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vro0m · 2 years

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vro0m’s rewatch - 163/310

2015 Russian GP

Oh ho ho. Nico got the pole again. Interesting. The momentum is shifting a bit although Lewis still won last time. It's not just that he went off in his hot lap, Nico was ahead in all three quali sessions so it's not just due to a mistake.

Carlos Sainz crashed heavily in FP3. He hit a barrier with his front left which tore the whole wheel off so he went off and hit the tepco head first. He was taken away on a stretcher but he's okay. He's there that Sunday, up and walking and fine. He might even race.

So here's the grid's top 10 : Nico, Lewis, Valtteri, Seb, our usual suspects. Then Raikkonen, Hulkenberg, Perez, Grosjean, Verstappen, and Ricciardo. Also Nico is ahead by 0.3 which is way more than in Japan.

On the truck, Sainz confirms he'll be racing and is feeling absolutely fine and in no pain whatsoever, although a bit stiff. He says he thinks it looked more frightening from the outside as they were waiting for news about him than from the inside. Ted says the crash was 46G which tells you how violent it was though. Remember that the sensors go off at 25G. They also say he did have to take a couple of painkillers for his neck. He did however pass the medical check.

It was again raining on Friday so they didn't get much testing done here. Also they have softer tyres than in 2014 so degradation might be more of an issue this time.

There's talk about Renault's return to F1 and we get a Briatore interview which I'm definitely not going to listen to. Ah wait. He's talking about Lewis. The journalist says he's had the privilege of taking two of the greatest drivers to world championships : Schumacher and Alonso. Where does he place Lewis alongside them? Briatore says Lewis is very, very strong now. "Lewis, you know, was always quick driver, but a lot of mistakes," he says with his thick accent. "Now he's very solid." They're sitting in this very expensive Monaco living room with golden stuff on every shelf and a pure white couch. The journalist asks about his opinion of Lewis off-track and his lifestyle. Briatore shrugs. "He's a star, you know. We need more people like Hamilton. Michael is, was a champion. Fernando is a champion. Hamilton is a star." Surprisingly accurate take, actually.

Let's hear from Lewis. Johnny always speaks to him way too close, it's uncomfy af. He says you never expect to be second because you're always trying to be first but he's excited about the race although it might not be the most exciting race for the public but he hopes they'll put on a good show. Eeesh the video is glitching. Lewis is sitting down so Johnny is bent in two and the cameraman ends up standing back up. Lewis laughs "you have to do squats right?" I did not understand the question Johnny asked because the video was lagging badly but Lewis answers that the good thing about racing is you never know what's gonna happen. The exciting part is you don't know which line you're gonna take, you have to be spontaneous. He doesn't know how it's gonna go but he'll try to get away as clean as possible. The start is truly where you can make the big difference in this race cause it's generally a 1 or 2 stops so we'll see. Johnny says he can win this one though, can't he? Lewis says he won last year so it's not impossible but it's gonna be hard, Nico was quick. He'll give it everything he's got.

Ahhhaaa if Mercedes scores 3 more points than Ferrari today they win the constructors' title right here and then. Important stuff.

Because the Russian GP is cursed af we also get a Bernie interview that I'm also not listening to. I think the gist of it is that Redbull is looking for an engine supplier, and Toto flat out said no when the journalists asked if they would be it but I don't know if there was actual talks of it or not. Because I didn't listen.

Formation lap.

And they're racing!

Nico gets away well and Lewis slots behind him to defend against Valtteri. OH SHIT. THERE'S A NUMBER OF CARS INVOLVED IN AN ACCIDENT BACK THERE. The racing is still going at the front. Nico keeps the lead but Seb overtook Valtteri. The safety car is out and everybody calms down and lines up. Eesh. Yeah. There's damage there. Oh WAIT ACTUALLY WHAT?! It's not Seb ahead of Valtteri, it's RAIKKONEN?! how? When? What?!

Anyway, back to the accident. Two cars are cleanly lined one against the other, each one facing a different direction. It's Hulkenberg and Ericsson. They’re embedded together like legos. So Hulkenberg spun in the middle of the pack and Ericsson collided with his side, after Verstappen spun avoiding the same fate. He was able to go again though apparently, but he has a puncture and pits. Grosjean also pitted, getting a new nose and new tyres. It's a long stop. Probably not a strategic one. Max also gets a new front wing and he's back out.

On the start replay we see Lewis went completely off track at some point and then possibly made contact with Nico's rear when he slowed down because the safety car went out. Not a big shunt though, just a touch. The safety car is coming in. And here they go again.

Valtteri overtakes Raikkonen! He's back in P3. He's congratulated by his race engineer. I like when they do that it's like they're saying "good boy". I wish someone told me I did a good job regularly. Oh ho. Nico says his throttle pedal is broken. He's asking what he should do if it sticks. And Lewis overtakes him for the lead! He got a bad exit out of a corner and Lewis just swept through. And Valtteri is ahead as well! He's told he just needs to adapt to the situation and they'll tell him if they can think of anything else that could help. We might get that podium I wanted? Lewis and then Seb and Valtteri in whatever order? I would enjoy that. Just two guy hearteyeing Lewis as he lifts his trophy, please. Nico is in the pits. Yeah. He's out of the car. It's over. That pretty much settles the WDC as well. They're taking the nose of the car off trying to see if they can free the pedal. So he's not yet out of the race officially. I mean he is but he is not. They're still trying to fix the car but it's the garage and Nico has taken his helmet and gloves off and he looks distraught, understandably. Then Bono confirms to Lewis his team-mate is out.

And it's lap 10, Lewis is only 2.2 ahead of Valtteri but he was fuel-saving. Then it's Raikkonen ahead of Seb, Perez on P5 followed by the RedBull of Kvyat and Daniel, then we have Nasr and Massa, and finally Maldonado in P10. OH FUCK. THERE'S A BIG CRASH AGAIN, it's Grosjean. I hope it's not as bad as it looks right now but it seems like a wreck. There's debris everywhere and a tyre rolling around… Oh my god, no, it is bad. Really. Fuck. He's not getting out of the car...

He's moving...

The safety car is obviously back out. Marshals run out to him, he's still not out. Oh here we go. He's hoisting himself out. Perez and Ricciardo pit. Bono warns Lewis of the debris. A lot of other people pit. Here's the replay of the crash now. Oof. He lost the rear and smashed into the barriers. No way to catch that or slow the car down. It was a lateral hit. Actually the car seems to have slowed down when going off track but then it hit the barriers with the rear side which swung it around, I mean you can see a lot of kinetic energy going into that. Must be painful on the neck. Maldonado is told Grosjean is absolutely fine.

On the transcript I read they asked him if he was okay and we didn't hear an answer but maybe they did get one. Seb also asked if he was okay and was told he was out of the car.

Lmao the guys are fixing the tepco barrier with tape. Clown sport.

Lewis complains that the safety car is going too slow and he can't keep the tyre temperatures up. Nobody at the front pitted. Valtteri is told Lewis is complaining and so he might struggle at the restart. The safety car is coming in. Oof Valtteri almost ran into him. And here they go again, again. Seb attacks Raikkonen come on give me that podium baby! OOOH IT'S CLOSE I'M GRITTING MY TEETH Seb pushes Raikkonen wide and he rejoins a bit ahead. Now Seb is under pressure from Kvyat! HE ATTACKS RAIKKONEN AGAIN YESSS let's go HE'S AHEAD! Phew. Good racing. Lewis set the fastest lap. Daniel overtakes Sainz for P10 but Sainz gets back ahead they're wheel to wheel and Daniel is ahead again! Ahhh that's nice. Some actual overtakes. Lewis sets another fastest lap.

It's lap 20. Lewis is 3.4 ahead of Valtteri already. Then Seb, Raikkonen, Kvyat, Nasr, Massa, Perez, Maldonado, and Ricciardo, then. A few laps later Seb is quickly closing on Valtteri… Sainz is under investigation for crossing the line at pit entry. Verstappen pits. He's been struggling. Sainz gets a 5 seconds penalty. Valtteri complains of his tyres, he pits. Brundle thinks it might be too late. He's out in P11. Come on, I want my podium. Seb is told to push. There's movement in the Ferrari garage. Raikkonen is told to push as well.

And that's lap 30. Lewis is 15 seconds ahead now. Then we have both Ferraris, Kvyat, Nasr, Massa, Perez, Maldonado, Ricciardo and Sainz. Valtteri is closing on him though. Come on boy. He overtakes him for P10. Seb pits. Let's see… he's ahead of Valtteri. Bono : "So Vettel in the pits now. We expect another two laps, let us know you're happy to do that." Lewis : "OK." Bono : "Good man." Not "good, (comma) man", right? "Good man." Raikkonen pits. He's behind Valtteri but he attacks. Stay back, I want my podium. Lewis is in. 3.1. Their pit stops aren't quick enough still. Seb overtakes Perez for P4. So Lewis is still in the lead, Kvyat who's currently P2 is called in, then we have Nasr and then Seb. After Kvyat's pitstops, Perez is P4, Ricciardo P5, Valtteri P6, Raikkonen P7, Sainz P8, Kvyat is out in P9 and Jenson is P10. Nasr pits and is out of the top 10. Valtteri and Raikkonen are racing for P5. The finn stays ahead (Yeah.) (That’s literally the stupidest thing I've ever written in these reviews lmao.) (I'm drafting them now, re-reading myself, correcting typos, thought of just deleting it but you know what here ya go. It’s funny.) (So : Valtteri stays ahead. Obviously.) They're hitting traffic. Lewis sets another fastest lap ahead. And another one.

On lap 40, he's 12.5 seconds in the lead. The current order is Seb, Perez, Daniel, Valtteri, Raikkonen, Sainz, Kvyat, Massa and Nasr. Ricciardo has just been told they don't think he'll need to stop again. The battle for P4 is brewing. Perez is struggling in P3 as well. I might still get my podium. Seb sets the fastest lap this time.

10 laps to go. Valtteri is told Perez has started to struggle. Come on. He overtakes Daniel for P4. Raikkonen overtakes Daniel for P5, but he goes wide and Daniel is back ahead. Ohhh but Sainz spun! He's resting against the barriers but is able to get away again. As he does so he loses a piece of his rear wing on the track. He stops again, in another run off area, near a crane. He's out of the race. Meanwhile Raikkonen is going for Ricciardo again. And he's ahead. Valtteri is also less than a second behind Perez now. Oh my god. Terrifying. A marshal ran out on the track to retrieve the piece of rear wing and a car was right there. It's Seb : "Now it's clear but we've got a very brave Russian running across the track." Oh and Ricciardo has stopped as well! Damn that's a lot of retirements in this race isn't it? It might be a broken suspension in his case.

3 laps to go. Valtteri, come on, please, my favorite funny guy. Give me that podium. It'd cheer me up. Bono tells Lewis there's 3 laps remaining and they still see something suspect performance-wise from the rear wing? Lewis says he can feel it. They suggest he does not use DRS if he gets it. Eesh. Seb is less than 10 seconds away now and he just set the fastest lap. Surely the rear wing issue isn't bad enough that it would cost Lewis the win by itself but he can't afford mistakes. It's the last lap. Come on Valtteri. OH SHIT RAIKKONEN CAUGHT UP TO HIM AS WELL AAAAAAH I don't care about Perez on the podium please give me a good one YESSS HERE WE GO BABY they're both ahead actually! Woooohooo! Just one more lap now

NO OMG NO! Oh the cry I let out IRL I can't believe this shit.

Raikkonen took him out. Fucking hell. Valtteri is out in the barriers and Raikkonen is limping with damage. Perez is back in P3. I'm so disappointed.

It's the end of the race.

Lewis wins ahead of Seb!

Massa finishes ahead of Raikkonen. Mercedes hasn't won the WCC yet. "What the fuck did he do?" was Valtteri's reaction to the collision. Calm and collected as he usually is.

Also : 6 retirements.

Lewis crouches down beside the car and pats it.

Let's hear what Niki has to say. He says the issue with Nico's throttle was bad, for the constructor championship and for Nico especially. Ted says if Raikkonen gets a penalty they might still win the WCC. Niki bobs his head from side to side. He doesn't want to win it like this, he says. Ted says of course Nico had an issue but Lewis did everything right today. Niki says he drove as he always does : perfect race from beginning to the end, nothing wrong. He shrugs. He's so unimpressed lmao. "No worry, so really fantastic."

Aw fuck. Bernie and Putin are there again. Lewis goes to shake his hand. Doesn't make him wait this time. (Remember 2014?) He also shakes the woman's hand, I think she's the interpreter. "Good to see you," he says to Putin, which is so weird. "Good day." I think Putin says "for you!" and he hugs him. All the cells in my body are screaming out of discomfort. Lewis walks past him to get to the table.

Perez just shakes his hand and joins Lewis. He taps his back. "Hey man!" Lewis exclaims, and they shake hands and hug briefly. Seb shakes Putin's hand as well. Putin congratulates him as he did the others and Seb says "thanks for a great event" before he shakes the rest of the party's hands as well. They're standing between him and the others. You can barely ask Putin to scoot aside to let you pass... Perez and Lewis are talking but we can't hear them well enough for the same reason. Just get these people out of here. The cameraman actually doesn't care and pushes his way through to them, thankfully.

Oh fuck no. The caps have been replaced by fur beanies? (I felt this was an inappropriate way to call them so I looked it up and fyi they’re called ushankas) Seb finally makes his way to them. "Heeeey!" he salutes Perez. They hug. Lewis is asking for Putin's opinion on how the ushanka fits him. Lewis please stop. "I'm wearing it right?" he asks the woman.

Seb turns his head and smiles, Lewis chuckles. Someone is telling Putin's group they're gonna go and take position. "Hey you're getting quick during the race uh?" Lewis tells Seb while pulling his race suit back on.

Seb put his hand on his shoulder, squeezes it. "Who's the quickest lap?" he says with a smile in his voice. "Who's the quickest lap?" and he

Jesus christ

He does the gayest thing I've seen them do so far to the point I had to take a few seconds.

They turn to the screens and he's holding him by the shoulders from behind.

I mean. It seems like nothing but the way they can't keep from touching each other and the gesture is so. Domestic. Fuck. It's like they forgot there were people in the room, istg. They touch each other with such ease, so naturally. They're looking at the times, Seb turns to Lewis with a big stupid grin. "What was your quickest lap?" he says, his hand resting delicately on his Lewis' shoulder blade.

"I don't know!" Lewis says. Seb says he did forty something. "Did YOU do forty[something]?" he asks playfully. "I don't know," Lewis repeats. "I don't think I did a forty[something]," he shakes his head. Seb puts his closed fist against his cheek.

As Lewis turns to him with a smile, he pretends to punch him. "I don't think I did!" Lewis exclaims.

It's unfortunately time for the podium. I was enjoying this interaction, obviously. (And yes, it earned its own post, don’t worry, I’ll post it later)

Ew. Perez just hugged Putin. Lewis shows off his hat, touches both drivers who touch him back and here we go for the anthems.

Putin kisses Lewis on both cheeks as he gives him the trophy. Lewis seems kinda uncomfortable. He throws the trophy up in the air again, twice.

They all get kisses on the cheeks with their trophies but it's weirder when it's Putin obvi.

Ah Perez' dad is there and very happy of course.

Oh god it's Eddie Jordan doing the interviews. Lewis says a few words in Russian and it's nice but also I always find it a bit cringe when he does it for some reason. (Not just in Russian, right, just, generally.) It's Lewis' 42nd win. He equaled Seb! Jordan says they wanted to see a fight between him and Nico. He says him too. Jordan suggests he surely missed him there as well because they were starved of an exciting race at the front. Lewis nods all the while. Lewis agrees and he says he was excited because they were close at the beginning and it's a shame for the team to have lost one of the cars. Once he knew Seb was behind him he wished for him to be able to race him. But he doesn't take what they have for granted and the team has done an amazing job. Proud and happy to be there.

Seb says he hoped at some point there was a slight chance to catch Lewis but he had too much pace and he wasn't really pushing at the end.

Oh the broadcast went black. We didn't hear the end of Seb's interview. Lewis and he are chatting during Perez' interview of course.

Back to Lewis. Jordan asks about his tyre problems. He says there wasn't much of an issue. Jordan says we could hear him complain. He says the safety car was a little bit too slow but it was okay. He thanks everybody again.

Alright then let's wait and see if Mercedes gets the title, I guess. Raikkonen thinks it was a racing incident, of course Valtteri doesn't. The whole broadcast agrees Raikkonen is completely at fault. Valtteri is so disappointed his eyes look wet in his interview. Poor boy.

Toto calls it an "optimistic manœuvre" but doesn't want to comment further because it's not one of his cars. He says it's a shame for Valtteri because he would have been on the podium. He says about Nico's problem that the sport is cruel sometimes. He had a brilliant weekend. He also agrees the Ferraris are becoming really strong. He points out they had an issue on Lewis' car though with a rear wing instability. He says they expected Ferrari to be very strong in the next year but they've proven themselves strong earlier than anticipated. (He's towering over Simon, Johnny and Hill and it's actually such a funny image these three men – and Simon and Hill aren't small – on one side of my screen looking up at him on the other side of it. Such presence.) Simon asks if he talked to Nico. Toto says he's obviously gutted with the situation, and it doesn't make much sense to try and go calm him down right now. He needs to come back, he's a strong fighter, he'll be with them next year trying again. He also says as for the WDC, Lewis needs to finish 11 points ahead of Seb to win it in Austin so… And he makes the universal sign for 'calm down' with his hand. Simon asks how he keeps everybody's emotions in check now, with the titles so close. He says you have to keep control of your emotions and your feet on the ground because it's not over until it's over. "Let's wait until mathematically it's not possible anymore to lose it."

Here's Lewis. He's all smiles.

He says the rear wing issue was a bit of a concern at the end, so he took it easy. Even though you're in front it's still a hard race and there's a lot of opportunities to make mistakes. You have to stay in the zone.

He knew they were one-stopping so if you damage the tyres, you have to stop again. He had to make a lot of changes along the way and everytime Sebastian picks up the pace you have to answer. He felt like it was a massive challenge for a race even though he was in the lead. It's a shame he didn't get to race with Nico, he was excited about it. She asks how close he got to him in the first lap (remember? I said he surely made contact with his rear). His eyes widen. "Yeah! Well… I mean, what happens is when the VSC comes out you've gotta stomp on the breaks," he says.

Then he says the real safety car came out so he actually didn't have to do that, and they "were on it" and Nico braked.

So they nearly took each other out, but fortunately Kimi didn't hit him, although he nearly lost it and spun (he did have to take evasive action).

She explains what the situation is with the WDC and asks how it would be to win in Austin, which he loves so much. He doesn't understand. "Win the race?" he asks, confused.

She explains again. If he wins 2 points ahead of Nico and 11 ahead of Seb in the next race he could get his third title in Texas. "Wow… I didn't even… I didn't even know that, so…" She hints at him, not quite in the mic but we hear anyway, that the place is pretty special to him. He looks aside as he thinks. "I don't know really what to say!" he cracks a big smile.

"I just gotta take a step back and enjoy what is going on now." And push as hard as he can in the next races, there's still loads of points available.

But it's the best position he's ever been in in his career "I don't really know what to say about it," just that they've been fortunate on his side of the garage with the reliability and he hopes that as a team they'll be able to rectify the issues they did have "and uh…" he smiles, "yeah."

He says it might not have been the most exciting day for the viewers today (it was far from the most bored I've been this season though) but you have to take it when you have it.

It's funny how he reacted. You know he must have been thinking about the title, even though he might say he didn't, you know, his usual spiel of one race at a time. Like I'm not saying he calculates the points and all, I don't think he does, but he must have known he was in a very, very good position for the title. Still, when she brings it up, it's like it finally dawns on him. Like he had this notion that, sure, he was leading the WDC standings for ages if not from the start of the season, actually, but he only right there and then actually understood that he might, that he would, surely, get it. He has a different smile then, a different look in his eye, a less controlled emotional expression. You can tell it truly drives him, truly excites him.

For some reason we later get a second interview with Lewis. Not complaining. He's with Hill. He says he's getting close but not letting himself get ahead of himself and asks what he does now when he goes home, "count the days to Texas or what ?" He answers of course definitely not, he enjoys every day, he tries to make sure he lives life to the max. He says he's learning a lot in his spare time. He says they're going to the factory the next day and he wants to make sure he's always improving when he's in the car. (Did I not answer an ask once saying his best or most important quality was his willingness to learn?) (Yes I did.) He says there's still room to improve this car, for example quali wasn't perfect this time, and that's his goal. Hill brings up the rear wing issue and says there's always nervous moments. Lewis says yes, towards the end, he felt weird things at the rear, it felt like it was getting a bit loose. He repeats again he was excited to race with Nico, as he thinks many people were, but maybe in the future (be careful what you wish for...). Hill asks if he was to win the title in America, would it be special for him at all? He sighs heavily. "To be honest… I mean…" and then says he won't let himself think about it. There's still 100 points available, "is that right?" Hill counts : "there's still five– four races left, yeah." So he's gonna focus on doing the job, he can never ever get ahead of himself. He's gonna enjoy the moment. He says "you've been there before, you know what it's like!" And Hill goes : "I– Lewis, I have ONE world championship so…"

Lewis shies away with a smile. Hill points out he's close to being the best British driver, and so they're all holding their breath and it's good to see and, and, and. Lewis thanks him. He says he's proud to wave the flag, to stand on the podium beneath it, he's proud when he hears the national anthem, he hopes he's representing all the Brits the best way he can. Hill says he definitely is and congratulates him for the win.

Uh… He's walking away like he shat himself. Mmh. Let's move on.

They're now waiting in front of race control for the final word on Raikkonen's investigation.

They're still waiting after Ted's notebook. Here we go… Raikkonen gets a 30-second penalty : MERCEDES WINS THE WCC! Too bad it's happening that way though, I would have liked to see them celebrate properly. Alonso also got a 5-second time penalty for exceeding track limits. In the next GP post race interviews, Raikkonen said he would still do the same thing, though.

Oh. I also read Seb criticised Lewis for going too slow at the restart after the safety car and that Grosjean said his seat broke upon impact in his accident.

#f1 #lewis hamilton #vro0m's race reviews #2015 #2015 russian gp

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painsandconfusion · 2 years

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Moving Day

Waking Dreamer - Part Nine

(tw:.......wow.......no? none? huh. some fighting i guess? a sprinkling of gaslighting?)

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Aaron sat in his car. Alone.

This was becoming a habit. One he shouldn’t let stick around.

He let his spine curl and collapse, resting his forehead on the warm steering wheel. His eyes screwed shut. Just go inside. It’s fine. Even if Jessie is there, it’s fine. Just because Ev and Jes are fighting doesn’t mean he’s going to be mad at you. Just. Just stand up. Just go in.

It was stupid. So stupid. He should be afraid of going into his own house. Especially when Jessie had done nothing wrong. Aaron had asked for help. It was fine.

It was…just. A long day. A very long day. He didn’t have the energy for anything unexpected or stressful. And he definitely couldn’t afford to fall asleep again in the car - one unexpected nap was more than enough for one day.

Still.

Between the sleepless nights, the fight that morning, and the double shift, his body was screaming at him for sleep. It was trying to drag him down - clawing at his legs and eyelids with sharpened, gnarled fingers.

So…why not just go inside? Easy. Simple. Turn off the car. Undo the belt. Open the door. Stand. Walk into the house.

Easy.

Aaron took a deep, trembling breath. He watched his hand move unbidden, turning off the car and clicking the seatbelt from place. Letting muscle memory take over the jobs his mind could not force his body to do.

He slipped out of the car, lungs heavy. Glancing around, he spotted Everett��s car parked across the street. Aaron’s eyebrows pinched, looking over it. He pulled out his phone, double-checking the time. It was almost midnight, why was Ev here?

He looked back to the house, feet moving a little more readily now.

He slotted the key into the door and turned it, stepping into the warmth and the light.

“.......Jes? Ev?”

Jessie rounded the corner of the hallway, arms folding. “Mind telling your boyfriend to fucking leave already??”

Aaron blinked at him. “...I…..what? What’s going on?” He stepped further in, peeking into his bedroom where Everett was tossing clothes from Aaron’s dresser and closet into a suitcase on the bed.

“......Ev?”

Everett stopped his work, glancing up with a warm smile. “Hey, love. I thought I’d save you the time and get this ready to go - I hope you don’t mind?”

Aaron stared around his room. “...no, of course I don…..wait - wh…….what are we doing here..?”

Everett blinked at him. “.....moving?”

Aaron just got more confused. “...I…….wait what?”

“...you said you’d move in with me? And after this morning, I assumed you wouldn’t feel safe sleeping in the same house as him, so I stopped by to help out the process.”’

Aaron glances back to see Jessie seething through the door at them from the living room.

“.......I…I mean, I appreciate the help, but…but I’m good - I promise.”

Everett frowned. Soft.

He took a step closer. Then another. His hands cupped Aaron’s face and tenderly turned it up to him. “Honey, you’re so……I adore you - but sometimes you don’t see danger when it’s staring you in the face. And I want you to be safe. You said you’d move in with me. Why wait?”

Aaron chewed at his lip. “...I….didn’t we say we were going to think about it?”

Everett shrugged. “And we’ve thought about it. So on to the next thing.”

Aaron pulled out of the grip, glancing back to Jessie. He hated himself - absolutely loathed himself - for flinching at Jessie’s stony face.

Hated that it was Jessie’s face in his nightmares

He glanced back to Everett. “...okay. N…not for………….I want to think about it more before moving out completely. But…tonight. That’s okay.”

Everett gave him a soft smile, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “We’ll start with that.”

Aaron let out a soft breath, melting up and into the kiss. This is what he needed right now. Not conflict and fighting and anger - just the softness. Just constant, steady support and someone who is willing to hold him and pack for him and say sweet things. He didn’t mind Everett taking the reins a little - he was so tired, it was a blessing not to have to decide.

He nodded softly, pulling back as Everett did. “Okay. Um….anything else we need?”

Everett shook his head. “You have a toothbrush and stuff at my place, so we’re good to go.” He turned back to the bed, zipping up the bag.

“You’re kidding me,” Jessie interjected, stepping into the doorframe. “You’re seriously going to go with him??”

Aaron blinked, confused. “I…I mean…..yeah? I stay with Everett all the time, why is this weird?”

Jessie gestured pointedly at Everett. “Because he fucking broke into the house and wouldn’t leave?? Went through your shit? I was seriously considering making him go-”

Aaron frowned. Stern. “Don’t do that. Don’t make threats - that’s not fair.”

Jessie let out an exasperated breath. “Fine. I’ll call the police or something next time - happy?”

“No.”

Everett pulled the suitcase to the ground. “I’m not happy either.” He flashed Jessie a charming smile to juxtapose the rigid tone. “Now scoot - I’m trying to ‘finally’ leave your house.”

Jessie glared, holding his ground for several long seconds before eventually relenting and stepping back. “Fine.”

“Charming,” Everett chided, stepping past. He glanced back to make sure Aaron was following.

Aaron let out a sigh, then did so.

Jessie’s glare shifted to Aaron. “Seriously?? Seriously. Why would you go with him? Can’t you see how fucked up this is?”

Aaron softens, turning exhausted eyes to Jessie.

“...Jes…I’m tired. I’m really really tired. I don’t want to fight. I just want to go and sleep. And I feel safe there. So let me go.”

Jessie’s lips pinched together. His fingers curled into tight fists, but he stepped back further. “Fine. At least I’m not going to fuckin kidnap you away in the middle of the night - I let you go places.”

Aaron’s expression didn’t shift. Exhausted. Pleading. “Jessie, please. Please just…get some rest. We can all talk everything out when we’re less on edge - okay?”

“....Fine.” Jessie turned, slapping off the living room lights as he headed back down the hall toward his room. “ Lock up.”

Left in darkness, Everett groaned as he fumbled for the door. He managed to pry it open in a few moments, dragging the suitcase out.

Within a few minutes, Aaron was in the car, buckled up, and heading out of the city with Everett’s hand on his thigh.

“...I’m sorry about that,” Aaron whispered.

Everett shrugged, thumb brushing up and down his leg. “It’s okay. Everyone had a long day. Like you said - he just needs some sleep. And so do you.”

Aaron frowned. “I…don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep. I jus……I don’t know. I don’t want to fall asleep right now.”

Everett gave his thigh a soft squeeze. Comforting. “You need rest. Not getting any is just compounding everything.”

Aaron stared out the darkened window, watching streaks of light glint lines across his vision. “...yeah…..I guess.”

[Previous | Masterlist | Next]

(tags: @prisonerwhump @mabledonut @whumpawink @heathenwhump @happy-little-sadist @paleassprince @distinctlywhumpthing @wormwriting @cryptidhongo @villainsvictim @thecitythatdoesntsleep @whumpworld @bandages-andobsessions @deltaxxk @rose-pinkie @whumpasaurus101 @warm-my-whumpee-heart @cursedscribbles)

#waking dreamer #everett #aaron #jessie #gaslighting

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dismains · 2 years

Text

Snapchat lens studio tap image

Snapchat lens studio tap image how to#

Snapchat lens studio tap image download#

Snapchat lens studio tap image free#

Snapchat lens studio tap image download#

Head on over and download 3-4 images that you like. Pixabay is a great place to find free-to-use images.

Snapchat lens studio tap image free#

For this lens I am going to use space backgrounds, but feel free to use whatever you want. When we add a screen image, Snapchat adds a placeholder image to let us know it is there and ready for us to edit. Things are going to look a little weird now over in the preview panel. Start by adding a Screen Image in the Objects panel and then a Portrait Background Segmentation Texture in the Resources Panel. We don't need too much to create this effect. Setting up the sceneįor this effect we are going to start with a blank project. You can preview this effect by clicking here or by scanning the snapcode below.

Snapchat lens studio tap image how to#

Pro tip: If you start with the "Gauss Blur" post effect and modify that instead of creating the blur from scratch, you can avoid the artifacts you get with high blur strengths.In this Lens Studio tutorial we'll go over how to create a virtual background or green screen effect for your Snapchat lenses. If you stick with values of 0.001 for the Pixel Size on the Gaussian Blur node, you should be fine as long as you stay under a Blur Factor of 4.0. Due to how the Gaussian Blur node works, you'll start to get banding and ghost images if you increase the blur amount too much. Because we added it as a Post Effect, anything you've added to your scene (images, 3D objects, etc.) will be included in the sharpening effect, provided they are above the Post Effect in the Objects Panel (just make sure the post effect is below everything you want sharpened, but not nested inside them). This sharpen effect is fairly simple to create and add to your lens. Finally, connect the output of the Blend node to the Shader node and the effect is complete! Final thoughts Connect the output of the Texture 2D Sample to the bottom input and set the blend mode to Overlay. Take this gray version and connect it to the top Base input of the Blend node. If you were to connect the output of the Add node to the Shader node, you would see a mostly gray image with the fine detail of the original image. Neutral gray has RGB values of 128, 128, 128. Connect the output of the Subtract node to the top input of the Add node and select neutral gray as the bottom input. Now connect that output to the top input of the Subtract node. Our original image in the Texture 2D Object Parameter node can't directly be connected to the Subtract node, so connect it to the Texture 2D Sample node along with the Surface UV Coord 0 node. Connect the output of the Gaussian Blur to the bottom input of the Subtract. The first thing we are going to do is subtract our blurred image from the original. Now add Texture 2D Sample, Subtract, Add, and Blend nodes. You can add a Float Parameter node and connect it to the Blur Factor input which will let you control that value from the material's Inspector Panel. At this point you should be able to set the Blur Factor on the Gaussian Blur node and see a blurry image in the Lens Preview. Set the input texture to be a Screen Texture (the Screen Texture should have been added inside a Textures folder when you added the post effect, otherwise you can add it yourself in the Resources Panel). If you select the Graph Empty material in the Resources Panel, you should see a texture input slot in the Inspector panel. Next connect the output of the Gaussian Blur node to the Color input of the Shader node. Select the Gaussian Blur node and set the Pixel Size input to something like 0.001 for both values. Connect the output of the Texture 2D Object Parameter to the Texture input on the Gaussian Blur node and connect the Surface UV Coord 0 to the TexCoords input of the Gaussian Blur. The Texture 2D object parameter node lets us select an input image for the effect. Add a Texture 2D Obect Parameter node, a Surface UV Coord 0 node, and a Gaussian Blur node. The first thing we need to do is blur the image. Creating the sharpen effect Adding the blur Open up the Graph Empty material in the material editor and we are ready to get started. At this point the lens preview should be solid white. Select the post effect and then in the Inspector Panel change the material to the Graph Empty material that you just added. In the Resources Panel add a Graph Empty Material and in the Objects Panel add a Color Correction Post Effect. The inspiration for this effect comes from an article on creating a face smoothing effect, but instead of smoothing out the details we are going to enhance them.įor this tutorial we are going to start with a blank project. When used subtly it sharpens the image, and when used prominently you achieve a more HDR look to your lens. In this tutorial we'll go over how to create a sharpening effect in Lens Studio (sometimes called "alt" by the cool kids). You can buy the finished post effect here

#Snapchat lens studio tap image

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messers-moony · 3 years

Text

So Perfect 2 | J.P

Paring: Young!James Potter X Fem!Lupin!Reader

Summary: James falls in love with a bookstore called, Lupin’s Library, and can’t believe what they’re going through.

Preparing for a date seemed easy enough, except when it’s with a twenty-five-year-old man that already has a child. Granted, the twenty-five-year-old man was handsome, very handsome; maybe that’s what made this so hard. Every dress that she tried on didn’t seem to fit or didn’t seem to look right.

Y/n was looking at her appearance in the mirror when a light knock was heard on her door, “Come in!”

Remus almost dropped the tea he was holding for her, “You look spiffing.”

“Spiffing?” Y/n crossed her arms with a stupid smile, “That’s all you could come up with?”

“Dashing, beautiful, gorgeous?” Remus shrugged, “I'm not good at this whole thing. ‘S why I’m into blokes, remember?”

Y/n hummed, reaching for the tea he was holding for her, “Thanks, Remmy.”

“No problem.” He replied, taking a seat on her twin bed, “So, are you excited?”

“Nervous.”

“Nervous?”

“Yeah, I mean, he’s already got a child, Rem!” Y/n said exasperated, “If this goes well, then he’ll expect me to be Harry’s stepmother, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that.”

Remus placed two hands on his shorter sister's shoulders, “You’re going to be fine. No one is more prepared for that than you are.”

“I’m regretting this.”

“If you don’t go on this date, then I’ll never call Sirius.”

“That’s not fair!”

“It is.” Remus replied, “How about this-”

“Oh no, you only do this when you know you’ll win.” She murmured.

Remus smirked, “If you go on this date and have fun, I’ll ask Sirius out. If you don’t go on this date at all, I’ll block his number.”

“But you and Sirius are perfect for each other.” Y/n whined, “And so are you and James.” Remus countered.

Y/n pouted, and Remus smiled, “Now go have fun on this date. James is waiting outside.”

“Are you shitting me?!”

Remus laughed, “Nope!”

Y/n scrambled to grab her things, and Remus watched amusedly, “You’re the worst, Rem!” She yelled as she began to leave the bookstore.

“Love you too, sis!”

The door closed behind her, and she was releasing breaths of air. James turned to see her out of breath and a flush on her cheeks. It made him smile. She looked absolutely breathtaking too. Y/n’s hair was styled, and her dress looked dashing on her. James offered her his hand, and Y/n took it with a gentle smile.

“Sorry for making you wait.” Y/n apologized, “Rem was no help.”

James chuckled, “It’s fine.”

James opened the car door for her, and she got in. Instantly she felt out of place. Y/n hadn’t been in a car since high school and ever since then had taken public transportation or walked. She and Remus didn’t have money for a vehicle, so they made do with what they had. The seats were black leather, and the car didn’t have a spec of dirt on it.

He got into the driver's side of the car smoothly and took notice of Y/n’s awestruck expression, “I take it you like my car?”

“I’m sorry.” Her expression turned sheepish, “It’s been a minute since I’ve been in a car.”

James quirked an eyebrow, “Remus and I walk or ride buses to get by.”

“Well, I’m glad I could be with you for your first experience back.” They both laughed.

It was so easy with James. Conversation flowed like water, and the air was light like clouds. His hand went from the shift to intertwine his fingers with hers. Y/n’s face flushed, and James smiled genuinely. James couldn’t remember a time when a girl made his heart race and butterflies fill his stomach like this before.

When they arrived, Y/n was starstruck. It was fancier than she thought. Her heart pounded, and insecurity filled her body. James made his way to her side of the car and opening the door for her again. He helped her out of the car and felt her hand tremble just the slightest bit.

“You look beautiful.” James assured, “No need to be worried.”

Y/n swallowed thickly, “Hey,” James turned her face to his, “If I thought you were underdressed, I would’ve told you. You’re gorgeous, and I think you’ll be the prettiest girl in the room.”

“Thank you.”

He gave her another one of those beautiful smiles before walking up to the hostess, “Name?”

“Should be under Potter.”

The hostess smiled, “Right this way.”

James motioned for Y/n to go first, so she followed the hostess to the table. Y/n sat down, and James sat across from her as the woman set down two menus. Maybe it was a force of habit, but she couldn’t help but let her eyes travel to everything around her.

He smiled, slightly amused by her way of checking everything around her. It wasn’t the fanciest place that he could’ve taken her - there was much better - but he didn’t want to overwhelm her. It wasn’t pitying that drew him toward her, though. There was something about her that made him feel like a teenager again.

The place was made of what appeared to be a dark wooden material. The lights were a dim yellow, and the tables were polished beautifully. The booths were comfy and with red cushioning. The atmosphere was cooling and dry.

Y/n had opened her menu and began to survey it, “Pick whatever you want.”

“Are you sure?” Y/n asked, “I really don’t mind-“

“This is a date.” James reminded as he held her hands from across the table, “Let me treat you so well that you a second date.”

Y/n blushed, “You’ve already done that.”

“I have?”

“Shut up.”

James chuckled, kissing her knuckles, “Whatever you want, love.”

Half of the food on the menu Y/n hadn’t even heard of. Granted, she and Remus never really ate out much as kids. Usually, their mother - Hope - would cook them dinner as their father - Lyall - got home from work. Dinner was generally around seven-thirty or eight o’clock.

The dinner went by gracefully, with lots of banter and getting to know each other. It wasn’t until the end of the date where James had paid despite Y/n’s efforts, and they got into the car where he had asked the dreadful question. They both sat in the parking spot when James had turned to her.

“How do you feel about children?” James asked and quickly added, “I know that you’re good with them because of the reading on Saturdays but, I mean, about having children?”

Y/n wrung her hands, “I never really thought about it.”

“Why?”

“I have two jobs and a sick brother to take care of.”

Y/n replied, “Kids don’t really fit in. I’d also have to have a significant other to have children. Which I don’t have.”

James nodded, “Okay, but if you were to have a significant other.”

“I mean, I’d like to.” Y/n shrugged, “My life is just hectic right now. Bringing a child into this life wouldn’t be fair.”

Okay, so this isn’t going anywhere, James thought; I need to be blunt, “How would you feel about being Harry’s stepmother?”

She swallowed, “James….”

“I know that’s a hard thing to answer right now. Especially with us just getting started.” James added, “But if you aren’t interested, then this isn’t worth starting.”

“No, I know and understand.” Y/n said, fidgeting with her hands in her lap, “I’m sure it’s hard to find someone, you know, already having a kid and all.”

James nodded.

“I’d love to be Harry’s stepmother.” Y/n replied as James’ face lit up, “But I still have the bookstore, the bar, and Remus to take care of as well. It’ll be stressful.”

“I’m not asking you to be a stay-at-home mother.” James chuckled, “I’m just asking that at the end of the day, you come home to us.”

“And hopefully,” James smiled sheepishly, “Sirius can knock Remus off your list.”

Y/n chuckled, “Hopefully. Remus is a handful.”

“He seems nice.”

She snorted, “Until you officially meet him.”

“Well then,” James smiled, taking her hand in his as he began moving the car, “Looks like we’ll be having double dates.”

Y/n squeezed his hand as he began to drive. The car drove effortlessly over the unpaved roads. Light music played in the background. The sky was a beautiful blue littered with sparkling white specks. The moon was crescent and barely a sliver. James had gotten to a stoplight when he spoke up again.

“My house or yours?”

“Whichever.”

James smiled and turned the wheel to the left, “Okay.”

It didn’t take long to realize that they were going to his house. His neighborhood was much different than hers. Granted, she lived on top of a bookshop, but it was still different. James lived in the suburbs. The houses were breathtaking, and the streets looked clean. Asphalt roads were freshly paved, and sidewalks looked new. The homes were family-sized, but they looked ginormous compared to her and Remus’ studio apartment only suited for one.

James pulled into the driveway, and Y/n was flabbergasted. It was a two-story house, mostly white concrete, and the accents were a dark brown color. The grass was freshly cut, and the vegetation was trimmed. The backyard appeared to have a pool and a patio area, but Y/n could barely tell over the solid fence.

His keys jingled as he placed the key into the slot and the door opened with ease. Gently, he motioned her to go first. The floors were dark oak wood, seemingly similar to the dark paint on the accents of the house. Everything was so clean, exactly like the car, not a spec of dust laid on the surfaces.

A movie was playing on the television in the room on the right. The kitchen was on the left, and the sitting table was in the room beside it. James shut the door behind him, locking it. He took off his coat and shoes, placing them at the front door. He smiled.

“I take it you like the house?”

“It’s beautiful.”

James smiled, walking to the kitchen, and Y/n took off her shoes before following him. He sighed when he opened the fridge, and Y/n had taken a seat at the barstool in front of the island. James picked up an empty bottle of wine that was still residing in the fridge.

“You keep empty bottles of wine in the fridge?” Y/n questioned as James rubbed his face with his hands.

“No. Bad habit of Sirius’.”

Y/n quirked an eyebrow, “He lives here?”

“He acts as he does.” James muttered as he recycled the empty bottle, “But no, Sirius lives a couple of doors down. But I feel like he should be paying rent here.”

Y/n laughed, “Regardless, I’ve known him since elementary school, so he’s like my brother. Harry calls him uncle and everything.”

“That’s adorable.” Y/n said, “Do you have any actual siblings?”

“Nope. Jus’ me.” He answered, motioning to himself, “Sirius has a younger brother named Regulus.”

“His parents obsessed with constellations or something?”

“Supposedly.”

“Where is Harry now?”

“With Sirius.” James replied, taking out a full bottle of wine, “Told him I might get him tonight or might not.”

Y/n took the glass of wine he offered her with a smile, “Mind if I ask why the tv was left on?”

“My cat.”

“Cat?”

“Technically, not mine.” James explained, “It’s my ex-fiancées, but she left him here, so he’s mine now.”

“And your cat likes the tv?”

James nodded, “What's his name?”

“Moony.”

“Moony?”

“Yeah. Harry named him actually.”

Y/n smiled. They continued to talk, and the night kept going on by. It was well past midnight when James drove her back home to her shared apartment. The car ride was silent, primarily with music playing lightly in the background once again. He walked her to the door of the bookstore before bidding her goodnight.

Gently James pressed his lips to her forehead, “Goodnight, get some sleep.”

“You too…” Y/n muttered, blushing as she walked into the bookstore.

She hadn’t even made it up the steps when Remus began talking, “Had a good night, I presume?”

“You’re a dick, ya know?”

He smirked and closed his book with a thud, “Runs in the family.”

Y/n gasped playfully, “You ass!”

Remus chuckled as they both walked up the steps, “Seriously though, good night?”

“Yeah, really good night.”

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snackhobi · 4 years

Text

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

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moldisgoodforyou · 3 years

Text

you’re excused

wordcount: 2.6k

warning: hinting at smut

_______

After another late night out, the group of four stumbled into the pizza shop they frequented regularly - Sophie leaned on Rafe, Colin was walking like he hadn’t had a drink all night, and James was leaning on the other side of Rafe, like liquid when he was drunk. Rafe fished his AmEx out of his pocket like usual and slid it across the counter, authoritative. “Hey man, how’s your night? We’ll take a large pepperoni.”

The cashier shrugged, pointing to the sign on the register. “Cash only, dude. Sorry man.”

“Damn, cash-only? Since when?” Colin lamented, turning to leave the pizza shop.

“Oh!” Sophie’s face lit up. “I know what to do.” She went to pull up the hem of her tank top and Rafe grabbed her insanely quick, arms wrapped tight around her chest. “Absolutely fucking not, Sophie.”

“I’m just using my assets!” She protested, squirming in his grip. He kept a tight hold on her, practically frog marching her out of the shop.

James laughed, shaking his head. “Bold move, Soph. I appreciate the effort.”

“Not in a million fucking years.” Rafe grumbled, holding her tight.

“This is blatant misogyny.” She argued, trying to wrestle her way out of his arms.

He didn’t let her move an inch. “By not letting you show your tits?”

“Yes. They’re great tits, the world deserves to see them.”

“Good god.” He sighed, only letting her go when she stopped moving. “No. Only I deserve to see them.”

“No, dude, I think she has a point. That sounds pretty misogynistic to me.” James pointed out, only for Rafe to sock him in the arm.

“Don’t ever talk about her tits again -"

“I wasn’t technically talking about her tits, I was talking about the concept -"

As the two started to wrestle, Sophie slipped back inside the pizza shop. She found three dollars in her pocket and gave it to the cashier, then returned with two large slices of pizza, handing one to Colin. The boys stopped wrestling abruptly when they saw the exchange. “Hey, wait, I want one.” Rafe protested.

“No. You didn’t let me show off my boobs.” She replied primly, taking a large bite of the pizza.

“You didn’t - Sophie. No. You didn’t.” He glanced back and forth between her and the pizza shop, confused.

Sophie grinned, strolling forward to link arms with Colin and kept walking, with no response.

Colin smirked and leaned down, whispering. “Are you gonna tell him you found cash or should I?”

“Nah. He’ll get over it.” She shrugged and tapped her crust against his. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

Rafe jogged to catch up, walking next to the two of them. “Wait, I want some. I’m hungry too.”

She made a show of taking a big bite. “Mmm. I’m sure you are. It’s really good, Rafe.”

He frowned. “Can I have the crust at least? You never eat the crust.”

“I dunno, this crust is really good this time.” She replied. “Are we still going to my place?”

“We’re going to your place?” James chimed in, unsure. He nearly tripped over his feet as he tried to shove himself in on the sidewalk so they walked four across. “I wanna go home instead.”

“No, you two aren’t coming.” Rafe shook his head, then looked to Sophie for confirmation. “Right?”

She finished the majority of the pizza and handed the rest to Rafe, holding back a smile at the grin that lit up his face. “Yeah, it’s just us. Unless you guys want to…?”

“No, we’ll go home.” Colin nodded up at the upcoming intersection. “This is us anyways, we’ll see you ‘round. James, this way, buddy.”

“Bye!” James waved, peeling off with Colin. Once they were out of sight and Rafe finished the pizza, he glanced over at her, unsure.

“You didn’t really flash that guy, did you?”

“Might have.” She shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“Yes, it matters.”

“Okay. No, I didn’t, I found cash in my pocket. I would have though.”

“I know you would have.” He grumbled. “How drunk are you?”

She squinted, holding up her thumb and her pointer finger close together. “Only a lil’ bit. We can still hook up, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

He groaned, rolling his eyes. “You have to stop calling it hooking up. We’ve been dating for nearly a year.”

“Eleven months is not nearly a year.” She retorted, checking her hip against his. “What do you wanna do?”

“We’re still sticking to that November date instead of Halloween? Huh?”

“Yeah. We are. What position?” He could tell she was drunk because she spoke a little too loudly, her tongue slipping over some of her words. “We could do reverse cowgirl, 69 - we haven’t tried that, um -”

“Sophie -”

“Missionary, I guess, but that’s kind of boring -”

“Jesus, Soph, please shut up -”

She raised her eyebrows, stepping in front of him to cut him off. “Excuse me?”

He sighed and reached into his pockets, adjusting his shorts, and was thankful it was dark enough to hide his situation. “You’re excused. Can we go home?”

Her eyes flicked down to below his belt and back up to his eyes, with a smug grin. “What are you gonna do to me?”

“Sophie.”

“I bet you wouldn’t even last if I go down on you. You’re so predictable.” Sophie smirked, knowing she was pushing Rafe to his limit.

He reacted instantly, reaching out and catching her forearm and pinned her against a parked car in the alley, caging her in around her head with his forearms.

She inhaled sharply, caught off guard with wide eyes.

He grinned, leaned in close and whispered in her ear. “What was that?”

“Um. I, uh, I don’t know.” She stuttered, feeling her knees go a little weak as his lips brushed against the shell of her ear.

“Something about me being predictable?” He supplied, giving her a kiss on the cheek then pulled away like nothing had happened. “Hm?”

She took a moment to compose herself, swallowing hard. “You’ve done that before.”

“No I haven’t.” He argued, taking her hand.

“You have.” She nodded, slipping her hand into his. “Halloween, when I finally told you how I felt.”

“You remember that?”

“I remember every damn detail of that night.” She replied with a grin, her eyes bright. “You combed back your hair but had one little strand out of place, it kept falling into your eyes on top of your glasses. When you kissed me I was almost convinced to hook up with you right then and there but I was afraid I’d ruin it and you wouldn’t want to see me again.”

“Sophie.” His tone took on a serious edge and he slowed their pace a little so he could look her in the eye. “No matter what had happened that night, I knew I had to find a way to keep talking to you after that class. Hell, I’d have settled on going back to arguing every day if I meant I’d still get to see you.”

She blushed, grateful they made it to her house and even more grateful her roommates were back at the bar. “You’d still fight with me?”

He nodded, punching in his code to let them in. “I would.”

“About what?”

“I don’t know, about the stupid shit we always fought about.”

“Give me an example.” She stepped close, trapping him in between the kitchen counter and her body.

He held back an amused smile at the way she tried to take charge. “Like how you think you can get away with grinding on me at the bar with no consequences. Or how you leaned across the bar, with this top so loose and low cut that I can practically see your nipples right now, so the bartender would give you free drinks. Twice.”

She noticed his eyes darkened a little and she stood taller as a sly smirk spread across her face. “I wasn’t flirting.”

“Better not be.” He flipped positions with her quicker than she could process what was going on, lifting her up onto the counter and slotting himself in between her legs. “I don’t want anyone else even thinking they have a shot with you.”

She wrapped her legs around his waist instinctually. “I can’t help it if other people flirt.”

“You can not encourage them.” He kissed her hard, his hands immediately going to her waist. “Twirling your hair, doing that thing where you try to look all innocent with me - yes, exactly, that -”

She grinned, biting her lip as she blinked up at him. “I’m not doing anything, Cameron.”

“You absolutely are, Flint.” He growled, slipping his hands under her ass and lifting her off the counter. “You and your fucking bedroom eyes.”

“You do it more, you know.” She informed him with a smirk. “You smolder.”

“I smolder?”

“Yes. Your eyes just kind of...linger on me, then you meet my eyes, and then you lick your lips. Sometimes you’ll rub the back of your neck too, and I’m pretty sure that’s just so you can show off and flex your arms.”

“None of that is intentional.”

“Well it works.” She laughed, yelping as he started walking up the stairs. “I can handle myself -”

“You shouldn’t have to.” He cut her off with a kiss, biting her bottom lip. “Fucking tease.”

“I’m not teasing.” She insisted, breathless as he gripped her ass a little tighter, pressing her against the wall at the top of the stairs. “Fuck, Rafe.”

“Yeah?” He kissed her again, running the tip of his tongue along her lips. “Tell me what you want.”

“You taste like pizza crust.” She mumbled, laughing when he pulled back with a quizzical expression. “Sorry. Sorry. Got distracted.”

Rafe rolled his eyes, carefully setting her down. “Fine, I’ll go brush my teeth -”

“No!” She grabbed his wrist as he moved to walk down the hallway. “C’mere. Need you.”

A slow smirk spread across his cheeks as he stepped back in her space, reaching out to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. “Yeah? You need me, baby?”

She bit her lip, staring up at him with wide eyes as she nodded.

He slowly stepped forward, gently pushing her up against the wall as he slid one of his thighs in between hers, his chest touching hers with every rise and fall of their breath. “Tell me.”

“Tell you…?” She echoed, hands going to his waist.

“Tell me. Tell me what you want.”

Sophie blushed, breaking eye contact. “Rafe, I’m not gonna -”

“Fine, then I won’t touch you.” He replied, raising his hands as he backed away with a smug smile, but he barely got back before she wrapped her hand around the back of his neck, yanking him down to her level so she could kiss him, hard.

“Stop, fuck, you’re teasing.”

“I’m -” He pulled back just enough to lift her up, tapping the back of her thighs to signal for her to wrap her legs around his waist. “Fuck. M’not. Just wanna hear you.”

“Oh, you’ll hear me.” She promised, sucking a spot against his neck. “You’ll hear me, baby. All night.”

He paused, breath catching. “I kinda have a work meeting at 8am tomorrow -”

Sophie laughed, pecking his lips. “You know damn well when I say all night I don’t mean it.”

“Okay. Yeah. Yeah, yeah, got it. Okay, fuck, keep saying sexy shit to me.” He exhaled, nodding quickly as he strode into her room and kicked the door shut behind him. The door slammed especially hard and she winced when he dropped her to the bed.

“C’mon, Cameron, door’s gonna jam now.”

“Don’t care. I’ll figure it out. Take your shirt off.”

“Demanding.”

“You like it when I’m in control.” He pointed out, grinning when she let him tug off her crop top and unbutton her jeans. “Okay, c’mon, hips up.”

She obliged, lifting her hips and helped wiggle the denim down her legs. He pressed kisses down her thighs as he tugged them off, grinning.

“Fuck, you’re hot.”

“I know.”

He just laughed, pulling back to tug his shirt over his head. “I love your confidence.”

“I love you.” She replied, moving a little up the bed.

Rafe beamed ear to ear, fumbling with the button on his corduroy pants. “I’m never gonna get tired of that. Ever. Fuck. Will you?”

“Will I get tired of it?”

“No, my -” He gestured helplessly at his stuck button, yanking on his pants. “It’s these new pants you convinced me to buy, I look like I’m straight out of a fucking Ralph Lauren ad.”

“Oh, so nothing new.”

“Sophie -” he sighed, exasperated, but cut himself off quickly when her fingers teased under the waistband of his boxers. “No, keep going.”

“Magic word?” She tugged him forward, pushing his pants down to pool around his ankles until he kicked them aside.

“Suck me off?”

“Rafe.”

“Oh, sorry. Please suck me off?”

“Rafe Cameron.” She rolled her eyes, flicking his abs, and got up on her knees on the bed then pulled him down to kiss him, hard.

“Sophie Flint.” He grinned, running his fingers through her hair. “God, you’re so fucking pretty.”

“Keep that up, really does wonders for my ego.” She breathed out, moaning when he tugged on her hair a little. “Fuck. I need you.”

“But I wanted to -”

“Rafe.” She pleaded, looking up at him with doe eyes, and that was all he needed to reach into his nightstand and grab a condom.

“Okay, okay, hold on -”

“We don’t have to -”

“Yes, we have to, you nearly broke up with me last time we didn’t -”

“I did not -” Sophie huffed, exasperated. “Are you going to fuck me or not?”

“Fuck you? Baby, I’m gonna -” He grinned, making Sophie roll her eyes before he even opened his mouth again, and sang, horribly off key. “I’ll make love to you…like you want me to…”

“You’re so weird when you’re drunk.” She giggled, grabbing his hand to tug him onto the bed, shaking her head as he stood there, completely naked, singing way louder than he should have been for nearly 3am on a Sunday.

“You love it. Love me.” He insisted, letting his full weight fall on top of her as he pinned her to the bed.

Sophie grinned, grabbing his chin so she could kiss him properly. “I do.”

“Yes, I’ll marry you.” He replied with a grin, kissing her hard and slow, swiping his tongue against her lips.

“Stooooppp.” She whined, blushing. “Get in me already.”

“I love it when you talk dirty to me.” He smirked, gripping her hips. “Tell me more.”

“I don’t know why you’re dragging this out when you could literally be fucking me right -"

“Making love -"

“Okay, Romeo, whatever you say -"

He laughed, clearly not concerned about time, and leaned down to press a kiss to her lips. “Love you.”

“Love you too. Please fuck me.”

“Yes ma’am.”

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#FUCK i love this photo so much he's so hot #rafe x sophie #mine #rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfic #outer banks #outer banks fanfic #obx fanfic #rafe cameron fanfiction #frat rafe #college rafe

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starks-hero · 4 years

Text

What He Doesn't Know Won't Hurt Him

Pairing: Loki x Stark!Reader

Summary: You and Loki had been doing a fairly decent job at keeping your relationship a secret from the other members of the team, specifically your father. But what happens when word finally gets out?

Word Count: 4,480

Warnings: fluff, implied smut, angst

a/n: This gif, that is all

You had your music playing at full volume as you worked your way around the lab, your latest suit laid out on the table. It was almost finished and you were more than impressed with how it had turned out.

Grabbing one of the many tools strewn out on the tabletop, you got to work assuring each circuit was in place.

It was fair to say that whilst you were in one of your zones, you could easily get lost in your work. Which was probably the reasons you hadn't noticed Loki make his way into the lab.

You jumped slightly when two slender arms wrapped around your middle. “Loki,” you scolded, not taking your eyes away from your work. “I'm busy.”

He chuckled. “I can see that, dove,” he purred. “But I'm bored.”

“You're welcome to stay here as long as you stay out of my way,” you offered, smirking when Loki rose his hands innocently.

“You won't even know I'm here.”

You managed to steal five minutes of peace. And then Loki's ability to sit still and not cause trouble seemed to reach its end. He started simply, standing ridiculously close, running his hand along your side. Your frustrated sigh and visible struggle to focus on your suit only egged him on. He re-positioned himself behind you, hands resting on your hips and lips finding your neck.

When one of his hands began to trace down your stomach and towards the waistband of your jeans you drew the line.

“Loki, stop.” you chided urgently. “Not here.”

“Why not?” he asked, nipping at the exposed skin of your neck. “It's as good a place as any.”

“Someone could see,” you pressed on.

Loki’s kissing ceased but he didn't remove his arms from around you. If anything he held you tighter.

“And would that be such a bad thing?” he asked after a beat of silence. You sighed and turned in his arms, now facing the god. His eyes said it all, he wasn't hurt, but he was tired of keeping up this charade.

He hated having to wait till you were both alone to show his affection, having to settle for stolen kisses and subtle glances all in an attempt to keep your relationship a secret from the rest of the team. Loki was growing sick of it. He wanted to hold you, kiss you, mark you, to show everyone you belonged to him. He hated having to hide his feelings as if they weren’t acceptable.

“Loki, we've talked about this. If the team finds out, especially my dad, it'll cause nothing but trouble.” You frowned at Loki's defeated expression. “I want to tell them, I do. I love you and I want everyone to know that. But only when the time is right.”

Loki nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. Slender fingers wrapping around your wrist and he placed a kiss to your hand. “As you wish, darling.”

Loki turned to leave but you gently grasped hold of his sleeve and tugged him back. “Where do you think you're going?”

Loki tilted his head. “You said-”

“I said I wasn't ready to tell them,” you clarified. “I never said anything about you leaving.”

A devilish smirked spread across Loki's lips as he stepped back towards you, hands grasping your waist. “Why of course, my dear.” He pushed you against the cool steel of the table. “How may I be of service to you?”

You pulled him into a hungry kiss and he practically moaned into your mouth. Grasping hold of your thighs, he hoisted you up onto the table and slotted himself snugly between your legs. Truth be told, this wasn't what you had in mind. You were serious when you said the lab wasn't a good place to start something but Loki was just too irresistible. His kisses trailed from your jaw down your neck and you couldn't help the whimper that left your lips as he sucked on the sweet spot just above your collar bone.

Your hand tangled in his raven hair and he laughed breathlessly against your skin as he pulled you closer to him. “That's it, pet.”

The sudden sound of someone clearing their throat caused both of you to almost jump out of your skin. You turned towards the lab door and found a rather unimpressed Natasha standing in the threshold, arms crossed and glare seething into a certain god.

Your heart jumped into your throat as you hurriedly pushed Loki away and scrambled to your feet.

“Oh, no. Don't stop on my account,” Nat snarled and the venom in her tone was enough to send shivers down even Loki's spine.

“Nat! We were just-”

“Don't bullshit me, Y/N. You know it doesn't work,” Nat stated plainly and you swallowed. She was right, it was near impossible to successfully lie to her. “Does your father know?”

“No, no, no. Nat, you can't tell him,” you begged. “He'll kill us.”

Natasha scoffed, pointing an accusing finger at Loki, who was still standing sheepishly behind you. “He's lucky I haven't killed him myself.”

Loki shifted uncomfortably. When it came down to it, he was a god and Nat was human. She probably couldn't do much damage to him. But she was certainly intimidating. Loki wasn't so much upset over the fact that you'd been caught, if anything Loki found it rather exciting. His only worry was how this situation would pan out for you. And your relationship.

“Natasha, please. You know how my dad overreacts.”

“I'm not sure I'd count ‘getting pissed that your daughter's dating a criminal’ as overreacting.”

You felt helpless. With Tony as your father, the team were the closest thing you had to family. Nat had always been important to you, she was an older sister, a cool aunt and in some cases, a understanding mother all rolled up into one. She wanted what was best for you, and you knew if that meant throwing Loki under the bus, she wouldn't hesitate.

Noticing your struggle, Loki decided to intervene.

“Agent Romanoff, if you'd allow us to explain. I-”

Nat turned to Loki with a glare that stopped the god mid-sentence. “I'm not talking to you. I'm talking to Y/N.” She turned back to you. “Tell your dad.”

“What?!”

“Tell Tony about this.” She clarified, gesturing between you and Loki. “Or I will.”

“Nat,” you started but as she raised an eyebrow you knew she wasn't bluffing. She was dead serious.

“Okay, okay, fine. We'll tell him. But just not yet-” you hesitated. “Just give us a little more time to figure it all out.”

Natasha seemed unconvinced, to say the least, but when she noticed the genuine worry in your expression she backed off and her voice softened.

“Fine. But if he finds out beforehand, I had no idea about any of this,” she ordered. “And you,” Nat glanced at Loki who was still standing behind you. “Are on thin ice.”

Nat turned to leave, shooting one final glare Loki’s way. “Oh, and a bit of advice. Next time lock the goddamn door.”

You both sighed in temporary relief as the door slammed shut and you were left alone.

“Well, that went well,” Loki commented sarcastically, rubbing at his temple.

“And that was only Nat. How do you think the others are going to react?” You took a seat on the workbench and Loki joined you.

“Were you serious?” he asked. “About telling them? Telling him?”

You sighed, dropping your head into your hands. “I suppose we don't have much of a choice now, do we?” You murmured and Loki chuckled slightly.

“I suppose not.”

“You're enjoying this.” You growled as Loki’s mood seemed only slightly diminished by the situation you’d just been landed in.

“Yes, I find being threatened by a world-class assassin immensely enjoyable,” he noted nonchalantly. Loki sighed when the fear remained evident in your expression. He gently caught your wrist and pulled it away from your face, lacing your fingers as he did so. “Honestly, my dear. There's no need to worry. It will be fine.”

“You sound awfully sure.”

“That’s because I am,” Loki smirked, his tone reassuring and soft. He placed a harmless kiss against your cheek, but couldn’t resist the urge to continue down to your jaw.

His nose grazed your neck as his breath fanned out over your skin. His voice fell to a low whisper. “Now, what was it we were getting to before we were so rudely interrupted?”

You couldn’t help but laugh in slight disbelief. “You never learn, do you?”

Loki flicked his wrist as he began to plant kisses down your neck. “Do you take me for a fool?”

You glanced at the labs' door to find the keypad had turned red. Locked. Smirking, Loki pushed you down and picked up where he'd left off.

It had been a little over a week since Natasha had found out about your relationship with Loki and thankfully, she hadn't said anything as of yet. She was giving you a generous amount of time to build up the courage to tell both your father and the rest of the team, but it was courage you were yet to find. The stress of the whole situation had been getting to you, something that was becoming more and more apparent to Loki.

In some desperate attempt to help you blow off a little steam, the god had dragged you down to the training hall. You and Loki often trained together, though since the beginning of your relationship, training seldom actually took place during your sessions.

But you needed it today, and after less than fifteen minutes of sparring, you could already feel some of the stress dissipating.

“Let's try that again,” Loki stated, helping you up from where you'd fallen back onto the training mat. He steadied you before pacing back a few steps as you both prepared for another round.

You made the first move, Loki easily blocking your strike. He caught your other arm as you tried to hit his shoulder and he only barely avoided a knee in the groin by spinning you around and catching you in a gentle headlock.

“Fighting dirty today are we, darling?” He purred in your ear and you smirked. Leaning forward, you used the momentum to throw Loki over your shoulder, straddling him to assure he stayed down.

“Problem with that?”

Loki chuckled, staring up at you. “Certainly not.” Throwing his leg over and shifting his weight, he threw you off of him and you landed on the floor beside him. He then took up his position on top of you. “Two can play at that game.”

He used his new vantage point to lean down and kiss your shoulder. “And I do enjoy it so very much.”

You turned your head to the side to grant Loki better access as he kissed up your neck, but your blood ran cold when you noticed a familiar figure standing dumbstruck at the halls entrance.

“Shit, Steve!” You pushed Loki off of you and for a moment he thought it was an attempted diversion until his own eyes locked with the captains. “Steve, wait!”

He was already turning to leave and you took off after him, Loki right behind you. You barely caught him before he reached the door. “Steve, hear us out, please.”

He turned to look at you with slight disappointment, his cheeks still tinted red with embarrassment given what he'd just walked in on. “Why didn't you tell us, Y/N?”

“I swear I was going to. I should have sooner and I'm sorry.” You rushed. “But please, Steve. You can't tell my dad, not yet.”

Steve hesitated. He'd taken you under his wing from day one and he'd be lying if he said he saw you as anything less than family. He didn't want to put you in a situation where he knew you'd face hardship. But he also didn't want to put his relationship with Tony on the line. He knew what that could lead to.

“I won't lie to Tony.”

“Then just don't say anything!” You tried. “Not saying anything technically isn't lying.”

Steve sighed, glancing between you both, his eyes lingering on Loki a moment longer. Loki seemed to have read the captains mind.

“Captain, I understand your concerns. But I can assure you my intentions are completely good-willed.”

Steve shook his head, questioning his sanity. “Does anyone else know?”

“Natasha, that's it.”

Steve seriously pondered the dilemma he was being faced with. Part of him wanted to march off and tell Tony, part of him wanted to strangle Loki for even putting his hands on you and the other part was still hung up on how upset you’d be if he chose either of the latter options.

“Alright,” Steve said after a moment of silence and relief flooded your expression. “But if your father asks-”

“I understand.” You nodded, still breathing a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Steve.”

You counted your lucky stars as Steve left the training hall, the whole conversation having gone way better than you could have possibly imagined.

“You know, my dear,” Loki stated from behind you. “We really must stop picking the worst possible places in the compound to make out.”

You'd been peacefully working away in the lab, adding the finishing touches to the suit you'd been working on. A few more final touch-ups and a test run and it would be ready for missions.

The door slamming opened behind you immediately caught your attention as a severely pissed off Loki stormed in. His jaw was set and his hands were balled into fists. This couldn't be good.

“Loki, what's wrong?” you asked, rounding the table and approaching him. He was already pacing.

“Thor knows,” he growled and your heart stopped. “He was asking ridiculous questions about you and I and he knew I was lying.”

You inhaled sharply and did your best to avoid groaning in frustration, unable to grasp how Loki of all people had gotten caught out lying. “Loki, you're the god of lies.”

“And Thor's a persistent bastard!” He bit back.

You grappled with the little composure you had left and sighed. Loki was still clearly fretting and at least one of you had to start thinking straight.

“Okay, well what did he say?”

“That he wouldn't tell anyone,” Loki murmured, running his index finger along his top lip, something he often did when nervous.

“Alright then, what are we worried about? He said he wouldn't tell.”

Loki scoffed. “It's Thor! He struggles to keep the simplest of secrets, he's going to let it slip!” Loki took a seat and wrung his hands. “Your father is going to kill me.”

You stepped towards him and ran a comforting hand through his raven hair. He sighed and wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his head against your stomach.

“You're a god, Loki. I don't think he could kill you even if he wanted to.”

“He'll find a way,” Loki moped, tightening his hold on you.

You huffed at Loki's dramatic antiques as you continued to run your hand through his hair. One thing was now painfully clear, you needed to tell your dad. Before anyone else found out.

It was all planned out perfectly. The team was set to have dinner together in an attempt to bring some normality to your crazy lives, and you figured it would be the best time to break the new. You'd wait until everyone had finished eating and you and your dad were alone and then you'd tell him.

Not only did you think it would be better to have the conversation one on one, but Loki not being there also lessened the likely hood of your father trying to kill him if he didn't take the news kindly.

The only major challenge now was making it through the dinner itself without losing your nerve. Loki assured you that he'd be by your side right up until the moment he had to leave, and he meant it. Your father sat at the head of the table, because of course he did, and you sat to his right. Loki was seated beside you.

Most of the dinner passed as they usually did when the team ate together. Clint complained about the take out choice, Nat downed an impressive amount of wine whilst somehow remaining sober and a philosophical debate had broken out despite their being no indication as to what had started it.

For once, you and Loki remained silent, too nervous to offer any input should your worrisome tone give you away. You had spent most of the dinner toying with the food on your plate with your fork.

Loki's hand gently held yours beneath the table. It was risky, but no one had noticed and it was currently the only thing keeping you sane.

“You alright, kiddo?”

You glanced up to find your dad staring at you. He motioned to your untouched plate of food.

“You haven't touched your take out. It's your favourite.”

“Oh yeah, I- uh,” you stumbled over your own words and cursed yourself for being caught off guard. Most of the team were still chatting amongst themselves, but Steve and Natasha were now watching the exchange between you and Tony attentively. “I guess I'm just not that hungry.”

He seemed entirely unconvinced and leaned in slightly, away from the prying ears of the table. “You sure everything's alright?”

You gulped. Your father was no idiot and he knew something was eating away at you. From the corner of your eye, you could see Nat nodding her head and Steve smiling supportively. This was the perfect opportunity to bring it up and you decided it was now or never. “Well, actually-”

“Nice going, Clint!”

Both your heads snapped up to see that a knocked over wine bottle had stained both the end of the table and Bruce's white shirt.

“Hey! It's not my fault. Who even drinks this stuff anyway?!”

“What the hell is that suppose to mean, bird brain?” Sam yelled, possessively grabbing what was left in the overturned bottle and dunking it into his glass. Bucky hid his smile behind his bottle of beer.

Everyone else's attention had turned to Bruce, who seemed to be doing an excellent job at not hulking out and sending Clint through the nearest wall.

You bit your lip.

“Dad, is it alright if I leave? I'm not feeling up to eating right now.” You asked. Now clearly wasn't the best time to bring something up and you decided waiting till after everyone had turned it in for the night was probably best.

“Sure thing, sweet pea,” he smiled as you stood and pushed in your chair behind you. Loki followed you, rising to his feet.

“I think it's time I also take my leave.” No one paid much attention as Loki mimicked your actions and prepared to leave the table.

“Leaving already?” Wanda asked politely and you smiled back, already prepared to answer with ‘Yeah, I'm just tired.’

“Of course they are! I'm sure my brother and Y/N have much to do and discuss,” Thor smirked, winking and raising his glass to the both of you in a not so subtle way.

Silence fell over the entire table and you and Loki grew rigid. Natasha and Steve turned to glare at Thor, who lowered his glass, realising what exactly he'd just said.

“What?” Tony said, turning to Thor with a shocked expression. Loki quickly stepped in.

“I think my brother may have had a tad too much Asgardian ale, I-

“No, what did you say?” He asked again, voice raising. All eyes were now either on Tony, Loki or you.

Thor seemed to shrink into his seat, taking interest in the bottom of his cup as he attempted to backtrack and fix his mistake. But it was too late.

Your father's gaze turned to you and then Loki, who was cautiously standing behind you.

“One chance.” He was livid. “You get one chance to tell me the truth.”

“Dad, can we not do this now,” you asked quietly.

“The truth, Y/N.” You couldn’t recall the last time you’d seen your father so angry. And as terrified as you were, you knew lying would only dig you a deeper hole.

“I was going to tell you,” you started, wincing as he ran a hand down his face. “I just didn't know how and then Nat told me I should just-”

Your father's glare turned to Natasha who choked on her wine at your words. You mentally grimaced as you realized what you'd just said.

“Oh, so you knew!” Tony yelled, pointing an accusing finger at Nat. He turned back to you. “You told Thor and Natasha before you told me!”

“I didn't tell her! She just sort of found out...” you fumbled and Tony laughed humorlessly.

“Did anybody else know besides Nat and point break?” he asked, addressing the whole table. Steve fidgeted awkwardly in his seat and Tony immediately singled him out.

“Steve.” He crossed his arms as he glared at the captain. “Something on your mind?”

Steve sighed. “Look, Tony I-”

“Don't bullshit me, Rogers.”

Steve nodded wordlessly and Tony bit the inside of his cheek, looking as though he was prepared to rip into each member of the team. You cowered back slightly and Loki stepped infront of you, shielding you from your fathers rage the best he could.

“Great! Awesome! Did anyone else know my daughter was dating a psychopath and just decided to keep that information to themselves?”

Everyone awkwardly shifted in their seats, some clearing there throats and others offering you sympathetic glances. Natasha mouthed a ‘sorry’ and Thor seemed to still be beating himself up for letting it slip in the first place.

Loki stepped forward. “Stark, I can assure you-”

“Zip it, Reindeer Games,” he warned and for once, Loki did as he was told. Tony pointed to you as if he were scolding a child.

“You are grounded,” he stated. “No more missions, no more lab privileges, nothing.”

You scoffed. “I'm not a kid!”

“Yes, you are! You're my kid.”

“Dad, will you please just listen to me.” You begged as you stepped towards your father in hopes of reasoning with him. He rose from his seat to meet you.

“No. This,” he gestured between you and Loki. “Ends now. End of discussion.”

You took a step back, feeling as though an arrow had hit you in the chest. Tears were brimming your eyes and you couldn't find it in you to meet anyone's gaze. Seeing how upset you'd become, Loki refused to bite his tongue any longer.

“Stark, with all due respect, I won't allow that. I understand your disdain for me and it's more than warranted but do not take that anger out on Y/N. You have no reason to trust me but I can assure you that my feelings towards your daughter and nothing but sincere and genuine.”

Loki's sudden statement seemed to have surprised Tony. He opened his mouth to argue but Loki didn't give him the chance as he continued.

“She has given me a second chance and I love her dearly for doing so. And I would never do anything to harm her. I love her unconditionally and all I ask is for a chance. Allow me to prove myself.”

Loki's speech had left you teary-eyed with a warmth spreading in your chest. A smile pulled at your lips as Loki turned to you. The genuine and loving look in his eyes spoke volumes and it took every ounce of control you possessed not to launch yourself into his arms then and there.

“Tony, I don't know about you but that seemed pretty convincing to me.” Nat voiced from the table and Thor immediately agreed.

“My brother may be the god of lies but he has spoken nothing but the truth tonight.”

Steve, ever the diplomat, offered Tony an encouraging nod. “All he's asking for is a chance, Tony.”

“It's pretty sweet if you ask me,” Bucky murmured from beside the captain, Sam and Wanda nodding in agreement.

Tony watched as the table seemed to take Loki's side and he battled with himself until his eyes landed on you. You were standing side by side with Loki, whilst he smiled at you in adoration. The glances you shared were nothing short of loving and Tony couldn't help but notice how genuine and mutual it truly was. Loki's hand was brushing against yours, desperate to grasp hold and comfort you but not wanting to overstep the line the tension had drawn.

Tony sighed as he realized what he had to do. You were his daughter, his everything. And he just wanted you to be happy. Even if it was with someone he didn’t initially approve of.

“You love him?” he asked nonchalantly and you nodded.

“And you, Frosty,” Tony motioned to Loki who tried not to frown at the nickname. “You love her?”

Loki glanced at you, smiling softly. “Wholeheartedly.”

Tony swallowed down the lump in his throat as he watched the both of you, not completely ready to accept that you weren't a kid anymore.

“Well then, I guess that's that.” He smiled at you softly. “Leave it to you to fall for the God of mischief. You always were a troublemaker.”

Your father pulled you into a hug, muttering a quiet ‘love you, sweet pea’, before pulling back to look at Loki.

“You hurt her,” he started and Loki cut him off with an amused chuckle.

“You'll kill me?” He guessed.

“Oh no, not just me. They'll kill you.” Tony smirked, pointing to the table full of avengers.

Loki nodded. “Understood.”

Nat sent you a wink and Steve and Thor smiled whilst the rest of the team seemed to congratulate you with supportive, and in some cases embarrassing, comments.

You and Loki smirked at each other, slowly turning to leave the dining room when your father's voice called you back.

“Woah, where do you two think you're going?” he asked. “Cats out of the bag now so no need to run off and hide. Sit.”

Seeing no point in arguing, you both took your seats, Loki holding your hand atop the table for everyone to see. Things quickly settled back into a comfortable conversation, you and Loki feeling freer than you had in months. The domesticity of it all was enough to make your heart burst.

“So,” Clint, who was slightly tipsy at this point, yelled. “When's the wedding?”

Tony turned red. “Don't push their luck, Barton.” He partially joked, glaring daggers at his teammate as the rest of the team laughed. As for you and Loki, you couldn't help but smile at the possibility.

tag list: @leftperfectionmoon @doozywoozy @bakerstreethound @miraclesoflove @Kealohilani-tepise

#loki x reader #loki x stark!reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki imagine #loki fanfic #loki odinson x reader #loki odinson x y/n #loki odinson x you #have I mentioned how much I love this gif?

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itsallyscorner · 4 years

Note

This could be a request or not depending on how much time you have 😅 but for your information, yes, I am thinking Tom giving y/n hickies on her neck like the night before a bunch of interviews the next day and she's like, "Are you serious?" and he's like "I couldn't resist, I just love you so much!" and when y/n shows up the next day wearing a turtleneck after she told Zendaya that she would be wearing a dress Z immediately gets suspicious and figures it out bc I feel like she's like that 😅😂

Hehehe I haven’t written anything smutty lately and I miss it. So thank you for requesting this anon, much love to you🥰 Ugh, the thought of this gave me butterflies in my stomach😭 Happy reading!❤️

Also, little note for everyone who’s sending me requests! Yes, I see all of them! Part of the reason why I haven’t done some of them yet is because I have to think of concepts on how to execute them properly. So bear with me, love you all🥰

💌.

Love Bug

My soft boi🥺

Warnings: implied smut

(Gif from Pinterest)

The AC in your bedroom was just not doing you justice. The Californian heat was at an all time high today and has transformed you home into an Easy Bake oven. Though you were probably exaggerating, your thin crewneck sweater still clung onto your skin, making you uncomfortable. Peeling the sweater off your body, you toss it into your laundry basket. You’re left in a tank top and some lounging shorts as you sprawl yourself out on your bed. The coolness of the comforter bringing your body some relief from the heat.

Sinking into the sheets, the hustle and bustle of the day finally hits you. You’ve had a long day of press with your cast mates, promoting the movie you were all in, Spider-Man: Far From Home. You loved your job, but the press tours could just be so tiring. You were forced to wake up early in the morning and sit in a room for how many hours of the day to only be asked the same questions (most of the time). Though press tours did have its pros, meeting fans around the world and traveling to new countries was something you always looked forward to.

Marvel being Marvel, they always had to make it big. For the last few weeks you have all been traveling around the world, tired but nonetheless having an amazing time. Thankfully, this was the last stop of the press tour, California. You were back in your own bed and your boyfriend was staying with you for the time being.

You were on your phone, going through Instagram and looking at various photos that were taken today during today’s press engagements. You’ve even made your own contribution and posted your own batch of selfies and funny videos.

The door to the connected bathroom in your room opens and reveals your boyfriend. Your eyes break their focus on your phone and shift to the man in front of you. You smile and turn your phone off giving him all your attention. A smile forms on his own lips as he crawls up the bed to join you.

“Missed you all day.” He whispers against your skin, placing his head on your chest. His arms are wrapped around your figure, one leg hooked over yours. You move the hood of his sweatshirt from over his head and began to run your hands through his hair.

“Mmm, I missed you too.” He cuddles closer to your chest, arms tightening around you. His eyes momentarily shut, basking in your soothing motions.

“How was your day with Jake?” You ask him. As much as Tom wanted to do press with you, he was stuck doing them with Jake, while you did your interviews with Z and Jacob. Tom enjoyed having his interviews with Jake, but he missed being near you, even if you were just a room away.

Tom shifts so his lips are near the skin of your exposed neck. He hums against you before his lips come into contact with the soft surface. He had been tempted to mark you up all day. You wore a beautiful spring dress with a low neckline that displayed the skin of your neck. All he wanted to do was scatter red and purple love bites all over you, letting the world know you were his.

You gasp as he nips on the space between your neck and shoulder. “Interviews were good, but I just couldn’t get you out my head.” He slots himself between your legs and presses you down into the mattress.

“Teasing me with the pretty little dress of yours. Just wanted to kiss you and mark you up.” He says huskily against your neck. His breath sent shivers down your spine as goosebumps formed on your skin. His mouth sucks harder on the spot, teeth nipping gently, while his tongue soothed the bruising spot. He moved up so one of his hands are holding him up beside your head while his other strokes your side.

“Baby, we have an early morning tomorrow.” You didn’t want him to stop, but it was currently 2am and you were both expected to be awake by 6am.

His lips have made their way to the other side of you neck, pressing light kisses that turned to open mouthed ones. You giggle gently pulling him away from your neck so you can look him in the eyes.

“Babyyy.” He whines trying to shove his head back into the spot. A pout is on his lips, which were now a darker shade of pink from how much he was sucking on your skin.

“Tom, we need to be up at six.” You reminded him. Tom leans closer a boyish grin now on his expression. You couldn’t help but kiss him back when his lips captured yours. You feel him smirk against you as he pulls away.

The hand on your side moves to cradle the side of your face, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip. “We’ll be quick, I just wanna feel you. Please?”

You stare at him for a moment as his hand drifts down your body and by your shorts. Excitement swirls in your belly as his fingers get closer to your growing heat. He kisses your cheek as his hand slips past the band of your shorts to cup your mound. The wetness brings a smirk to his face as his dark eyes gaze into yours.

“Baby, look how wet you are.” He praises you as he moves your panties aside and dips his fingers into your wetness. You sigh, eyes slightly rolling back as his fingers spread your wetness on your folds.

“Fine, but—“ You bring your finger to point again him, “No marks on my neck, I’m wearing a dress tomorrow with a low cut again.”

Tom nods connecting your lips again, “Don’t worry, don’t worry, I’ll be careful.” He assures you before diving his head back into your neck.

~next morning~

You enter the bathroom, tying your hair up to keep it away from your face. You turn the shower on and wait for the water to warm up. While you wait you take a look at yourself in the mirror. Your eyes widen when you get a glimpse of you neck. You gasp out loud as you see the sides of your neck with red bruises with hints of purple on them. You had them on both sides of your neck and a small one almost on the center of your throat.

“TOM!” You yell, your voice echoing in the bathroom. There was some rustling behind the door before it was yanked open. Tom entered in nothing but his boxers looking disheveled, hair pointing in all types of direction and his eyes barely open.

“What happened?” His voice was raspy, something that usually made you swoon but right now you couldn’t even focus on it.

You turn to him, aggressively pointing to your neck. “Don’t worry, I’ll be careful!” You mock him, repeating what he said to you last night before he railed you into the mattress.

Tom’s eyes widen as well before he cringed. To be fair, you did warn him. He just didn’t know how to hold back when it came to you. He cautiously approaches you a sheepish grin on his face.

“I know it looks bad..” he begins. You shoot him a look, “Are you serious right now? Tom it looks like an octopus strangled me!”

Tom moves back to look at you, “Well you weren’t complaining last night.” You shoot him another look and he nods knowing you were annoyed with him at the moment. He stands behind you looking at the mirror you were both in front of. His arms wrap around your torso as he tries to soften you up.

“I’m sorry, I just love you so much and I couldn’t resist it. I love making love to you and I just get so lost in it and I know you warned me too, I’m sorry.” He apologizes hugging you from behind. You could tell he actually felt bad by the genuine look in his eyes. You sigh leaning back into him and resting your hands above his, interlocking your fingers.

“I forgive you, it happens.” You mumble, head trying to come up with ways to cover up your neck. “How do I even cover this up?”

Tom looks at your neck through the mirror, “Makeup will work right? Just put on some concealer or that color corrector thing you use.”

You nod at his suggestion. “That’ll work for a few hours, but makeup wears off. What if I accidentally wipe it off?”

Tom pursed his lips together in thought, “You could ask Laura to bring you something with a turtleneck.”

“It’ll barely move and your neck will be covered the entire time.” He suggests.

“Yeah, it’ll probably work. I just hope she hasn’t left yet, I should text her.” You move from Tom’s hold and turn the shower off. Before you leave the bathroom, Tom pulls you into a hug again. His face nuzzles against your hair, “I’m sorry, again.”

You smile and stroke his back, “I told you I forgive you, it’s ok love.” You pull away and peck his lips. Tom smiles and leans down to kiss your shoulder. Something he always did when you guys were having a moment. Instantly, you jump back and push him off, “Get your fucking lips away from my neck. I don’t need anymore hickies right now.”

~later~

Your stylist, Laura, ended up bringing you a stunning white dress that stopped above your knees. It was short sleeved, hugged your curves perfectly, and had a turtleneck that covered your neck. She gave you a pair of leather knee high boots which pulled the look together. Your hair was curled, pulled back into a half up and down style while short strands of hair framed your face. Compared to the panic you felt when your first saw the hickies, you were relieved when you saw yourself in the mirror again an hour later. You felt like a modern Go Go Girl as you admired your outfit.

You arrived at the hotel where all the interviews were being held. You make your rounds of greeting everyone, saving Z and Jacob last since you’ll be with them the whole day. You enter the room and see the two of them already sitting in front of the cameras. Jacob spots you first, “Aye! Good morning!”

You smile and walk up to them, giving them both hugs. When you pull away from Z she gives you a look. Her eyes scan you from head to toe, squinting at your dress.

“Weren’t you just complaining that yesterday was too hot? Why are you in a turtleneck?” She interrogates you. You smile nervously at her while you settle in the seat on the other side of Jacob.

“Um, you know, it’s a bit chilly today.” You lie. Jacob eyes you as well catching on Z’s point.

“(Y/n), it’s 95 degrees outside.” He tells you eyes panning around the room. Zendaya smirks leaning forward to get a better look at you, “I think someone was busy last night.”

“No, I wasn’t. I had a very nice sleep, thank you very much.” You sweetly smile at her crossing your arms.

Jacob snickers beside you, “I bet you did.”

“I guess Thomas couldn’t keep his hands off you last night.” She teased, exposing you.

“Or his mouth.” Jacob quickly adds smirking. Your cheeks get flustered squeezing your eyes shut. Jacob and Z burst out laughing at Jacob’s comment.

“I don’t even have a come back, blame Tom.” You throw your hands up in the air giving up. Z calms down and leans over Jacob to rest a hand on your knee.

“Hey, it’s ok, man. If I were Tom, I wouldn’t keep my hands off you either.” She tells you jokingly, helping you get over the embarrassment of wearing a turtleneck. You catch on and wink at her, “Aye, say less.” Your hand resting on top of hers.

Jacob puts his hands up looking shocked, “What did I just walk into? I—I gotta go.” He pretends to shove your hands away and gets up from his seat.

“I’m telling Tom about the sexual tension I felt in this room.” He yells over his shoulder as he walks out the room. You and Z look at each other amused, “Is he actually?”

Z shrugged, “Honestly, he’s probably getting some water. He was thirsty.”

The two of you catch up with each other. Talking about the press tour and what you were both planning on wearing for the premiere. You were in the middle of describing your dress when Tom bursts into the room with Jacob trailing behind him.

“STAY AWAY FROM MY WOMAN.”

#marvel #mcu #avengers #Tom Holland #Tom Holland x reader #Tom Holland smut #tom holland drabble #tom holland one shot #tom holland headcanon #ally’s requests

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whumperooni · 4 years

Note

God fuck ok this shit has been on my mind for days now: Y/N is the second youngest of the Todoroki’s (everyone’s 18+ tho obviously) and she ended up quirkless so, Enji thought she had to be useful to the family somehow, so how about the family cumdump? All the boys love using her whenever wherever. I can just imagine Rei sitting on the couch with some tea lovingly watching her daughter get fucked into next week by her sons and/or husband 🥴🥵 girl I’m drooling

please i love this so very much. it literally lives rent free in my mind.

tags/warnings: tw incest, tw breeding kink, fucked up family dynamics, oral

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

“Ni- nii-chan! Nii-chan!”

Rei smiles and sips her tea as she watches her precious little girl squirm and whine, as she watches her son grunt and rut into her.

You’re such a good little girl. So sweet and docile.

Just like she had raised you to be.

“Does it feel good, baby?” Rei asks. “Do you like your Natsuo-nii using you?”

You mewl and nod- face flushed and eyes glazed over, cute little whimpers leaving you as Natsuo presses your face against the coffee table with a pant.

“F-feels good, mama! I love nii-san’s cock!”

Rei’s smile grows as Natsuo groans and a sense of peace fills her as she watches her youngest come on her big brother’s cock.

After Shoto, Rei had thought she had never would get pregnant again. She hadn’t wanted to get pregnant again.

She’s happy for it now, though. Enji had helped her see that you were a gift to the family- even when you turned out to be quirkless, even when she had feared his wrath over a failure.

Quirkless was fine- you could be of use to him in other ways.

(And she was now free from him and his lust. She was allowed to exist without fear)

A mewl fills the air and Rei smiles fondly, sips on her tea. Natsuo’s hips are starting to stutter against you and she knows that he will fill you soon, hopes that this will help her son relax.

He’s been working so hard lately. He deserves to unwind.

And you’re the perfect thing for that.

“Nii-san! Nii-san, please! I wanna- I need-”

“Oh, f- fuck!”

“Language, Natsuo,” Rei scolds softly. “And use your words, darling.”

Natsuo huffs and you whimper- stuttered little noises leaving you as tremble underneath your brother.

“Pl- please, Natsuo-nii! Please fill me!”

What a good girl.

Natsuo moans at the sweet pleas and Rei’s smile grows when he curls thick fingers in your hair, pulls you up and slots his lips against yours.

He’s not as rough as his father is with you, but there are moments that peek through. You always take it so willingly, though- are always so receptive to your big brother’s ministrations.

You’re receptive to everyone’s ministrations- Enji’s, Natsuo’s, Shoto’s, Fuyumi’s; even hers.

You’re so good for them. You’re always so good for them.

(They’ve trained you so well.)

A whine fills the room as your big brother fills you and Rei breathes in deep as you shudder and mewl, as Natsuo hugs you tight to his chest and thrusts in you so deep that she can see the outline of his cock in your stomach.

She finishes her tea as Natsuo nuzzles at your hair, smiles to herself as he mumbles little phrases of “such a good girl” and “nii-san loves filling you” and “you were made for this.”

You really were made for this.

Rei allows Natsuo to soothe you a bit more, allows you a moment to catch your breath. She sets her tea cup to the side and then pats her lap, calls out your name softly.

“Come here, baby.”

A tiny noise leaves you and Rei huffs fondly whenever a small pout crosses over her son’s face. There’s a wet plop that sounds whenever he lets you crawl off his lap- a slick little noise as his cock slips from your abused little hole. Rei bites her lip at it and spreads her legs as you wander over to her on shaky hands and knees, smiles down at you whenever you settle between her thighs and blink up at her with heavy eyes.

You shiver whenever she pets over your hair and you let your head be pushed gently toward her crotch, nuzzle against her and run your tongue through her slit whenever she hooks her panties to the side.

“Good girl,” she murmurs. “So sweet for me.”

Your already flushed cheeks grow darker and Rei hums as you mewl against her, cards her fingers through your hair as you suckle at her clit, lap at her with a darling adoration.

Natsuo watches for a moment, eyes hungry, but he behaves himself and stands, tucks his cock into his pants.

“Natsuo, honey, will you fill the kettle again?”

“Yeah, mom.”

“And will you set out the steak? Your father is coming home tonight and he wants that for dinner.”

Grey eyes roll at that, but Natsuo still nods. A whimper sounds against Rei and she smiles down at you, pets over your hair and bites her lip as you bury your tongue deep inside of her.

“Are you excited for daddy to come home, baby?” Rei asks softly. “We’ll have to make sure to dress you pretty for him.”

You nod and pull your head back from her just a little, whine softly as you squirm on the floor.

“Want daddy to fill me up,” you mewl. “Wanna take care of mama and daddy.”

Oh, you’re such a good girl.

“You will, baby,” Rei assures you. “And maybe this time daddy will make you a mama too.”

Your eyes light up at the thought and Rei shudders as your hips rock against nothing, as your gaze grows glazed again. She nudges you back to your proper place and curls her fingers in your hair as you eagerly lap at her.

Rei sighs softly as her youngest eats her out and smiles to herself- content and happy, so proud of her little girl.

#natsuo x reader #rei x reader #rooni's shit #tw incest #tw breeding kink #/sighs i love this concept so much #i couldn't help but get a little somft with it #somft in fucked up situations? that's my Jam #Anonymous

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kythed · 3 years

Text

“you can hear it in the silence” - a collection of conversations between you and futakuchi kenji.

1. april 14th, 7:56pm.

“it’s terribly boring, isn’t it?” the voice comes from right near your ear. you start, turning to see a young guy dressed in jeans, a tee, and a baseball cap, slouchy and messy in the most attractive and purposeful way. “the movie, I mean.”

you turn your eyes back towards the screen — some spanish neo-noir retelling of the same old “sexpot femme fatale turned domestic by a dashing hero with a horse” plotline. “yeah, it is. I only came so my film major friends would finally respect me.”

“that’s valid,” he whispers with a snort. an older man sitting beside him shushes him. “I only came so I could make fun of the people who only came to impress their film major friends.”

“oh, ouch,” you say, grinning. “way to attack like 90% of the foreign film audience.”

“I’d say it’s something more like 97%, actually,” he says, briefly glancing at the movie. the dark haired, sultry love interest is batting her lashes at the brooding protagonist, nightgown slipping off her shoulder. “the remaining 3% is horny teenagers who can’t yet figure out how to erase their search history.”

despite being in the middle of a crowded theater, you laugh, giggle echoing off the walls. several people turn around to shoot you dirty looks, and you immediately clap an apologetic over your mouth. oops.

“I’m kenji futakuchi,” your seat-neighbor whispers, extending a hand. “unprofessional film critic, engineering major, and thai tea hater. I’m willing to take you out for boba on our first date, but if you order thai tea it will also be our last.”

“bold of you to assume we’ll even have a first date,” you say, shaking his hand with another quiet laugh.

“oh, we will,” he says with what can only be described as a bona fide smirk. “I saw the way you were looking at me earlier.”

before you can respond, the curmudgeonly old man beside kenji leans over and scowls. “if you kids want to keep flirting, do so outside. some of us are here for cultural enrichment.”

kenji glances at you, face spelling out mischief. “you heard the man. shall we?”

for a moment, you consider saying no. but then reason kicks into gear and you stand up, dusting popcorn off your lap. “we shall.”

(discovery number one: your hand fits perfectly in his.)

2. may 2nd, 11:17am.

“you know, this actually isn’t so bad.” kenji takes another cautious sip. “still can’t hold a candle to jasmine.”

“I respect that,” you say, offering him a taste of your drink. “I feel like everyone who hates thai tea is just jumping on the bandwagon. it’s pretty decent.”

“you’re pretty decent,” he says petulantly, snatching your tea and replacing it with his own.

you roll your eyes. “your comebacks suck. still can’t believe I agreed to go out with you.”

kenji feigns a look of surprise. “oh, are we going out? I thought this was a platonic thing.”

you send a pointed look at his hand resting on your thigh, his thumb rubbing light circles in your skin.

kenji follows your gaze and suppresses a smile, shrugging. “friends do that.”

it’s a cool spring day, the air smelling of his cologne — vanilla, coffee, and burnt orange — and the eucalyptus growing in front of the cafe. the sunshine is fresh and pale, casting a glowy halo over kenji’s brunette mess of hair. he smiles rather angelically, as if he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

“and do friends do this?” you say softly, leaning forward so your nose is just centimeters from his.

kenji gulps, adam’s apple bobbing painfully in his throat. his voice cracks with his next words. “y-yeah. I do this with my buddies all the time. no homo.”

you slowly bring your hand up to cup his jaw, letting your eyes linger on his lips before glancing back up and smiling. “oh, good. ‘cause I do this with my girls all the time, too. full homo.”

“yeah?”

“mhm,” you purr, trying to channel some of that femme fatale energy, leaning even closer so you can feel his warm breath on your mouth — and then you pull away with a cackle, leaving kenji blinking down at you with reproach.

“women are so cruel,” he sighs wistfully, fanning his shirt and running a hand through his hair.

“sorry,” you chirp, not sorry at all. “I don’t kiss on the first date.”

“you don’t kiss on the first date?” kenji repeats. “so what’s the timeline — we hold hands today, and then you let me hug you next week, and then we kiss in a month, and then in like fifty years we finally fu—”

“kenji!” you say, whipping around. you’re scandalized. there’s a family with primary school aged kids sitting at the other table, shrieking with laughter and bouncing around like pinballs on a boba-fueled sugar high. “keep it PG.”

“I wasn’t gonna say anything bad,” kenji complains. “I was just gonna say that in fifty years we finally, uh… furbish the condo we purchase together.”

“sure you were,” you say, and kenji just laughs. there’s something in the way he looks at you… something soft and affectionate that makes you think he might actually intend to stick around for fifty years. it scares you a little — but in a good way.

later that day, when kenji drops you off at your front porch, you lean forward again. usually you keep your word, but today’s an exception.

(discovery number two: he tastes like colgate and thai tea.)

3. august 21st, 8:02am.

“what the hell,” you cough, squinting through the smoke. you can barely hear yourself over the shrill beeping of the fire alarm resounding around your apartment. “kenji?”

kenji emerges from behind the fridge, nonchalantly leaning on the wall with a nervous smile. “hey, baby. sleep well?”

“don’t you ‘hey, baby’ me, mister,” you say, marching forward, fanning the smoke away with your oversized sleep shirt. (well, technically it’s his shirt, and that’s why it’s oversized. it fits perfectly fine on him.) “what in the world did you do?”

“why is it that when something goes wrong you always automatically blame me?” he complains, coughing.

“because it’s always your fault,” you say, gently but firmly pushing him aside to reveal, sitting innocently on the counter… a smoking toaster with two pieces of bread (burnt nearly completely black) resting in the slots. oh lord. “kenji. babe. darling.”

“ooh, keep going, please,” kenji coos, yelping when you lightly pinch his elbow. “hey!”

he’s about to retaliate before you double over in laughter, holding onto the edge of the kitchen counter for support. you choke out giggles between breaths, hardly able to keep balance. “you — (wheeze) — you nearly burnt down the kitchen — (wheeze) — trying to make toast?”

“it’s not as easy as it looks,” kenji insists, gingerly picking the slices of bread (although they’re more like crackers now) out from the toaster. “I’m sorry that I wanted to do something nice for my beautiful girlfriend. and I’m sorry that the only thing I could handle was toast and coffee. well, technically just coffee, I guess.”

he picks up a mug from the counter and offers it to you. “it might be kinda cold now. sorry. I tried.”

he’s so earnest and adorable and lovely in that moment — standing in the middle of the clouded kitchen in just mismatched socks and an old pair of boxers, holding the coffee out for you to see — that you can hardly contain yourself.

“god, I love you,” you say without thinking, the last word catching in your throat as you look up. oh. oops. kenji’s staring at you, unblinking, big brown eyes filled with… surprise? “I mean, I meant —”

“you love me?”

“I, uh,” you falter. this isn’t you; you’re supposed to be the calm and collected one. “this isn’t how I wanted to say it, but—”

“but you do, right? you love me?” kenji sets the mug back down and pulls you in by the waist, grinning broadly and resting his forehead against yours. your heart is pulsing erratically, but a smile big enough to match his somehow finds its way onto your face. you nod, and kenji immediately kisses you hard, tangling his fingers in the back of your hair.

“I love you,” he says breathlessly after finally parting. you feel the uncomfortable warmth of your face and the swollenness of your lips... but you can’t quite bring yourself to care. “I love you a lot.”

“you love me so much that you even tried to make me toast,” you laugh. “and you brought me cold coffee in my second favorite mug.”

“no, wait,” says kenji, glancing back towards said mug. “that’s your favorite mug.”

“no, my favorite is the green one with the—”

“—with the orange flowers,” kenji groans in realization, slapping a limp, penitent hand to his cheek. “I’m a failure of a boyfriend. I deserve to go to boyfriend jail.”

“you do,” you agree, nodding solemnly. “but lucky for you, I have a get-out-of-jail-free card right here.”

“oh?” says kenji, a devilish smile quirking up the corners of his lips.

you hum and offer him your clenched fist, like you’re about to place something in his palm. but when he extends his own outstretched hand, you interlace your fingers with his instead. “yep. right here.”

“you think you’re so clever,” kenji sighs, nonetheless bringing your hand up to press a brief kiss to your knuckles.

“I do.” you shuffle towards the counter to take a sip of the coffee — sure enough, it’s cold. (but he still made it exactly the way you like it.) “c’mon. breakfast.”

(discovery number three: burnt toast doesn’t taste so bad when you eat it with someone you love.)

4. november 1st, 10:38pm.

the commute across town from your university to your apartment is on the longer side, around forty minutes. it feels even longer late at night, though, on your way home from your part time job.

the subway rattles on its tracks as it slows to rest at a stop (but not yours) and a handful of sleepy passengers stumble out, swinging briefcases and pulling their scarves a little tighter. you stifle a yawn, slumping back into your seat.

“you okay?”

you smile. ever since you got hired a couple months ago, kenji’s insisted on coming to “pick you up” from work to take the train back with you, even though he works all the way across town. (he’ll probably stay the night — he has a drawer full of his things at your place these days, complete with a dozen wrinkled t-shirts, old soccer shorts, and a bundle of irreparably tangled chargers. he hasn’t bothered to bring his own shampoo over yet, though, claiming that “yours smells so nice and fruity” and “men’s shampoo just smells like nondescript testosterone and insecurity.” he’s right of course, but all the same, you’d rather he not use up all of yours.)

“yeah, I’m okay,” you sigh, taking his hand and feeling him begin to rub circles on your palm. you close your eyes. “just tired.”

“hi ‘okay-just-tired,’ I’m dad,” kenji says slyly, and you open one incredulous eye.

“did you really…?”

“I really did,” kenji says, puffing up his chest. “you walked right into it.”

you groan and fall on top of him dramatically, burying your face in his thick fleece jacket. “I’m too dead for this. I’m like frankenstein before he was reanimated — just a bunch of limbs and organs in a useless, fleshy pile.”

“technically, he’s frankenstein’s monster,” says kenji, petting your hair absentmindedly. “frankenstein’s the name of the doctor. cute literary allusion, though.”

“do you ever shut up?” your voice comes out muffled by kenji’s coat, but not at all devoid of its intended irritation.

“occasionally,” he says as you lift your head. he pulls you closer with one arm until you’re practically sharing a seat, legs interlocked, your temple resting on his shoulder and his chin nestled in your hair. “when I’m sleeping. when I’m eating — well, sometimes. sometimes I talk with my mouth full.”

“yeah, I’ve borne witness to that,” you say, wrinkling your nose. you’ve tried to improve kenji’s table manners countless times (especially in light of your family’s thanksgiving dinner soon approaching), but it’s all been in vain. most likely because he enjoys seeing you get worked up about his not using a coaster, etc. “disgusting.”

“when I’m concentrating on physics,” he continues, as if he hadn’t heard you. “when I’m in the library. when I’m kissing pretty girls.”

he bends down and tries to give you a peck, but you gasp and dodge it. “girls? plural? you’re out here kissing pretty girls other than me?”

“when I’m kissing one specific pretty girl,” kenji corrects himself, grinning.

you feel your own grin stretch across your face. “and which pretty girl is that?”

“my pretty girl,” he says smugly, looking incredibly pleased with himself.

you scoff. “corny.”

“you like it.”

you chew on your inner cheek, trying and failing to suppress your smile. “you know I do.”

the train’s speakers crackle alive, a cool automated voice emanating from their unseen perches: “approaching hiwamari station. projected arrival in: 1 minute.”

“alright, time to wake up, sleeping beauty,” kenji huffs, lugging you onto your feet. you hang limp in his arms like a rag doll, unwilling to bear your own weight. “you are perfectly capable of standing. shape up before I alert the authorities, you hooligan.”

“hmm,” you groan, finally arighting yourself with some difficulty. you want to ask where in the world he learned the word ‘hooligan,’ but your brain can hardly afford you even the most basic cognition right now. “it’s too late, and my knees hurt, and I’m tired, and I saw an ad for that new vietnamese place at the last station, and now I want banh mi. but I can’t have banh mi because there’s none on this side of town, and that irritates me.” you take a deep breath. “also, I’m cold.”

kenji laughs and slips a loose arm around your waist as the doors slide open, gently guiding you down onto the platform. the night air bites at your skin, painting goosebumps in its wake. you’re about ready to just sit down on the ground and curl into a frustrated, exhausted ball when he crouches down, fingers straightening and smoothing the lapels of your coat. “well, I can’t really help with the sore knees and the hankering for banh mi part, but I’m pretty sure you’re cold because you’ve had your buttons undone this entire time. dummy.”

he buttons your jacket quickly and deftly, careful to avoid pinching you in the process. a particular kind of warmth bubbles up in your chest at his concentrated expression — kenji likes to maintain his effortless, reckless reputation, but when it comes down to the bare bones of it all, he’s still the type of guy who’ll button his girlfriend’s coat for her. on the walk from the subway to your apartment, his arm doesn’t leave your body once, keeping you close to his side and shielded from the wind.

“I’m not a dummy.”

“sure, dummy.”

(discovery number four: body heat — specifically, kenji futakuchi’s body heat — is by far the most effective way to stay warm.)

5. december 23rd, 12:01pm.

“who’s your best friend?” the question pops into your mind and out of your mouth almost instantaneously. kenji, who’s lounging on the sofa next to you, turns, eyebrows furrowed. there’s a small douglas fir in the corner of the room, minimally decked with what ornaments you could “diy” from around the house: snowflakes made of sticky notes, bedazzled plastic utensils, etc. several small packages have been haphazardly tossed around the tree’s base, yours neatly wrapped in red tissue paper and string, kenji’s covered in newspaper and excessive scotch tape. (he tried. maybe not his best, but he tried.)

“depends,” he says, turning off his phone and tossing it onto the carpet. “what’s your definition of best friend?”

“you know,” you say, helplessly splaying your fingers. “monica and rachel. frodo and sam. taylor swift and karlie kloss.”

“hold on,” kenji says, holding up a hand. “didn’t taylor swift and karlie kloss have a falling out?”

“yeah, but for the sake of the argument,” you insist. you narrow your eyes. “wait. how do you know about that?”

“you talk about it every time you listen to that one album, which is at least once a month,” kenji says with a grin. “probably more like twice, actually.”

“oh.” you flush, making a mental note to use earbuds more often. “anyways. answer the question.”

“wait, but you just gave me a bunch of examples,” kenji complains. he glances briefly out the window, which is iced over like a sugar cookie, obscuring the snowscape outside. mariah plays faintly in the background, jingling and whistle tones echoing through the halls. “you didn’t define anything.”

“a best friend,” you begin, faltering and taking a moment to think. a best friend… what is a best friend, really? you frown for a moment before smiling brightly. “a best friend is a commitment. it’s when you commit to being there for somebody when they need you. and it’s when you commit to finding that person when you need them, too.”

kenji lets out a low whistle. “okay then, socrates.”

“it wasn’t that deep,” you say with a laugh. “so. who’s yours?”

kenji grins boyishly, face lighting up like a christmas tree topper. “easy. you’re my best friend.”

oh. you weren’t expecting that. your chest gives an involuntary little thump of pleasure. “me? what about kamasaki?”

“mmm,” kenji muses, counting on his fingers. “he’s, like, my fourth best friend. maybe third on a good day. but you’re the one I go to first.”

you have the sudden urge to wrap your limbs around him like a koala and never let go; only your dignity keeps you from tackling him right then and there. you clear your throat, praying he can’t hear your thoughts — he’d never let you live it down. “you’re mine, too.”

kenji doesn’t respond, just smiles and rolls off the couch onto the floor with a thud, spreading out on the carpet like a seastar. the silence doesn’t bother you, though — silence (what little you can get of it) is comfortable with you two. plus, it’s never really silent. there’s always something there, something very undefinable but very real.

(discovery number five: you are in love.)

#you guys seemed to really like the last of these so I might make it a series??#cackles #also ly if you see this the last one was supposed to be for the event #I'm sorry it's so late #also I got carried away and made it a whole thing #I hope it still counts T-T #futakuchi kenji #futakuchi kenji x reader #futakuchi #futakuchi x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu drabbles #hqcorenet

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