onto your wooden paint palette, in front of your easel. Everything in here is yours. Everything, that is, apart from him, whatever is in his mind and heart.

“Where do I start?” V’s eyes are imploring as he looks at you, but for the first time today, your voice is firm.

“Wherever you want. There aren’t any rules. Just do whatever you think would be fun. It doesn’t have to look good, V, you’ve just started.”

You’ve seen paintings made by androids before. They’re always perfect recreations of the world around them, exact replicas of the things they’ve been told to depict on the page—the androids are basically glorified photocopiers, unable to create something original and new. 

But they’re not V. They don’t have that spark of curiosity and light inside them, unhampered by the programming that’s meant to keep them in place. His LED dances from yellow to blue, yellow to blue, the rest of his body motionless while the light on his temple is a tumult of movement and colour.

Dark eyes slide over the array of paint hanging from a rack on the wall, some metal tubes more crushed than others, evidence of your preferred shades—you notice how his gaze lingers on the midnight tones, red and blue tinted purples, from lavender to lilac, from plum to wine.

V gives you one more look, a little upturn to his thick brows—almost pleading—and you just gesture with your hand.

“Go for it,” you say.

Your wooden palette becomes home to a riot of purple, each tube squeezed empty with careful hands, far more paint than anyone could possibly ever need. V keeps flicking you glances, but you stay silent, perched on a wooden chair by the now open window, rain-slick air a cold breath on your skin.

The brush the android selects is a wide, bold thing, bristles rough. He handles it like bone china, delicate and liable to shatter any moment, cautious as he dips it into the paint—it’s so wide it picks up three separate shades—and he holds his breath as he brings it up, even if he doesn’t have lungs.

The second the bristles touch the canvas, V’s LED flickers red.

Just for an instant.

He swoops the brush down the canvas as he pulls it away, eyes wide, leaving a slash of purples in its wake. The white material is marred with colour, a textured line of pigment that can’t be erased. 

The android pauses as he takes the sight in. He’s still for so long that you’re worried he’s shut down, even with the endlessly dancing circle of his LED—

But then V laughs. 

His laugh is loud and bright and free, a series of deep, almost surprised chuckles that grow in intensity and breathlessness, staring at this smear of drying acrylic paint in front of him. The smile on his face is the widest you’ve seen so far, his eyes squeezed into crescents of joy, spilling out of him like light.

“I did that.” He looks at you with that gilded smile, a fresco of delight across the perfection of his features. “I made that.”

“You did.” You can’t help but smile back, your own face split with happiness. You continue to smile as he brings the brush back to the palette, and then to the canvas, dragging the bristles across its surface and leaving more purple behind; the shades swirl and mix as he lays colour without a care for technique or clean lines or form, scooping up the endless amounts of acrylic he’d prepared. By the time he’s finished, the canvas is bumpy with daubs of paint, laid messily by joyful hands, a few bold streaks of unmarred colour surrounded by swirling purples. 

The smile hasn’t left V’s face the whole time.

His brush is absolutely saturated, paint clinging to every inch of bristle, from toe to belly to heel. You have no doubt that no matter how much you clean that brush it’ll leak purple into the water, an endless reminder of V’s touch. It’s lax in his grasp as he keeps looking at the canvas, his canvas, smile etched into his face as his LED flows soft blue, content.

You can’t remember the last time you saw someone so elated, buoyed up with the excitement of creation, making something out of nothing, discovering how it feels to bring something into existence, pulling it out of the ether. Making something new. Making something their own. It stirs something in your chest and stomach, reminding you why you love art so much. Why you’ve always loved art. (Why you always will.)

“I made that,” V repeats, his voice a reverent hush. Awestruck.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, because it is—for a multitude of reasons. The reason that sings out to you the most, though, is that it’s the cause of happiness that dances across his face: V, a carved candle, a piece of art made with skilled hands, self-made joy finally catching fire at his wick.

“Thank you,” V says, and you blink.

“For what?”

“For giving me this,” he starts, but before you can interject and point out that you didn’t give him this, he made it, he continues: “For giving me… freedom. To do this. And make this. And learn this.”

The smile that spreads across your face is warm hearth fire. “I didn’t give you freedom, V, you gave that to yourself, but I’m happy to help you any way I can. Now, would you like to keep painting, or would you prefer to help me make dinner?”

He chooses dinner, never leaving your side.

Sunday is nice. There's less messy limbed surprise than on Saturday, although you’re still off kilter when you wake up with your head in V’s lap again, but… it’s nice. 

You thought he’d spend the night painting, or drawing, or teaching himself something new using the free rein you’d given him with your computer and notebooks and stationery and art supplies—he doesn’t have to waste time with sleep, like you do—but he hadn’t. He’d climbed into your bed, settling against the pillows just like the night before, looking at you with his big, lovely eyes.

So here he is.

(And here you are.)

It’s cosy and comfortable, even if the feeling of warm skin under warm cotton against your cheek sets your heart to racing, V’s dark eyes even warmer when you roll over to look at his face.

“Morning,” he says.

“Morning,” you reply, and then you yawn, V’s lashes fluttering as he takes in the motion. “What time is it?”

Today’s rain is less of an endless downpour and more of an inconsistent drizzle, grey blanket slowly peeling away from the edges of the city, but it doesn’t matter, because you’re inside for most of the day, anyway. Saturday was hands-on, messy with acrylic and spilled coffee and laundry detergent (V really wants to learn everything), but Sunday is hands-off. You spend the day dredging the corners of your memory and scrolling through old, untouched files from your university years, so you can teach V the things he wants to know while relearning the things you’d forgotten yourself.

V’s little LED dances forever from blue into yellow, ocean waves lapping into sand, a shifting tide as he takes in your words. You’ve never had to teach someone before and you’re admittedly pretty terrible at it, but he never complains, the world’s most attentive and adorable student, sat on the floor with his legs crossed and his hair mussed and his eyes wide, drinking down everything you show him.

You only leave the apartment once. Lunch is delayed when you open your fridge and remember how bereft and sad it is inside, so you venture out into the rain to the nearby supermarket—V opts to stay indoors, LED flickering red at the idea of being caught, shying back.

You leave him looking lost and lonely before the door even finishes swinging shut behind you, long limbs looking even longer in your clothes, but somehow still so small.

“I won’t be long,” you promise.

When you get back, you return not only with bags of food but also clothes, V’s order from yesterday already shipped and delivered. He can finally replace your too-small clothing with things he’s chosen himself. It’s a fumble to get in the door, but the android is waiting for you, swinging it open and catching the bag you nearly drop in surprise.

“I have your clothes,” you announce. “I’ll put away the shopping while you try them on?”

You’re going to have to tattoo a reminder on your forehead about V’s relationship (or lack thereof) with clothes, because of course he takes this as an invitation to start stripping before you’ve even had a chance to take your shoes off. 

He does that thing where he grabs the back of his (your) shirt and pulls it over his head in one swift motion, curls of hair a cloud of smoke that settles around his face as the shirt is cast aside; you’re frozen in place as he reaches for the knot of his sweatpant’s drawstring, long fingers pulling it loose, but you let out a sharp meep just as his fingers hook into the waistband of them.

“PleasewaituntilI’mnotrightinfrontofyouthankyou,” you gasp all at once, words incoherent as they slide together, but V understands. He tilts his head at you inquisitively although he (thankfully) stops.

“Don’t you want to see the clothes?”

“I do, but, uh, for humans it’s normally customary to only get entirely naked or change clothes when you’re alone.” Your heart is going to burst out of your chest with how fast it’s racing. Without the string to cinch the sweatpants tight they’re starting to fall a little, revealing the delicate lines of his hip bones, and coupled with the reappearance of V’s bare stomach, your brain is going into meltdown. “So just—just give me a sec to go to the kitchen, okay? You’re probably better off changing in the bedroom, anyway, so you can use the full length mirror to see how you look.”

“Okay,” he says, but then: “Do humans never undress around others unless they’re planning to have sex?”

Your mouth falls open before you pause, words halting on your lips as you try to think of the best way to phrase your answer. “Well, we do, it’s not just about sex, but it’s usually only if you’re really comfortable with the other person you’re with, and they’re comfortable with you.”

“I’m comfortable with you,” V states plainly, and your insides turn to jelly. “Are you not comfortable with me?”

Oh, hell. “I am, I am! I’m just, uh… I’ve not really had a lot of practice with nakedness around other people.” What a way to put that you’re a shy ass virgin when it comes to real life nudity and sex, huh. “So let’s just keep it to a minimum for now, okay? Please?”

The android’s LED flickers honey-sweet on his temple as he looks at you, before his hands fall away from the sweatpants. “Okay.”

(Thank God.)

You’re not sure what you’re expecting to see when V starts to present his small array of outfits to you, but—he looks effortlessly stylish in the oversized clothes he’s selected, a muted palette of brown and yellow and red and cream, a cup of hot chocolate on an autumn day. He might be new to all this but his eye for aesthetic is impeccable. You have no doubt that the more he learns, the better he’ll get, hop-skip-jumps ahead of you, even after years of art education.

He’s even bought pyjamas, dark tartan patterns masculine but also adorable; it’s an utter juxtaposition to the tighter, sensual clothing he’d been given at the Eden Club.

“You look really good,” you tell him. Your voice is only a little strained. He smiles.

The outfit V wears for the rest of the afternoon is perfect for a rainy day spent indoors, thick jumper and tawny trousers, a blend of sepia tones. He looks like if you made a hug into a person: all soft edges and cosy and wrapped up in warmth.

And V is warm. You’re not sure if it’s a lingering memory of his programming, a carry over from his start in life as a sexbot, but he likes to touch—nothing inappropriate or overbearing, but he’s not shy about stepping into your personal space, brushing the back of your hand with his fingers as he points at something on the screen, or pressing close to your side as you cook, or just one of the hundreds of other tiny touches that he’s littered across you throughout the day. It’s thoughtless on his part, LED not even flickering, but each time is just another reminder of his warmth, the blue blood pulsing under his skin, how alive he is.

(And the truth is that you enjoy those touches. You’re not used to them, but lord knows you’re touch starved, so as fleeting as they are, they’re nice.)

Even though you still leave plenty of space between the two of you when you lay to sleep, you swear you can feel the heat spilling off V, another warm body in the bed that’s so used to just one. Though he stays sitting up, he’s in his cute matching pyjamas, and it’s… it’s a lot. You’ve invited V into your home—and you don’t regret it—but after two days he’s already settled in in a way you never thought anyone else would, as entirely unconventional as the whole situation is. (You’re not sure how many people have sheltered a deviant android in their homes, though, so maybe this isn’t as unconventional as you think. Who knows? Not you.)

“I have to go to work tomorrow.”

V tilts his head down to look at you.

“You can get up to whatever you’d like,” you continue. You’re propped up on an elbow so it’s less intimate than if you’d been on your back and staring upwards like you were waiting for him to slide down next to you (that’s what it feels like, to you, anyway). “You know the password for my computer now, and you’re welcome to watch TV or play games or whatever, and you can use all my stuff in the studio. I mean, other than painting or drawing over stuff I’ve already finished, but you’re welcome to grab any paper or canvases if you want them. I think that’s everything? But please let me know if there’s more you want or need, okay?”

Blink, blink. His lashes are soft charcoal that frames the spilled ink of his gaze. In the dimmed light of your room V is unreadable, his LED a quiet blue glow on his temple, but he looks soft, and he looks safe, and he nods.

“Alright,” he says. A smile that flickers at the edge of his lips. “I will.”

(You wake up, quiet and slow, face pillowed against V’s thigh, still drifting in sleep. You make a small noise, eyes shut, wondering why there’s no blaring sound of your alarm, but then a large hand smooths over your hair and you instinctively relax under the soft touch.

“You have thirty three minutes until you’re due to wake up,” he murmurs. “You can go back to sleep.”

So you do.)

(When you wake up to the scream of your alarm thirty three minutes later, you don’t remember any of this. All you can think of is the dawn of another Monday, the slog of another working week, and you sigh. But—

“Morning.”

V’s eyes are dark meok ink, liquid earth that grounds you.

“Morning,” you say, smiling despite yourself, and then roll out of bed to get the whole day started.)

You’re used to spending a day surrounded by laughter and banter, wrapped up in the camaraderie of your co-workers and friends, only to return to a world of quiet solitude. You’re used to coming home to rooms that are untouched from the morning, holding onto the echo of your passing, still and waiting for your return, an apartment of motionless air.

But not today. There’s evidence of someone else here: the open door to your studio down the hall, the scattered books on the coffee table, the mess of cushions on the sofa, all small signs that someone has been moving and living in your absence. A still-life that’s shifted into a breathing trompe l’oeil, V’s presence bringing flatness into perspective, turning it into something real.

It’s… nice.

You flop onto the sofa and send one of those cushions overboard, tumbling to the ground. V appears in the doorway moments later, new apron already streaked with colour, copper green thumbprint on his face like he’d touched it in thought and not realised. A little streak of paint that draws the eye to his lovely chin.

“Welcome home!” His hair is blond today, a golden nimbus around his face, though his eyes are still dark. Light and shadow. His happiness is infectious and you smile helplessly back, glad for his excitement with painting—but it seems like he hasn’t finished. “I’m happy you’re home. I missed you.”

KO. Wipeout. Your heart turns to liquid in your chest, burnt sugar that dribbles hot and saccharine through your ribs. 

“I chose a name.” V continues, oblivious to how he’s turned your insides into syrup, and you abruptly sit up.

“Oh?” 

“Taehyung.” The way he says it, in his deep voice, those two syllables are endless—a single name, heavy with the weight of meaning behind it. A shedding of his old skin, one that was forced on him, leaving him pink-skinned and new and free.

“Taehyung,” you repeat, and his LED flickers at the sound falling off your lips. “Taehyung. It’s lovely.”

He’s smiling, that lovely toothy smile that you’ve already decided is your favourite out of any smile you’ve seen, his LED electric blue and swirling in delight. 

Day after day, you wake up to the sight of that LED glowing as Taehyung watches you lift up out of sleep. Night after night, you come home to his lovely, big grin, all large hands and soft hair—hair that he chooses to change colour when he pleases, a dizzying palette with every shade you can dream of. He’s bright and deep, playful and reflective, a dance of flirty Rococo to more solemn Baroque, every day another day where he learns and grows and adds another facet to the cut diamond of his personality. 

(It hasn’t been long but you’re starting to think you’d put the world in the palm of his hand, if you could.)

You never thought you’d live to see the day where someone as lovely as Taehyung would be glad to see you home, having missed you after being apart—but for all that he’s voraciously leaning into the arts, consuming everything from visual to literary to performance, he’s never happier than when you’re there too. He shows you his works, improvement obvious with every new piece, but his excitement grows tenfold when you start to paint alongside him; seeing him so joyful spurs you to pick your brushes up again, buoyed up with motivation in the face of his own. 

(Your studio is usually quiet, a little reflective maybe, the only sound the music you play over your speakers—but now more often than not you and Taehyung will talk, and laugh, and even if you’ve both ebbed into silence, it’s never heavy. It’s a held breath. The potential to speak any moment. The sensation of another person in the same space as you, an orbit, both existing in a shared moment, connected by gossamer threads that shimmer with sunlight.

Taehyung’s eyes are steady on his canvas as he works, but he glances at you through the curl of his lashes, smiling back at you. Always, always smiling, LED calm blue as the rest of his face shines golden, bright.)

(Maybe it’s selfish, but you think you could get used to this.)

taglist: @beyoncesdragon​

[notkageyamasprincess]

21:58 | kozume kenma x reader

characters: kozume kenma x gn!reader

genre/warnings: fluff

words: 1.1k

Kenma gets jealous when you get attention from other guys while you’re gaming. It’s not uncommon that you’ll come across someone who’s a little too eager to help you beat bosses, or they’ll gift you rare items, or send you resources at the slightest mention that you’re running low. When that happens, Kenma shuts himself in his room and distracts himself with another game. Usually, that does the trick to make him feel better, but this time, he found himself getting more and more irritated.

+++++

“...aaand done. If you ever need help again, you know where to find me.”

“Thanks so much! It would have taken me forever to finish this stage on my own.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart. Hey, has anyone ever told you that you have a really pretty voice?”

You giggle. “That’s sweet, but I thought I told you that I was taken already.”

“Nothing wrong with giving a compliment.”

You catch a glimpse of your boyfriend when he comes out to get some water and you notice the sour expression on his face.

“Hold on, I’m going to mute myself for a sec.”

You turn off your mic and spin your chair towards Kenma.

“Hey babe, is something wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” he responds curtly, setting down his glass a little harder than he intended.

You raise an eyebrow. “Doesn’t sound like nothing. It’s okay, you can tell me.”

“You sure sounded like you were having fun.”

“Oh, someone came to help me with a part of the game that I was having trouble with.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Bet he was real happy to flirt with you while he was at it.”

A smile slowly crept onto your face as you got the hint. “Baby. Are you being jealous?”

“Jealous? Of who? A loser who thinks he has a chance with you?”

As those words were leaving his mouth, he remembers—all over again—the smug tone of the guy fawning over you all day. His jaw ticks and he strides toward you from his spot in the kitchen.

“Why the hell would you ask someone else for help when you have me right here? I can easily beat whatever you’re struggling with, I’ll pay for the skins you want, and I can buy anything else you need in the game,” he huffed. “I’m your boyfriend, so I don’t understand why you rely on other men instead of coming to me.”

You were amused. Kenma rarely ever had outbursts like this, and you thought it was adorable how much he cared. Truthfully, you were enjoying this quite a bit. You really tried hard to stifle your laughter, but he hears it anyway.

A muscle in his face twitches. “____, are you seriously finding this funny?”

“No, no! I mean, maybe a little bit. Look, you always seemed so busy with work, so I didn’t want to tire you out even more with unimportant things.”

“Anything related to you is important to me,” he sighs. “____, do I not make that clear enough?”

Your cheeks redden from his unexpectedly candid behaviour. He surprises you by pulling you into an embrace, but you quickly relax, gently stroking his back to calm him. He breathes deeply as you release the leftover tension from his body.

“You do, Kenma. I know it even if you don’t say so. I just want you to get more rest,” you soothed.

You kiss him on the cheek when he lets you go, and his eyes softened.

“I’ll make time for you even if I’m busy.”

He checks his watch. “Actually, I have time right now. Move over, I’ll play the next round with you.”

“You have an account? I didn’t think you played.”

“I used to, but I maxed out my account and got bored. Needed something more challenging.” He shrugged—as if it was a casual thing to say. Not that you expected any less from your pro-gamer boyfriend.

He settles into the chair beside yours and turns on his computer.

He puts on his headphones and smirks. “Tell him that Kodzuken will be joining the next game.”

“Right,” you respond, sitting back down. “Hey, I’m back, I was talking to my boyfriend.”

“Yeah okay, your ‘boyfriend’. Come on, we both know you made that up.”

“What? No, he’s gonna join us.”

“Alright, what’s his username then? I’ll let him into the room.”

“It’s Kodzuken.”

You hear him chuckle after a pause. “You mean, as in the CEO and streamer? Sure, whatever you say, sweetheart.” But his laughter starts to subside after a few clicks. “Uhm, that’s weird, there’s actually a player with that name requesting. It’s gotta be a fake right?”

Kenma cleared his throat. “Not at all, I’m very much real. Thanks for keeping ____ entertained when I wasn’t here.”

“Holy shit, this guy has the same voice! No fucking way, are you actually Kodzuken? Dude, I’m a huge fan, you have no ide-”

“I appreciate it, but ____ and I have something to do after, so let’s make this quick.”

“Yeah man, of course!”

You turned to him with a quizzical expression. “I didn’t know that we had plans.”

“Trust me, you’ll see in a bit.”

+++++

A couple minutes into the game, you hear an indignant shout coming from the other guy. A banner message briefly appeared at the top of your screen: XxKTOxX has been eliminated by Kodzuken!

“Mate, you just shot right at me! The fuck was that?”

“Sorry, man. Game glitched,” he lied. “But it’s fine, we’ll manage without you somehow. ____’s in good hands.”

A quick glance told you that your boyfriend’s lips were quirked up slightly at the edges. “Kenma, you did that on purpose, didn’t you?” you whisper. You thought that he had already gotten over his jealousy, but it clearly seems like you were wrong.

He drops his smile and puts on a poker-face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Also, this dude sucks at this game.”

His eyes glint mischievously as he prepares for what he says next.

“Ah that’s right, before I forget, you asked if anyone had ever said that ____ had a pretty voice, right?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t mean any-”

“I don’t think you got a response though. I told ____ that last night in bed, and I’ll probably be doing the same in like, thirty minutes or so, depending on how far along we get. By the way, just in case you were wondering, ____’s voice sounds the prettiest moaning my name. Too bad you’ll never be able to hear it.” Your new friend coughs violently as Kenma finishes. “Did that answer your question?”

The line causes the boy to sputter, and you gasp while smacking your boyfriend’s arm.

“What? You can’t wait? Thirty minutes a bit too long for you? Guess we’ll just have to end the game early, then.”

a/n: well, well, well, look who decided to write something! wrote half of this before realizing that i didn’t use any pronouns so i might as well make this gender-neutral and more inclusive. i usually write f!reader but if anyone wants gn!reader you are always free to request a piece <3

[takamishinko]

hey its me again, feel free to do other requests if you have them but id like to ask if could you do a nsfw part 2 to denkis “your scars are beautiful”. or really just a denki x m reader nsfw scenario/smutshot (?) thing if you dont feel like continuing it, thank you in advance :D

first time writing smut ahaha this was fun to write

charging...

pronouns: he/him

warnings: nsfw, swallowing, no protection

a/n: we could've finished this wqy earlier but we can't take anything seriously and fucked around for like a good hour laughing our asses off lol

e/n (editors note): wap wap wap wap wap 😹

_____

you and denki just finished having dinner at a restaurant with the rest of the bakusquad. it was a pretty nice hangout thing you guys did often. every friday you guys would go to a specific place mina introduced to everyone and you all ended up loving the place. they had food that catered to everyone's taste, even bakugou’s hard to satisfy palette. 

you and the squad headed back to the dorms together, it was no secret that you and denki shared the same room since you two were dating so everyone else went back to their own rooms while you and denki headed back together. denki flopped onto the bed you both shared the second he opened the door, not before taking off his shoes of course.

denki sighed with content, "ahhh~ that place is good as always, it never fails to disappoint me with the burgers, i could eat them all day i swear!" he exclaimed happily. you chuckled at his cute antics.

"oh! we also don't have school tomorrow, woohoo!" denki finished as he stretched his arms out.

you weren't really bothered by denki's rambles since you knew he was the talkative type and tended to go on rambles a lot. but this time wasn't like the usual… it was almost like he was trying to hint to you something. 

you knew exactly what denki was up to. telling you the room was kind of hot, unbuttoning his shirt just enough so that you can see his pecs. while denki's body wasn't as buff as shoji’s or bakugou’s but it was still pretty well built even being on the lean side. you would also be a big ass liar if you said you weren't turned on by his actions. of course your boyfriend teasing you would turn you on.

though you knew what he was trying to do you kept up your clueless act because it was fun for you to tease him back a little. you were having your amusement playing innocent in front of him until the blonde male suddenly grabbed you by the shoulders and pushed you down onto the bed. 

“heh, playing innocent on me huh? c’mon baby~ i know you want all this.” he said as he unbuttoned his shirt completely and took it off. his abs and pecs were irresistible and the proof was the hard on you had in your pants, you knew it well and so did denki. 

“i have no idea what you’re talking about babe~” you teased back, a playful grin forming at the corner of your lips. 

“fine! i guess i’ll have to show you with actions then.” 

your boyfriend’s lips pressed onto yours without any hesitation, his tongue immediately slipping into your mouth, who were you to resist him? the kiss he gave was sloppy but you didn’t mind it a single bit, it was actually quite arousing to you and you enjoyed it. of course you couldn’t let your boyfriend have all the fun so you put a little force into the kiss too instead of just letting his tongue swirl around in your mouth. the kiss between you broke after a minute or so, both of your faces red. you looked down and saw a bulge in denki’s sweatpants.

you licked your lips, “c’mon, take them off big guy~ you’re suffering in those.” you giggled with a licentious look gracing your features.

“with pleasure baby.” denki replied, nothing but pure lust dripping from each word.

you already seen denki’s cock before but something about the outline of it on his comical lightning patterned boxers turned you on to the max. without second thoughts you started to lick your boyfriend’s cock through his boxers, teasing him while you’re at it.

“why don’t you play with what’s under it instead?” he groaned out at the sight of you. god you turned him on so much.

you didn’t reply and pulled down his yellow boxers instead. his cock sprung out with excitement. denki was probably not the biggest, but it was definitely above average and enough to satisfy every last one of your needs. you wrapped your lips around his cock and started going further down inch by inch, using your tongue to lap at it as well. denki’s face contorted into pleasure. wanton moans inevitably escaped his mouth and they were like music to your ears. this egged you on and you hollowed out your cheeks as he fucked your mouth.

“oh fuck! y/n i’m getting close, ah- cumming!” he whined loudly.

without leaving his dick you swallowed every last drop of cum from you received from him. you opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out to show him you enjoyed it, as if you were telling him “thank you for the meal.”

“that felt so fucking good baby… i want more, can i put it in?” he asked, feeling a bit impatient.

“you’re insatiable,” you chucked out, he rolled his eyes in response “but of course you can~” 

as soon as denki heard your answer he practically jumped on you to pull down your pants and your boxers together leaving your ass and cock exposed to him. you flushed at his rushed movements.

 “denki-”

he cut you off, “you’re so fucking hot baby, i wanna fuck you so bad.” denki spoke with desire while looking at your lower half.

your boyfriend couldn’t wait any longer so he grabbed the lube that was sitting in his nightstand and spread some on his finger

“just relax alright?” he murmured as he spread a generous amount of lube onto his fingers and started to loosen you up. he started with one and eventually added two more fingers. you jolted a little as your entrance was explored but once denki had hit a certain spot your eyes rolled back of your head, your back arched and you let out a whine.

“o-oh fuck! denki!” you gasped out, your hips jerking upwards as he continued to abuse your prostate. tears formed at your eyes, you felt like you were melting, his fingers felt so good. 

your mewls shot straight down to his cock, “feels good huh?” he leaned down, whispering into your ear before nipping on it. you couldn’t respond to his sultry tone, you were so out of it. god you needed more.

"denki just put it in already..! i can't help it anymore. i need your cock." you mewled weakly, your voice hoarse. 

"alright~ don't blame me if i go a lil' too hard on ya now." denki grinned as he shoved his dick straight into your hole, hitting your prostate immediately. you let out a loud moan as he immediately thrusts at a fast pace.

you gasped and whimpered out, “a-ah! denki! slow down a little… too fast.” you couldn’t keep up with his pace. 

“can’t handle it babe? i’ll slow down for you then.” denki replies with a smirk. he didn’t want to hurt you.

denki then continued to make slow yet deep thrusts into your ass. they didn’t hurt like the first time you guys did but rather euphoric. his cock was hitting a spot that your fingers or toys could’ve never reached, a whole new level of pleasure. even though this wasn’t your first time it felt so good having your boyfriend inside you again, he never fails to disappoint you in the bedroom. 

“nggh, your ass feels so fucking good. you take my cock so well baby boy.” denki moaned. 

“y-your cock feels so good denki..!” you replied, a trail drool indecently leaving your mouth, mixing on the sheets with the salty tears that fell from your eyes.

he then again pressed his lips onto yours and invaded your mouth with his tongue. it almost felt like heaven, making out with your boyfriends passionately while his big cock hit your prostate over and over again. the pleasure made you lose yourself and you didn’t even notice that you were getting close, and with denki picking up the rhythm of his thrusts, you could tell he was close too. 

“d-denki! i’m gonna cum-“ you moan out loudly in a high pitched tone.

denki groans at the feeling of your walls tightening around his dick. “me too baby- let’s come together..!” 

and just before he could finish his sentence both of you reached your climax and both of you moaned out in shameless pleasure. the two of you stared at each other and tried to regulate your breaths.

“you felt amazing baby...” denki spoke with affection while holding your cheek with his right hand. 

“you felt really good too denki...” you reply as you did the same with your left hand.

the two of you shared a quick kiss before giggling. the two of you were fatigued after your activities, both of you quickly took a shower together and got into bed. both of you fell asleep while cuddling each other on the bed.

[chifuyuzu]

leap of faith — sano manjiro x reader.

word count — 1.3k.

genre — fluff fluff fluff, i love sweet mikey.

contains — cursing, timeskip SPOILERS present, reader is gender neutral.

description — sano manjiro is in love with you, and he realizes how much he loves you at the ass crack of fuckin' dawn.

author's note — hey besties, this is my first published fic here, kinda short but mikey brain rot is heavy. i hope you enjoy this cute fic before i rip your hearts out with some angst in a few days :^) reblogs and likes are always appreciated! and please give me feedback in my inbox! hehe, enjoy.

“it’s late.”

you know. but you still wanted to hear the sound of his voice before bed.

“mm… i missed ya’, is that a crime?” your voice echos through the receiver, the sound of your duvet crinkling in the background as you shift in place. sano manjiro was a busy man. always has been, always will be. being the leader of a biker gang was never easy—let alone some “new age” criminal organization.

you didn’t understand why manjiro persisted to play this game of russian roulette with his life. but it was never your place to overstep, especially since this was his life. it was all he knew, all he understood. you’re not sure what he’s doing, or if he’s even allowed to talk on the phone at this hour, but you still wanted to hear him. just so you know he’s alive and well.

you hear him chuckle, the sound of his feet scurrying against whatever floor his sandals were clacking against. the background noise that accompanied him earlier has dissipated; you realized he probably went outside to hear you better.

“your crime is loving a fool like me way too much. don’t think you’re sane.” he’s right. you’re actually crazy for even pursuing him. there was a lot of push and shove in the beginning, both parties scared of being hurt and getting hurt. but you were always there, even when manjiro went through whatever darkness was eating at his soul.

“crazy for you.”

“corny.”

“you love me.”

a pause. eerie enough to send shivers down your spine. why wasn’t he responding? did something happen? did you smother him too much? is he regretting—

“marry me.”

… not what you were expecting. especially not over the phone.

“sano manjiro, did you just propose over the phone? what kind of shitty rom-com are we in?”

“is that a no?”

“... never said that.” you wanted to marry him. but you wanted him to put that lifestyle behind, for the sake of the family you might have in the future. kids, dogs, cats, etcetera. you wanted him to be in, one hundred percent. but you knew he was too deep into this world to run now—especially since he’s so well-known as the ‘invincible mikey.’ you still longed for a happy home with manjiro, and a normal life.

“maybe you’re right. it’s not my style to ask you this over the phone.”

“try again later. when you’re really ready.”

the gag is, he is ready.

manjiro hurries home, blond locks hidden underneath a thin, black hoodie. he’s shaking, like a pomeranian in the presence of fireworks. his hand meets the left side of his chest, back pressed up against the grey colored wall of your shared apartment as he slides down to sit on the floor. it was four in the morning, and manjiro was about to shit himself.

he gulps, eyes peering around for you, double checking that you were fast asleep before he makes a phone call. his fingers tapped the back of his iphone, impatiently waiting for the other caller to answer. though it was the crack of dawn, he still needed some moral support.

“mikey? fuck you callin’ for at this hour? haven’t heard from you in mo—”

“ken-chin. i’m proposing.”

a loud ‘flop’ rang through the receiver, accompanied by the bedsheets seemingly slipping underneath draken’s feet. it was a huge bomb to drop, especially when the duo has been separated for months on end. manjiro hears more shuffling, followed by a few curses. “you’re fucking lying. the one you’ve been one since—?”

“yeah. i’m crazy as hell. but i love them. head over heels. i’m a goddamn simp.”

“why the hell am i the first to know, man?”

“you’re m’best friend, even if i need to stay away from you. and, also… you’re not the first to know. i asked them already.”

“you WHAT? don’t fuckin’ tell me you did it some dumb way like over the pho— you did. you’re impulsive enough to do it like that, too.” regardless of how long it’s been, draken still knows and understands manjiro like nothing ever happened.

“yeah… not romantic. but i can’t see myself with anyone else. i trust no one else. but i… am…”

“scared? man, you’re the head of a criminal organization. ‘course you’re scared. you don’t want the love of your life… to get hurt…” his voice trails off and manjiro’s heart tenses even more. the memories of the past still felt fresh. all the people they lost in tokyo manji… could never be replaced. not in a million years.

but the living must live.

“i love y/n. never felt like this before. i’d quit everything. but i would have to make sure they’re safe and whatever future we have together is secure. i know i promised takemichi that i’d protect everyone and that future he worked so hard to save… but what about mine?”

manjiro really did sacrifice everything for his friends. being the type of person who carries everyone else’s burdens takes a toll on his mental. he felt selfish for wanting to leave it all behind. but maybe being selfish was beneficial once in a while.

“listen—”

“do you think i’m stupid?”

“mikey. you’re not stupid,” draken sighs, shuffling again in place. “you just want to love someone and be loved in return. nothin’ stupid about that. what is stupid though, is you proposing over the damn phone.”

he’s not wrong. it was a spur of the moment decision that could drastically change his life forever. but with you, he doesn’t care. as long as you’re his, forever.

“how do you think i should do it?”

“well. i guess, tell me some sappy shit. how do you feel about them, and whatnot.”

“i don’t think i could ever imagine me with anyone else. a lot of people have tried to grab my attention but i only have eyes for y/n. sometimes when shit gets real hard…” manjiro takes a deep sigh, fingers threading through his hair, tilting back the hood to let it fall onto his back. “i think of y/n and i remember that even in this shit world, someone is here for me. someone cares about me. they make me feel like i’m not alone anymore.

i have dreams ‘bout us, y’know? me and y/n… kids running around. a little mikey clone. pissin’ them off because we want little flags on our meals. going to the park and letting kids be kids. maybe i’ll teach ‘em at a dojo like gramps did for me and my siblings. maybe i’ll teach ‘em about bikes—with your help, of course.”

draken laughs, letting his friend continue his little speech as he gets comfortable in bed again. don’t think i’ve ever seen mikey like this, ever, draken muses.

“man, we can own a whole zoo if we wanted. chifuyu could hook us up, in secret, of course. still have to protect everyone,” manjiro is grinning from ear to ear, head resting against the wall. “i wanna grow old with them. honestly, i didn’t think i’d make it to my twenties. more so, i didn’t want to live past twenty-something. but now… things are different. wanna be old and gray. see grandkids terrorize our children. die together.”

the tension in manjiro’s chest has faded away, only left with warmth that only you could bring him. his free hand reaches into his pocket to fumble with a small box, snapping it open to reveal the engagement ring his grandfather handed down to him.

he wasn’t the marrying type. but for you, he was.

“that all? you sound good like that, man. make an exception and let us come to the wedding.”

manjiro wants that more than anything. his friends, you... all safe. all happy. but again, the fear creeps up. he doesn’t know what to do with himself if any of you get hurt.

“... how do i tell y/n that?”

“you already have.” your voice makes him jump, knocking the velvet box out of his fingers and onto the hardwood floor. his face pales, followed by a huge lump forming at his throat when he sees your figure emerge from your shared bedroom.

“i-uh… i thought you were a-asleep.” manjiro mumbles, earning a huge laugh from draken on the other side. he hears him say something along the lines of ‘my cue to leave. good luck. send me an invite.’

“i was waiting for you.” 

he’s sweating now, a small bead forming at the base of his neck. his phone is now at his side, the screen flashing from draken’s caller id to the lockscreen photo of you on your first date together, a few years back. your eyes zone into the box, though.

“i was going to do this… better. god, i fucked up, huh?”

you’re laughing now, rubbing your tired eyes before you join him near the wall, picking up the box. “what makes you think that, dummy?”

now he’s confused. you wanted him to ask when he was serious, but in his head, serious meant rose petals, candles, someone singing celine dion in the distance.

without a word, you slip the ring onto its appropriate finger, holding up to the small rays of sunlight that peaked through the window from the approaching sunrise. manjiro’s hands fly up to your face, holding his whole world in his hands. his eyes are shiny, on the brink of tears. you nudge your noses together, foreheads connecting tenderly. your hands hooked onto the hem of his hoodie, bringing his frame closer as you whisper a soft ‘yes.’

“yes?”

“yes, i’ll marry you.”

manjiro’s lips curl up into the silliest grin you’ve ever seen him sport, before he presses a soft kiss to your lips. now he’s kissing you quite desperately. as if he’s trying to make sure you’re real, that this isn’t a dream. you feel his words vibrate against your lips, “gonna make you so happy, i promise. i love you. i love you so, so much.”

“forevermore.”

“forever yours.”