#But have you ever met someone so charismatic in every single way

[faeiapalette]

🤔

[okay-babe]

Imagine alastor thinks his wife is just the most perfect, angelic being he’s ever met, so he’s downright shocked to fight out she also ended up in hell going “yeah I killed a man once” (he falls even more in love)

A Good Thing, Indeed

tags: alastor x fem! reader, established relationship, alastor and reader are married, angelic reader, protective/possessive alastor, brief human alastor x human reader, fluff, very mild angst note: I went a little overboard with this one, but I hope you enjoy, anon <3 Find a sequel (of sorts) to this fic, here.

Alastor had never quite understood how someone like him had ended up with a woman like you.

You were soft and understanding, utterly ceaseless in your kindness and love of near anyone who crossed your path, a true saint to be sure.

Alastor on the other hand, had always been quite the opposite.

Where you were soft, your lover was unyielding, where you were understanding, he was impatient, and when it came to the capacity for kindness and love within his heart, many would have gone on record stating that there was much to be desired in that regard.

Yet, even still, you chose him, and he, you.

Every. Single. Time.

It was as if the two of you were meant to be.

The proud and charismatic up and coming host of a brand new radio show, and the modest and soft spoken kindergarten teacher that was ever present upon his arm.

To Alastor, you were everything and more, and whether he was willing to admit it aloud or not, he all but worshiped the very ground that you walked upon.

There was so very little worth caring for in a world like the one that he lived in, and yet there you were, a shining beacon of light and hope to keep him from losing his mind over it all (well, at least in part, though he knew deep down that a portion had been missing since long before you'd made your way into his life).

For all of this, Alastor praised you and your love ceaselessly, his appreciation for your union a vast and endless thing that filled him with a sense of pride stronger than any other he'd felt before.

And how could it not?

You were his wife.

You!

The beautiful kindergarten teacher who worked in the public school just down the street from his broadcasting station, the one with the smile that lit up a room and the laugh that could make a man blush.

The one with the students who sung her praises to their parents during pick up and the coworkers turned friends who would utterly gush about her at even the briefest mention of her name.

You.

The woman that no one believed had gotten New Orleans' most prominent radio host to settle down after only just a year of courting, and whose stunning church wedding had been the talk of the town.

You were perfect, you were lovely, and the sweetest part of it all was that you bore his last name.

And oh, what whiplash that must have caused for those who hadn't known of your courtship earlier on. It nearly sent Alastor into a tizzy just imagining it.

The sweet, adoring woman that your son calls his teacher is also the wife of the ever unreadable and notably cold radio host from just down the street that scarcely any could say they truly knew?

How scandalous! Whatever is a woman like her doing with a man like him?!

Well, the answer, quite honestly, was being doted upon nigh endlessly.

If you wanted for even the smallest of things, it would be yours in an instant, and if you desired even the most useless of luxuries, he would have spared no expense to have it in your hands by the end of the day.

And even beyond that, there was the persistent desire to stay by your side, his presence always guaranteed the very moment you mentioned want for it.

An ice cream social at the school where you'd be meeting your new students and their parents? Alastor was there, conversing politely with a few mothers on the difficulties of parenting (in spite of his notable lack of children), making nearly everyone wonder what the hell a famous radio host was doing at the local elementary school.

Visiting Mimzy at her slightly sleazy little lounge in the shadier side of the city? Alastor was there, dressed to the nines, looking immensely out of place as you danced the night away with your friends (and him of course) to your little heart's content.

His love for you was nearly as endless as yours was for the very world beneath your feet, and in spite of himself he couldn't help but fall deeper and deeper in love at every borderline naive action you took.

You want to buy that man a drink because he looks lonely? Certainly darling, your husband would be happy to scare him off all night as the fool tries to make unwanted advances at you that he thinks are warranted thanks to your kindness.

You want to pick a fight with the burly man whose house is on your walk to work because he's been shouting cruel things at his dog nearly every morning for the past several weeks? Oh of course, just let Alastor prepare to use his most unsettling smile while he reaches for the leather sheathed knife he keeps attached to his belt so he can wordlessly threaten the oaf without you ever even realizing.

And so, knowing all of that and having lived such a love-filled few years at your side, how could Alastor ever have believed he might one day see you again once he came to in Hell shortly after his demise?

The short answer was, he couldn't.

And though he would never have been willing to admit such a thing aloud, it utterly shattered a portion of his heart to know he would never see your sweet smile or hear your perfect laugh ever again.

And to imagine what your reaction may have been once the police had informed you of all that he had done?

Well, he tried his best not to.

Because while he couldn't bring himself to regret those he had killed and the things he had done, he did regret having been left with no choice but to keep such a thing from you and leave you with such a mess upon his death.

Certainly you had deserved better, that much he knew.

But there was absolutely nothing he could do about that now.

Or, at least, that's what he had led himself to believe.

Until one day, he'd been broken out of his typical morning routine of brewing his black coffee and digging into a freshly caught deer by the sound of knocking at his door.

There were very few people who knew of where Alastor lived at this point, with him being multiple years removed from life and having firmly cemented himself within society as a powerful and merciless overlord, so honestly it hadn't come as very much of a surprise when he opened the door and found an old friend waiting rather impatiently on the other side.

Mimzy.

Having arrived in Hell not very long after the radio host, the former flapper, (who he had actually met through you), had become a familiar face throughout the past few years as he'd tried to grow accustomed to life without his darling wife at his side.

It was nice, in a way, to have that reminder of you near when he wished for it to be, and so he allowed the sinner to call him something like a friend and offered her protection when it was convenient enough for him that it didn't prove to be a hassle.

Although, today of all days the overlord was certainly a little less than pleased to see Mimzy's familiar face at his doorstep, and he was reasonably certain that she knew why that was.

It was your former anniversary after all, and today would have been your tenth year of marriage had he only lived long enough to reach such a landmark achievement with you.

A smile, strained and thin, descended upon his lips, and, in spite of his feelings, Alastor remained as cordial as ever, albeit rather cold with his words.

"Mimzy, my dear! How wonderful to see you! Whatever could possibly be so important as to have you at my door on a day like today?"

There was a certain level of threat to his tone that no doubt left the woman standing before him floundering for a few seconds, before finally, she mustered up her reply, her smile ever so slightly less confident than before.

"Alastor, just the fella that I was lookin' for!"

The sinner began, placing her right hand upon her hip as she inspected the condition of the nails on her left,

"Now I know ya like to be left alone and all on days like this, but I've got a surprise for ya back at my place that I promise you're gonna wanna see a-s-a-p."

She said with her typical air of confidence, immediately causing the Radio Demon to roll his eyes in response, his facade of interest slipping ever so slightly before he seemed to catch himself once more, ever the gentleman.

"Oh do you now? Well, as utterly transfixed as I am over this little mystery of yours, I'm afraid that I just don't have the time to stop by today. Lot's of things to prepare for the upcoming broad-"

"Alastor."

Mimzy said sternly, cutting the overlord in question off rather uncharacteristically with a glare of her own.

"I know damn well that you don't got nothin' planned for the day, so don't you start fibbin', mista, I can see right through ya!"

She began, quickly changing the subject when she seemed to recall exactly who she was talking to at the increasing sound of static.

"Look, I didn't come here to argue with ya or nothin', so you do whatever it is that you wanna do. I just wanted to come over and warn ya that if you don't come by for a visit by the end of the day you're gonna feel like a real fool, okay?"

She emphasized her warning with a dramatized raise of her brow before she grinned rather wickedly and stepped down off of his doorstep, wiggling her fingers in a teasing little wave as she climbed into the back of the very same taxi she must have used to get to his dwellings in the first place.

"I'll see ya around dollface!"

She called out as the car pulled away, leaving Alastor with quite a few more questions than he'd had upon her already unplanned arrival.

What a fantastic start to one's day.

By the time that Alastor made the decision to actually stop by Mimzy's lounge, it was already dark outside, the subtle chirping of crickets reminding him briefly of home as he walked toward his destination, ever a fan of the more simplistic methods of transportation.

He thought of the sounds of crickets and all of the moments with you that their seemingly endless chirps had backed until their sounds faded away with the increasing sounds of the busier section of the city, wherein Mimzy's place was located.

Just as sleazy and sketchy as it had been above, so it was below, and Alastor felt a sudden sense of longing and familiarity as he stepped inside, the smell of cigarettes and the sound of ever so slightly out of tune jazz music reminding him of his days of swing dancing with you on the cracked dance floor of the place Mimzy had owned and operated in life.

The Radio Demon had only just begun to contemplate what you might have thought of a place like this one when suddenly, he heard a familiar voice call out his name, and he turned to find the lounge's owner walking quickly toward him, a wide grin that nearly rivaled his own splitting her cheeks.

"Well would you look who it is, Alastor the Radio Demon here in my lil' lounge, what a lucky lady I must be!"

Mimzy teased as she shouted over the obnoxiously loud music, immediately forcing the man in question to hold back another instinctual roll of his eyes.

"Oh, nonsense, I should think that luck has very little to do with it, my dear."

Alastor drawled, dragging his gaze downward to find his friend standing there, all but vibrating upon her feet, clearly excited by something, though he couldn't quite fathom what in Hell it could possibly be.

That is, until he heard another familiar voice pipe up from somewhere behind him, this one far less anticipated than the last, and by a rather significant margin at that.

"Mimzy?"

It called, an edge of stress to it that had the corners of the overlord's smile twitching downward ever so slightly for the briefest of moments.

Alastor watched as the ex flapper standing before him grinned widely in response to his barely noticeable reaction, her eyes shining as she allowed the person speaking to continue with their question.

"Who did you say the whiskey on the rocks was for?"

The lounge's owner hopped up onto a stool beside where she had been standing, gesturing to the space at the bar near where Alastor was still firmly planted, the ears atop his head twitching ever so slightly as they took in the sound of a voice he'd never thought he'd hear again for the very first time since he'd awoken with them camouflaged within his hair.

"Right here, doll. Speakin' of which, why dontcha c'mere and meet one of my regulars, huh?"

She asked as casually as she could manage, gesturing slightly for the still reeling sinner standing beside the bar to take a seat, which, to her surprise, he actually did, eyes seeking out the source of the voice he was hearing as if in utter disbelief.

And then, much to his shock, there you were.

Sure, you looked different as a sinner, but he would recognize you anywhere, and it certainly helped that your beautiful smile was the very same as he remembered it to be whenever he closed his eyes and found you there waiting for him.

Busy with what was likely a fairly large number of orders that your fellow bartender seemed to be doing very little to try and keep up with, you didn't seem to notice him at first, walking quickly toward your old friend with a glass of whiskey in hand, moving to place it down in front of the ever so prominent Radio Demon absentmindedly when suddenly, you froze, your hand still wrapped around the chilled cup.

The two of you stared at one another for several long moments, eyes widened and breaths halting entirely, until finally Mimzy spoke up from Alastor's right, her laughter obnoxious beside his ear, though he could scarcely bring himself to care with his gaze locked so heavily onto yours.

"Happy anniversary, ya lovebirds! Didn't expect that, didja?!"

She all but cackled, causing you to break eye contact with your husband to gawk at your friend.

"Wait a second, you knew he was here the whole time and didn't tell me?!"

You cried, hand flying to your mouth as Alastor began to regard the woman sitting beside him with a hugely threatening glare, the frightfulness of which was only increased by his unyielding grin, which was beginning to appear more and more malicious by the second.

"Woah woah woah, hold your horses!"

Mimzy shouted, waving her hands all about as if in surrender as she looked back and forth between the two of you nervously,

"She only just got down here this mornin' I swear!"

She explained hurriedly to the overlord beside her, causing the man's eye to twitch with effort as he struggled not to tear his old friend limb from limb while her entire bar watched on in horror.

Alastor tapped one clawed finger against the bar in front of him, his sharpened teeth appearing even more threatening than usual at his apparent anger over the situation at hand.

"And you didn't think, my dear,"

He began, his voice low,

"That I may have wanted to know sooner?"

The sound of static overtook the lounge as the sinner's anger increased with each word he said, causing everyone, including those hired to play the live music, to flee out the front door, leaving the trio to their own devices within the confines of the now empty space.

This fact worked extremely well for Alastor, who was only growing more enraged with each passing second as he considered the implication of Mimzy's actions further.

Not only had this woman, someone who had dared call him a friend for so many years, betrayed him by keeping your presence unknown, but she had also clearly employed you at her poor excuse for a lounge, and was now acting as if she had done him a favor by allowing him to be in the presence of the very woman he'd married.

The urge to rip the sinner to shreds with his very own claws was immense, and perhaps he even would have done so had it not been for a gentle hand coming to rest upon his forearm, the weight of it felt even through his shirt and coat.

Immediately, he stiffened, the familiarity of the touch so jarring that his previous thoughts of murder ceased within an instant as he turned his head to face you properly.

There, illuminated by the dim and yellowed lights of the bar, stood his wife, a woman who he had never expected to see again after all that he had done.

What good deed must he have committed in life to deserve such a blessing as this?

Surely there was some kind of mistake and someone would be descending from the heavens to collect you soon, an angel sent to Hell on accident by way of some great failure on Saint Peter's fault.

Your husband stared at you for a few moments, as if afraid you might disappear if he so much as blinked, before finally, you spoke up, your lips curving into a slightly nervous smile.

"Let her explain?"

You asked gently, taking up the very same tone you used to when asking your beloved to make an exception to one of his many strict internalized rules for your benefit.

'Stay home with me?'

'Give him a chance?'

'A slightly less violent solution, perhaps?'

(the latter of which he'd heard more often than he was willing to admit).

And this time, as always, he caved almost immediately, giving a rather stern nod of his head before looking toward Mimzy with an obviously strained smile on his lips.

She didn't have long, that was for sure.

If she wanted to explain, she'd better do so quickly.

And that much must have been clear, because the ex flapper started talking just about as fast as she could manage while still remaining intelligible.

And what a tale she spun, indeed.

With hurried words and a remarkably nervous expression the likes of which neither you nor your husband had ever seen Mimzy wear before, the sinner apologized profusely for not telling either of you sooner, promising that she had only been trying to make it a surprise in celebration of your anniversary.

Apparently, she had vastly overestimated how persuasive she could be, and had assumed (rather incorrectly) that Alastor would be much more urgent in his arrival to her lounge after she'd paid him a visit, meaning she hadn't exactly intended to have kept the two waiting so long for the "grand reveal" of her surprise.

And, slowly but surely, as Mimzy explained her thought process, your confusion and your husband's apparent anger all but melted away, both reactions coming to be replaced with something located somewhere between amusement and exasperation.

How very like your friend it was to meddle in such a manner, after all.

You'd missed this.

(Alastor wished dearly that he could say the same, but having been stuck alone with it for several years, he couldn't quite relate.)

Still, even he had to admit that Mimzy's actions were something far more similar to misguided kindness than intentional ill will.

Though, there was still one issue that was still bothering him...

"Mimzy."

Alastor interrupted the sinner in the middle of her ramble, watching as she immediately shut her mouth and looked up at him, a familiar bout of nervous laughter falling from her lips as she wrung her hands together.

Seeing that she was paying attention, the overlord continued,

"I understand what you were going for with your..." He trailed off for a moment before hearing you pipe up from where you stood on the other side of the bar,

"Efforts."

How amusing, it seemed that even after years of separation, not even death could sever the almost supernatural ability you had to understand what your husband was trying to say before even he truly did.

Alastor nodded,

"Exactly. But that being said, I struggle to understand one thing."

He leaned toward his old friend slightly, watching her eyes widen as he did so, clearly unsure of what was going to happen next.

"Why, pray tell, my dear, is my wife spending her precious time working at your lounge if you had every intention of returning her to me?"

The possessive tone to his voice made you blush, eyes moving to the ground as you awaited Mimzy's response.

She was quick to answer.

"Great question, dollface!"

She laughed nervously,

"I uh, I guess I kinda figured she'd know if she was down here then you would be too, so I wanted to give her a little bit of a distraction... and maybe get some extra help for a few hours in the meantime."

She admitted quietly, though by the time she was finished speaking, Alastor wasn't paying her much mind anymore, his mind now occupied with what he considered to be a far more pressing issue.

Because now that Mimzy mentioned it...

"Dearest,"

He began, immediately catching your attention as he turned to face you fully, allowing you to take in the sight of him and his new "look" for the first time since your arrival.

You would be lying if you said you weren't a fan, as different as it may have been.

"Speaking of 'down here',"

Alastor continued, amusement dancing within his eyes,

"What exactly are you doing in a place like Hell?"

Your gaze moved downward once more at that, and you cleared your throat awkwardly as you tried to find anything else to focus on.

Eventually though, you gave up, and forced yourself to meet your husband's gaze once more.

"I uh, I killed a parent..."

You muttered under your breath, immediately causing Alastor's eyes to widen slightly in surprise, one of his ears twitching slightly atop his head.

"Pardon?"

He asked in utter disbelief, unable to even begin to comprehend what he was hearing.

You, his beautiful and darling wife, had killed a parent of one of the children you taught?

Utterly unbelievable, perish the thought.

You sighed, crossing your arms in a mix of embarrassment and frustration,

"I killed a parent, Al. Lucy and Arnold's father. He was beating on them and their mama something fierce, and I saw the opportunity to put a stop to it one night when walking over to the station after work... He went down the alley between the grocers and the tailor to take a shortcut home or something like that, and I just followed him before I even knew what was really going on..."

You sounded hesitant as you spoke, eyes downcast once more until without a word, your husband pressed his gloved index finger to your chin, raising your gaze to his own once more so you could see the utter awe present there.

He was positively enamored.

"You killed Harry Wells?"

He asked, shock still coloring his tone as he watched you for your reaction.

Slowly, after a few seconds of contemplation, you nodded, cheeks still pink as you did your best to keep from trying to avoid Alastor's heavy gaze.

"I uh, yeah. I did."

The overlord sitting across from you chuckled softly, a sound that slowly grew in volume and exuberance until he was laughing outright, the familiar sound music to your ears even as he sighed and wiped a tear from his eye afterward, something he had done often in life.

He grinned even wider at you than before, the pride in his eyes obvious as he shook his head as if still in disbelief.

"And to think,"

He began, reaching across the counter to grab both of your hands so he could pull you closer, your forearms resting against the bar countertop.

"I hadn't thought it possible to love you any more than I already did."

You laughed at that, pressing your forehead against your husband's with a sigh,

"Well in that case, I suppose it's a good thing that I have all of eternity to prove you wrong, huh?"

Alastor chuckled softly, humming as he took in the sight of you, as if trying to commit each individual detail to memory.

"A good thing, indeed, dear heart."

[linksqueerawakening]

Miscellaneous LU Headcanons

Four doesn't cast a shadow. when questioned, they flatly state "it died" and refuse to elaborate. if pushed on the matter, they become more and more irritated, while still refusing to elaborate

Time always knows what time it is. you could wake him up in the middle of the night and before he's even fully opened his eyes he could tell you the time without having to even think about it

Hyrule has the most magic, but Legend knows the most magical theory, followed closely by Time

Warriors, Legend, and Four are the only members of the chain who are actually legit monarchists. like the others are pretty much neutral on the concept (tho Wild doesn't like how flora was treated with all the expectations and lack of freedom, but that's another matter entirely than being of the opinion that monarchy is inherently bad), they're fine with monarchy. they just don't have strong opinions one way or another, so long as the current holder of power isn't corrupt. meanwhile Four Legend and Warriors would probably fight you if you insinuated that hyrule's monarchy should be abolished

Legend and Fable are twins but it's a secret. and also due to Fable getting kidnapped and transformed in various worlds in some of their adventures, they're no longer the same age; Legend is 19, she's 16 or 17. they still look very similar so they used the excuse that they're cousins on their father's side

Legend used to want to be a knight very very badly when he grew up, because his uncle who raised him was a knight. the knights who were controlled and attacked him during Link to the Past were pretty much all trusted adults that he knew and admired. he stopped wanting to be a knight after that

Wild may be the best cook when they have good ingredients, but when the chain is down to the wire and they need to make every little bit count? Hyrules horrible concoctions are actually the best option. he can't make it taste good but he can make it keep you alive when there are no other options

Wind is the best at navigating without a map or compass due to his experiences on ships - he would rather have the tools, but he's pretty damn good at managing without

Four has a habit of referring to themselves with "we/us" pronouns ever since they were split and then reformed with the four sword. the other heroes don't know why, but sort of shrugged and started using "they/them" pronouns bc it seemed polite. Four is mostly unaware that they do this - green picked up on it but hasn't pointed it out to the rest of four bc he knows it'll make them stress, and it clearly hasn't caused any issues

Twilight is disarmingly charismatic but only when he's not trying. if he's talking to someone casually or even somewhat irritably, they tend to be completely taken by him, but if he's actively trying to be smooth it just comes across as awkward

Sky is the most mild mannered person you've ever met until you cross certain lines, at which point it's like a switch flips and he's so pissed that even the other heroes hesitate to deal with him

Discounting the hundred years in which Wild was unconscious, Warriors had the longest single adventure, with the war of eras lasting about 7 years. Legend's six adventures altogether may have lasted longer, but they were split up into multiple parts, not one long quest

Wild takes pictures of pretty much everything they can to show Flora whenever they're back home, because they know how much she wants to learn about the ancient past, like their species, their societies, and their magic

[nieceeee]

Can you do a story with ony about every time he buys her something she pays him back either in cash or getting him a gift just as expensive every time and he eventually catch’s on and asks her why to which she explains how at the end of her last relationship her ex was tryna to force her to pay him for “wasting his time” can it end in smut plz 🤭🤭😩

“ALL THE THINGS”

P/S: Most of your life your relationships have been transactional. You learned early on that nothing you get comes for free, especially with me. It was always a give and take. So when you got with Ony, you expected the same things. For every gift he got you, you made sure to double it because that's how the game goes right? Well Ony wasn't having that. He was going to get it through to you by any means necessary...

WC: 3.2k

A/N: DO NOT HATE ME! MNDI!! This took so much longer than I expected it to. But I hope you like it. It got me in my feelings a little bit ngl. Nicknames (pa, mamas, princess, babygirl) smutty, slight angst as well but there is smut and cute fluff, p in v, body worship, I think that’s all.

Life is about balance. The ebbs and flows are what makes the world go ‘round. Every action requires a reaction. It's a give and a take.

You took that literally.

Simply put, you have never known a love that wasn’t built on balance. And for as long as you could remember, every relationship you were involved in had been more of a checks and balances act that anything. It was all so…transactional.

See love has it's strings attached, no matter how the fairytales tries to spin it. It was an unwritten rule. In order to get what you wanted you had to give exactly that same thing or greater back. You needed to surpass expectations to have someone meet your own. You learned-- no, excelled at this. Now, could it have stemmed from deeper rooted insecurities of protecting yourself from being hurt. Sure.

I mean you were told at an early age from women in your life that nothing was truly free. Love, affections, kindness-- they all came with a cost. And you simply learned to play the game. Accept it with grace but never let them think they got one up on you. You remember the warning as clear as day. You kept your guard up, always matching every gesture, every gift, every ounce of attention you got from the people who mattered most. Because it had always been a give and take, and you’d be damned if you were ever the one left holding the bag.

Nonetheless this worked. It always worked. Until you met Ony.

Onyankopon came into your life like any other relationship would. He was sweet, charismatic, gentle. He was everything you could have ever asked for in a man. Patient, a rock when you needed him, and a safe space for you to just…be. When everything around you fell to chaos, he was the one thing that could lead you back into serenity. He quiet devotion to you was unmatched, making you feel seen and appreciated in every way a woman needed to be. Only was a simple gentleman who loved his lady. And he showed it even in the smallest of gestures--a hand-picked flower, a warm sweater on a cold day, a soft kiss on your forehead when you least expected it. It just felt right.

But with each gift, you felt a twinge of unease, a little tug in your chest. Those words repeating in your brain.

What was his endgame?

Ony loved you. Plain and simple. Anyone could see that. But yet you were so blinded by past hurt, you couldn’t step outside of your own head. Surely, he isn’t doing these things and expecting nothing back? No, it's just like before. So you did what you’ve always done. You matched him, made sure each gift was of equal or greater value. Yours needed to be more meaningful, more dramatic. You had to outdo him.

Every. Single. Time

It started early, a few weeks into your relationship--like when he bought you your favorite coffee from the cafe around the corner of your apartment that you loved so much. Of course you had to treat him to lunch the next day. “What’s this?” he asked when you walked in the house. He was working from home, headphones covering one of his ears. “I figured you were hungry so I wanted to bring you a treat.” you had replied. He smiled up at you, placing a gentle kiss against your temple. “Thank you baby girl.” his voice was soft with you, hands tracing gentle circles into your hips.

Further into your relationship, it continued. For you birthday, he bought you the beautiful tiffany princess cut diamond necklace that you were raving about one night as you scrolled on tiktok. “Omg, Pa look at this! It's gorgeous.” you had exclaimed. You saved it to your cart for you to buy later but he beat you to it. So what did you do? You bought him a Berluti Men’s leather jacket for his own birthday that you knew he had been eyeing for months.

But soon, the game escalated. You found yourself overthinking every little thing he did. Your mind wondering what you could give him in return. And no matter how hard you tried, you always felt like you had to top his gestures, matching him with something bigger, something better.

Ony had an inkling about your behavior for a while but he left it alone. Until your two year anniversary. That night, you sat together in his apartment, you hand him a gift--a black bag with two boxes inside. He smiles at you as he opens it up. Inside were two new grillz, one silver set and one gold set for his collection. His shocked expression morphed into a small smile of appreciation. “These are fire mamas, thank you so much.” he said before sitting them to the side. You smile bright at him “You deserve it baby.” you say to him.

Before you could even think, Ony placed the bag aside, reaching for a box from the table in front of him. You raised an eyebrow. "Hold up," Ony interrupted, his voice steady but serious. "I’ve got something for you too." He hands you the blue tiffany box with a bright white bow attached to the corner. “Wait,” you said, a little too quickly. “You didn’t get me anything else, did you? Because I just—"

He hands you the box, much smaller that the one you had given him. You hesitate for a moment as he opened it, revealing a stacked rose gold diamond ring. Your heart lurched in your chest. You blinked at the gift, unsure what to say. The ring was beautiful—perfect—but your immediate thought was that you needed to do better. Your mind raced, running through possible gifts you could return with, how you could top this beautiful piece of jewelry. Your instinct to outdo him kicked in, but then you saw the look on his face. He wasn’t waiting for you to match him.

“Ony…” you started, your voice wavering slightly. “I can’t just... take this. You know I—"

“Yeah, I know,” he said softly, cutting you off, his voice low. “That’s the problem.”

You blinked, confused. “The problem?” He sighed “I’ve been watching for a while and I didn’t know if I was for sure until now.” He lets you sit the box to the side and waits until you turn back towards him. “I noticed it a while back. The way your face contorts when you see me get you something. And before I know it you’ve repaid the favor.” he explains. “I mean we are in a relationship baby. That's what we do.” You attempt to laugh it off.

He leaned forward, his gaze steady as he watched you, his dark eyes soft but intense. “You’re not getting it, are you?” he said quietly, shaking his head. “You think everything has to be a transaction. That if I give you something, you have to give me something back. But that’s not how it works with me. Not with us.” he says “Ony, I’m not…” you speak up but you’re cut off

“Even in our bedroom. It’s like I can’t even please you without you feeling as if you need to outperform me.” He says. Your chest tightens at that statement. You hadn’t realized how much this had affected your relationship. You could see it now the wear and tear it was causing him. “Like don't get me wrong baby I love when we fuck but…sometimes I just want to make love to you.” he says gently.

You looked down at the ring, your fingers nervously tracing the gold, feeling the weight of his words. Your heart skipped a beat as you tried to process them.

“I don’t want you to match me,” Ony continued, his voice gentle but firm. “I’m not giving you this because I expect something in return. I’m giving it to you because I want to. Because I love you. And I don’t need anything back. Not right now, not ever.”

You swallowed hard, his words sinking deep. A lump formed in your throat as you felt the sting of emotion build up inside you. Ony wasn’t playing the game. He was giving you something real. Something without strings attached. Yet you struggled to accept it.

“I...” You found it hard to speak, the words getting caught in your throat. “I don’t know how to accept that. I’ve always had to give something back. I’ve always had to prove...”

“You don’t need to prove anything to me,” he interrupted softly, reaching out to take your hands in his, his touch warm and grounding. “Look,” he said gently. “I don’t know who he is that made you feel like this. Or who they were that told you that this is the only way you can receive love. It’s not.” He says softly ”But you don’t understand. It not okay for you to do for me and I don’t do for you.” You attempt to explain tears burning your eyes. “You can do for me. But do for me because you love me and appreciate me. Not because you feel like you have something to prove.”

“You don’t have to keep playing that game, baby. You’re enough just as you are. I love you, and that’s not conditional. It’s not about what you give me. It’s about what we give each other. And if you can’t accept that, then we need to have a different conversation.”

Your heart ached, a flood of emotions threatening to spill over. You had spent so much of your life protecting yourself, hiding behind the walls of your own expectations, and here was Ony, asking you to tear them down. To let him love you without the conditions you had always set in place.

You took a shaky breath, feeling the warmth of his hands around yours. “I’m scared,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“I know,” he replied, his voice tender, the understanding in his eyes never wavering. “But you don’t have to be anymore. You don’t have to do anything, or be anyone, to deserve my love. You’ve got me. No strings attached.”

And with those few words, you felt the walls inside you begin to crack. The tears you had been holding back finally spilled over as you let out a shaky breath, feeling the full weight of his words settle in your chest.

He caresses your head gently, kissing away your tears. You don’t move, allowing him to nurture you. Ony pulls you closer to him. Kissing down to your lips. After a few minutes, you pull back. “Your lips are salty.” you giggle. Laughter fills the air as tension leaves both your bodies. Ony picks the box up and opens it, the ring on full display. “Ony…” you start. “This is my vow to you. My vow to love you endlessly if you let me. To give you all of me and more. No questions asked. My promise that you have all of me.” he slips the ring onto your finger. “It's beautiful baby. Thank you.” you lean up and press a kiss against his lips. His kisses you gently, pulling your bottom lip into his mouth.

You whimper in his touch. “Ony.” you speak breathlessly. He hums before kissing you again. Heat rises in your body as his hands trail up your thighs. You whine, wiggling closer to him. Ony pulls back a bit from you. “Wha…” you startle. “I want you to allow me to love you and please you without conditions. Can you do that for me?” He asks. You look into his eyes burning with sincerity and a sense of newfound peace washes over you. “Yes” you answer and you feel yourself being lifted up. You smile as Ony carries you back into your bedroom and places you gently on the bed.

“Just let me worship you baby. Like you deserve.”

He speaks before gently removing your clothes. His eyes rake over your body, taking in the curves of every part of you. “Fuck, you're so fucking pretty.” he said, hands caressing every part of you. His fingertips trace your neck and down to your nipples, circling them gently. Your back lifts from the bed but he presses you back down carefully. “Relax mamas, let me take care of you.” he cooes, continuing his descent down your body. His feather light fingers move down your torso and to your thighs. He draws gentle shapes into your inner thighs, massaging your body to loosen you up. “Breathe deep for me mamas. In and out. Focus on your breathing.” he whispers before moving his head down to your pussy.

His nose grazes against your clit and your body jolts. Ony’s thick hands come back up and flatten you back against the mattress again. “Relax baby. Keep breathing for me.” You will your body to relax as he resumes his actions. Nose grazing against the meaty flesh, he begins to pepper soft kisses along your skin. Tantric breathing methods allow your body to release the tension you held in your muscles as Ony’s lips press against your already wet one. He makes out with your pussy, softly tugging your lips into his mouth and using his tongue to flick your clit ever so often.

“Fuck pa. Right there. Don’t stop.” you whine. Ony’s kisses are slow and deliberate. His pace is steady, tongue dragging from opening to clit, like a cat lapping at it's milk. “You so fucking sweet.” he growls into your pussy, warm breath blowing into your pussy. Your pussy clenches around nothing, causing more of your juice to pour out, landing right on his tongue. “Fuck.” You gasp for air. Your toes shape into ‘C’s as Ony explores your body. Mouth pleasuring you as his hands grip and knead at your flesh. Your juices drip down his chin as he slurps you down, soft moans release from his chest at the sight of your arousal. Ony’s dick hardens as he presses his hips into the mattress to relieve pressure while he honors your body. Your eyes roll back as your head presses back into the pillow, breathing doing little to keep shivers from racing through your body.

“Ony baby, please.” you whine, hips grinding against his face while his tongue fucks your center. Your pussy so wet, the sounds echoing through the room as she sings sweet music to him. Ony was in a trance, getting lost in your essence. The speed of his tongue increases causing sparks to sizzle underneath your skin, alerting your body of the pending release. Your moans get louder as your breathing gets heavy, Your hands reach down to grip the back of his head, hips stuttering against his face. “Ony, Fuck Pa, I’m gonna cum.” You’re borderline groveling as your body begins to convulse, saccharine secretions glaze his beard as you call out his name.

You struggle to catch your breath as Ony finally comes up for hair, lickign you from his lips. “You ready for me baby?” he asks, dick hardened beneath his boxers. “I-...” you breaths still trying to level themselves out, “Are you sure you don't need me to help you baby?” you manage to push out between breaths. “No mamas. Just let me praise you like the muse you are.” his deep praises caress the deepest parts of your heart, mending unspoken wounds with each word. He steps forward, pulling his dick from his boxers and gently slapping your swollen clit with his tip. “You’re my princess, yeah?” he asks softly looking down at the gold mine between your legs. “Y-yes.” you respond to him. “Remember that. Always.” he slips his tip through your entrance. “Onyyyy, fuck baby.” you body clenches, attempting to pull him in deeper. “Tell me you deserve it baby.” his eyes meet yours, brown irises burning with intensity. “I deserve iitttt…” your words drag as he sheaths himself all the way inside you.

“You deserve it all baby girl. You’re so fucking precious to me.” the sweet words contrast with the thickness of his voice as his hips jut forward, strokes deepening and increasing in speed. Only’s hands trail your body, one hand coming up to gentle press against your throat as the other locks your wrists above your head. His body leans closer, strokes shallowing as his hips grind into yours, words of praise whispered against your skin as he caters to every need that your body requests. Both bodies move in tandem as breaths deepen and arousals heighten. You feel your body teetering on the edge of another climax. Only can tell by the way your pussy grips him desperately, craving him.

“Ony, I’m..I’m c-close.” you cry out, body begging for him. “It's okay. Give it to me princess.” he commands. “Bless me with your essence baby. Release it all for me.”

You don't register the sounds being released are yours until your body starts to shake in his arms. Tears fall from the corners of your eyes slipping down your face and around your ears. Bed wet with your tears and your release as your aura explodes from inside of you. Ony’s breaths choppy as he requests, “Can I pour into you princess?” he whispers brokenly into your ear. Words don’t come so you feverishly nod your head in agreement. His growl follows his nut as you feel your pussy warm from his release coating your gummy walls. You both sit, holding each other as you come down from your high.

After a moment, Ony raises up. “All good or one more?” He asks using his thumb to swipe the tears from your eyes. “All good Pa. Thank you.” You let out. Ony rises up and goes into the bathroom. Your eyes flutter open and closed as you let yourself calm down. He returns with a warm towel and works on cleaning you up. He replaces your clothes with a warm t shirt of his and gets fresh blankets for the bed.

You sit and allow it. It feels good being on this side. Your heart feels light as you watch him move around the room getting everything comfortable for you. “Better?” He asks. “Better.” You repeat as a response. “Good. Now take your pretty ass down while I go get you something to eat.”

Ony didn’t ask for anything in return. He gave freely, unconditionally. And maybe, for the first time in your life, you realized you could do the same. He came back in the room with your food and slipped underneath the covers with you, pulling your body in his warmth. You pulled him into an embrace, wrapping your arms around him tightly, as if trying to hold onto the love he was offering you.

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his chest.

“I love you too,” Ony murmured, holding you even tighter, as if he never wanted to let go.

In that moment, everything changed. You didn’t need to play the game anymore. You didn’t need to prove anything. You just needed to accept what was right in front of you: a love that was simple, pure, and free from the weight of expectations.

And for the first time in your life, it was enough.

[violet-butterflies]

❥︎ yandere! Popular Girl

❥︎ Warnings ! ☞︎︎︎ Possessive, Obsessive, mentions of stalking and Blackmail, gxg ( female yandere! oc x female reader )

yandere! popular girl just moved into a new school and instantly rose up in the university hierarchy. Equipped with the perfect looks, money and charismatic personality, it was no mystery that a lot of people liked her. There were still a group of people that hated her for being a "whore" and a "pick me" but, honestly, it never bothered her. She knows her worth and she does not care about what other people had to say about her for choosing who to be friends with.

Despite all that, she found herself worrying about what you think of her. She first met you in one of her classes. This particular class didn't have that many students in it due to the fact that not a lot of people were very interested in it. Heck, she only joined it because one of her friends wanted to.

The two of you were paired together for a project. To be completely honest, you slightly groaned at the forced decision. You weren't really on the side that liked her. You heard from your friends about the rumors and allegations of how she did her work half-heartedly and of how she's slept with a huge majority of people so, deep down you were already preparing to basically do this project yourself.

But to your surprise, she was actually nice? She tried her hardest to help but struggled a bit because of how slow she was at understanding things but she actually wanted to communicate with you; which was better than a few people you've had worked with who stayed silent and made the atmosphere awkward. You hated to admit it but working with her was actually nice. You were even starting to wonder about why you decided to believe the rumors without actually meeting the person first.

Even so, you didn't really expect to get really close with her due to the complete imbalance and difference in both of your lives.

Yandere! popular girl actually wanted to be your friend though. She was a social butterfly so she really valued friendship. But, you were completely new to what she was used to. Most of her friends were over the top and extravagant in some way but you were, well, average.

"What are you thinking about babe?" yandere! popular girl's boyfriend asked her as the two were cuddling on the couch. yandere! popular girl's boyfriend was a few years older than her and was just starting to work as a pilot.

"Oh, um nothing. Just this girl I want to be friends with" she admitted before thinking to herself. Why was she thinking of you?

Eventually, you somehow became close with yandere! popular girl. You two would have lunch together or wait at a cafe somewhere before your classes. You even began to realize that she was hanging out with you more compared to the people she was really close with.

"(y/n) let's go to this new cafe! I saw on the internet that it's super cute!"

"(y/n) I wanna take you out on a little shopping trip! I bet you'd look super cute if I got to dress you up!"

"(y/n) wanna go to my house? I wanna show you this really cool makeup trick and I wanna try giving you a little makeover!"

Every single day of the week, you'd always had some sort of plan with yandere! popular girl. Because of how much you two were hanging out, you too were propelled up on the popularity board. You weren't exactly sure why but your friends began to stop talking to you ever since yandere! popular girl became your friend. Maybe they just hated that you were now friends with someone they weren't exactly fond of.

"Trust me! This party is gonna be fun! We're gonna have some fun! Plus you look so pretty in my clothes!" yandere! popular girl reassured as you two got out of the car.

The two of you then entered the very loud and crowded party hosted by one of yandere! popular girl's friends. You weren't sure if it was because of how good yandere! popular girl was at convincing people or if it was because you wanted to feel like you fit in with this completely new crowd but, you began drinking cups of the terrible beer. After a few more, you were a giggly drunk that was sprawled all over one of the couches.

"Hold on here (y/n)! I'm gonna go get something to eat! Don't go anywhere!" yandere! popular girl said before leaving you to get more chips. You only could give her a dumb smile as you began giggling at whatever you were thinking about.

"Hi there cutie... Aren't you really happy about something," a random guy came up to you minutes later. You gave him a drunken explanation before giggling again. The conversation was going well but, unbeknownst to the both of you, yandere! popular girl scowled at the sight.

How dare this random rando talk to my (y/n)?! And why are they getting along so well?!

yandere! popular girl then began stormed your way before pulling you to stand up.

"Oh sorry there! I think my girlfriend is really drunk and we're just gonna go now!" Yandere! popular girl said with a fake smile and a slightly passive-aggressive tone.

You then clung onto yandere! popular girl for support when you looked at her.

"Hehe, you're pretty even when you look mad" your drunk self complimented her. Yandere! popular girl's eyes widened as she looked at your flushed face and drunk smile.

Maybe she going to keep planning how she's going to dig through the rando's data to find anything she can use to ruin his life with later. It's not going to be pretty hard for an internet sleuth like yandere! popular girl. After all, why do you think your old friends stopped talking to you anyway?

[bunnys-writing]

Hi aether!!

Would it be okay to ask for a Lyney x reader whos insecure about their face because they think that lyney is WAYYYY prettier than them and is overall just insecure abt their looks ever since before they met? Thank you !!

"My Shining Star"

...in which you, a self conscious Fontainian, feel as though your lovely boyfriend is too lovely for someone like you, and he just can't have you thinking like that on his watch.

(a/n at the bottom!)

Lyney is a man easily described as charismatic and charming. He encapsulates what it means to be confident, and his every move is flawless by design. His show run with his siblings has been deemed dozens of times over the best show in the Court of Fontaine, and what's more, he has clear set goals, ambitions, bonds, and ideals.

And then there's you. You're quiet, more reserved than he appears to his crowd. In a world of dazzling gems, you feel like you're more akin to a jagged rock, and yet, he pursued you.

For months, really, you thought he was joking. A trick to lure you into his mind games, a ploy to make fun of you, but there was a quiet sincerity in his eyes that made you wonder if maybe it wasn't as fake as you believed.

And it wasn't. Months of courting you eventually had you lower your guard and take him up on his invitation. A date.

Well, the date went far better than either of you could've hoped, and it was shortly after that you became partners. He was your loyal, joyful boyfriend, and you were his favourite thing in the world.

For a while, it was great. You attended his shows, and he dedicated every single one to you and his family. He always made sure he knew where you were sitting in the crowd so he could blow you a kiss, even if the people near you swooned on your behalf to insist it was for them.

Was it for them?

That thought planted the seed.

It took days for Lyney to notice your withdrawals; the way you avoided his eyes, didn't linger on his kisses or cuddles. It was about as subtle as a house on fire, in his defense.

Then you stopped attending as many shows, stopped spending nights at his house, started looking in mirrors and numbers on scales and spots on your face, and by the end of two months of Lyney hoping for you to tell him, he decided he couldn't stand watching his partner tear themself apart like this.

"Knock knock," Came a singsong voice at your door. He didn't want to scare you, so he kept his tone jovial. "Hope you don't mind me letting myself in, my dear."

You looked at the magician in slight surprise, then at your mess of an appearance with embarrassment. "Lyney! I'm so sorry, I didn't know you were coming over, I would've tidied up a little more if I did..."

"Nonsense, dove! We've been dating for months now, you don't owe me a saving face." Lyney walked over to you, closing the door behind him and sitting on your bed next to you.

The second the door was closed, your boyfriend shed the persona he held. His eyes softened, his stature relaxed, and he lost the formalities. He brushed a hand to your cheek lovingly, and when you shifted to move your face away, he immediately retracted to his own disappointment.

"(Y/N)...I need to talk to you about something."

You felt fear and guilt crawl up your stomach to infect your lungs. Tangled in this dread, you said nothing. Lyney took it as an open invitation.

"You've been acting strange lately...You weigh yourself, you're less inclined to eat or to leave the house, you seem...you seem low."

Lyney didn't touch you. He put a hand next to yours as an offer and left it there. He could tell something was wrong, even in the darkness of the room. You looked so...sad. It ached for him to see you like this.

"Did someone say something to you? Do something?"

No. And that was the stupid part. This was entirely self afflicted. You drove yourself down this spiral.

"...no." You despised the way your voice sounded so gravelly. "I'm just...not feeling great."

"What happened, (Y/N)? Please, talk to me."

You unfurled yourself, your knees left your chest to splay onto the mattress, and your hands travelled to fridget in your lap. Lyney moved to face you a little bit more.

"It's just...I don't know. You're really pretty, and I see how people look at you, especially when you're with me. The people at your shows, at the markets...they know I don't deserve you, Lyn."

There was a long silence. Then, a cautious hand on yours.

"Can I tell you a secret?"

You looked at your boyfriend, who seemed to be saddened a great deal from your words, but still smiling stubbornly despite.

"...Anything."

"I'm quite self conscious myself."

Now you were sure he was lying. You watched him carefully for any hint of a lie, but you couldn't discern it. With widening eyes, you realised he was telling the truth.

"Wha-...How? You're so beautiful and charming, and your smile is so bright it warms anyone who sees it!"

"Funny, that's exactly what I think of you."

A deep red burns your cheeks as you realise you've been caught, and your boyfriend laughs, bringing you closer in his arms.

"I know how it feels to feel like you're lesser than the people you love. To feel like the world would continue without a change if you were to fade away. But you're my shining star, and I love you so much. All of you."

Lyney plants gentle kisses on your palm, to your wrist, then to your cheek, catching you off-guard and flustered. He gives a sort of half chuckle at your expression. You see love fill every bit of his eyes as he gazes at you.

"I love you so much, (Y/N). Don't ever think any less, 'kay?"

"Yeah...I love you too, Lyney."

Man oh man I apologise for how long this took! Writing for Lyney was super fun, so I hope you enjoy reading it just as much as I did writing it.

A gentle reminder that you are never not enough, and you're perfect just the way you are no matter what anyone (including you yourself) has to say about it! ♡

Thanks for reading! 🫶

REQUESTS OPEN, check pinned for more info!

[luxxid]

was he in love? he didn't know and he couldn't give a single shit. all he could think about was you. you, you, and only you. the only thought that rummaged his mind every day was you. he couldn't take his eyes off of you. why were you such a ravishing and angelic sight to behold? he was in love. he was deeply in love with the vision of you, and he could not deny it. he was entranced by you and enthralled by the thought of you. he could not take his eyes off of you, and he always knew that he loved you.

 the first time he had caught his eye on you was when you came to the library to search for a book. he was mesmerized. he didn't even know if someone could look so seraphic. his eyes could never erase the sight of you. long lashes, soft lips, doe eyes, and the most ravishing body he had ever seen. his heart was pounding in his chest and he was transfixed. he felt like he was in a trance as if he was being pulled in by a magnet. every part of him wanted to get closer, to be near you and savor every moment.

how could he not give in to his sinful thoughts? ever since he had met you. he had obsessed with being with you. despite knowing that it was wrong, he felt a deep love for you that he could not deny. he was powerless against the emotions that he felt for you and felt he had no choice but to follow his heart. he would kill for you. absolutely anything for you. you drove him insane. he wanted to be yours and you his, body and soul, and you had him enthralled and entrapped in your enchanting web. although he never knew your name.

unbeknownst to him, you had the exact obsession with the male. the way he was so charismatic had made you fall head over heels for him. his cold demeanor was so hypotonic. his green irises were so enchanting to look at. it was like you could never get tired of gazing into the depths of his pupils. It was as if you were under a spell, unable to break free from the magnetism of his presence. His gestures, his words, and his entire demeanor were like a drug, completely captivating and intoxicating you. 

al haitham yearned for that day when you'd be his, he was deeply devoted to you, and he wanted nothing more than to make you his own. his feelings for you were so strong that he could not help but fantasize about you, and his fantasies made him all the more desperate to make them a reality. if he had to admit it. he had pleasured himself almost every night at the thought of you. you being by his side and being his pretty little doll. he pumped his cock almost every dusk only to come to the reality that you weren't his. yet. 

well, today was not something he expected. he could have never guessed you were paying a little visit to the akademiyas atheneum. he felt the same sensation that he had sensed when he first set eyes on you. pure adrenaline was coursing through his veins. he knew there was no second chance. he had to do something. he had to make you his. 

as he walked closer to you, he could feel the love radiating from within, and he knew that this was the moment he had been waiting for. He looked you in the eyes, and he knew that this was it. he was finally ready to take the plunge, to tell you how he felt and to make you his. the distance between you two was not even a meter. with trembling hands, he reached for yours, and for the first time, he felt the connection between the two of you, a connection that could only have been forged by fate.

he didn't know what he was doing. it was like he had no control over his actions whatsoever. but, all he knew was that this is what he had desired of doing ever since he met you. his hands soon found the back of your head as he pulled you towards his lips, molding them into an entrancing kiss as you let your guard down. his tongue slashing and washing over yours. you couldn't say you weren't enjoying it, especially when this was the man you had obsessed with so many times. he was like an alluring spell that you could never break from. his mouth could do wonders.

he didn't know what he was doing. it was like he had no control over his actions whatsoever. but, all he knew was that this is what he had desired of doing ever since he met you. his hands soon found the back of your head as he pulled you towards his lips, molding them into an entrancing kiss as you let your guard down. his tongue slashing and washing over yours. you couldn't say you weren't enjoying it, especially since this was the man you had obsessed over for so long.

 his kiss was like a drop of honey, sweet and inviting as it teased your taste buds, but powerful enough to overwhelm you with pleasure until you were entranced in its spell. his love was like wildfire, burning away all of your doubts and fears. his kiss was gentle, yet passionate, and you felt like you were floating away in a dream. his touch sent a wave of electricity through your body, and you felt like you were on cloud 9. who knew the librarian had it in himself?

he didn't care if anyone entered the library, he was falling into the trance of being with you, feeling you. he was taking you like a drug. you inebriated him so much to the point that both of you ended up like this. 

he didn't care if anyone entered the library, he was falling into the trance of being with you, feeling you. he was taking you like a drug. you inebriated him so much to the point that both of you ended up like this. as he lost himself in your presence, the world around him ceased to exist--transported to a state of euphoria. his connection with you was like a powerful magnet, drawing him in and refusing to let go. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't resist its alluring pull.

his hand found its way towards your inner thigh, his hand kept tugging on the silky fiber of your panties; his free hands fondling the soft plush on your chest. your cleavage was so visible, his mind started to go feral. all he could think of was being inside you, feeling your warmth. it was like a flame was unleashed inside him, igniting his passion and sending electric shocks of desire throughout his body. his breath quickened, his heart raced, and his mind was consumed with a single goal—to have you.

within a few seconds, he pushed himself and you under the table nearby. his lips never left yours, and your quiet moans and whimpers enthused him even more. your panties were thrown somewhere else as he gripped your hips frigidly and quickly inserted two of his lissom digits into your walls. His one hand now traveled up to your breasts, giving them a sensual massage as his other hand worked your inner walls. his breathing became more erratic as the pleasure between the two of you continued to build.

his movements were becoming more and more intense as the pleasure started to take over. You felt your body become jittery and your breathing becoming heavy as he kept thrusting his digits into you. the sensation was overwhelming, and the pleasure was like nothing you had ever felt before. His fingers were inside you, and he kept pushing them in and out, faster and faster. your moans and wails were becoming louder with every thrust of his svelte fingers.

"shh, be quiet now darling, you don't want anyone hearing you right?" he whispered into your ears, your cheeks were painted into a cherry blossom hue as he continued his sinful actions. he continued his actions, his hands drawing out a feeling of pleasure that you hadn't felt before; his lips soft and gentle as he kissed you, making the moment indelible in your mind. You were sitting underneath the table at the restaurant, your bodies tangled up in a passionate embrace as he continued to pleasure you. His hands moved in perfect harmony, and you could feel the heat radiating off of your bodies. you were having sex under the table, and you knew that you would never forget this moment, ever.

@mistywaves98 not you requesting this at 2:08 in the morning 🤓

[livingfictionsystem]

Today seemed like a good day to roast the signs!

Now. These are just my own personal experience of each sign and obviously don't apply to everyone. I don't pre-judge anyone based on when they were born. I just thought it'd be fun and, since I love reading these things, I decided to make one. If this is accurate to you, awesome, feel free to tell me. If it isn't, awesome, feel free to tell me~

Virgo:

Some of the most authentic, witty, genuine people I've ever met. Pragmatic, honest, and ambitious. I've dated numerous Virgos. My Rising is in Virgo.

BUT.

I have never met a Virgo that did not let a single bad experience colour their entire view on something. If it went badly the first time, Virgos think it will Every Time, no argument. Also, AJ is Virgo, and that's a blight on the sign if I've ever seen one. (Also fucking just. BREATHE. Please. You blighters give me second-hand anxiety)

Cancer:

Caring, expressive, funny. Loyal to a fault. I think of them as the John Watson of signs. My best friend is a Cancer sign. Genuinely warm people that just wants their loved ones to be happy.

BUT

You take things way too personally and also you never stop crying.

Leo:

Another good friend of mine is a Leo. My moon is in Leo. Bold, fun, confident and I love a little ego in my friends. Or like a lot. They also have an uncanny intuitive sense, too. Freddie Thornhill from Vicious is a canonic Leo.

BUT:

You all realise you're allowed to be corrected? Admit you were wrong? Have the spotlight off you for two seconds? You're all so high energy and I need nap. (In my experience, you can also be loud.)

Aries:

Ooooh boy. My worst relationship was with an Aries. But I have a couple of good friends in Aries! You're bold, charming, and charismatic as hell. I always like the good and friendly competition I get from Aries. And they're actually pretty loyal friends. Like to a fault.

BUT:

The explosive bloody temper. The arrogance. How they're suddenly the expert in every subject brought up in their vicinity. Aries can be A Lot.

Gemini:

Honestly, this is the one sign I have NEVER gotten along with for long periods of time. And I do try. But! Wilde's best friend, Robbie Ross, was a Gemini and he was a creative writer and brilliant friend. (Who put up with a lot.) Great communicators.

BUT:

Speaking from personal experience, if there's someone locking themselves in a bathroom during a party and loudly threatening to hurt themselves, there's a 80% chance they're a Gemini. (20% is Aries.) Dramatic, vindictive, and most apt to lying.

Scorpio:

This is my sun sign, and I also married one of these spiteful fuckers. I love the depth, the aesthetic, the romanticising. And our intuition is one of the best out there. You know, when we listen to it.

BUT:

Love gets us SO fucked up. We can't help but go from "meant to be" to "dead to me." Romance brings out the best and worst in us. We're SO romantically ruled. Also our grudge-holding and pettiness can get like straight-up childish. Two Scorpios arguing can last for months and take cheap shots at each other. Voted most likely to risk jail to get back at an ex. We need to CHILL.

Taurus:

Used to be one of my favourite signs before I met Rowan. The respect for indulgence bordering on hedonism, how it balances with being surprisingly pragmatic, and many are So aesthetically inclined. And protective and parental.

BUT:

Sensitive as a Richter scale. Their communication likes to tilt between letting things build up until a breaking point, or jumping several conclusions within a millisecond. Many have severe control issues.

Capricorn:

I like Caps. Some people think they're cold, but I think they're assertive and have a good sense of boundaries. I love their ambition and they're pretty genuine.

BUT:

Do ALL of you have depression? Happiness takes like a 7-day processing time, apparently. Your mood is SO connected to your energy levels, too. Are you okay?

Sagittarius:

Intuitive as HELL. Also creative and down to back you in your impulses. The amount of ambition and energy they put into their goals is admirable. Genuine friends, a good friend of mine is a Sagittarius.

BUT:

They cut off people quick enough that it breaks the sound barrier. They'd rather burn down a building than let the occupants walk all over them again. Which clashes with the usual desire to be the parent of the friend group. Also impulsive as all hell.

Pisces:

I've never spent a ton of time around this sign. They usually seem like they've got a pretty good sense of the future. They always have a back-up plan and are intuitive. Pretty good sense of humour, too.

BUT:

That ego will swing pretty quick from king of the world to lower than dirt, won't it? A very emotional sign. Once that temper is reached, there's no going back.

Aquarius:

This is a fun one. Creative, spontaneous, usually downright weird. Sherlock is a canonic Aquarius, which explains a lot. They're usually highly intelligent. I've dated only one, and it was one of my best relationships.

BUT:

"Down to earth" doesn't apply when these blighters can't FIND the earth. They can be unreliable-- a LOT are pretty selfish. "Out of touch" is also a good descriptor.

Libra:

Oscar Wilde is a Libra. A witty, charismatic sign. They also usually have a pretty good aesthetic/artistic sense. So many Libras have me laughing until I cry. GREAT at parties. I get along with a good lot of them.

BUT:

I have Never seen a Libra admit they were wrong. They also can be pretty flaky and unreliable. They will sit on that fence until they become one with it.

-Xanthe

[where-the-sabia-sings]

A few crumbs and disconnect thoughts on BraMex:

* strap in for the new romance trope in the town bby, heirs in anxiety.

* But whereas Alejandro miseries are all born from the failed expectations he thinks he didn’t achieved as man “born” of empires

* Never mind that those expectations were made and put on him by Antonio who desired making Mexico the heir and son he wished he was for his own father (as you guys can see I’ve come back with a lot of daddy issues to unpack in those losers)

* However, Manuela’s anxiety is product of her desperation to achieve her place in the grand scheme of things, finally becoming the so long waited Country of the Future

* And believe or not, it’s in those contradictions that they met

* Usually, Manuela wouldn’t be considered his type. I mean the way Carlo’s describes their moony eyes cousin is not what Alejandro considers sexy and they only get to meet each other in middles of XIX during all these processes of independence occurring in Latam, is not exactly the most romantic thing for a pre teen nation

* But then he later see Manuela, perhaps after WWII and long gone is that stuck up sweet girl cousin. Now he sees a fuxking belladonna with the most gorgeous smile and a hot temper that got him on his knees envisioning the next top power couple to ever exist in the Americas

* And damn he finally found someone to share his love for diplomatics, another lover of using cultural soft power to sweep the old hags (and idiot Alfred) off their feet’s

* For Manu, Alejandro is that new wave of fresh air she much need

* He might not be charismatic as Cuba was, but damn the man knew how to be captivating as hell and is the only nation alive who wants to talk 24/7 of benefits of exporting one’s face to the world

* They dance to each other’s rhythm and they fucking love

* It might not deep as the clusterfucker thing she has with Paco, but in the end of the day girls just wanna have fun and kiss hot boys/girls i guess

* Then oh no

* We’ve reached the part where we kinda have to talk about how being heir of father’s empire only for not apparently getting to achieve all the glories who were sold to you from the cradle

* And having to “fail” in face of the evangelical brat almost abandoned son of England ugh

* Cause in the end of the day they are both children of empires trying to runaway from all the miseries, whether inflicted on them or by them on others, who also are so desperate to build their own apotheosis in spite of everything

* They sooo want to be their own thing and sometimes it seems incredibly impossible cause while they can’t renegade the vital influences of their other parents, the vices they inherited from their colonial parentes seem so hard to break free

* What do you mean waging war against a neighbor relative is bad? Dad made his legacy by defeating others and never looked back, why should I not crush those who are against me? Whaaaat? Does almost massacring my brothers/sisters/cousins/mother means I might not be so different from awful father???

* Anyways now back to the real deal

* They definitely they were all the rage after 1970 World Cup

* Manu was at her peak the girl being the first to win three championships at the time and finally getting a few days far way from the nightmare happening in home at the moment

* she was horny to the bone and bby Alejandro was more than ready to fulfill his belladonna wishes

* Nowadays humm 🤔

* He tries really hard to no sound so done every single time Manu insists making Chaves (El Chavo) jokes and memes

* telenovelas are prohibited topic amongst these two. We may watch tough, BUT we don’t talk about who does best and definitely we don’t argue who has the greatest villain

[mediocre-eternity]

What do you think of Daniel's new body since you turned him? Is it much different from how it was when you first fell for him? Do you miss his old body with it's all it's mortal imperfections and frailties?

I don’t think anybody has ever wondered about this before. I also don’t think I’ve asked this myself, though I have noticed considerable changes in Daniel, especially since we are close again.

Obviously Daniel and I cannot share our minds anymore. That is the most painful change, and consequently the hardest to get used to. I absolutely abhor it and I knew, I knew it would become a giant wedge between us. As I gulped his blood down my throat to change him into what he is today I was thinking of it. I don’t know why this is biological law for our kind, but it’s crushing and unfair. Imagine the soul that you can confidently call your soulmate, that you share everything with, that you trust more than any other person in your entire pathetic immortality has the most intimate connection shared severed. But I am too selfish and having Daniel as my companion for as long as this little stupid rock can spin is worth it. I just haven’t let the tragedy go yet. I’ve gotten better at communicating with him but the challenges are still there.

I shouldn’t talk. I suppose my Maker would love that type of privilege again. So much for unfairness.

And of course there’s all sorts of positives to Daniel being immortal now. Though largely his patience, gentleness and curiosity has remained the same, I feel as though other parts of him have unlocked, especially now that he’s regaining his faculties. He is much more charismatic and confident. Daniel has always loved meeting new people, especially the eccentrics, but now he will guide himself to find them. He’s even started to take my hand to lead me where he wants to go. He is…. Incredibly irresistible when he does this. It’s how I always wanted to see him and perhaps… maybe… what I always needed in him. I don’t know what I original goals for Daniel were, but this has now become the totality of it. That confidence. That embodiment of the monster that he is.

Ah, well. He begged for it. He can relish in it if he wants to. Louis always teases me that he earned it. Certainly, he did. He’s the only vampire we know of that clung to that hope until his dying breath. Serendipity or something.

But I’m getting off-track.

Again, I don’t really know what my original ideas for Daniel were. When I first met him at least. And perhaps for the first couple of years I got to know him. I unfortunately wasn’t really paying much attention to the limitations of a mortal body when I became his lover. Of course I knew what could kill him, that I could potentially kill him, and the minor dangers mortals face every single day. But the consequences of giving someone (almost) everything they want was beyond me at the time. Which is how he ended up with the disease that eventually killed him. I don’t miss that at all.

Sometimes I wish I could see his body react to my touch in a mortal way, again. It didn’t take much teasing, or much blood, to push him to a mortal orgasm. Oh certainly the exchange of immortal Blood is much more satisfying, but I could make Daniel utterly crumble in no time at all. Now it’s a bit more challenging, not that I mind. Again, Daniel has become very good at taking the lead in several different ways.

I do really appreciate having a lover with immortal stamina again, especially the one I’m devoted to the most. Getting to show Daniel the most intimate secrets of Preternatural Kind was unusual but is now so, so sensual. I wouldn’t trade Daniel’s body now for anything. The privilege of watching him extend how he can move and react is too beautiful. And now, I have a true companion.

That was the first time I’ve ever written that down.

Daniel is my immortal companion.

We are in hell and we will watch the heat death of the universe together.

Devil’s Minion, indeed.

[the-archangel]

Close to You

Day 3 of Cyber Hanami using the prompt "In Bloom"

A fluffy break in the tension of the last two posts, and indeed the next two!

V was laying on the bed in his apartment, staring at the ceiling, tapping his fingers on his chest and trying to figure out what he’d done wrong.

Johnny was sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, head dropped, Johnny is bored, this could be dangerous...

“Shit V, we haven’t left the apartment for two fucking days, move your sorry ass and let’s kill some bad guys.”

V turned his head, looking distractedly at his head terrorist,

“Nah Johnny, not in the mood, maybe tomorrow?”

“That’s what you said yesterday, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Truth was, Johnny kinda knew what was bothering V, but sincerely hoped he was wrong and that V was worrying over that stealth gig turned messy, or about not being able to afford the Vectra he’d been eyeing up, because if he was right about what was worrying the young merc, it was going to make their lives even more complicated – if that was even possible.

V wandered into the shower leaving Johnny leaning on the sink, deep in thought, he’d decided maybe it would be better to just get it over with, to confront V, get it out in the open and deal with it. Following him over to the wardrobe, the Rockerboy crosses his arms and leans against the cupboards with one foot on the shelf,

“Admit it, it’s Kerry isn’t it?”

V’s emerald eyes suddenly look sad, he slumps down on the bean bag with a huff.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Well I live in your brain so yeah, but I imagine there are scopbeetles who would look at you and know you’re lovesick.”

V looks offended, “Fuck you Johnny, I am not...I’m just...confused.”

V had seen Kerry a few times now, from the beginning he felt a connection with the guy, he found him attractive sure, but more than that, he felt that he knew him, that they’d be good together, that he’d like to know him better. There’d been flirting, an undeniable mutual attraction, but over the weeks it had turned into something else, until the last time they met, a couple of days ago there had been great sex followed by vague promises and declarations. Yet every single time, just as things were getting going, Kerry walked away, or asked V to leave him to his thoughts which was even worse.

“Why does he always walk away? He never invites me over to his place or offers to come back with me, I don’t get it, what did I do?”

V sees himself as a pretty straightforward kinda guy, whenever he’d been into someone they’d meet up then hang at each other’s places and get to know each other over the last night’s cold pizza and beer before the inevitable fizzle out and parting of ways. This felt different though, V was pretty sure he was out of his depth, not only was Kerry intimidatingly gorgeous and charismatic, he was also much more experienced in these kinds of things and complicated in ways V couldn’t even imagine (though it would for sure make him feel better to know that one day he’d know the singer better than anybody ever had).

Johnny felt for the kid, especially knowing that back in the day, that’s exactly what Kerry would have been into too, hell they spent years crashing with whichever input was in favour at the time in between them sharing crummy apartments that made V’s look like a palace. Kerry had clearly matured in the last 54 years, not jumping on every dick that was waved his way, taking his time, Johnny had to admit he was kinda proud of him. Course the reason could just be that he’s got a different guy in his bed every night, but he wasn’t ready to drop that idea into V’s already swirling mind.

“You’re right V, Kerry is a walking contradiction, fun as hell, annoying as fuck, kinda sweet, worse temper than mine, wanting people close, then pushing them away,” Johnny sighs and looks at his boots, “he likes you, but he’s scared.”

V snorts, “Scared? Of what?”

Looking earnestly into V’s incredulous eyes, “Of me mostly I guess,” Johnny sighs.

-

V had seen, through Johnny’s memories, the almost passionately tempestuous relationship the two rockers had. The love they had for each other was obvious, but whereas Kerry’s was partly based on lust and intrigue, Johnny’s was arguably purer, based on friendship and a genuine care for the other man, not that he would ever have admitted any of this at the time.

Despite this, or maybe because of it, Johnny spent the majority of his friendship with Kerry, either leading him on, letting him down or damning his choices in everything from inputs to managers to life choices and beyond. The thing that always united them was music and when they couldn’t even do that together any more their relationship was over, though the love remained.

Johnny had come out of it relatively unscathed, didn’t expect anything from anyone, didn’t get it. Right up to the end he never wished that he’d done anything different. Only that Kerry hadn’t been such a pussy and had carried on making music with him.

Kerry wasn’t so lucky, even in the early days he would go out of his way to impress Johnny in any way he could, a riff, stolen booze, a new high. As tensions rose between them it was more fun to antagonize him, maybe with an input that hated Johnny’s guts, or by ending up with a successful solo career without him. With Johnny gone, Kerry came to realise that a fair portion of his own personality had only been there as a reaction to his rejection by Silverdyne and it took him years of self-examination and intrusive psychological intervention to build himself back up to the seemingly confident, self-assured presence you got today.

“You remind him of me, and he can’t afford to let me back into his head, he’s not strong enough to go through it again.”

V pondered Johnny’s seemingly wise words, but he wasn’t so sure that the famous Silverdyne ego wasn’t mostly what he was hearing.

“Mhm, maybe,” is all he said.

-

V decided to take on a couple of gigs to get him through another sleepless night. The first was a straightforward extraction, neutralise the goons, rescue the kidnapped woman, didn’t even need to engage his brain much. After the car had taken the victim back to her family, V sat on the kerb and let Johnny smoke a cigarette.

V looks at the spec for the next gig, “You’re fucking shitting me,” he mutters under his breath.

“That’s.....yeah,” agrees Johnny.

-

They arrive at the swanky apartment building in The Glen and sit in the Porsche for a moment looking up at the Penthouse, the target for the gig.

“So, how you gonna handle this?”

“Disable the cameras, hack the door protocols, finagle the strong-room lock, find the gear, klep the gear, swift exit.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Eh, I’ll deal with the rest later.”

V was right, the apartment’s security held no surprises and had no chance against someone with his skill set. The target was in a secured room behind a pass-code protected door, it took a bit of deduction work from them both but they figured it out, klepped the goods, accidentally swiped a few other things just lying around and deltaed.

Back in the car the rocker looks at the merc with a raised eyebrow,

“So, what now?”

V chewed on his bottom lip, pondering his options,

“Take it to the drop off point I guess.”

Johnny slaps his hand on the dashboard in frustration – or at least tries to – “Seriously V, this is exactly the excuse you need, stop being a pussy and sort your shit out.”

V sulks, but knows that Johnny is annoyingly right, “’Kay,” he says sullenly and sets off for North Oak.

Pulling up to Kerry’s drive, V is surprised to find that his metrics have been recognised by the security systems, and the Samurai mask emblazoned gates swing smoothly open to let him in. Johnny pointedly does not look over his glasses in a told-you-so manner, though he really wants to.

Kerry is already standing in the doorway as the Porsche glides down the drive. He’s dressed casually in jeans and an old sweater, looking god-like even so, thinks V. In a moment of blind panic, the merc wonders why he’s come, what’s he supposed to say to this amazing man who probably doesn’t want him here anyway? Too late now, turning round and leaving would make him seem a real gonk, so he slaps on his best shy smile and gets out of the car.

“Never can get over seeing his car again,” purrs Kerry running his fingertips over the roof. V’s cheeks darken as he imagines where else that feather light touch could be used. “We had some preem times in there, travelling to gigs, sleeping it off after, heh. What brings you to Casa Del Kerry V?”

V swallows, “Erm, so I just got off a gig and, well not just... maybe an hour ago, and there was this guy, I mean he wasn’t there but he lived there, shit...”

“Calm down kid,” reassures Kerry chuckling, “deep breath, and... go!”

Nervous of tying his tongue in knots again and making an even bigger gonk of himself, V opens the passenger door of the Porsche and reaches behind the seat to grab what’s there, offering it to Kerry with an outstretched arm.

“Shit V, you found it!” Kerry takes the offered guitar and runs his fingers down the fret board, “There is nothing like the sound of the fucking Orphean, nothing comes close. I knew you were the man for the job...”

Kerry pauses as if he’s let out a secret, “Oops.”

“I fucking knew it,” smirks Johnny.

“So, it was you. You’re the one who posted the job? Why the assumed name? Wh...I mean, sheesh.”

“Come in out of the rain and I’ll try to explain, drink?”

“Sure, bourbon?”

“Sure,”

Kerry fixes their drinks and finds space on the couch for them both, tinkling V’s ice to invite him over. “Come sit next to Kerry,” he says brightly, tapping the seat next to him.

V happily complies, taking the drink and humming in surprise and satisfaction as Kerry’s arm is draped over his shoulders and his finger traces the line of his tattoo as he speaks,

“Thing is V, it’s the only way I could think of to get you here, you never asked to come, never invited me to your place, didn’t even know if you were interested...”

“Shit, Ker. I would’ve been over in a heartbeat if you’d’ve asked, I didn’t think you wanted me to come.”

The tension on both their faces finally cracks, Kerry looks at floor shaking his head and smiling with relief, and V throws his head back, laughing at what a gonk they’ve both been.

“How did you know it was me who’d take the gig, to bring the guitar I mean?”

“I didn’t, but I’ve had a ton of shit klepped over the years and knew that eventually you’d be the one to find it, plus, Rogue owes me a favour so...”

_

Johnny materialises at the end of the bar determined to give V some ‘told you so’ type crap. He slides his glasses to the end of his nose and looks over them at V’s hand resting on Kerry’s thigh, at the arm pulling the merc in close, at the way their eyes linger. “Jeez, I’m not up for watching this shit again.” he complains as he disappears earning a smirk from the luckiest merc in NC.

[miffyellebeer]

*cracks knuckles*

hello, hi i figured this should be the first thing you read before you go through anything else because i don't think this blog does enough justice... nor does it even crack the surface when it comes to my feelings for you. first of all, i just want to say happy anniversary!! :) we made it one year. one whole year. if this was a baby (which it should be) it would be walking and maybe even saying his or her words by now. why aren't you having my kids yet, by the way? you've made me so happy this past year. well, actually, you've made me happy for longer than a year. i've been happy since you've come in my life, really. i don't think there's anyone out there in the world who is as lucky as i am. you're really, really something special. annoyingly special. i love you for the woman that you are. i love everything that makes you similar to me but weirdly i love everything that makes you different to me, as well. you've made me an all-round better person, madison. i feel inspired to do better every day because of you. you're like a light that never runs out of fuse, but that light has changed my life. you're my favourite pillow i think about whenever i'm sleeping away from our bed. i don't like spending my days without you. i don't like living without you, actually, i don't think i can do it anymore. i know we've come as some sort of test to each other because i've never met anyone like you (in a good way). you appreciate all that i am but you also challenge me intellectually, and i find myself always learning from you. you always keep me on my toes, you know? i've never had that. i've also never slept with someone over and over again and have it feel like the first time, every single time. you're like an addiction i can't kick. but i'm not resisting it anymore, because even with the emotional intimacy you've made me feel safe, listened to... i don't tell you enough what you do for me. i never thought i could feel this close to someone. i'm not used to things falling the way they have for us, but im thankful for whoever's up there that you fell into my lap.. quite literally. your patience and willingness to want to give things a shot from the beginning was almost too good to be true, you seemed almost too good to be true... especially with how gorgeous, charismatic and kind hearted you were and still are. i should really be worshipping you at your feet and feed into that god complex you have. :) i know you're my girlfriend but you're also one of my favourite humans. ever. you're my absolute favouriteee favourite favourite and i don't think that will ever change.

happy one year, babe

h

[praeteritus-memories-muses]

Name: Ajax Childe / Tartaglia

Series: Genshin Impact

Continuity: Video Game

Age: 20

Height: 5'11"

Birthday: July 20th

Birthplace: Snezhnaya

Orientation: Bisexual

Species: Human

Occupation: Fatui Harbinger

Sibling(s): Teucer, Tonia and Anthon

Bio:

Childe, who's true name is Ajax, comes from a large family in Snezhnaya with not much to their name in terms of mora. They weren't entirely poor, but a large family meant that Childe often received hand-me-downs from his siblings and not much to eat in terms of food.

His name alone was after a great adventurer from a fictional story his father loved throughout his life, which surely engraved a thirst for new sights and adventure within him. Yet soon that love of adventure, which would've surely made him an admirable member of the Adventures Guild as an adult, had started to twist into a thirst for bloodlust after countless battles within the Sneznaya government due to the Tsarista, the cryo archon, waging a rebellion against Celestia and the other archons. This news shocked many elders within Snezhnaya, even Childe who had always seen the cryo archon had a fragile but loving heart.

At the age of fourteen, he fled home with nothing but a piece of bread and a sword in hand in search of new battles and adventure to be found. He'd fight bears, wolves and other wild vicious animals with nothing but his bare hands and sword. That is, he was alone until he met a mysterious Swordswoman.

He ventured with this woman into the Abyss, a corrupted area of Tevyat that was comprised of the cursed citizens of the ancient nation of Khaenri'ah that was destroyed by the archons.

Childe was inside the Abyss for 3 months, yet not a single soul knows what happened. He won't talk about it, not out of trauma, but out of sworn secrecy to it's secrets. Yet no time at all had passed in the human world when he returned, his sisters and mother telling him that he was gone for three days.

Yet something in the Abyss changed him. He no longer was shy around others. He was charismatic, confident, trouble making, aggressive and argumentive around other people. Yet his parents and siblings would only see the side he wanted them to see - which was a charismatic and confident teenager.

Yet Childe would start to get into fights. Each one making him crave more of that high that victory brought. His fights would get so bad that he would get into one with a Fatui, and his defeat resulted in his father having to settle matters. With no money to give for the Fatui soldier to leave his son alone, he had no choice but to enlist Childe into the Fatui for the Tsaritsa.

Reluctant and angered, it took a long time for Childe to finally get used to the life of a military soldier. His father hoped that make being in the military would calm him down, instead it only made him crave more bloodshed and war. At some point, he realized that he wanted to be on top as the greatest warrior who ever lived. One that people would write stories and ballads about, not power but glory instead.

Childe rose through the ranks and climbed all the way to the 11th Harbinger of the Fatui, one of the highest ranks you can get. He's met with the Tsaritsa several times and even speaks with her regularly. Despite being the archon of ice, her heart was certainly warm.

During his time in the Fatui, he changed his name to Childe. Mostly to protect his family but also to match this new cold persona he was trying to don. His name as the 11th Harbinger is Tartaglia, chosen by the Tsaritsa.

Childe is charismatic, friendly, confident, argumentive and filled with a lust for fighting and blood. He's mastered several weapons and he currently wields a bow solely to get better at it like he does with other weapons.

He will also never turn down a fight. Someone wants to fight him? He will challenge them, even if it means certain death for him. Yet as much as he craves fighting, he loves and adores his family. Thanks to the money a Harbinger makes, he visits home once every six months to give his family all sorts of gifts - especially toys and dolls for his younger siblings.

Though only his oldest sisters, mother and father know about his true role as the Fatui. His younger siblings are kept in the dark until they're old enough to understand, and hopefully warn about never working for the Tsaritsa.

Childe is currently stationed in Liyue Harbor though, tasked with taking the Godhood away from the geo archon for the Tsaritsa. He hates how warm it is, and misses the cold of Snezhnaya, but he welcomes the new opportunities to fight. After all, he only seeks the glory and high of battle.

[luna-writes-stuff]

What types my favourite Game Of Thrones characters would fall for

Includes Robb Stark, Sansa Stark, Jon Snow, Oberyn Martell, Margaery Tyrell, Brienne Of Tarth, Daenerys Targaryen, and Tormund Giantsbane

————————————————————————

Robb Stark:

Robin Stark is 100% the person to fall for personality rather than looks. And something he has always admired, is someone with a creative mind. In the North, there is a lot of pessimism and realism. There isn’t much room for glee, daydreaming and imagination. So when he first meets you in one of the garden, writing away in your own notebook filled with words of your own worlds and thoughts, he is intrigued. Of course, you are adamant about talking about your work, let alone show it. But Robb is patient. He spends every single day talking to you, entertaining you and even accompanying you on walks. This man is completely gone for you. So, when you ultimately decide to give him a sneak peek, his entire face lights up. And your writing? It’s insane. He needs a library filled with your books right now. He is constantly asking about new ideas, even offering some, though they’re usually a tad bit….dark. But he tries! Will absolutely brag about it to others. He knows you don’t like to show everyone, but he will definitely let others know that his significant other can write. Don’t ever shut up about your ideas and prompts. This man wants to hear all of them. Every single one, even the late night cold sweat dream ones.

——

Sansa Stark:

Sansa can be rough around the edges. And who is to blame her after all she’s been dragged through? She needs someone who will look at things the kinder way, yet be decisive. Someone who can make interest out of the best of their heart. Sansa deals with issues from a neutral perspective, unless it is something close to her. But she can use a compassionate look at things. Then, all the same, she needs a supporting shoulder constantly. Someone who is able to slightly alter her decisions, but still let her do the main thing. If she wishes to have someone punished, they will. But all in good due. When the sun sets, she can let her guard down and rant about all the issues on her mind. She needs a confidential person for that, and who better than you? A comforting hand, a loving embrace, a gentle kiss. A good nice rest in the arms of those she loves most.

——

Jon Snow:

Jon has humour. He does. It’s hidden, but he does. And we saw how he was with Ygritte. Make him laugh in any way, and his heart can - and will - skip a beat. Whether it is because you are clumsy, childish, mischievous, or simply hilarious. He adores you. Something like you in the North is rare, and he plans on treasuring it for as long as he can. And when there is a day you won’t be laughing or trying to make others laugh, he grows concerned so quickly. It’s all fun and jokes until you stop laughing. All over you, constantly. Hiding you under his robe, standing in front of you the entire time, shooting you reassuring glances and smiles, reaching for your arm often to check if you’re still there. He does it. It’s those little gestures that grow so endearing, that you cannot help but smile at him. And that’s honestly all he needs.

——

Oberyn Martell:

Give him a charismatic partner. Someone who teases him back twice as hard, returns his pick up lines and messes with him from time to time. Play around with him and tug on his heart strings just a little too tight. He loves it. Playful smiles, far-off winking, stares at each other from the other side of the room. He was taken with you when your eyes first met his. He immediately knew there was this something about you. He’ll introduce you to others constantly, even if you are not around. You don’t know he does this, but he is so enamoured with you, he wants to announce it to everyone, even though that might not always be as clever. You’re being under protection the entire time, even from a distance. He has to make sure you are safe, constantly. If something were to happen to you, he’d never forgive himself.

——

Margaery Tyrell:

Margaery is a very artistic person. She grow up with artists all around her, and though she is somewhat skilled herself, this doesn’t mean she doesn’t admire the others. You’d have met in her home castle, working on one of your pieces when she simply walks in. Initially, she had the rooms mixed up, but she remained once she found your projects. She was a princess: you couldn’t tell her to get out. Of a room. Of a palace. Which her family owns. She starts taking immediately, apologising for entering the wrong room, but then moving on to your works decorating the walls. It is a whole different technique than she is used to, and it is somewhat entrancing. She’ll ask for inspiration, motivation and all those things, genuinely curious about your manner of working. From that day, she shows up twice a day, once with lunch, once without anything. Those talks made her fall for you at first; not your art, not your looks - though that was a win -, but you passion about your hobbies and career. And seeing you so motivated about her, awes her so much.

——

Brienne Of Tarth:

BIG STRONG WOMAN GOES WHOOSH. But when big strong woman sees compassionate and kind significant other, she grows all soft. She’ll do anything to grab your attention, though she will be hesitant at first. She has dealed with a lot of prejudice and harmful words throughout her life, and she fears you will reject her. Deep down, she knows you wouldn’t. You couldn’t even harm a fly. But she’s insecure. Yet, the second you choose to talk to her after seeing her countless attempts, she freezes completely. You’re actually talking to her? Thoughts everywhere. No words whatsoever. You observe her when she’s training, stay by her side when she is travelling, and offer to clean her wounds after fights. And it’s so intimate and endearing, and Brienne grows so flustered of it every single time. There will never be a day she wouldn’t. Big strong woman turns into mush.

——

Daenerys Targaryen:

Daenerys is definitely the person who is interested in all kinds of cultures and arts. And what better way to introduce those to her than to write music about it? You’d accompany her on her journey to Westeros, offering entertainment and music on the ships and walks. Whether you can sing or play an instrument, it doesn’t matter to her. But when she first met you on that square, trying to earn a little bit of money for your family, she immediately offered shelter and food. And ever since, you have been with her. You’ll be sitting on your bed, creating your own musical piece, and she’ll simply join you, her hand resting on your lap as a silent encouragement, and - if possible - her head on your shoulder, staring out of the windows in simple bliss. After everything she’s been through and is going through, you are her rock; her one place she can be safe and let go for a short moment.

——

Tormund Giantsbane:

Ironically enough, I’d think he’d go really well with someone incredibly stubborn. Someone who is set to do things their own way and will do anything to get it. He falls head over heels for looks primarily, but the confidence you radiate in your speech and actions actually stuns him. You go against him or Jon? He isn’t insulted. Kind of turned on, which he wouldn’t admit to you. Jon knows all about it though. But you can, weirdly enough, intimidate him. You’re so sure of yourself, it makes him doubt himself. Surely you wouldn’t need someone like him? It is not that he gets insecure about it, not at all, he simply hesitates his attitude towards you. The last thing he wants is for you to grow pissed at him and never look at him again. He couldn’t live with that. Once you two do get together, it is like fire and fire. Usually, that would be a bad thing, but your playful banter, teasing looks and general breathtaking combination is something to actually die for.

[lunarticxenia]

The Sun Signs

Hi guys! So I decided to make a series. I’m going to do: each sign in each planet, each house placement for every planet, and the aspects for all the planets. This of course is going to be over the course of a month; it’s going to take a while to cover everything LMAO. I’m thinking of doing this and alternating between asteroids, “placements that make people ____”, and astrology observations. Without further ado, here’s my take on the sun signs based off of people I know: 

🪁 Aries: These people are go-getters and know what they want when they want it. I feel like a lot of people associate Aries with being extroverts because they’re a fire sign, but I know ALOT of Aries and 95% of them have been shy. It’s more of the Aries moons that I’ve noticed that have been more extroverted. However other aspects in your chart can determine this. They’re also extremely competitive and very hard workers. Every Aries I’ve ever met has worked their ass off, and they keep working their asses off until they perfect everything. Some negatives are that Aries people can be super dramatic as well, and don’t take other people’s advice. Even when they ask for it, if their mind is set on something, there’s no going back. 

🪁 Taurus: Boy oh boy, do these people just want to go on a 10 year vacation and not have to deal with anyone ever again. These people love the finer things in life; they most likely have a creative hobby or have a creative streak. They also love good food and they love a good nap. Now everyone says Tauruses are super chill, and honestly, it depends on other aspects in their chart. I’ve known super chill Tauruses and super chaotic Tauruses. I’ve noticed the chaotic Tauruses have a lot of Aries energy in their chart i.e. Aries Mercury and Aries Mars (no offense Aries). I’d say a downside of Tauruses is that they can be lazy because they love to relax (however this depends on other aspects) and they can be apathetic a lot. I’ve found that Tauruses can very much disconnect themselves from a situation when they have to, so they can keep calm and grounded. 

🪁 Gemini: These people are social and will talk for hours. I don’t mean this in a bad way. Even the more introverted Geminis, once you get to know them they will talk for days especially about things they’re passionate about. I think it’s a cute and endearing trait. A lot of people hate on Geminis, but I don’t get it. One of my best friends is a Gemini, and she’s the most genuine person I’ve ever met. In fact, most Geminis I’ve met have not been two-faced, at least from my experience. I think that Geminis are also very funny, every Gemini I’ve met has made me laugh my ass off. Every single one. They have a great sense of humor and a very engaging personality. You can see this with Gemini politicians, they’re very charismatic and know how to entertain a crowd. I’d say the more negative side of Gemini is that they can be very flighty about what they want and while they’re social, they’re not always the best communicators when it comes to interpersonal relationships. 

🪁 Cancer: I’ve found that Cancers are either extremely extroverted or extremely introverted; and this can change depending on their mood LMAO. I can speak from experience; I am a Cancer. Sometimes I feel like being social and talking; other times I hate people and I just don’t wanna deal with them. Cancers also always have a softness to them; even if they have a lot of fire energy. I don’t know how to describe it other than they just look like water itself. I’d say some obvious downsides of Cancer are that they can be extremely moody and they can be snippy. If you catch them in the wrong mood, they’ll snap at you. I’m guilty of this as well. 

🪁 Leo: Again, a lot of people don’t like Leos but I love them. The Leos I’ve met have not been self centered at all- in fact they’re the exact opposite. Perhaps it’s the underdeveloped Leo suns who are self-centered, but all the ones I’ve met have always put others before themselves. They’re not cocky at all. I’ve also found that Leos all have really nice hair; this is a stereotype that’s definitely true. I’ve never met a Leo with bad hair. I’ve also found that they’re super creative and even if they don’t have a creative hobby, they have a creative flair. They’re also REALLY funny. I feel like they’re definitely slept on in terms of funny placements. This is the sign that rules “performing” in a way, so of course they’re going to be entertaining. 

🪁 Virgo: My favorite sign. I love all the signs in their own way, but Virgo is my favorite. Every single Virgo I’ve met I’ve loved. I get along so well with them. Virgos are shit on for being critical but it’s because they know that the people in question can achieve so much. Virgos also save that critical energy for themselves and can tear themselves apart if they’re not perfect. These people are also always putting others before themselves and always try to help everyone. Remember the 6th house rules one’s sense of usefulness. They feel that if they’re not being useful in some way to people that they’re not good enough. I literally just want to hug every Virgo. Also they’re not boring at all. FOH. Virgos are literally so much fun. 

🪁 Libra: These people are just so likable. No matter what they do, you just tend to like them for some reason. They can adapt to any type of personality and they have a way of making everyone like them. This is why Libra suns tend to be popular; they’re very bubbly and sociable. Even if they’re not popular, they’re well-liked. However, this can be their downfall as well. They can be superficial and fake. They tend to flip flop in arguments alot, and they try to play on both sides which can create more tension between two people. Also, have you ever seen a Libra try to make a decision? LMAO. Love them though. 

🪁 Scorpio: Your eyes. Holy fuck. You can tell if someone is a Scorpio just by the gaze in their eyes. They stare into your fucking soul. Even if their eyes are a light color, there’s always a sense of mystery and darkness to them. Despite this sense of power they give off, once you get to know them they’re literally the biggest teddy bears. Literally just go up to one and talk to them, they’ll talk to you and be all nice and happy. I’ve noticed that Scorpios just don’t like to talk about their emotions or what goes on in their heads either. They like to look strong and they don’t show their vulnerable side to just anybody. This would be one of their downfalls. They have a hard time being vulnerable and letting people in. They look fierce, but they’re sweet and just want a hug. 

🪁 Sagittarius: The funniest people ever. I’ve never met a non-funny Sagittarius. I work with two of them and they have me in tears laughing. They’re also very smart and you can talk to them about anything. Even if they don’t get the best grades in school (which I rarely see, the Valedictorian and the Salutatorian were both Sagittariuses) they always have a base knowledge about everything. They’re also extremely chill and try not to take life too seriously. I’ve found that a downside of this placement is that they can be very flighty in love. They have a hard time settling down which can be difficult for someone who wants to date them. Sagittariuses crave independence and they’re usually not the relationship types. Also they have a hard time taking things seriously. 

🪁 Capricorns: My guilty pleasure. I’ve dated two of them and 75% of the people I’ve liked were Capricorn suns. I feel like people overlook the appeal of Capricorns. Scorpios are the “sexy” ones, but have you seen how attractive Capricorns can be? Remember, in Tarot, the Devil rules Capricorn, so they can be devilishly handsome or darkly beautiful. Even if they’re not the most attractive person in the room, they have an aura to them that’s intriguing. They speak softly and carry a big stick. They don’t have to impress anyone; they know that they’re powerful. I’d say some downsides to Capricorns are that they have a hard time expressing their emotions and they tend to shove them down; which can result in them exploding later on. They also have a tendency to be arrogant, and can dish it out, but they can’t take it. 

🪁 Aquariuses: My second guilty pleasure. I just love the Saturn energy, what can I say? Aquariuses are such lovable weirdos. I don’t know how else to describe them. Every single one I’ve met has been unique in some way and they don’t try to fit in either. They’re proud of being different. My boss is an Aquarius and I felt self conscious one day because I had a different color shirt on than everyone else and he told me “Why would you want to fit in when you could stand out?”. They’re those types of people. They’re also really funny as well, their minds just work so differently from everyone else. They’ll say the most outlandish things and you’ll die laughing. Some downsides? You could know them for years and you’ll just find out things about them. They don’t share things about themselves and it’s hard to get to know them. They also can be very emotionally cold. They don’t like emotions. 

🪁 Pisces: Softies. They’re literally soft teddy bears. No matter how big or tall or muscular they could get, you just look into their eyes and that softness is there. They’re really sweet and tend to be more introverted. They aren’t the types who go out of their way to talk to strangers at a party. They love comfort and they like to feel secure. They’re also very dreamy if that makes sense. They always look like they came out of a fantasy world. I’d say a major downside would be that they’re overly sensitive. They cannot take a joke. I remember I was telling my co worker who’s a Pisces about the negative traits of Pisces and one of them was lazy; and he got SO offended. He was like “I am NOT lazy.” LMAO. 

Also guys, as I’ve said, other things in your natal chart can affect these traits. For the next asteroid by the way, I’m between asteroid Bellona and Lilith. Which one would you guys want to see? I’ve been getting a lot of questions about those two. :) 

[snackhobi]

a human touch, part I

Part [1] / 1.5 / 2

(masterlist here)

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

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

then he turns up at your door. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No human could ever look this good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“After you, please,” he says.

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

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

“Not as pretty as you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's just depressing, really.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Purple.”

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

You think it suits him better.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/n.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ahh, Saturdays. You love the weekend. 

“Good morning.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure,” you mumble. “I think—woah!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why can’t I just wear your clothes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Of course, you never do.)

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

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

“All done?”

“I think so.”

“Nice.” You feel content.

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

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

You promptly roll off the sofa.

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

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

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

Ah. 

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

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

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

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

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

V looks utterly enraptured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go for it,” you say.

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

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

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

Just for an instant.

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

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

But then V laughs. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” V says, and you blink.

“For what?”

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

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

He chooses dinner, never leaving your side.

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

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

So here he is.

(And here you are.)

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

“Morning,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

“I won’t be long,” you promise.

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t you want to see the clothes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Thank God.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I have to go to work tomorrow.”

V tilts his head down to look at you.

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

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

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

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

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

So you do.)

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

“Morning.”

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

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

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

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

It’s… nice.

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

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

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

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

“Oh?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

taglist: @beyoncesdragon​