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thespiantherepist · 4 years ago

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Android Iida x reader

You knew your dad loved you. He only wanted the best for you, and to him it was never enough. He always kept you financially supported, even though you didn't ask.

Your father ran a robotics company, the leading one on your country. His company was never second best; however he never let fame get to his head. He always had your best intrests in mind.

You weren't famous, and you never wanted to be. Running your cute, little library café was enough for you. It was always so peaceful. So blissfully soft, and warm. It was in just the right spot. People would flow in. People would flow out.

Like clockwork.

Your co-workers, and employees were your friends. They always listened, they showed up on time. You have always loved your life. You never were able to comprehend sadness. How could you?

You were always content. Nothing could go wrong right?

He died peacefully. Nothing painful, the doctors were baffled. No signs of struggle, or strain were present. They couldn't find any reason for his death.

This was the first time you'd experienced true sadness, and it hit you like a freight train.

You felt like you were being flung around. Through the wind she blew, and then she would land back down again. That, was the only way you could describe the feeling. Next to emptiness. Somehow, you couldn't bring yourself to cry. He would've turned in his grave knowing you were crying.

You missed his hugs, and crappy dad jokes. You missed the random cup of coffee sitting on your counter when you got home, all because he had a spare key. You missed him as a whole.

You decided to take a break from work, it was all to much right now. Thinking about your father now had just gotten you used to reminising. You sat in your window seat, looking down your driveway, that was encaved by trees. Staring at the rain, as it dripped down your window you felt peace. For the first time in about a week you were able to sleep.

When you woke the storm outside was raging, it was nighttime. The bolts of lightning that cascaded down lit up the voided night, like a second day. The rain that had started as a slow peacefull kind was now destructive. Threatening to destroy the Midnight roses your father planted for you.

After a particularly large flash had light seeping in your window you saw a silhouette.

Large, and Rectangular.

A box!

You hadn't ordered anything so this was unusual. Walking over to your door, and trying to navigate through the dark using only your hands proved difficult. It set you on edge, but you were always brave. You were brave for him.

Reaching for the doorknob, you gently unlocked it. The box on the porch dwarfed you in size. Your heart stopped, maybe this wasn't a good idea. Alarms blasted in your head,

● HEY WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?DO YOU NOT REMEBER THE GREEKS? WHAT HAPPENED WITH THE GODDAMN WOODEN HOR- and she's bringing it inside... g.r.e.a.t.●

This was madness.

This is bizzare, I dont like it. I cant send it back, but...

You were faced with an issue, an android stood in front of you. Face stern, cold, (handsome). Eyes deadset, staring off. The muscles he had could possibly crush a watermelon. Suffice it to say, you would've thought it was a corpse; had it not been for the glasses that went into metal slots by his ears, and the engines on his legs.

Engines?

"Who knew dad made ones that looked so real.."

Awe filled your voice. It was a beautiful model.

The droid had a metal bracelet, with the name, 'Iida' engraved on it.

"Iida?"

"YES MASTER!"

"HOLY FUCK NUGGETS!" You were shooketh, 'THIS BITCH IS VOICE ACTIVATED?' That's wack.

"I APOLOGISE FOR FRIGHTENING YOU MASTER, YOU SEE YOUR FATHER MADE ME TO PROTECT YOU. I AM TENYA. I HAVE COME TO SERVE YOU IN PLACE OF YOUR FATHER."

Oh dear god, mans was loud. He also sounded like your favourite voice actor, but that was beside the point. You needed to find a volume button now.

○Two hours later○

"What do you mean you want to,... send me back?"

"Look Tenya," You said with a sigh, "Ive been having a hard time as of late an-"

"Yes master, however if I may interject for a moment? I was made for you specifically. I am not the company's." He explained it as if he was explaining it to a child.

"Okay... Ill consider it."

"What is, it? Master." He raised a brow, soft hydraulics were heard from inside him.

"I'll let you stay if you promise to help with chores, and whatn-"

"YES MASTER!"

Living with Tenya wasn't easy.

"Iida take a break."

"Iida, I dont need more food. Please stop feeding me."

"IIDA FOR GODS SAKE STOP CLEANING, IT SMELLS LIKE A THERAPISTS OFFICE IN HERE!"

And every time he'd respond with a blunt,

"No mamm, I'm afraid I cant do that."

"No mamm, it is my duty. Please eat now.

"MAMM I CANNOT STOP CLEANING, IVE TOLD YOU! PLEASE RELAX!"

It was, tense.

Iida, was difficult. However he was also resourceful. Wanted to know the weather? Todays, tomorrows, and next years baby. Need someone to theorise with? Iidas your man, resourses, and fact checks.

Want someone to cuddle with?

Yeah no, he refuses to do that.

"You're too precious, Im afraid Im not allowed!"

"Iida, I need affection."

"I'll call Shinsou."

You sigh.

"Cool, he's better than you anyway." You say pouting.

What. was. that?

Was Iida hearing correctly? Shinsou? Better than him? That cant be true. You were wrong, end of story, he'd prove it to you.

"Im sorry mamm, he didn't answer his phone."

"Did you even call him?"

He said nothing. Then.

"Master, come here."

"No." Really, then? Thats how you were going to be. Iida took off his shirt, revealing, very yummy.

TONED.

Abs.

"I'll sit next to you then." His programms scanned, finding the best cuddle positions. He threw his right arm over the couch. Pulling you into him along the way. Puffing out his chest, he allowed your head to lye there.

'OOH!' Iida thought suddenly. 'That actually feels nice. What? No Iida, Bad Iida! You cant think that way about heeeeeerrrr...'

He stopped. His mind jumbling.

You were asleep. A purring sound lightly emmiting from your body. A small sleepy smile on your face.

Iidas lit up like a bonfire. He smiled dopily, a clinking, of gears, and a soft thrum in his chest resonated.

'Relaxing.cuddiling. I could get used to this!'

#Android #Android Iida #Master reader #robot servent #Robot servant wont leave your house? Cool! Makd him your boyfriend.#Iida needs stress pills.#iida x reader #Iida x reader fluff #fluff #rushed #fanfiction #mha #bnha #bnha x reader

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chroniclesofawkwardness · 5 years ago

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Hurricane

For years, I was a night owl. When I started my second stint with the company I work for today, I worked a 1:30 PM to 10 PM shift as one of many people answering the phone if you called the number on the back of your debit card. I didn’t much care for the constant what-happened-this-time beep in my ear that meant another call had come through, but some days were better than others.

I enjoyed helping customers as long as what they asked me to do was within my power, but there were times I didn’t feel like listening to strangers’ life stories or treating their self-inflicted financial wounds. My schedule wasn’t ideal because I had to work one weekend day. Having a day off during the week wasn’t without its advantages, but it also meant trouble might find me at an unexpected time or place.

The first time I saw Kathy, I thought she looked like life had taken a lot out of her from behind the counter of the Circle K, but she was easy to talk to. She was blonde, thin but not sickly, and wore shoes that suggested she was accustomed to being on her feet most of the time. I guessed she was in her mid-forties. She was a nice departure from a lot of the women I saw at work every day. Of course, I couldn’t know exactly what was going on in a given woman’s life just by looking at her any more than she could know what was going on in mine. Still, it was hard to appreciate an individual woman’s beauty when most of them I saw towered over me in their high heels, flaunted legs that kept going until next Tuesday, and looked like they had trained with a Bloodsport-era, badass Jean-Claude van Damme, not the one content with starring in Tostitos commercials breaking chips instead of bones, and taking your place in your circle of friends. Kathy was different.

Maybe we got along because we were both night owls. Maybe it was because we both found ourselves doing things we never imagined doing when our parents asked us what we wanted to be when we grew up. Kathy told me she’d previously been a waitress at the Olive Garden. I told her how I was rebuilding my life and had had a literal pregnant pause between jobs once I’d come back from overseas.

Some nights, we’d talk long after she’d rang up my Combos and/or beef jerky. I’d offer general descriptions of the craziest recent customer interactions I’d experienced:

While working overtime one Saturday (a day I wasn’t even supposed to be there), I heard the beep of an incoming call in my ear, introduced myself, and offered to help, as was standard procedure. The guy on the other end of the line immediately started pulling his cheek back and forth. I could tell he’d moistened the inside of his cheek with spit (probably while listening to the preceding hold music) as an act of premeditation. His vagina song was broadcast directly into my ears and left no doubt he’d been watching too much porn and studying how to replicate the anatomical musical score with himself. Why he decided to share his concert with me, I’ll never know. Some things are best left unsaid.

When I asked Kathy what the strangest thing she’d ever sold someone was, she replied without hesitation: “I once had a guy come in here at three o’clock in the morning who bought condoms and bleach.��

I was left wondering why I’d even asked.

As much as I enjoyed conversations with Kathy, much briefer exchanges were the norm. The place was usually dead when I’d get there around 10:30 PM, but my arrival always seemed to trigger an avalanche of customers who urgently needed gas, cigarettes, or lottery tickets. I usually took the onslaught of humanity as my cue to exit stage right.

That’s how it went for us. That was our routine.

The first time I saw Ashley, she was telling Kathy about how much she missed. Kayla. Kathy introduced us and told me she used to work at the Olive Garden with Ashley. I was instantly glad I hadn’t earlier ridiculed the wardrobe of white shirts and solid, brightly-colored ties that waitstaff of the Olive Garden in required to wear, though I’d wanted to badly. Ashley talked about how she’d recently had an argument with her mother, whom she hated, and how her son’s father, then serving in the U.S. Navy aboard a ship somewhere off the coast of Greece, was an asshole.

I’m not sure if Ashley interpreted the fact that I asked her questions as a sign of genuine interest, or if I was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. As luck would have it, this was not one those nights when we were interrupted by strangers seeking swizzle sticks. She went on and on about how she missed Kayla. I just kept nodding, unsure of what else to do. I could have left at any time, but I was overcome with curiosity, as if I’d passed a really bad car accident, one that when you see it, you instantly ask yourself if somebody died. You feel bad for staring, but you can’t look away.

This carnage involved conversation instead of cars.

After an eternity of my unanswered prayers to be interrupted by a customer, Ashley suggested I join her for a drink. It was a Friday night and I didn’t have to work the next day, so against my better judgement, I agreed to go with her. She must have had to use the bathroom before we left; once Ashley was out of earshot, Kathy leaned over the counter and told me to be careful because Ashley may have already been drunk, high, or both. When we finally got into her car and pulled away from Circle K, I caught a glimpse of Kathy through the window, motioning to me with her hands as if putting on a seatbelt, reminding to me to do the same. She was trying to keep me safe with (or from) a woman I’d known for all of three hours.

Our first stop was a sports bar called The Crown, merely feet away from Circle K. Ashley ordered a Blue Mojito. I don’t remember drinking anything, but I do remember her taking my tie off without really asking if she could, and putting it around her neck as she continued to drone on about Kayla, her bitch of a mother, and her son.

Next, we went to a bar called the Keystone Pub and Patio. It had to have been around 2 AM; chairs were already turned upside down on top of tables when we walked in. Ashley must have known the bartender, who poured us shots of something that looked like Fireball. I don’t remember either one of us paying for them.

We were supposed to go to Waffle House after this, but that’s when shit got really weird. Ashley drove us there, but we sat in the parking lot for what felt like forever. We never made it inside. At one point, she just lost it:

Her: ”I miss KAYYYYYYLLLLLLAAAAAAAAA!!!!”

Me: “Um…. I’m sorry for your loss. I can tell she meant a lot to you.

Her: “I wish I could just crawl down into her grave any lie beside HEEEEEERRRR!!!! Oh Gawd!!!”

Me: “Okay.”

Her: “Put your hand on my chest and feel me sing.”

Me: “Ashley, I don’t know if that’s such a good…”

Before I could finish my sentence, she grabbed one of my hands, placed it just above her breasts and held it there. The next song was I Believe You Liar by Australian singer/songwriter Washington. It started with a hauntingly beautiful piano intro, the kind that made me stop (despite the awkward position of my hand) and listen. The first verse is:

All the things you've said And things you've done I remember, in memoriam You said that you did But you did not Oh, you ache for something God knows what

I’d never heard the song before. Even now, I still can’t listen to it without thinking of that moment in Ashley’s car. The piano part still gives me goosebumps, the kind you get when a song truly captures your attention, the kind that form long before you’ve heard a song 500 times thanks to Top-40 radio, TV dramas, and being a resident of planet Earth. I haven’t heard I Believe You Liar anywhere near 500 times. I don’t want to. For some reason, I don’t want to spoil it despite the ridiculousness surrounding when I first heard it.

Once it became clear that we wouldn’t be going inside Waffle House, I was slightly pissed off. I was hungry, dammit. We'd been drinking, so the conditions were perfect; I’d heard most people only go there when they’re drunk anyway. But I wonder now if listening to Washington’s song wasn’t a better fit than intoxicated waffle consumption for what Ashley was going through. It’s easy for me to describe the absurdity of our encounter, but there may have been more to it. However demonstratively, Ashley was grieving, aching. for her friend who died unexpectedly. I just happened to meet her that night.

Ashley had been in my life for about eight hours when we pulled into the parking lot of my apartment complex. The sky was starting to change color, signaling the beginning of a new day. I thought of a video game I used to play as a kid, Castlevania II: Simon’s Quest. One of the most annoying aspects of which is that you never knew when night was going to transition to day or vice versa.

If you were in a town when a transition to night happened, all the townspeople vanished, and you were faced with zombies that moved like rejects from Michael Jackson’s Thriller, plus bats you couldn’t even see coming because they blended in almost perfectly with the nighttime screen. When the lights went down in the city, you, Simon Belmont, the next in a long line of heroic vampire slayers, were reduced to jumping around whipping at shit in your 8-bit leotard while a soundtrack played that didn’t exactly inspire fear in, or of the undead.

Whether you were in town or out and about in the blocky wilderness, your only salvation from the darkness was another seemingly randomly timed pop-up box like this, which meant it was about to be daytime again:

I hated not knowing when day or night would come next. Even as a ten-year-old, the unpredictability made me nervous. You might say it was my first encounter with a pop-up ad, long before the modern incarnation those annoying little fuckers (or the option to skip ads) existed. This might be why I hate most ads to this day. Still, that night with Ashley, I actually prayed for the first time in my life that a Castlevania II pop-up would appear in the sky overhead, vanquish the horrible night, and send her back to wherever she’d come from.

Only that’s not what happened

II.

“Do you mind if I stay here tonight,” she asked.

“Not at all (this night couldn’t possibly get any weirder),” I said.

We went upstairs and went straight to bed. I couldn’t sleep, and my occasional attempts to kiss Ashley didn’t escalate into anything more. I just tossed and turned, unable to sleep thanks to the alcohol and the stranger in my bed. Ashley didn't have any such problems.

After hours of restlessness, I gave up trying to sleep and decided to go about my normal Saturday routine, beginning with doing laundry. I tiptoed around to avoid waking Ashley, but this didn’t stop me from checking on her every few minutes to make sure she was still breathing. After she'd spoken so agonizingly about missing Kayla, I seriously believed Ashley could kill herself right there in my bed without a second thought.

She finally woke up in the middle of the afternoon. We sat on the couch and talked about books and what we wanted to do with our lives. I agreed to let her borrow my copy of Notes from the Underground by Fyodor Dostoevsky, and she said she let me borrow her copy of The Five People You Meet in Heaven by Mitch Albom. Notes from the Underground was one of those books I was supposed to read in college but never did. I was looking forward to reading it on my own time, when a requirement wasn’t hanging over my head. I’d read one of Mitch Albom’s other books, Tuesdays with Morrie, which heart-wrenching though it was, had been a fast read. I thought I could get through The Five People You Meet in Heaven quickly, and reasonably expect Ashley to finish Notes from the Underground in about the same amount of time. I figured we’d meet up after reading, give each other their book back, and that would be the end of it.

That’s not what happened either.

First, we drove to her mom’s house so she could pick up The Five People You Meet in Heaven. Ashley decided she was hungry, so we stopped at Wendy’s on the way back to my place. Eating fast food was a rare experience for me (but the whole night before had also been). Until 2017, I had no idea Wendy’s had a vanilla Frosty on their menu, an item that had already been around for more than a decade by the time I caught on. I’d had other things on my mind.

We went back to my place to exchange books and phone numbers. Ashley finally left at around 6:30 PM, capping a whirlwind twenty hours. I wasn’t sure what had just happened, or why, but it did happen.

I finished The Five People You Meet in Heaven in about a week, and texted Ashley to let her know I was looking forward to giving her back her book. I got a brief response like, “Hey” and something about her work schedule being crazy. At first I didn’t mind having her book (and not having mine), but as time passed, it started to bother me. Not a lot gets on my nerves, but two things that do are owing people money and having something that doesn’t belong to me. Every time I’d see Ashley’s book on my shelf, I’d think: “Man... I really should get that back to her.” Then a more basic thought would creep into my brain: “I hope she hasn’t made good on her desire to crawl down into the grave with Kayla. Fuck... I hope she’s still alive.”

Over time, my texts and her replies became more and more infrequent. I’d joke with Kathy that I was reaching out to Ashley once every season, just to prove to myself that I was still trying to do the right thing by returning her book. As the months passed, I started to just want my damn book back, and to give her hers so I wouldn’t have to think about it anymore.

That’s how it went for me. That was my routine. Until the day she just showed up in my parking lot.

By September 2013, I’d found a job in fraud prevention. I jumped at the chance to learn something new without subjecting my ears to incoming vagina songs. I was still a night owl, but struggling to work at a pace that met the expectations of my new department. To help me acclimate, management had me do a few days of side-by-side training with a more experienced specialist. This meant I also got to temporarily change my schedule to a more traditional 9 AM to 6 PM.

For some reason, after working my temporary shift one day, I decided to walk through the rear parking lot of the complex instead of the front one. Then I saw her. She was in a car I didn’t recognize, but she was with two guys I did, from Circle K. The driver’s side door was open so she'd gotten a bit of a head start towards me before I realized what was happening. She ran into my arms and hugged me like I was someone she truly missed:

“Hiiiiiiiiiii!!!! I am SO sorry!!!!” She was practically squealing.

You’d have thought it had been only a week instead of nearly a year since I’d wished for the morning sun to vanquish that horrible night. All I could think was, “Finally! Here’s my chance to return her book and be done with this shit once and for all.” I’d aged almost 365 days since the last time I saw her, but Ashley must have thought I was elderly and feeble. She took me by the arm and helped me up the stairs and into my apartment. Once inside, she helped me take off my shoes and put on house slippers though I never asked her to.

“Ashley, what about your friends? Aren’t they still down there with the car running?”

“Oh, they’ll be fine. They’re just down there smoking weed...”

’WHAAAAAAAAAA!?!?!?’

I have absolutely no problem with recreational marijuana use, but I also knew that if the cops showed up (seeing law enforcement officers driving up and down my street was not uncommon) and started asking Cheech and Chong questions about why they were there and who they were with, I wasn’t going down with them. Even in their intentionally altered state of consciousness, I was convinced they could still identify me.

I case you’re wondering, Ashley left before I had a chance to bring up the books. I think I’d pissed her off by talking shit about her to one of my neighbors that night without realizing she was close enough to hear me. I should have whispered like Kathy had the year before when she was sure Ashley was out of earshot.

Still got it.

I never heard from Ashley again. I haven’t reread The Five People You Meet in Heaven, and the piano in I Believe You Liar still makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I’m okay with that. Why? Mitch’s book and Washington’s song make up the eye of Hurricane Ashley, a storm I won’t soon forget.

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