#Social Events and Public Hearing

[hello-eden]

Unexpected Hope

Damian has been disoriented all week. When he was told that stopping the ritual would have repercussions, he did not expect this. He had been dealing with the memories on his own but unfortunately he could not postpone this gala. 

He had been stopping a ritual that would end up summoning the being he now knows as Undergrowth. Damien does not regret that choice especially now that he has the context. Unfortunately it brought back his memories of Phantom.

He didn't quite understand they were memories for quite a while honestly he was a little bit concerned he got possessed. Thankfully after some compartmentalizing and a little bit of isolation, he figured out what was wrong. It did not help the confusion that comes with being a Midwestern teen and an assassin child put into one body but he has gotten the hang of it. 

Unfortunately Damian did not get long before he was forced back into the presence of his family. he had put off many public family events in the last few months so he was not able to get out of this event. he probably could have faked being sick but he'd much prefer to be able to pass off any of his symptoms from the memories as uncomfortableness being around strangers then be alone with his family. 

He's honestly very happy with his choice after he sees her. He doesn't recognize her at first with the dark auburn braided hair and the dress being something other than black but something made him turn around when he heard her rant.

She was giving a humanitarian speech to one of the investors. At first he got closer just to hear about it. It's always funny to see the faces of the imbeciles when people don't bow to their wishes.

Damien thought he finally found someone who was not a gold digger or a social climber. What made him really stop in his tracks was her body language. It was like a neon flashing sign opened up and said ‘hey this is Sam Mason’. 

Damien walked over with hope in his chest that he was not alone. she eventually seemed to get tired of the man or maybe he was able to scramble an excuse and walk away. he couldn't quite hear but by the time he walked over there it was only her.

 “you seem to be quite passionate,” Damian says, trying to start a conversation and figuring out how to ask the hard question.

 What is he exactly supposed to say? ‘Hey, are you my best friend for my last life or hey do you remember being on my ghost hero vigilante team that ended up with all of us being Undead royalty.’

The girl looks him over, probably trying to figure out what he wants. 

“Are you here to argue?” She says angrily, obviously ready for another fight.

“Your speech reminds me of someone, have you ever heard of Samantha Mason” Damien says trying to be nonchalant.

Her eyes seem to widen and look him over again.

“Where'd you hear that name.” She ordered.

“I've heard enough of her rants to be able to pick it out from a crowd.”

 “Danny,”  She said softly her grabbing his hands and squeezing as she looked around to make sure no one saw. “what how I thought it was the only one” Hope seemed to be filling her eyes. 

“Hi Sam” Damien Whispers just as softly just as glad he is not alone. 

Without another word Sam drags them to the stairway rushing up to the floor upstairs and trying to find a room that isn't being used. She eventually finds one two floors above the room they were using for the gala and pushes him into what looks like a break room.

 “How the hell did you get your memories” Sam demands 

“Why are you yelling at me? You have your memories too obviously if you are recognizing your name” Damian says shouting back at her. 

Sam always has a way of catching him off guard. She was happy just a minute ago. 

“yeah well I did something stupid which means I know you did something stupid” Sam said pointing her finger at him.

“ Well I may have accidentally stumbled upon a ritual for summoning an ancient and when I stopped it the backlash gave me my memories back. ” Damien stumbled over their words trying to justify themselves. "What stupid thing did you do?”

“The girls in my stupid Prep School in my grade went through a very witchy phase. there was a slumber party and they were stupid enough to actually find real magic. I had a cut on my hand earlier in the day and try to freak them out by adding a little bit of my blood. apparently my protection spell is literally stuck into my soul, so things went down” Sam says just as hesitantly as Damien

 “you have zero leg to stand on okay fine we were both stupid” 

They both sat there in silence for a while, mostly just basking in each other's presents realizing they weren't alone anymore.

“it's good to have you back," Damian says, giving her a weak smile and running his hands through his hair.

He'd been trained out of all of his nervous ticks but it probably makes her more comfortable to see him just as nervous as she is.

“it's good to see you too da- do you have the same name?” both of them don't seem to realize at the same time that they didn't get each other's names. 

“Damien” he says as he pulls his hand out of his hair and puts his hand out for a handshake. 

“Sarah” she says, grabbing his hand and giving it a shake.

the two of them shake their hand for a moment before they look at each other's eyes and burst out giggling. 

Damien's really glad he decided to not pretend to be sick.

[rafecameronssl4t]

Can you do Rafe’s reaction to reader being criticized by her parents in the forced marriage au?

At your defence || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: Ty for the request anon!! Sorry this took awhile 😭

Warnings: body shaming, baby pressure, ed is not implied whatsoever in this

Word count: 1,474

MASTERLIST (forced marriage au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

"Ah, there they are," your mother beams, rising from her chair with a delighted smile. She moves swiftly toward Rafe, who holds your 7-month-old son, Leo, in his arms. You remain still, not even turning your head to greet them, a small defiance that doesn’t go unnoticed by your father as he sets his glass of scotch down with a faint clink.

You hear your mother’s cooing voice as she reaches Leo, her fussing over him overly enthusiastic. "Oh, hasn’t he just grown since the last time!" she gushes, taking Leo from Rafe’s arms and settling him onto her lap, her affection almost too much for you to bear in the moment. Your father offers nothing but a curt nod, maintaining his usual distant reserve.

Rafe’s presence draws closer. His hand, firm yet not unkind, comes to rest on your shoulder. The sensation causes you to look up, meeting his eyes just as he leans down to press a brief, familiar kiss on your cheek. It's a gesture you’ve grown used to—affectionate, yet tinged with a sense of routine rather than passion. His gentle smile is meant for show, a mask for the public image you both maintain especially in front of your parents.

As he sits down beside you, the warmth of his thigh presses against yours, his hand resting on your knee. You focus on Leo, who babbles away in your mother’s lap, a sweet, innocent sound that eases some of the weight on your chest. "Do you know what you're going to order?" Rafe’s voice is casual as he flicks through the menu, his tone suggesting the same routine formality that colours most of your conversations these days.

You glance at the menu half-heartedly, appetite distant. "Probably just a salad," you mutter, though the words feel hollow, like so many of your thoughts these days. Before you can dwell on it, your mother’s voice cuts through the room, bright and commanding as always. "Darlings, I'm hosting a gala next week. You must attend," she declares, not so much an invitation as an expectation.

You don’t bother to respond right away, but Rafe doesn’t miss a beat. "Of course we’ll be there," he answers smoothly, already accustomed to fulfilling the social obligations expected of you both. His answer is automatic, effortless, as if this was just another item on the long list of duties you both perform for the sake of appearances.

Great. Another event. You force a smile, knowing full well what it would entail—another night of pretending. Pretending to be the perfect wife, locked in a marriage that felt more like a performance than a partnership. Another evening of tight smiles, polite laughter, and meaningless conversations with socialites you’ve long grown bored of.

Rafe’s hand remains on your knee under the table, a subtle gesture of unity that contrasts the emotional distance. You glance sideways at him, wondering if he feels the same weariness, but his expression is unreadable, composed in the way he’s perfected over time. You’d both become skilled at it—this charade of happiness.

Your mother gently hands Leo over to you, his little arms immediately wrapping around your neck as if he’s missed your warmth. The sweet gesture brings a chuckle from your lips, a sound you rarely hear from yourself these days. Rafe notices, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he watches the two of you, the rare moment of peace settling briefly between the tension.

"Did you miss me?" you whisper to Leo, your hand softly patting his back as he squirms in your arms. His tiny fingers soon find your family crest necklace, grasping it with curiosity. It’s a simple, innocent action, yet it tugs at something deeper within you—a reminder of the weight that symbol carries, not just for you but for the life you're expected to live.

Your father calls for a waiter, the sound of his authoritative voice interrupting your thoughts. The orders are taken swiftly, and when it’s your turn, you manage to say, "I'll have the Nicoise salad, please—" before you're abruptly cut off by your mother’s sharp tone. "Oh, no," she interjects, her voice firm, slicing through the air.

You and Rafe exchange confused glances, both unsure of what she was going to say. Her stern eyes focus on you for a moment before she turns her attention back to the waiter, the smile on her lips tight and forced. "She will have the Club Sandwich, thank you," your mother says, closing her menu with a finality that leaves no room for argument. You stare at her, lips parted in disbelief, as the waiter politely retreats.

"That’s too much for me, I—" you begin, but she raises a hand, silencing you effortlessly, as if it were nothing. "You’ve gotten far too skinny, my dear," she remarks, her tone almost casual but laced with that familiar sting of judgement. "A body like that will surely not produce a healthy baby." The words fall from her mouth so easily, so thoughtlessly, that it takes a moment for them to truly sink in

Your chest tightens, the prickle of tears stinging your eyes, but you quickly look away, blinking them back before they can betray your emotions. "What is your chef feeding you? Perhaps I should overlook his menu," your mother continues, leaning forward slightly, her concern veiled by her need for control.

Instinctively, your eyes flicker toward Rafe, cursing yourself the moment you do. It’s a habit you’ve never quite broken—looking to him when your parents begin their critique, hoping for some sort of allyship. Your parents likely notices, and you hate that you’ve given them another tell. Rafe, to your surprise, responds with a tone of calm indifference.

"We both eat the same meals, all very nutritious, I can assure you. There’s no need for concern." His words are delivered with an air of boredom, as though he’s tired of the performance your family demands at every turn. "My wife is perfectly fine and healthy," he adds, his voice steady, almost detached. You lower your gaze, staring at the table in front of you, feeling an odd mixture of gratitude and discomfort at his defense.

Your mother’s hum lingers in the air, hovering between indifference and criticism, and that ambiguity leaves you restless. As the conversation continues around you, the voices blur into a distant hum. You stare blankly at the glass of water in front of you, losing yourself in thoughts that feel miles away from this table, from these expectations.

You don’t even notice Leo beginning to fuss in your lap until Rafe’s hand on your thigh gives a slight, firm squeeze, gently pulling you back to reality. You blink, looking up to find both of your parents' eyes trained on you, their disapproving expressions almost instinctual. Without a word, you begin to tend to Leo, but Rafe is quicker, reaching out with an effortless, "Here, let me take him."

Relieved, you let him lift Leo from your arms, watching as he settles the baby against his chest. Leo quiets almost immediately, and for a brief moment, the tension in the room seems to ease. Rafe's hand remains on your thigh, a subtle reassurance that grounds you amidst the weight of your family’s expectations.

When the meals arrive, you glance down at the sandwich before you—far too large for your diminished appetite. The sight of it makes your stomach turn, not out of hunger, but out of the pressure to conform. You can feel your mother’s watchful gaze, an invisible but palpable force, compelling you to start eating.

You take a bite, swallowing it down even though the taste barely registers. "Mind if I have some?" Rafe’s voice breaks through the silence, and you turn to him in surprise. He’s already reaching over, transferring some of your food onto his plate without hesitation, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

"Yeah, of course," you reply softly, watching as he begins eating from your plate. His casual gesture surprises you, but it also lightens the mood, if only slightly. A small smile tugs at your lips, grateful for his quiet way of easing the tension that lingers between you and your parents.

When it’s finally time to leave, you feel a wave of relief wash over you. Bidding your parents goodbye, you stare out at the perfectly manicured lawn, the scent of freshly cut grass filling the air. Leo is fast asleep in your arms, his little head resting peacefully against your chest.

"Thank you," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper as you glance over at Rafe. He turns his head toward you, his expression softening. Without a word, he nods, moving his arm behind your head. You lean back against it, letting yourself rest against his warmth for a moment.

[lydiimae]

Jealousy

A.N: OMG I am finally starting this blog. I am so so excited. This is a Benedict Bridgerton fic ofc. The true loml. I'm still debating if I will write only Bridgerton orrrrrr others? I dunno... but for now, here is a lovely, smutty, cutie, Ben fic hehe <3

Warnings: semi-public sex, fingering, vaginal sex, drinking, dirty talk, heavy praise, talk of public heavy petting ;)

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Minors DNI!! 18+

He sighs from beside Eloise, shifting on the picnic blanket for what has to be the millionth time. "Brother, you worry too much about that woman." She mutters with an amused glint in her eye, taking a bite of one of the strawberry tarts the family maids had made for the occasion.

A family picnic was not a rarity during the social season, especially for the Bridgerton's. What was a rarity is that Benedict had invited a woman along, an incredibly important woman at that. Y/N L/N, a daughter of an influential Viscount. The woman he found himself to be head over heels in love with.

"I am not worried. I am merely observing so our brother does not make a fool of himself in front of her." He replies with a huff, taking a sip from his flask before tucking it back into his pocket.

You were merely speaking with his brother. His happily married older brother. He has no reason to be jealous, really, but something in him still tugs painfully at the sight of you speaking to another man. It is only when Kate comes to steal her husband away that you scootch back over to him, a bright smile on your face.

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You move back over to Benedict and look up at his cute pouty expression, smiling at the warmth that blooms in your chest as a result.

You wished to get to know his family before the inevitable happens. Marriage. You know, as well as he does, that you were both going to tie the knot as soon as it was acceptable to do so. You also know that he would scoop you up and marry you tomorrow if he had his way.

At the very first ball of the season, Lady Danbury insisted that she had someone for you to meet. Someone who enjoyed painting just as much as you did. So, she took your arm and led you away from your father to the Bridgerton family. You were confused, at first, when the already happily married Viscount, Anthony, turned to greet you. And then, as if the sea was parting, he appeared. A crooked grin on his face as he moved to see you. Benedict Bridgerton, although he is a second son, stole your heart as soon as you saw him.

From then on you waited with bated breath for every dance you would share, dreamt of him in your bedroom when you got home, and thought of nothing but him in between. You shared stolen glances at every event and even snuck off to any hidden corner or garden you could find for breathless kisses and entirely impolite words that sent your mind into a whirlwind you could not explain.

Soon enough, he started inviting you on promanades and even sooner he wished for you to dine with his family. Get to know his life outside of the stuffy ballroom, to which you found yourself falling even deeper in love than you could've ever imagined.

"You're pouting, Ben." You hum, taking a sip of your lemonade with an eyebrow raised in curiosity. "Indeed. Perhaps if you were not so caught up with my brother I would not have a reason to pout, hm?" He returns, moving to take another sip from his flask.

He was jealous? Of his married brother? You sigh and move your hand over his, shaking your head slightly. You hand him a glass of lemonade. If he truly is jealous, the last thing he needs is whiskey.

"If you truly wish to hear what we were talking about, I shall tell you." You return as he takes a sip of the lemonade you gave him. He moves his hand over yours, just out of sight of his family. A possessive gesture that makes your heart flutter.

"Yes, in fact, do enlighten me." He grumbles with a sigh. "His wife, Benedict. He was talking about his lovely wife, which if you have forgotten, happens to be my dear friend." You sigh, running your thumb over his knuckles.

He looks over at you, his green eyes sweeping down to your lips, then your chest, before finally looking back up. "I care not of what you were speaking about, I should like you to speak with me when it is I who invited you." He practically growls, the tone of his voice making the place between your legs heat up and dampen instantly. A feeling that only happened with him, something he had explained as both desire and arousal.

"You know that I-" You begin, but are cut off by him pulling you to your feet. The glasses of lemonade are now completely forgotten. "Mother, I should like to promenade with Lady Y/N." He fibs.

What he would really like to do is rip the skirt of your dress open, spread your legs wide, and plunge his cock so deep inside of your soaked cunt that you forget everything else. He wants to paint your insides with his seed right here, in front of the whole ton, so that every man can get a glimpse of who you truly belong to.

"Of course, dear. We shall not keep you." Violet replies with a smile before delving back into conversation with Eloise, who also looks up with a confused expression but quickly rolls her eyes and continues to speak to her mother.

You shoot him a questioning look to which he just raises an eyebrow and offers his arm. You take it and he begins to lead you away from the picnic canopies that many families have set up to dine under.

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"Where are we going?" You question after a moment, realizing that you are not following the path around the lake but rather the path to the carriages.

He stops and tugs you behind a tree, pushing you up against the trunk. The bark bites into the little exposed skin the back of your dress grants you and your cunt flutters when you see his expression.

Desire is different for men, he taught you. You can see it in the way his trousers tighten at the front and in the way his eyes haze over. His hands move to your waist and he bends down, pressing kisses all the way up your neck until he reaches your ear.

"Agree to marry me and I shall show you." He whispers, biting the soft flesh beneath your ear causing you to shiver and whine. He grins and licks over the tender skin, soothing the sting.

"You already know very well that I would say yes to any proposal you give me." You breathe, leaning your head back as your eyes flutter shut. His hand skates over your stomach, running up the smooth fabric of your dress until he meets your breast. He cups one and swipes his thumb over your hardened nipple through the fabric.

He pulls away, swiping the saliva off his bottom lip with his thumb before picking you up. You squeal and he chuckles, paying the driver of his carriage off before tucking you inside. He closes the door and the curtains on the window, darkness enclosing the both of you.

"Benedict." You whisper as he lays you back on the velvety bench. "Hush, my love. I shall not do anything before asking I swear it." The title makes your heart almost burst out of your chest. He dips down once more, pressing his lips to yours briefly.

You pull him back down before he gets very far, chasing one of those open-mouthed kisses he gave you at the last ball. He groans, his tongue swiping over yours. He grins over your lips at the sound that escapes, moving his hands to yours where they rest on his chest before breaking the kiss.

"Ben please." You whine, wanting him to continue so desperately. He only smiles, taking off your gloves. "You must have patience, my sweet girl. I am going to ravish you in due time." He assures, pressing soft kisses from your palm all the way up to your shoulder as he takes off his gloves as well.

He reaches your neck, to which he takes a deep breath. Taking in your scent of lavender and citrus, making him groan as it always does. "Do you remember when I taught you to ride my thigh?" He whispers, running his tongue down to your collarbone, nipping the skin.

The memory makes you flood your underwear. You remember well, how could you not? He had lead you to the garden at one of Lady Danbury's balls and sat you down on his lap on the edge of the fountain. He hiked up your skirt and led your hips back and forth until something inside of you snapped so hard you saw stars and stained his trousers. That is where he taught you about his arousal, about yours.

"Yes." You breathe, your eyes fluttering shut as one of his hands moves under your skirt. His slender fingers skating teasingly up your thigh. "Good girl." He praises. He cups your cunt without warning and you cry out, your hips canting.

"Fuck. You are absolutely drenched." He whispers, relishing in the moans he draws from your body just from keeping a hand over your cunt. "And I told you about sex, do you remember that darling?" He murmurs, watching your eyes flutter.

He slowly pushes your skirt up so he can slide off your panties. He tucks them into his pocket, smiling to himself. "Yesss." You moan as the air hits your bare sex. "You told me it happens when we get married." You whisper between whines as his hand comes back, his fingers curling into your pubic hair.

"Such a good listener. So good for me." He praises, sliding two of his fingers along your drenched slit before finding your clit with expert touch. He rubs a slow circle on your button and you moan loudly, throwing your head back. "Now, when a man has honor he waits to take a woman's innocence. But my honor disappeared when I saw you with my brother," You try and protest but he pinches your clit and you cry out before you can get so much as a whisper out.

"So I will take you now. In this damn carriage." He growls, moving his free hand to your hips to hold you down. You whine when his fingers move down. "Fuck you are perfect," He breathes. "I'm going to slide one of my fingers inside now, darling, alright?" He murmurs, the switch from possessive to sweet sending your mind reeling. So overwhelmed, so mindless Just how he likes you.

You nod tentatively, your heart rate spiking which he picks up on. He shifts so he is over you, and kisses the crown of your head. "I'll go slow, hm? Nice and slow. All you need to do is pat my arm twice and I'll stop." He assures, calming your heart. You nod and nuzzle his neck.

He slowly plunges a long finger into your weeping cunt and you whine at the invasion. "Good girl, fuck you are so tight." You gasp and writhe as he curls his finger, the feeling sending a shock straight to your clit. He slowly adds another finger and you moan loudly, your eyes rolling back.

"Ben... so good. Feels...." You cry out when his fingers curl into a spot that sends waves of pleasure through you. He grins and begins to rock his fingers, drawing heavenly noises from your soaked cunt. The carriage filled with the sound of your moans and the squelching of your pussy.

He licks a stripe up your neck, beginning to suck as he rocks his fingers. You curl a hand in his thick curls and tug, your hips desperately trying to move against the palm of his hand.

He kisses your jaw, and then your chin, before finally capturing your lips. His tongue immediately sliding past your swollen lips and tangling with yours. You moan into his mouth as his thumb presses down on your swollen clit, moving clockwise as he rocks his fingers into your body.

He breaks the kiss and pulls out his fingers, much to your dismay, before unbuttoning his trousers. "Benedict... why did you stop? It felt so very nice..." You whine, grinding on nothing to try and gain some sort of feeling.

He groans at the sight, bending down and pressing a sloppy kiss to your cheek. "My harlot of a fiancee. So needy for something she does not even know the half of." He praises as he slowly frees his cock, the sight along with his filthy words making you gasp.

He pulls back and strokes himself with the help of your delicious wetness, before looking back at your sweet face. All flushed and wide-eyed. He moves his free hand to your chin, running his thumb over your bottom lip.

"It will not fit, Benny." You whisper, suddenly frightened. His eyes soften and he moves down pressing a swift kiss to your lips. "It will, my love. We will go slow, I promise. Remember what I told you, two pats on my arm and we will stop." He hums, peppering your face with kisses which causes you to giggle and calm a bit. "Perhaps one pat for apprehension, hm?" He murmurs with a smile, pulling back. You nod.

"Good girl." He hums. He leans in and runs his length through your soaked folds drawing moans from the both of you. "Fuck. God, I love you." He grunts and you smile, draping your arms over your eyes to cover your blush. "I love you too, Benedict." You whisper back.

He slowly pushes into your body, throwing his head back at how tight your pretty pussy is. You cry out at the invasion, your hands shooting down to grasp at the edges of the carriage bench. The feeling is a strange mix of pain and something different. A tart taste on your tongue paired with a tingly feeling in your already hot womb. "Fucking hell." He groans before tucking his face in the crook of your neck, stopping halfway so you can adjust.

You whine and wrap your arms around his neck after a moment. "P-Please..... more. I need more, Benedict." You gasp after the pain subsides. God, he almost comes right there. He wants you like this all the time, mindless for his cock. Begging him to fuck you.

"Good fucking girl, Y/N." He grunts before bottoming out inside of you. You moan and toss your head back into the seat cushion and he groans at the feeling. "You feel so good, my love. So ripe, so wet. God, so very tight just for me." He praises.

He begins to move slowly, the slap of thighs meeting thighs filling the carriage. The feeling is so foreign but fuck you never want it to stop. Moans and whines slip past your lips before you can even begin to try and stop them, and you cry out as he speeds up. The noises he is drawing from your body would embarrass you if you didn't adore the way he feels inside of you to the point that you can think of nothing else. You wish to be like this as much as you can, full to the brim with his cock.

"Benedict." You moan and he stalls, gritting his teeth. "Never ever stop moaning my name, you vixen. God, I am a lucky man. The luckiest man in the world." He praises you as he begins to slam into you.

You grip his coat so hard you are surprised the velvety fabric hasn't torn. You cry out when his thumb finds your clit, the feeling sending you up to the clouds. "Come for me, my love." He grunts from above you with a slight slap on your thigh. That sends you over, your vision going white as you scream his name.

He thrusts a few more times before pulling out and pumping himself. He releases with a groan onto your stocking-covered thigh before collapsing on top of you.

After a moment he lifts his head to look at you, brushing your fallen hair out of your face. You smile, almost drunkenly, as you look at him. "That was heavenly." You whisper and he smirks, pressing a kiss to your lips.

"Just wait until we are married. I cannot wait to fill you with my seed and see you plump with my child." He murmurs. resting his head back on your shoulder. Your hand absentmindedly finds his hair, running through his messy curls.

"We have to go back." You whisper to which he shakes his head. "Not yet. I paid off the driver. We have as much time to rest as we wish, dearest." He hums, his eyes closed. You grin and close yours as well, slowly dozing off with him.

You are the luckiest woman in the world.

[pedroscurls]

Hugh x reader actress. Both live their relationship out of the spotlight, trying to keep it professional every time they're at some Hollywood event in front of the camera, but Hugh can't stop eyeing his girl in a tight dress during the party organized for the success of his latest movie.

mesmerized from afar (one-shot)

summary: despite your relationship with hugh being out in the open, you both still do your best to keep it professional in the public eye... until hugh makes it very obvious during a hollywood event. pairing: hugh jackman x fem!reader content warnings: fluff, teasing, sexual tension, hugh can't keep his eyes (and hands) off of you, no use of y/n word count: 2.2k a/n: to the anon who sent this request in, i also am sorry it took me so long to write this!!! i hope you enjoy it as much as i did writing it bc i love this dynamic of hugh not being able to contain himself during an event. as always, this is purely fictional! i mean no disrespect to hugh jackman.

“I’ll see you at the red carpet?” Hugh asks from over the phone. You had just landed in New York and figured it’d be best to just get ready at your place instead of meeting him at his. You know that you’re going to be about half an hour late, but you don’t have to be there on time. The event was for Deadpool & Wolverine, a party to celebrate the success of the movie. 

“Yeah, baby. I just got to my place. I’ll be there.” 

“Okay, honey. Pack a bag, yeah?” 

You bite your lower lip and smile, already having had a packed duffle bag to bring with you. “Yes, Hugh,” you laugh quietly. “We did already discuss that I’d be spending the weekend with you.”

“Good, good,” he replies. “Missed you a lot.” 

“Me too, baby,” you say softly. “Can’t wait to just spend time with you.” 

Hugh sighs from the other end. “Alright, baby. I’ll let you go and get ready. I’ll see you in a bit. I love you.” 

“I love you too, Hugh,” you smile. Hearing those words from him will never get old and despite being in a relationship with him for over a year now, you both like to keep your relationship as private as you both can. It isn’t a secret that you’re together, but you both had talked about keeping things professional in the public eye. Though, neither of you can escape the paparazzi pictures of the photographs that fans have taken of you when you’re both out and about in the city with each other. 

You also rarely go to events together, never arriving at the same time and never walking the red carpet side by side. You both have done a good job at keeping things away from the public eye, only giving them a glimpse into your relationship with pictures posted on your social media. It helps strengthen your relationship with Hugh, not revealing so much to the media and keeping the most intimate aspects of your relationship amongst one another. 

You’re still relatively new in the industry, having had your big break in a film that won you best actress a few years ago. You’re lucky enough to have Hugh and even Ryan and Blake to guide you in this new world that you still haven’t gotten used to. 

You see a text message from Blake, smiling to yourself when she said that she was going to come over to help you get ready. It isn’t a secret that you still aren’t familiar with the formality of these events because you still pay for your own dresses and still do your own hair and makeup. You’ve received a lot of messages from designers who would like for you to wear their dresses, but it just never felt like you. You were simple. Always have been, always will. 

So instead of agreeing and accepting Blake’s offer, you send her a quick text to let her know that you’re almost finished getting ready. It’s mainly a lie– you haven’t even showered yet, but you at least have your dress laid out on your bed. 

You have two hours to get to the event, so you send a quick text to let Hugh know that you can’t wait to see him. His reply comes almost instantly, sending you a simple heart emoji. 

—

An hour and a half later, you’re standing in front of your full body mirror with a satisfied expression on your face. You’re wearing a full length, navy blue dress with spaghetti straps resting on your shoulders, trailing into a tailored silhouette where the fabric clings to every curve. You bite your lower lip, the sweetheart neckline and empire waist fitting so well with your frame. You turn slightly, looking over your shoulder to see the deep v-open styled back with a high slit on the left side of the dress, revealing your exposed thigh as the bottom of the dress sculpts into a mermaid skirt. It’s elegant, yet sexy. 

Your makeup remains light, neutral with your hair in loose waves and pinned back away from your face. Grabbing your bag, you hear your phone go off to let you know that your driver is waiting downstairs to take you to the event. 

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t nervous. Red carpet events still make you anxious, the flashes of the camera, talking with reporters – all of it was still another aspect of this new life that you hadn’t gotten used to yet. The fans, however, you feel more at home and at ease with them, always taking the time to speak with each other and provide your full undivided attention to them. 

You climb into the backseat of the car, immediately making conversation with the driver as you send a text to Hugh that you’re on your way. Fifteen minutes later and you feel the car stop at the end of the red carpet. You can hear the screams, can hear your name being called from outside and when you step out, you take a deep breath and put on a smile despite the nerves you feel in the pit of your stomach. 

Your publicist leads you to the carpet, motioning for you to stand on the first mark as you pose for the cameras, waving to the fans that scream your name with excitement. You turn your head and immediately meet eyes with Hugh, who’s standing very far from you as he’s speaking with a reporter. 

You walk to each marker, taking the time to pose for the photographers. You want so badly to run up to Hugh, to be pulled into his arms, but you refrain from doing so. You try to remind yourself that you need to remain professional, but you can’t help but notice the way he’s looking at you. Even while he’s talking with the reporters, his eyes never leave you. 

The moment Hugh heard your name being called, his attention was pulled from the person he was speaking to. He glanced over at the end of the red carpet, his breath being taken away once you stepped out. Hugh clears his throat at the sight of you, the dress that clings to perfectly to each curve that he’s so familiar with, and your smile that makes his heart race even faster. There’s a kindness behind your eyes that he had fallen in love with and despite knowing that this – red carpet events – aren’t something you’re too keen on, you still display such grace and elegance. 

He feels a hand clasp his shoulder and Hugh has to tear his eyes away from you to look over to see Ryan standing next to him, apologizing to the woman with the microphone. 

“I’m so sorry for my friend here,” Ryan grins, eyes glancing over in your direction. “He just gets so distracted.” 

“Well, can you blame me?” Hugh chuckles, pointing at you. “I mean, look at her. She looks amazing.” 

The woman nods in agreement and then looks over at Hugh and Ryan. “The fans want to know, Hugh,” she begins. “How come you both never come to these things together? We know you’re both in a relationship, so…”

“Ah,” Hugh smiles. “The million dollar question.” 

“Well, let’s keep that a secret,” Ryan interjects. “Now, if you’d excuse us…”

Ryan takes Hugh away from the line of reporters to meet with you as you get closer. You smile up at Ryan, leaning in to give him a kiss on the cheek and a quick hug. 

“You look beautiful,” Ryan says. “Blake told me she was going to help you get ready.”

“Yeah, well you know me…” you smile. 

Hugh gently reaches out to take your hand, his eyes sparkling in your direction. “You look–” he lets out a breath. “My god, baby.” 

“You like the blue?” you lean in and peck his lips lightly, hearing your name and Hugh’s being called repeatedly. 

“Oh, I love it.” 

“Okay, and now I’m gonna go and find my girl,” Ryan says, leaving the both of you. 

“You look so handsome,” you tell Hugh, hands coming up to gently straighten out his bowtie.

“Me? Look at you, baby.” Hugh grins, arm wrapping around your waist to pull you flush against him. Every thought and conversation he’s had with you to keep things professional leaves his mind. He can’t get enough of you, can’t take his eyes off of you. 

“You’re being very… showy,” you giggle, hand moving up to rest on his chest as the other comes up to wrap around his shoulders. “You do realize that we’re out in public.”

“Don’t matter to me,” Hugh smiles. “You look breathtaking, baby.” 

“It isn’t too much?” you ask. 

“I think it’s not enough,” Hugh answers. “And the slit on your leg,” he growls. “You’re just teasing me at this point, baby.” 

“What?” you blush. 

“I mean, I love this dress. I do, but–” Hugh shuts his eyes and leans in to whisper quietly into your ear. “I just want to rip it off of you the minute we get back home.” 

You clear your throat and gently grip at the lapel of his suit jacket, feeling the anticipation and throbbing between your legs. “You can’t go around saying things like that when we have this party to attend the entire night.”

Hugh chuckles and pulls back enough to rest his forehead against yours. He can hear the photographers calling his name, can hear the sounds of the cameras going off, and he leans forward and presses his lips firmly against yours. He wants the whole world to know just how much he loves you. 

He doesn’t try to deepen the kiss, afraid that if he does, he’s going to have to somehow hide his growing erection. So, he pulls away and looks down at you. “We still have half of the carpet to go. Care to join me, baby?” 

“You sure?” 

“Absolutely,” Hugh answers. He takes your hand and leads you to the next marker, standing right next to you as his arm snakes around your waist. He can’t even smile or pose for the cameras, too focused on you. You lead him towards the end of the carpet, grateful that you’re in control because all he can think about is you and that dress. Usually, Hugh’s a gentleman, making sure not to make it too obvious that his eyes are lingering, but he can’t help himself. 

Once you turn around, your back facing him, Hugh comes up from behind you and wraps his arms around you. He presses a kiss to your temple, whispering into your ear. “You’re absolutely stunning, baby.”

The cameras continue to go off, so excited and grateful to have captured this moment between the both of you. You look up at him and smile, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “Hm, all these compliments, Hugh… What do you want?” 

Hugh grins, leading you away from the red carpet and into the venue. “Oh, baby, you know what I want.” It’s dark when you enter the building, pressing his front against your backside. The fabric of your dress is satin, but thin enough that you can feel him so firmly. 

“Hugh…” 

“Okay, okay,” Hugh kisses your cheek and then pulls away before he gets too excited. He takes your hand, lacing your fingers together. “Let’s grab a drink, yeah?” 

“We have a long night ahead of us, don’t we?” 

Hugh chuckles. “Let’s stay for a couple of hours and then head back home.”

“But this party is for you, Hugh. You should probably stay the entire time and–”

Hugh shakes his head. “I’m taking you back home because I don’t think I can last the entire night seeing you in that dress.” 

“Well, when you put it like that…”

Hugh leans down and pecks your lips. “Now, come on. Let’s grab a drink and you owe me a dance.” 

“Oh, I do, do I?” you smile, following him to the bar. 

“Yeah, there’s no way I’m not dancing with you when you’re wearing that dress.” 

—

The two hours quickly approach and you had been talking to Blake when Hugh comes up behind you, arms wrapped around your waist. “Last dance?” he whispers. 

You nod, leaning back against him. “This one always wants to dance,” you tease, telling Blake who gives you a knowing look. 

“Well, you are with the greatest showman,” she quips. 

“Always singing, always dancing, I’m so lucky.”

“And I’m still right here,” Hugh points out with a chuckle. “You mind if I steal her away, Blake?” 

Blake nods and smiles, turning on her heel to go and get another drink. Hugh takes your hand, leading you to the dance floor. He slowly twirls you around, pulling you into him as his free hand rests a hand on your lower back. He keeps ahold of your hand against his chest, bringing it up to his lips as he places a soft kiss on your knuckles. 

Your free hand rests on his shoulder as you gaze up at him, slowly swaying side to side with him. “I think I’ve been really good,” he tells you. “Even though it’s been very hard to not just take you into the bathroom and–”

“Hugh!” you interrupt, letting out a quiet giggle. “One last dance and then we can head home.” 

“Good,” Hugh says. “Because I’ve been very hard for you,” he growls lowly. “It’s quite painful, actually.”

“Oh, poor baby,” you tease. “What can I do to help?”

“I’ve got a few things in mind, baby,” Hugh grins. 

---

forever taglist: @haytchee @wolverigrl

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

get off the floor, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: You order Jeon Jungkook to get off the floor. He says, "Make me." You make him. Eventually.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; tipsy, bratty (needy) JK; wedding guests reader and JK hooking up in a random corner room bc they can no longer contain themselves, gasp; semi-public smut (fem dom!reader + sub!JK, JK becomes half-undressed while reader is still fully dressed, slight degrading talk (not really), heavy making out, dry humping) basically, I was staring at this photo and had thoughts

--

“Get off the floor.”

“Make me.”

Once again. No stranger to this supreme annoyance, and yet knowing that did not make it bearable. You looked down at him. Was he drunk? He stared off to the side. Looked moodier than anything. Trying to play it cool, perhaps. You caught him glancing and you stepped back, smoothing the high slit of your deep purple evening gown.

“That suit costs way too much to be on the ground,” you attempted again, his black blazer over your bare shoulders.

Jeon Jungkook raised an eyebrow at you.

“Don’t care.”

You could feel your patience running thin. Not new, just like all of Jungkook’s antics. You felt his eyes travel up from your legs to your waist to your chest. When he got to your face, you gave him an unimpressed frown. If he hadn’t been drinking, he would have the good sense to look away. But he had, so he just ticked his head as if he wasn’t laying down in the middle of a random offshoot room in a very nice hotel. There was no one around. Time of night and because this wing had been rented for the wedding that was still going on in the main ballroom.

“You’re going to get in trouble,” you warned.

His dark eyes caught the low lights of the art deco sconces on the walls.

“Get on top of me.”

This was precisely why you had considered skipping this wedding. But, alas, common sense pulled through. You had not come with a plus one because you didn’t have one. Jungkook had not arrived with a plus one either even though you were quite sure he could have secured one. He was probably thinking the same of you as well. The look on his face when you strode in and greeted the couple was enough to encourage some of the guests to mysteriously begin herding you and him in close proximity. You couldn’t blame them. Playing matchmaker was bound to happen if a woman attended such a social event alone.

You just didn’t think the lucky man would be Jeon Jungkook.

You narrowed your eyes. His eyes lowered to half-moons. His lips parting. The two silver rings gleamed on the right edge of his lower lip.

“Don’t play this game.”

The tip of his pink tongue flitted against his lip rings.

“I’ve been wanting to play your game for a while now,” Jungkook breathed, his low voice vibrating in his chest.

You could still hear the bass of the music. One step. The heel of your pumps clicked loudly against the tile floor. His black three-piece suit had been perfectly tailored to him. There was no need for additional shape because his body lines were already ideal. His black hair had been carefully slicked back. Nothing to hide behind. Another step. His black vest and crisp white shirt were tight enough to his chest that you could witness the way his breath hitch lifted his upper torso. You looked down, then pointedly back up at his face, reminding him that his tight slacks made everything obvious.

He bit the side of his lip.

With a casual lift of your slinky skirt, you stepped over him, and then re-draped the dark violet fabric over his lower torso. One foot on each side of his hips. He must have expected you to refuse, as you already had many times before. He immediately froze, his startled eyes widening. In your defense, he had previously been more subtle and annoying about it rather than direct. You reached up, maintaining eye contact with Jungkook, and twisted your wrist, hooking two fingers on the collar of his blazer around your shoulders, pulling it away from your body to reveal skin.

You dropped it on the floor, away from your bodies.

The fitted gown had a soft sweetheart neckline with thin straps that framed your collarbones. A simple white gold chain necklace with a tiny round-cut diamond nestled at the base of your neck. The straps crossed over to your exposed lower back. The medium-weight fabric was tailored to skim over your curves. Princess seams accentuated your shape from chest to hips before opening up to wispy high slits that were only obvious when you walked or stood with more weight to one side. Demure if you stood straight, which you mostly did. Wasn’t your wedding after all. Your hair was down, smoothed down at the right, covering enough of your back to uphold the illusion of modesty. Unfortunately, as night approached, you had found yourself quite cold. The air conditioning had been turned high to accommodate for all the dancing bodies.

That wasn’t the trajectory of the night for you, though.

Instead of the dance floor, you and Jeon Jungkook were now somehow in deserted offshoot room with chairs on tables. Probably reserved for additional seating just in case any additional guests tried to squeeze in at the last minute. Certainly not reserved for a raunchy rendezvous.

You lifted an eyebrow.

“Scared?” you taunted, looking down at him.

His wrists were against the floor by his shoulders. You saw his fingers twitch, but he did nothing to move further.

“Ravage me already,” Jungkook exhaled. Hot and heavy and hiding desperation. “I can’t take this.”

You had been well-acquainted with him and a while now. You ran the tip of your pointed heel against his side. Jungkook shuddered. He didn’t move to touch you. You backed off. The real problem with all this was not the friendly terms you both had, but rather the fact that he had caught you in a rather dubious place some nights ago. Neither you nor him should have been there. In fact, you made it a point to travel far enough so you wouldn’t run into anyone, which you presumed was also the exact reason Jungkook ended up in the same place.

You squatted down, tilting your head at him in a predatory way.

The skirt of your dress pooled over his abdomen.

As you came close to Jungkook’s level, you heard his breathing shallow.

You took a short moment to collect your dress accordingly before dropping to one knee. And then the other. Straddling him, but not quite touching. Your fingertips touched the ground. He smelled like faint musky spice. You lowered over him, until your hands were just under his upper arms.

Looked down.

Jungkook stared at you from below, trapped in your shadow.

“You really did see me at the BDSM club that night,” you murmured. “Didn’t you?”

You raised your right hand and closed it around his left wrist, pinning it to the ground. He sucked in a tight breath, the gravity of the situation seemingly sinking in although it didn’t seem like he was rushing to stop you.

“Your ass looked so fucking good,” he whispered in the dark. “I knew it was you.”

You bent your left elbow, descending to his face.

“Someone will find us.”

At your reminder, he bit his lower lip in that fuck-me-harder kind of way. Then you felt movement. His right hand snaked between you and him. Your eyes flickered down. His dress shirt was fastened all the way to his neck. He looked sharp. Conventionally handsome. The only things he couldn’t hide was his facial piercings and the tattoos on his hand. Hand tattoos were a big faux pas to most. You liked a rule-breaker though. Unfortunately. Jungkook’s deft fingers traced the pressed collar of his shirt.

You watched him undo the first pearlescent button.

Then the second.

Your lips parted to warn him to stop, but the third was already coming undone and you could hear the desire in his erratic breath drifting upwards. Then it was eyes-to-eyes, devouring you with false innocence, and you opened your mouth to trace your lips with the tip of your tongue, taunting him with the glistening void.

“Fuck…” he whispered, trembling under you.

And then you stopped his hand by fully pressing your body against his chest, your clothed breasts against his naked pecs. Flitted your tongue over his lip rings, tasting his moan before hearing it. He turned his head, trying to chase it, but you feathered kisses over his cheek, gripping his left wrist as you licked his ear, hearing the whine of your name tickling yours.

“P-Please…”

You avoided him that night at that club, hoping he hadn’t recognized you, causing every subsequent interaction making it painfully clear to you that he had indeed seen you strutting your stuff in black latex while teasing strangers with your leather crop. Surprisingly, not in the way of trying to use such information against you, which was what you expected, but rather in the way the tempted drive the tempters insane. In imploring looks that only you could know. In too many chances of being too close in proximity. You don’t know how he did it, but now for some reason everyone was delicately suggesting to you to, perhaps, give him a chance. It only strengthened your want to teach him a lesson. You savored the rising panic in his voice as you bit the curve of his ear and toyed with him with your tongue. His trapped hand turned and you felt his palm mold to your lower ribs, sliding up. You bit down. He gasped, biting back a moan as his fingertips ghosted the curve of your breasts.

“Ah…. D-Don’t…” Whimper so close to his heart that only you could hear it. “My e-ear is… is sensitive, a-ah…”

You smiled, pressing your lips to his earlobe. His earrings were warming from your breath and saliva.

“Is that why you have so many piercings, huh?”

You made sure he could feel your lips move as you purred filthy nothings.

“What a pain slut you are.”

This time he truly moaned, his hips rising, and then abruptly cut himself off to avoid rising volume.

“D-Don’t…”

You sank down. Pressed against him, and even though the layers you could feel his erection throb, his entire body shivering when your weight dispersed over his lower body. His fingertips traced the dip in between your breasts. Your tongue circled over his ear once more before kissing up to his temple, the fingers of your other hand creeping up the side of his neck, and then you made out with Jeon Jungkook, right there on the floor with his groan vibrating the inside of your throat as you slowly thrusted your tongue into his lips. He did his best to suck and you always pulled away at the last second, using one finger to trace the muscle of his neck down to his collarbones.

You broke the kiss.

His lips were glossy and flushed.

“Please… Don’t stop,” he begged, squeezing your breast. “Don’t stop…”

The inaudible music continued to hum in the background.

You placed two fingers on his chin and pushed his head back, giving you access to his throat. For a brief moment, you considered making your mark, but instead you trailed your tongue down, down, painting possessive saliva onto his warm skin. His body rose. You let go of his wrist to pull open the sides of his shirt, realizing he was undoing his vest at the same time as his chest became fully exposed to the air, his dark nipples hard. You flicked your tongue against them, an involuntary ripple seizing his torso at the heated contact. Licked all over, enjoying the scent and taste of his skin. He silenced a cry as you bit down.

“H-Harder…”

You rose slightly, grazing your tongue against his skin before doing so.

“Be quiet.”

And then you roughly pinched his other nipple.

His arm flew up and he screamed behind clenched jaw, his hips lifting from the floor and his erection colliding with the inside of your thigh. You let out a light hum, sliding up his hard thighs. Your dress was already bunching around your waist. With a sweep of your skirt, your barely-there panties came into view. His attentive eyes immediately went down to the matching skin-toned thong barely covering your pussy, tricking him for just a moment, and then you saw the disappointment flutter into a slight frown.

“Did you expect me to be naked?” you mused.

He tried to cover himself with indifference. “No.” His needy gaze and raging boner gave him away.

You smiled.

And held the front of your skirt out of the way, rocking your hips forward to rub your panties against his clothed cock. Jungkook gasped, staring back at your relaxed expression with wide eyes, unsure where to look. You put a little more force into it, increasing the friction and molding his hardness to the soft dip between your legs, and you saw his eyelids flutter, his dark eyes rolling back, a contained moan escaping his chest.

You talked down to him, because you could tell he liked it.

“You thought I wouldn’t have panties and I would just ride you in a public place with no remorse or shame?”

Tension began to show through his muscles. He had one arm on his forehead and the other against the black-and-white tile floor, using subtle leverage to grind against you. He wasn’t obstructing his vision though, still very obviously staring at your thighs, the dip towards your pussy, watching the hem of your panties press into your skin with each movement.

“I… oh, fuck, I don’t k-know…” He panted, his shadowed eyes roaming back to your face. “Maybe.”

You laid your free hand on the waistband of his slacks, tracing his belt. You watched him hold his breath, his chest tight and oh-so-delectable. Slowly, you hooked your fingers under his belt. Gripped it, and changed the angle of your thrusting so that the head of his cock was rubbing against the radiating heat of your pussy, giving him a better view of your thin panties digging into your slit.

You saw his teeth sink into his lower lip.

“F-Fuck…”

His eyes slid shut and he moaned your name, sensual and deep and far too practiced for it to be a closed secret, his hips pushing back up against you, trying to get more and unable to do so. Frustration. Need. Craving. All bleeding into his expression. Against better judgement, you could feel it too, the irresistible pull of barely enough, the desire to tease turning into wetness between your legs, slowly but surely perfuming the air with your sweet, musky arousal.

Jungkook opened his eyes and stared up at you, imploring softly.

“P-Please…”

His arm lifted from his forehead and his other hand raised, fingertips stroking your thighs while using his shoulder blades for leverage. Forceful and precise. You let go of his belt and traced the knuckles of one of his hands, feeling the restrained strength in his touch. He sank his fingers into your thighs, gasping, pressing the back of his head onto the floor and arching his back. His open shirt. His exposed muscular chest. His tan skin faintly glistening with sweat. His throat begging for a bite.

You raked your nails down his abs, forcing Jungkook to lustfully grown to the ceiling.

You smirked.

“Get up.”

With minimal effort, Jungkook lifted his torso off the ground, frowning at you for asking him to be reasonable. His palms pressed into your thighs, ensuring that you continued to straddle him even though you had no intention of moving. In fact, you drew your knees together, pinning him in between your thighs. A few black strands had dislodged from their places and draped over his furrowed brows.

“Was that so difficult?” you murmured with lowered lashes, walking your nails up his chest.

His hands were sliding up towards your hips under your skirt. “Yeah.” He squeezed your ass with his strong grip while staring into your eyes. “I’ve been wanting to get you out of this dress for hours.”

“Hm.”

You gave him an unimpressed look as you felt his fingertips glide down. He pulled outwards ever-so-slightly. From below, out of sight, your pussy lips parted with a wet sucking sound.

Jungkook moaned against your cheek, pressing his naked chest against your clothed breasts.

“Come on… Please…”

You hand had migrated to his side, steadily scratching his lower back.

“Very reckless and dangerous of you.”

He glanced at you with those half-moon eyes filled with stars of longing.

“Don’t pretend you don’t want me to be,” Jungkook whispered hotly. “Brushing up against me by accident when I already told you that you look too damn hot. Teasing me every time I look down by showing off your legs even more.” His mouth brushed against the side of yours. You could faintly feel his lip rings. “You’re mean.”

You sat on top of his still-hard cock and purred, “I don’t recall doing such things,” before lightly bouncing on top of it.

He gasped and you sucked away his exhale, pulling back before he could kiss you.

“Let me,” he breathed out.

His hands came up to cradle your back as you arched your spine and then you sighed out, his soft kisses fanning over your décolletage, tucking his tongue between your breasts and licking upwards, his eyelids fluttering in bliss from the taste of your perfumed skin.

“Please, let me…”

Your arms around his neck. You had not intended to fuck Jeon Jungkook tonight but, then again, that was easy to think when he hadn’t looked at you with those perfectly desperate eyes yet. Nor had he yet pushed the top of your ass down to collide with his hard dick still fighting his pants, implying just how well you would fit together. Until right now that is. You smiled, leaning back into his warmth.

“At least button your shirt so you don’t startle the hotel staff with your sexy body.”

His ears flushed bright red. You shot him an amused look as he fumbled about.

“And what if there was a camera in here, hm? Recording your depravity,” you mused, appreciating the view.

“I don’t mind,” he mumbled to his chest. His ears remained red.

“I see. But if I compliment you, you become embarrassed.”

Jungkook avoided your gaze. “N-No…”

You hooked a finger under his chin and yanked him back up, confronting those big, dark brown orbs. He looked taken aback, almost afraid of what you would say next.

“I can’t wait to have you under me,” you whispered. “I’ll make you show me how talented you are at begging.”

He moaned into your mouth as you kissed him deeply, pulling him into your possessive embrace.

-

continued in get on the floor, m | jjk

--

drabbles masterpost | masterpost

[trivia-yandere]

sibling rivalry

returning from college for break and jungkook loves winning the battle - especially when you thought you could forget about him... @junecat18 @tatyhend @mother2monsters @darkuni63 @sweetempathprunetree @momnomnom @yoongiwantsme @chimmisbae @whipwhoops @prettyxxxplease @shameless-army

word count: 7.109

warning: coercion, blackmail, jealous/possessive jungkook, yandere, pseduo incest, affair/cheating, unsolicited touching/groping/grinding, kissing, fingering, oral sex, emotional manipulation, creampie, semi-public, car sex,

series masterlist | part 1 | part 2

It’s been a year, Jungkook notes. A year since he saw you - as insane as it was. You were only three hours away from him, and yet you made yourself unavailable for him. 

It’s been a year since you returned home for any holiday - and when you had, decided to remain with your mother regardless of what your father thought.

It’s been a year since you and Jungkook have been together and he could not fathom as to why you wouldn’t bother to answer any of his calls and only opted to dry messages. 

You refused to see him when Jungkook drove the three hours to your college in an attempt to see you just once - even if it meant that there was no sex. Jungkook loves you but his love was slowly turning to loath; utter detest.

You were ignoring Jungkook, completely refusing to see him. You made new friends and joined clubs at your colleges. You went to parties and shared your college life on social media that he followed sullenly. If he wasn’t watching it, he was hearing it when he returned home by your father and his mother. 

“Y/N’s doing amazing in school.” his mother gushed about your amazing grades. “She’s made so many friends, too.”

What made Jungkook’s blood boil and his senses highten was when your father said: “Y/N introduced me to her boyfriend over the phone. He seems to be a nice guy for her.”

Boyfriend?

Boyfriend.

Boyfriend.

Boyfriend.

You have a boyfriend and it only took Jungkook five minutes to find him. You never posted him, but yet again, you restricted Jungkook from witnessing certain things when it came to social media. You understood that posting your boyfriend where he could see would only provoke him, so you didn’t.

That didn’t mean the “boyfriend” never posted you - and he did frequently. You were in his bio, his story, all over his profile - it drove Jungkook sick. The fact that you had a boyfriend and you didn’t tell him; he was disgusted.

You and Jungkook were family - he loves you! 

Jungkook was there for important events in your life and the fact that you would go off to college and try to forget about his existence told him that you never loved him. Even after he loved you enough to pleasure you countless times; to assure that your needs came before his own.

Slowly, Jungkook was beginning to hate you. He would always love you - you were his sister, after all, however, he hated you as a person. He watched sullenly as your boyfriend continued to post sweet messages of you and him all over social media; the pictures and short videos of you and him laughing and smiling. The cheap gifts he’d buy you that would only warm your pathetic heart because back home, no one ever had.

 It appears that you went to college and became an entirely different person; one Jungkook didn’t recognize and he made it his mission to humble you when you returned. 

Jungkook’s wish was becoming true after months of forming his own plan. The only way for you to return home from college at the same time as Jungkook was for him to do the same as you were doing him; ignore you. He stopped himself from calling you and would only result in texting. He never watched any of your stories you’d post and began posting his own with Luna - sadly just a pawn in his plan.

Luna was beautiful, you thought, and you were glad Jungkook found a person for him white he was in college. Her hair sat above her shoulders in waves and her eyes showed nothing but love whenever she looked at Jungkook. It was the reason you began showcasing your own boyfriend - Jungkook had found someone, and so had you.

“You should come for winter break, Y/N. Jungkook is bringing his girlfriend.” your father had told you  over the phone, exactly a week before break. He pleaded with you, stating that he had not seen you in so long.

And now Jungkook had you where he wanted you. You had agreed to come along because, in your eyes, there was no threat. There wasn’t going to be any awkward encounters with Jungkook because he had Luna, and you had Jae. You were happy for Jungkook and even had texted him happily stating that you couldn’t wait to see him and be introduced to  Luna - something he couldn’t say the same for upon meeting Jae.

As the time came, Jungkook’s hatred for you couldn’t last long because he did love you. You looked happy, he notes as you stroll through the door. Your smile is wide and it reaches your eyes. Nothing much has changed from the last time he saw you in person a year prior besides the fact that you had someone walking directly beside you.

Jungkook hated Jae. The man is tall - as tall as he was - and had dark brown hair that appeared to be freshly cut and styled, as if he was trying to one up him. His demeanor and overall look was relaxed and cool and when he introduced himself to Jungkook as your boyfriend, it took everything in him to not laugh in the man's face. 

Dinner had come and went and it looked as though you and Luna were hitting it off great. You asked questions that Jungkook didn’t care to ask Jae - like how Luna and he met, how long they had been together and what college life was like. It’s a shame you were starting to like Luna and Jungkook together - even more ashamed he couldn’t say the same for Jae.

“I’ll wash the dishes.” Jungkook says aloud, lightly patting Luna’s thigh. “You can sit in here with them.” he tells her, tone low. 

Jungkook exits the living area and begins to do as he said he was, his mind on the way Jae sat so close to you and speaks fondly of his time with you in college. He’s scrubbing the dishes so hard that he doesn’t realize the footsteps coming directly behind him.

“Are you okay?”

Jungkook blinks a few times to register the voice. 

“Kook?”

“Yes?” Jungkook turns his head to look at you. You’re standing a few feet away from him, leaning against the counter. 

“You were scrubbing hard.” you try to joke. “Is something on your mind.”

Yes. “No.” Jungkook snickers, rinsing off the plates.  

“Want some help?” you ask after a few moments of silence. 

Jungkook shrugs his shoulders, continuing to wash the dishes and place them on the rack. You begin to dry them, eyes glancing at Jungkook every so often.

“Is everything okay?” you question. You couldn’t help but feel Jungkook be distant the entire time. “You seem…”

Jungkook waits for you to respond, and when you do he wants to laugh.

“Distant. As if your mind isn’t really here.”

“You would know about being distant, I suppose.” Jungkook murmurs.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you went to college and started ignoring me, Y/N.” Jungkook hisses. He hurls a glass cup onto the rack without caring if it slipped off or not.

“I thought we got through that.” you swallow, picking up the glass to dry it. You glance to the sliding door where the kitchen is separate from the sitting room. It’s slightly cracked and you can hear muffled voices. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, if that’s what you’re feeling, Kook.” you sigh. “I…didn’t want anything to happen.”

Jungkook knows what you’re speaking about. You’re trying to say it without revealing any secrets. 

Jungkook turns off the water to turn to you. “Anything like what?” he questions. “Like me fucking you?”

Your eyes widen and your hand clenched onto the towel. “Jungkook.” you hiss low. ”Stop.”

“Like what, Y/N? Me eating you out?” he scoffs. “Something like that?” “Don’t do this now.” you tell him while throwing the towel onto the counter. “I’m here with Jae and you’re here with Luna.”

Jungkook scoffs. “Is that the reason why you haven’t been back in a year? Because you have Jae?” Jungkook speaks his name with such disdain. “You ignore my calls and refuse to see me because of a boy you just met when I’ve been here for you for years?!”

Jungkook doesn’t mean to make his voice louder. He doesn’t want to draw any attention to the two of you, but he cannot help the way he feels at this moment.

Your eyes glance to the crack in the sliding door to see that no one has noticed you or Jungkook. 

“Yes, Jungkook.” you shrug your shoulders. “I ignored you because I had Jae.” you admit. “I ignored you because I had a life that wasn’t you. I have friends. I go to parties and I have fun. I do everything that you’ve been doing.” you shrug your shoulders once more. 

“I’ve never ignored you.” Jungkook spits. “At the end of the day, you’re still my sister-”

“Step-sister.” you interrupted. “Don’t act like the caring brother now, Kook.” you scoff. “I didn’t want to come back and face you. I thought things were different but obviously they’re exactly the same.”

Jungkook’s jaw clenches at your words. 

“Maybe I should just cut this trip short-” “Shut up, Y/N.” Jungkook snaps. He hasn’t done it in years, since the two of you were 12. He mushes your face entirely away, an act he did because he knew it pissed you off. “You’re such a bitch, you know that? You use me-”

“Use you?!” you hissed low in an attempt to keep the conversation between you and Jungkook. “I never needed you for anything!”

“Oh?” Jungkook scoffs. “You didn’t have a problem when I was making you cum. You didn’t have a problem-”

“Fuck. You.” you snap, every ounce of venom in your soul coming out with just two words. 

“Already did.” Jungkook shrugs. “I’m sure you didn’t forget. Tell me, Y/N. Did you use what I taught you on him?”

You turn on your heels and make your way towards the sliding door.  “I’m leaving.”

“Where are you going?” Jungkook isn’t phased by your words. 

“Back to campus.” you turn to him, your hand on the door. “I don’t want to be around you anymore.”

“Stop being selfish for once, Y/N. Think about  your father and what you’d be doing by leaving again.” Jungkook crosses his arms. “Typical  of you to keep thinking about yourself instead of others.”

Your nails dig into the door as your eyes bore into Jungkook’s. You grit your teeth. Jungkook had a point - you didn’t want to leave your father. He had missed you dearly and having you and Jungkook in the home again was causing him great joy.

It was Jungkook you didn’t want to be around. There were reasons as to why you chose to ignore him while in college - you couldn’t feed into what the two of you were doing any longer. You had to be the one to end it before it got too much; and it had. Jungkook had grown territorial and slowly despised you for it.

“Exactly.” Jungkook's lips display a smile on them, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “I missed you, Y/N. I missed us. Doesn’t this feel like old times?”

Jungkook strolls closer to you, uncrossing his arms. His hand places itself onto the sliding door and slowly begins to open it. It’s only open a bit wider, but you can hear the conversation from those behind it. Luna and Jae are talking about college while your parents spoke amongst one another. 

Jungkook stands directly behind you. “I love you, Y/N. You know that right?” he asks you. “You do, even if you refuse to admit it. But just because I love you doesn’t mean anything.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, slightly turning your head.

“It means,” Jungkook’s hand on the sliding door places itself onto your shoulder. “I don’t have a problem telling your boyfriend just how much you and I love each other.”

Your heart drops at Jungkook’s words. 

Jungkook hums at your silence. It meant that now you were taking him serious. “Good.” Jungkook speaks. He lowers his head slightly to place his lips on your cheek and kisses it gently. “It’s nice to see you again, Y/N.” he says before taking a step back and sliding the door open.

“I don’t mind sleeping out here, really.” Jae shakes his head with a smile. “I was actually expecting to stay at a hotel, so this is great.”

You take a deep breath and roll your eyes.  “I’m an adult.” you say aloud, eyes glancing at your father. “I’m old enough to have my boyfriend in my room.” you grumble.

“I’ll keep your boyfriend company, sis.” Jungkook says,  laying across the large couch. He offers you a smile. “Luna’s going to be sleeping in my room.”

“See, baby. It’s fair.” Jae murmurs towards you. “It’s only for a few days before I have to go meet with my parents.”

You cross your arms, not fully convinced.

You were an adult and if you wanted to have your boyfriend in your room with you while you two slept, you could. Having him sleep in the living area was just childish.

Not only that, but having Jungkook in there with him made you nervous. You couldn’t trust Jungkook and Jae alone - you couldn’t trust what Jungkook would do or say to him.

“See, no one’s complaining.” your dad claps his hands. He wasn’t going to risk anything happening under his roof with 4 young and hormonal young adults. “I’m going to bed.” your father makes his way towards you and wraps you in an embrace. “Good night, my love. It’s good to have you back.” he says, kissing your forehead. 

“Night.” you sigh in defeat, offering a loose hug to your father. 

Your father retreats to his bedroom and you linger slightly in the living area. Jungkook and Luna are speaking to one another, his arm around her waist as he murmurs in her ear. She’s smiling and giggling, her cheeks a rosy color and you want to gag at the sight - and roll your eyes.

Fuck Jungkook, you think. He was put on this earth to annoy you, and not only that; but to assure that you would constantly be looking over your shoulder. Your heart is filled with sorrow and regret for what you’ve done with Jungkook.

“I’m gonna go to bed early.” you sigh to Jae, offering a small smile. You wrap your arms around his neck. “Thank you for coming here with me.”

“No problem.” Jae murmurs, grasping your waist to bring you closer to him. “I wish you could come with me to meet my parents.”

You did, as well. But you promised your father you would remain for a week - and the last thing you needed was to provoke Jungkook when he had something dingling above your head. 

“I will next time. I promise.” you press your lips against his. “Good.” you kiss him once more. “Night.”

Jungkook’s eyes meet yours as you walk down the hall to your bedroom and a humorless scoff releases from his throat.

“I should probably be heading to bed, too.” Luna says, kissing his cheek. Jungkook blinks to come back to reality and slowly, he nods his head. 

“Good night.” Jungkook murmurs, kissing Luna’s lips. “I’ll see you in the morning, yeah?”

Luna nods her head.

Jungkook makes himself comfortable, lifting his blanket to his chest and laying upon the pillows of the couch. He swallows, finding the way Jae is tossing and turning to be a complete nuisance.

“Jung…Kook?”

Jungkook blinks in the dim living area. He contemplates ignoring Jae and pretending to be asleep, but curiosity gets to him.

“Yes?”

Jae releases a sigh. “I really like Y/N.” Jae says nervously.

Jungkook licks his lips and hides a scoff. “Yeah?” is all he responds with.

“Yeah.” Jae murmurs. “I think I want to marry her.”

Jungkook scoffs. “You haven’t been with her for long.” Jungkook speaks, the words coming from Jae’s mouth sounding utterly ridiculous. 

“I know.” Jae chuckles. “But, I really do like Y/N. She makes me happy.”

Jungkook’s foot begins to shake, Jae’s words replaying in his mind and without thinking, he says: “You sound pussy whipped.”

Jae is silent and for a moment, Jungkook ponders if he was ignoring him. Not as if he cared - nothing Jae was something he took seriously. Jae didn’t know you like he did; he just knew what you showed him. Jungkook knows the real you - the you in the morning, you when you were on your period or the you when you were sad, hungry, happy; everything. Jungkook knows the real you, not Jae or any other man you’d ever bring around. 

“Y/N and I never…yeah.” Jae’s cheeks are hot when he responds. Jungkook and you are siblings and he doesn’t want to talk about this with your brother. 

Jungkook’s ear perks at Jae’s words. “I see…” he trails off. “Do you see a future with my sister?”

“Yes.” Jae responds without missing a beat.

Jungkook’s foot shakes harder beneath the blanket. “Good luck to you then.” is all Jungkook says before placing his hands behind his head, eyes staring into the dark room.

Jungkook’s mind is caught in his own thoughts that he doesn’t realize how time has gone by - three hours. Jae has long since gone to sleep, snoring slightly. The home itself is quiet and he’s sure everyone has long since fallen asleep.

Jungkook couldn’t bring himself to. His mind is wandering with Jae’s words and your actions. It was obvious that Jae was smitten with you and you him. If given the chance, you’d be with Jae and forget about him entirely, and that was something he didn’t want.

Jungkook lifts himself up from the couch and slowly saunters down the familiar hall. All of the room doors are shut, including his own. He twists the door knob to his room and opens it slightly. Luna is asleep, lying on her back with her arms above her head. Her chest rises and falls slightly in rhythm.

Gently, Jungkook closes the door behind him and goes down the hall a bit more to your own room. He turns the knob to your door and opens it. You're lying on your side and unmoved. “I know you’re awake.” Jungkook speaks to you, entering your room and closing it behind him.

“I know how you sleep, sis.”

“Stop calling me that.” you respond to Jungkook. “What do you want, Kook?”

Jungkook comes closer to your figure. “Jae was speaking to me a while ago.”

You feel a shift on your bed and know that Jungkook’s getting onto it.

“Says he sees a future with you.”

Jungkook embraces you from behind and presses himself firmly against you. 

“I won’t let that happen, Y/N.”

“Get off of me.” You squirm in Jungkook’s embrace, but he doesn’t let up.

“No.” Jungkook murmurs. “I won’t let you be happy with someone else. That means you’ll go back to forgetting about me.”

“Get off-”

Jungkook’s hands grip at your exposed skin - you’re not wearing much for bed. It’s been long since he’s touched you and at the act, goosebumps erupt on the skin of his arm.

“Your little boyfriend told me that he’s never touched you.” Jungkook murmurs, voice so deep and breath tickling the skin on your neck. “The way you’re allowing me to touch you tells me that it’s true.”

Jungkook’s hand glides up your sides and places itself onto your breast. He squeezes it, breathing increasing. “When was the last time you came, sis? Was it from me or did you have to pleasure yourself because he can’t?”

You swallow the lump in your throat. Your mind is screaming at you to fight against Jungkook and his wandering hands.

“Kook,” you say, voice meek and low. “please stop.”

Jungkook doesn’t stop. Instead, he begins to grind against you. It’s been so long since he felt your body against his.

“Answer me.” Jungkook exhales. “I know he isn’t touching you and you must be so starved. So needy.”

Your moans are music to his ears and said moans catches you off guard. 

“We can’t do this anymore.”

“Why not?” Jungkook questions. “You’re not fighting me off of you. You want this.”

Jungkook forces you to turn towards him. His lips lightly graze your own.

“Tell me you want this, Y/N.” Jungkook commands.

You shake your head. “We can’t.”

“Why not?” Jungkook hisses. He’s so close, you note, and he could kiss you at any moment. “You meet someone else and don’t love me anymore.” he states matter-of-factly. 

You release a sigh. “You sound crazy.” you respond meekly. “I’ll always love you. You’re my step-brother, after all.”

Jungkook scoffs. “Then why’d you refuse to see me in a year?” he asks, unable to get over the actions you’ve committed. “Why didn’t you call me?”

You swallow, glancing away from Jungkook. He wasn’t going to get over this and a part of you felt like it was your fault. Maybe if you would’ve told Jungkook that things couldn’t be the same then he would’ve taken it lightly.

Yet, you couldn’t dwell on what if’s and what you should’ve done - not when Jungkook held the past over your head.

“I’m sorry.” you murmur, defeated. “I didn’t know it’d hurt you this much.” you admitted.

Jungkook closes his eyes and releases a sigh. “I’ll forgive you this once.” he mumbles, a low smirk forming onto his lip.It’s a saying he’d say often when it comes to you - the first time being when you blamed him for breaking one of your father’s limited edition figurines. It then became a saying between the both of you, even for the littlest things that wasn’t worth truly being angry over.

You’re quiet, as is Jungkook. You’re unsure what to say or do next - it’s obvious that he had no intentions of leaving your room, but you also didn’t want him to stay any longer than he needed to.

You take a deep breath, your hands gliding up to Jungkook’s chest to push him away from you. “You should go.” you say to him.

“Hm.” Jungkook hums, his chest vibrating underneath your palms. “Why?”

You know why, is what you want to respond with. It’s an obvious reason - you shouldn’t be here with him; or ever caught in this position. 

“We use to do this all the time-”

“As kids.” you deadpan, your annoyance rising. Jungkook feigns ignorance all the time and you were growing tired of it.

“I’ll leave if,” Jungkook wraps his own hand around your wrist. “we can just be together one last time. Like the old times.”

“Kook,” you shake your head with a sigh, but Jungkook’s grip on your wrist only tighten.

“Just one last time.” Jungkook murmurs. He pulls you closer to him and presses his lips against your forehead. “Tonight, it can be about you and me. And tomorrow,” he kisses down your forehead to your cheek then your jaw. “you can go back to your boyfriend and I’ll go back with Luna.”

You release a shaky breath when Jungkook’s hand releases your wrist to grip your waist. “Don’t you like Luna enough to not do this?”

Jungkook scoffs to himself. No, he thinks. He likes Luna, but he loves you - and that was the difference. Luna was beautiful and her likes her - she’s smart and an amazing girl to be around. But his love for you outweighed whatever he felt for her, and to him, it should be the same for Jae. He could never love another girl when you should be his first one.

“Just tonight, Y/N.” Jungkook pushes you closer to him, forcing your leg around his waist. “Then I’ll let you go back to Jae and enjoy your college life. You don’t have to ignore me anymore because I won’t pursue you.”

Jungkook’s lips are kissing along your neck now. Your body stiffens, the hairs on your skin standing all at once. 

Your body is betraying you - this isn’t what you wanted. However, your mouth doesn’t move to speak to demand Jungkook to stop. His hands lower slowly - so slow as if to taunt you - to your ass. He grips it in the palm of his hands, hissing against your neck.

“You missed the way I touch you, Y/N. I know you did.” Jungkook declares in a hushed whisper. “You haven’t cum good in so long, who better than to do it but me?”

Warm and wet, Jungkook’s tongue slides along the nape of your neck. 

“Do you and Jae do this? Does he touch you like I do?” Jungkook questions, adjusting himself so that he’s on top of you. You didn’t say no, he notes, nor are you any longer pushing him away. 

“No…” 

Jungkook knows how you get when you’re in bed; how humid it can be beneath your covers. He understands how little you dress for bed, and just how easy it is for him to have you naked in no time.

“He doesn’t kiss you the way I am now?” Jungkook’s lips send wet kisses down your neck to your collarbone. He’s teasing you, noticing your shaky breathing. 

“N-No…” your mind is screaming at you to push Jungkook away. Be adamant and stern - tell him that you didn’t want this and that this wasn’t fair to the both of you or to Jae and Luna.

“Then it should be okay for me to, right?” Jungkook reaches your breast, his eyes darting up at you. “I can leave all the marks I want because it’s not like he’d see…”

You feel your shirt being lifted upward. “You want this, don’t you, Y/N?” Jungkook murmurs, the cool air of your room slicing against your skin. “You haven’t told me to stop yet.”

It’s been so long since he’s seen your naked body in person and all he truly has close to it is the videos you and he took. His mouth begins to salivate and he wastes no time in wrapping a tongue around your nipple and his hand aggressively gripping the free one.

“Jungkook-!” you try your hardest not to be too loud - these walls weren’t as thin, but after your year celibacy, you’re unsure how you’d react to him.

“‘missed you so much.” Jungkook confessed muffledly.

This is wrong, you think. You put a stop to this for a year - you told yourself that you couldn’t go back to this.

This wasn’t fair to Jae; to Luna.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to tell Jungkook to stop. Your mind and your body were going against one another. Was it wrong? Yes, and you were going to hate yourself for allowing Jungkook access to your body once more.

But you loved it - every moment of it. You loved how needy Jungkook was for you; how his tongue would suck and lightly, his teeth would tug onto your nipples. You adored the way he would grind into you hastily and his hand would grip your breast.

“I missed you, too.” you moan at, hips buckling with Jungkook’s. He knew that he had you where you both wanted to be - with one another.

Of course you missed him - being away for so long with no pleasure. What was Jae good for if he wasn’t doing anything for you?

This is why Jungkook took your lack of sexual journey for the last year to his advantage - he could leave whatever marks on you that he desired because it wasn’t like anyone was going to see. 

Jungkook doesn’t stop suckling on your breast until they’re both littered with bite marks and purplish hickies - but even then, he wasn’t done. He had to taste you; not having you on his tongue for so long drove him crazy.

“I’m gonna eat you out.” Jungkook says, his fingers hooking on your shorts. “And you’re gonna cum on my tongue, okay?”

You could only nod, defeated. When your high came down, you were going to look back ashamed on being such a whore and allowing Jungkook in.

Jungkook kisses down your stomach to prepare you - and himself - for this. He throws your shorts and panties aside without a care and pushes your legs apart.

“Such a pretty pussy.” Jungkook admires, speaking to himself more than anything. He doesn’t hesitate in diving in, fully devouring you as if this was his last meal - and in a way it was.

Jungkook hooks your thighs apart, holding them in a firm grasp to assure you cannot squirm away from him. He lays his tongue flat against your clit, head bobbing side to side rapidly.

Your back arches in shock with the new pleasure, your teeth harshly biting your lips to not expose yourself. 

Your thighs quiver to be released, but Jungkook is stronger than you. His tongue dips between your folds and circles around your slit, fully teasing and edging you on.

“Kook, please…” you moan low, blinking away from Jungkook.

“Stop being so silent.” Jungkook scoffs,eyes flicking up to you. His tongue continues to suckle on your bulging clit.

“Do you want us to get caught?!” you hiss, slamming your head back against the pillow and releasing a moan, a bit higher than the rest. Your hand finds his hair and you grip it tightly.

Jungkook allows you to guide him and take control of your pleasure. Your hips buckle as you grind against his tongue, your body trembling with ecstasy.

“F-Feels so good…”

You’re going to hate yourself later, but now - now you wanted to cum after having not in so long.

Jungkook knows your body more than anyone. He enters his fingers inside of you and begins to pump, encouraging you to cum right on his tongue like he intended you to.

Your pussy’s so tight, Jungkook groans. So tight and ready to be fucked full - Jae was a fool to not take you because that only made your pussy crave him more.

Jungkook pumps his fingers with might, your pussy dripping onto his wrist. Your hand no clasps itself onto your mouth to prevent any unwarranted moans.

“I wish you could see how slutty you look now.” 

Jungkook leans away to admire your quivering form beneath him, slamming his fingers even deeper inside of you. They scrape against your walls heavenly, so much so that you could barely manage to keep your eyes open.

“You ignored me for so long just to come back to me. Knew you’d never find anyone better, huh?”

Jungkook places a thumb against your clit and circles it. 

“You ignored me because you knew how much you truly wanted me. A slut like you could never leave her legs close around me.”

Jungkook’s breathing increased and he shook his head. “Get up.” he removes his fingers from inside of you. “I can’t fuck you how I want to in here.”

Your eyes snap open at the loss and you blink. “W-Where-”

“Car.” is all Jungkook says before removing himself from you and going to pass you your discarded clothing. “If this is going to be our last time, I’m not holding back.”

It shouldn’t have, but your pussy clenches with anticipation.

This was yet another moment given to you to deny Jungkook - but you haven’t. Instead, you followed closely behind him as the two of you sneaked out of the home and around back to where his car sat. The night is dark and stateless, and his car is completely dark as you enter. He turns it on and turns on the heat as it warms.

“Back seat.” Jungkook demands, closing the driver seat door as he climbs to the back. “Take off your clothes.”

Jungkook doesn’t want to waste any unnecessary time - a year was long enough. He’s doing the same as you, removing useless clothing if it meant that he could be inside of you quicker.

“This is our last time.” you say, removing your clothing - your coat, sweats and shirt all discarded to the side. “Then we can never do this again.”

“Sure.” is all Jungkook says, glancing at your face.

You swing your leg around to sit onto his lap. “I’m serious, Kook-”

Jungkook’s palm slams into your face and once more - like before in the kitchen - he mushes your face back. “I heard you the first time, sis. You can go back to your lame boyfriend tomorrow.”

“Fuck-”

“-You. I will.” Jungkook centers his cock at your entrance and lightly taps it. “Still on birth control?”

You nod your head with a bite of your lip.

“Good.” Jungkook says, slowly entering you. His hands place themselves on your hips as he allows you to adjust to his size.

You’re squeezing around Jungkook so tightly and not even intentionally. Your eyes begin to roll just as you begin to grind against him, your hands wrapping around his neck.

“Shiiit.” Jungkook grunts.

You were needy, Jungkook thinks. You needed this - if not, you wouldn’t have been fucking yourself as if you did. Your feet are planted directly onto his set as you rise and fall against him, your moans of pleasure no longer needing to hide.

“You missed being fuck, didn’t you?” Jungkook’s cocky, but why wouldn’t he be? He had you where he wanted you - creaming his cock while your boyfriend laid sleep not far away.

Jungkook’s hand roams your naked body, unsure where he wants to lay them. Your breast bounces in his face, as if taunting him to suck on them even more.

“S-Shut up.” you whimper, your nails digging into the skin of his neck. Your forehead leans against his. 

“Feels good?” Jungkook asks rhetorically. “Come,” Jungkook presses his lips against yours and his hands onto your hips. He begins to thrust upwards into you, meeting your own thrusts. “gonna fuck you all night.”

Your lips press back onto Jungkook’s, completely lost in the immorality.  As much as your mind wanted to fight against it, your body refused. Jungkook was the only man you’ve been with sexually so far, and the only one that could satiate the hunger you felt.

The kisses become sloppy; needy. Neither of you want to stop, lust filling both bodies to the brim.

There’s a never ending urge inside of Jungkook, an urge he never wants to complete if he meant he could always be inside of you. He flips you onto your back, crashing you against the cool seats of his car. 

Jungkook begins to fuck deeper inside of you, uncaring about how aggressive the car begins to rock.

A year.

A year since Jungkook got to cum inside of you. A year since he felt your walls wrapped around him so heavenly and your moans enticing him beautifully.

A year since Jungkook got to be around you - the longest he’s gone without you since he was a child. 

Jungkook’s breathing increases as his hooded eyes look down at your figure. So beautiful, he ponders. So beautiful that it’s shameful that he is forced to give you to another man that could never love you as much as he could.

Jungkook wouldn’t allow it - not caring if you choose to hate him for the time being. He wouldn’t allow you to settle for second best.

“All mine,” Jungkook groans, capturing your lips with his own. His cock plunges in and out of you at an unbearable speed. “only mine.”

Your arms embrace Jungkook to keep him closer to you.

“Say it, Y/N. Say you’re mine.” Jungkook grumbles, dark eyes boring into yours. 

“You know I love you, Kookie.” you respond softly with a small smile onto your lips. “No need to get territorial.”

Jungkook groans. There was an absolute need - because eventually, you would try to find another man that didn’t love you enough and he wouldn’t allow you to.

“I can be all yours for tonight.” you press your lips against his with each passing word. “Just you and me.”

It’s exactly what Jungkook needed to hear; a confirmation. You were his - even if just for tonight - you were all his and for the entirety of the night right before the sun rose, you and he had continued as the gas wasted away

. Jungkook has cum inside of you an insane amount that if you weren’t on birth control there would be no doubt that you’d fall pregnant. He fucks you as many times as you’d let him - on your back, on your chest, between the driver and passenger seat.

Jungkook had no intention of this being your last night with him.

“What are you doing?” you ask Jae once you emerge from the bathroom. Three days had gone by so far and Jae wasn’t set to leave for another day. 

Jae turns towards you with a hard stare that has you halting in your tracks.

“Jae-” you reach out for him and he jerks away from you.

“I have to go.” Jae murmurs with a shake of his head. “I-I…”

Jungkook watches from the kitchen, sliding door cracked. He takes a sip of his drink, eyebrows furrowed. 

“I don’t understand.” you shake your head. “My dad should be off of work soon he can take you to the train station but-”

“I’ll catch an Uber.” Jae turns away from you. You’re confused by the sudden change. The last three days had been normal for the two of you.

“Jae, please talk to me.” you begin to follow him towards the front door. “Did I do something to upset you?”

Jae stops in his tracks, suitcase in hand. He slowly turns towards you, a look in his eye that wasn’t familiar.

Goosebumps emerge onto your arms at the sinister look in his eyes. 

“Jae-”

“You’re fucking your brother.”

Jae’s voice is deep and stern - you’ve never heard him use such language before.

You shake your head, gulping. “W-What?” you murmur so low and inaudible that you yourself are unsure if you said it or not. 

“You’re,” Jae turns towards you fully. “fucking your brother.” he repeats each word slowly. “You’re fucking your brother and you brought me here to meet him.”

Your mind is racing and your eyes are wide. 

“Where is this coming from?”

Jae drops his suitcase harshly. He rummages through his coat pocket and takes out his phone. He shoves it into your face as the video plays - the same video from a year prior of Jungkook and you in his car.

Right before college.

“I-I can explain-”

“Explain how you’re fucking your brother?!” Jae hisses with such venom that it makes you flinch. “Explain how you brought me here to meet him like a fool. What type of relationship do you two-”

“N-Nothing!” your eyes begin to water. “Jungkook isn’t my biological brother, he’s…” your breathing increases.

“Why does that matter, Y/N? There’s pictures all over here of you and him as kids!” Jae waves around his arms to said pictures on the walls. “You were raised as his sister! You call the same man dad!”

All you can do is shake your head as the tears begin to fall. Your heart hurts and you’re full of pure embarrassment of being found out. 

“Jae…”

“I’m leaving, Y/N. Don’t…don’t contact me anymore.” Jae pushes his phone back into his pocket. “I’m upset with you, but I don’t hate you. I wish you the best.”

Jae picks up his suitcase from the ground and turns away from you. You want to reach out for him and apologize - beg for his forgiveness. You want to plead for him to speak with you just a little while longer so you can explain.

You don’t - you didn’t have the right to.

“Y/N.”

Your head whips around to Jungkook leaning against the kitchen door. 

“You asshole!” you screech, lunging at him to attack. “How fucking selfish can you be?!” you scream so loud that you’re sure the neighbors will hear. 

“Calm down!” Jungkook screams back, restraining your wrists and halting your attacks. “It wasn’t me.”

“Who else has that video?” your tears are beginning to blind your vision. “You…you promised!” your voice cracks.

“Y/N…” Jungkook embraces you from behind. It’s the only way he could console you without you attacking him. 

“Let me go.” you cry, your body going limp in his embrace. 

“Luna isn’t here either. She left.” Jungkook murmurs into your ear. “I should have hid the video better. I’m sorry.”

You swallow. “L-Luna…knows?”

“Yes.” Jungkook murmurs. “She was the one who sent it to Jae. She suspected I was seeing someone else…” he trails off.

Jae knew.

Luna knew.

Your life was done - you wanted the world to swallow you whole at this moment. 

Jungkook holds you against his chest as you cried. “It’ll be okay, Y/N.”

“I-I can’t go back there.” you shake your head. “J-Jae…will tell everyone and-”

“SShh, Y/N. Calm down for me, please.” Jungkook turns you around and guides you towards the couch. “Breath, baby. It’s okay. I’m here.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and sniffle. 

“Why don’t you come home?” Jungkook suggests. “You can transfer to my college. It’s not too close to home but not as far, either.”

‘What about Luna?” 

“Luna won’t be a problem.” Jungkook assures. He had already broken things off with her the following night before he sent the video to Jae. She had taken it well and insisted there was no bad blood between them. “Trust me.”

You sniffle once more, wiping your eyes to look at Jungkook. 

Jungkook offers a warm smile. “There you go, Y/N. Wipe your tears.” he says softly. “I was thinking about getting an apartment for myself in the next few weeks. Do you want to stay with me when the transfers go through?”

You nod your head.

“Okay. I’ll tell Dad and we’ll get everything sorted, okay?” Jungkook rubs your arms encouragingly. “I’m sorry things with Jae didn’t work out.”

Jungkook wasn’t sorry, but he would apologize because you were crying and visibly upset and as someone he loves and cares for, he didn’t like it. 

Jungkook presses his lips against yours and embraces you. “I’ll be okay, Y/N.” he tells you. “No one’s going to love you like I do. I’ll take care of you.”

[hemmingsleclerc]

Golden Globes ┃CL16

summary : where you go to the golden globes with your mystery bf and end up being an f1 driver

The day had arrived, after weeks of anxiety, you were already dressed in ypur beautiful dress, with your makeup and hair done just waiting to leave. Your boyfriend was there with you, but you had both decided not to pose together on the red carpet, so it would just you. After you received the news that you had been nominated in the category of ''best supporting actress'' for your film ''Oppenheimer'' released that same year, you hadn't been able to sleep, you longed for that award after having given your all to that role.

The Golden Globes would be important, that day your boyfriend would accompany you and you couldn't ask for more. In fact, both had tried to keep your relationship as private as possible for the last two years, but at that moment it almost didn't matter to hide it from the public eye.

Arriving at the event, Y/N, adorned in a stunning floor-length dress, gracefully walked the red carpet, flashing smiles and waving to the adoring crowd.

ynupdates

liked by 182,572 others

ynupdates Y/N has arrived to the golden globes looking stunning!

Inside the venue, the atmosphere was equally charged with emotion. You and your partner had already met and were both walking hand in hand.

The glitz and glamor of Hollywood's elite filled the room, and Y/N couldn't help but feel a flutter of nerves as she took her seat among the nominees.

As the night progressed, the tension in the room reached its peak when the "Best Supporting Actress" category was announced.

The presenter was reading the names of the nominees while a camera pointed at each one when the room fell silent. Y/N was gripping her boyfriend's hand tightly when the presenter said "And the golden globe goes to" and her heart raced when her name echoed through the auditorium. Her eyes widened in disbelief and she stood up from her seat, she gave her boyfriend a kiss and hugged several of her friends before heading to the stage.

While on stage, holding her award, Y/N began her acceptance speech with her voice shaking. She thanked the incredible team she had worked with on the film, acknowledging the director, her co-stars and her team. The audience burst into applause upon hearing her words.

Then, in a moment that was sure to garner attention on social media, Y/N took a deep breath and dropped a bombshell. "I also want to thank the love of my life, my rock and my biggest supporter ever," she said, drawing shocked faces from the crowd.

The camera panned to capture the surprised expressions on the faces of the audience. Speculation in the room intensified when Y/N continued: "Charles, my charlie, you have been my pillar of strength throughout this incredible journey. Thank you for being there for me through the good and difficult times."

Attention was focused on an elegant Charles Leclerc, sitting in the audience, with a proud smile adorning his face watching her. The revelation caused astonishment in the room and the crowd erupted in a mixture of applause, cheers and murmurs of surprise.

The cameras captured the genuine emotion on Y/N's face as she continued her heartfelt speech, expressing her love for Charles and how he had been the unwavering support she needed all those years. The audience, initially taken by surprise, eventually broke out into a standing ovation, celebrating the couple.

When Y/N left the stage, Charles greeted her with a big hug and a kiss telling her how proud he was of her.

ynln

Liked by charles_leclerc,taylorswift,robertdowneyjr and 1,543,859 others

ynln What a night!!! thank u @goldenglobes !!!

and also thank u to my boy @charles_leclerc for holding me before I passed out from excitement.

username GIRL WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK!??!?!?!?!

username SINCE WHEN????????????

charles_leclerc beyond proud of you❤️

liked by ynln

[tbaluver]

Hi! I’ve been really enjoying your lads hcs, and I want to request where reader is an idol. Thank you and have a good day!

When You're An Idol- The Love And DeepSpace Men

parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader genre: fluff fluff a/n: hihi anonnie ! i'm happy to hear you're enjoying my works i hope this was okay ! ♡⸜(˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝ fun fact i used to be like a big kpop stan in like high school but now i just enjoy their music anyways okane kasegu watashi wa suta any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

Oh he's your biggest fan.

He'll have all your albums and photocards. He'll even have plushies and keychains of your character that you made for a collaboration event. He'll even have that keychain on his sword.

If you were in a group, he doesn't really recognize the other members there because to him you are the face of the group. You're the main visuals, dancer, vocalists, and rapper. His eyes are always placed on you.

He streams all your shows, music videos, fan cams, music, any minute and second he can. Any concept you had was his favorite concepts. He secretly saves some fan edits of you.

He in fact does get jealous when there's rumors about you having a dating rumor with another idol. You'll reassure him and you'll immediately deny the rumors are false to the public. They probably just caught you and Xavier on a date and assumed it was a different idol.

He's also very protective of you in public. He's basically like your bodyguard. He'll lead you away from any fans and paparazzi's when you both just want some alone time.

Zayne:

Just because you're an idol does not mean he's not your doctor. He STILL is and he insisted that it's beneficial for you that he's your doctor. And who are you to complain? With both your busy schedules, you two can catch up for a bit when you have a checkup. He will still scold you if you're neglecting your health and will tell your managers that it's doctors orders to not put you on a harsh diet or practice.

Y'know how surgeons listen to music while performing a surgery? Well he listens to your entire discography on LOOP while he performs a cardiac surgery. It helps him focus and you get more streams ! No one is allowed to change the music or complain. His colleagues would not have expected him to like your music so they just assume it's because your his patient and that's why he listens to your music.

Nobody knows that you two are dating so you keep your relationship private so no one can disturb your personal lives. He also just doesn't want to be in the spotlight in general.

He'll support you in any way he can. He's not really the type to go to concerts but for you he will. He'll even have his light stick and memorize the fan chants to your songs. If he can't attend your concerts because of work then he'll make sure to stream the live version ones.

He would also send you texts before you have any performances or interviews. He'll make sure to watch on his breaks to support you and will send you a text afterwards, saying how you did so well and he's proud of you.

He's probably also the type to send you flowers or have food delivered to you whenever you're working. It's to keep your relationship private but also a way to show that he loves and supports you.

Rafayel:

His artwork would make frequent features in your music videos which speculates some rumors about you two dating. And you two would make it so OBVIOUS. On both of your social medias, you two would post the same location at the same time. If you two posted a selfie, fans would see you two have matching jewelry or detect you wearing his clothes. He'll 'accidentally' take pictures of your merch in the background of his pics. Rafayel doesn't care if fans found out, I mean it's about time.

He would have a field day with your stylist if they dared to give you the worst outfit, makeup, hair color or style. He would want that stylist to be fired immediately and he'll style you himself.

He'd be so excited when you'd invite him to an event. You two would have matching outfits and you two would be the cutest and prettiest couple there. He's already used to the cameras, interviews, and the people there. It's like him going on an exhibition tour but this time it's more fun because he's with you by his side.

You two would have a lot of photoshoots together. But he just loves to be your personal photographer. He'll make sure to make his own photocard of himself so you can have it on the back of your phone case like how he has a photocard of you on his phone case.

Any of your shows that you have, he'll attend. He'll make sure to be front row and center so when you see him in the crowd, you can blow him a kiss.

Sylus:

Fans and paparazzi's would be so worried when they found out you were caught entering the N109 Zone. They thought you were getting kidnapped and they just thought the area was too dangerous for their beloved idol. You had to post on social media that you were okay so you and Sylus had to find a better way to meet up.

He would sing your songs in the karaoke room with Luke and Kieran. When you're there, you'll have a duo song or it'll get really competitive.

He also knows how to play the organ so if somehow you needed that instrumental you let him feature in it privately.

Sylus would buy a concert VIP room so he doesn't risk getting caught at your concert. He'll even bring Luke and Kieran because they're your second biggest fans there. He'll tell you which area he is in the concert venue and you'll make sure to look in that direction to acknowledge and appreciate that he's always there to try and support you. He would also have a massive smile on his face when you're performing. He loves to watch you perform and doing something you love.

You two are always facetiming whenever either of you are away. You both miss each others company a lot and can't go by a day without communicating even if it's just a small update.

If any fans tried to stalk you or make you uncomfortable just let him know and he'll take care of it himself.

[driverlando]

✧.* PARTNER SWAP

synopsis- Carlos and Lando are caught in a partner swap scandal

before you continue: It’s been a while since I’ve done an smau so I’m glad to be back lol. reblogs and feedback are appreciated also thanks to the anon who requested the article! enjoyyyy :)

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

f1wagsgossip

liked by user1, user8 and 6,257 others

f1wagsgossip who do we think this is about? 👀

via Deuxmoi

view all 2,572 comments

user1 Charles and Max 💯

↳ user2 nah, they’re more likely to cheat on their partners FOR eachother 😂

user3 I’m sensing Pierre and Lance vibes over here 🤮

user4 hear me out…Lando and Carlos?

↳ user2 yeah, this might be it. did you see how lando was looking at Carlos’ gf in the paddock? plus Carlos likes every single one of Landos gfs posts…

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Scandal Rocks F1: Carlos Sainz and Lando Norris Caught in Shocking Partner-Swap Drama!

By: Sasha, Rumour Radar

The glamorous world of Formula 1 has been rocked by an explosive scandal involving two of its brightest stars, Carlos Sainz and Lando Norris. In a stunning twist worthy of a soap opera, the drivers have been caught in a jaw-dropping partner-swap scandal. Sources reveal that Carlos has been involved in an affair with Lando’s partner, while simultaneously, Lando has been cheating on his partner with Carlos’ significant other. The shocking revelations have left fans and insiders reeling.

The Double Betrayal Uncovered

The tangled web of deceit came to light after a series of discreet encounters and secretive rendezvous. It appears that both Sainz and Norris have been seeing each other’s partners behind closed doors, all while maintaining the façade of happy relationships in their public lives.

According to insiders, the affair between Carlos and Lando’s partner began several months ago. The two reportedly grew close during a series of social events and shared interests, sparking a connection that eventually led to clandestine meetings. Meanwhile, in a parallel storyline, Lando and Carlos’ partner were seen enjoying intimate dinners and private get-togethers, raising eyebrows among close friends and associates.

The Timeline of Events

The dual affairs seemed to have been orchestrated with meticulous care, with both drivers and their partners going to great lengths to keep their indiscretions under wraps. However, in the tight-knit world of Formula 1, secrets rarely stay hidden for long. A few chance sightings and whispered rumours eventually led to a full-blown scandal, as details of the affairs began to leak out.

Friends of both couples were reportedly shocked by the revelations. “It’s like something out of a movie,” one source close to the situation commented. “Nobody saw this coming, and now everyone is scrambling to make sense of it all.”

Reactions from the F1 Community

The scandal has sent shockwaves through the F1 community, with fellow drivers, team members, and fans struggling to process the news. While both Sainz and Norris have maintained a professional rivalry on the track, their personal entanglements have now added a new layer of tension to their dynamic.

Social media has been ablaze with reactions, with fans expressing a mix of shock, disappointment, and curiosity. “Carlos and Lando’s partner-swap? This is the biggest scandal F1 has seen in years!” one fan tweeted. Another wrote, “I can’t believe it. They always seemed so happy with their partners. What a mess.”

The Fallout

As the dust begins to settle, the fallout from this scandal is expected to be significant. Both drivers and their partners are facing intense scrutiny and public interest, with questions swirling about the future of their relationships. Will they try to salvage their original partnerships, or has the betrayal cut too deep?

There is also speculation about how this drama will affect the drivers’ performance on the track. The intense emotions and public attention could potentially impact their focus and team dynamics, adding another layer of intrigue to the upcoming races.

What’s Next?

While neither Carlos Sainz nor Lando Norris has publicly commented on the situation, the F1 world is holding its breath, waiting for an official statement or response. Both drivers have always been known for their professionalism, but this personal scandal presents a challenge unlike any they’ve faced before.

As fans and insiders continue to dissect the unfolding drama, one thing is clear: this scandal has already become one of the most talked-about stories in recent F1 history. Whether it leads to lasting consequences or fades into the background as a passing storm remains to be seen.

For now, the world watches as these drivers navigate the tricky terrain of public scandal and personal betrayal.

Stay tuned for more updates on this unfolding story, as we bring you the latest from the world of Formula 1, both on and off the track.

—

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landoexgf

liked by carlossainz55, user23 and 23,578 others

landoexgf date nights with bae ✨

tagged: @/carlossainz55

comments have been disabled

—

carlosexgf

liked by landonorris, user34 and 22,357 others

carlosexgf summer break so far 💘

tagged: @/landonorris

comments have been disabled

—

✧.* the interview

—

[covid-safer-hotties]

To My Unmasked Friend in the Fifth Year of COVID - By: Anna Holmes - Published Aug 17, 2024

I’m going to be honest with you, because I love you, and you deserve nothing but honesty. I’m going to try really hard not to be angry while I do it, but it’s probably going to slip out every now and again. But I need you to hear me out, all right?

By now, we’ve talked about my reality. My personal struggle with long COVID, the isolation I live in, why I am so angry all the time.

But let’s talk about you. You just went to a big convention overseas. You got on a plane, got a little gussied up, talked shop with some insiders, geeked out over awards and merch, ate, drank, were merry, left with your social cup and your heart full.

You’re a good person. We wouldn’t be friends otherwise! You’d never dream of tripping a person with a red and white cane, using the r-word, excluding a disabled person from an event because of something they can’t help.

You might even acknowledge that the COVID response from governments and organizations has been ableist and inadequate.

But you didn’t wear a mask.

For whatever reason — you wanted to show off your makeup, it makes you itchy, you believed the messaging that COVID is endemic (what does that actually mean?), you just don’t think about it anymore — you made a choice that actively excludes people like me from participating not only in an event like a convention, but society at large. And yes, it is a choice. Every time you step out into the world without a mask on your face, you have made a decision that your very good reason, whatever it is, supersedes the right of disabled and at-risk people to exist safely in your orbit.

Well, hold on, you say. It’s not any one individual’s fault, it’s the inadequate public health messaging. Isn’t that what you’ve been saying?

And I have. In the past, I have talked about how it is unconscionable that health authorities have thrown their hands up and rescinded guidance that would have saved hundreds of thousands of lives and prolonged a pandemic that, to hear them tell it, has been bested. It hasn’t. Worst of all, the financial motivation that we all know is driving this premature victory lap isn’t even being fulfilled. Long COVID and other post-COVID complications are costing the global economy one trillion a year. Meanwhile, article after article handwrings about nobody wanting to work anymore, about the sagging college application scene, about declines in military enlistment, and the strain on our healthcare systems.

All of this is very much the fault of our leaders, who have decided the political ramifications of “normalcy” are more important than the health and lives of the 400 million people living with long COVID across the globe, the immunocompromised folks who are increasingly being shut out of every conceivable public space, and the disabled community which has been screaming into the wind about our marginalization since before the virus even hit US soil.

But I want to be very clear. You are helping them do this.

The reality is that we have been living in this deeply flawed landscape of “personal choice”, and you’ve made yours. You’ve opted not to look into how densely clustered cases are. You’ve stopped listening to your friends who have informed themselves. You’ve given yourself permission to put COVID on the back burner. You’ve earned it, right? Four and a half years of trauma?

COVID doesn’t care if you’re tired of being scared or careful or considerate. COVID is not something you can personally overcome by being smart or virtuous or brave. It is a virus which only seeks to infect and replicate, and it is getting very good at those things. While you’ve looked away, my community has been scrambling to avoid variants that skirt immunity and don’t show up on rapid tests until day five-seven. The constant battle has changed since you were last in it. It’s not sufficient anymore to get your shots and test before a big event. You could well be asymptomatic and infectious, or have symptoms and convinced yourself it can’t be COVID because that second line hasn’t popped up.

You have come to the conclusion sometime between 2022 and now that you just have to decide what level of risk you’re comfortable with and live with it. The problem with that is scale. It’s you and everybody else doing that, and a lot of people have decided they are comfortable with a high level of risk. Despite what you’ve been told, you’re not just making that decision for yourself. You are making it for every person you come in contact with.

Think back to the early tense days of 2020. We were told to select a “bubble.” Those people would be our social lifelines, and through those, we could control our exposure.

My bubble is quite small. It includes my husband, my sister, and two friends I see relatively frequently.

My husband goes to work via the bus, and to the grocery store. Every person he comes in contact with there has the potential to infect him, and then he has the potential to pass it along to me. He mitigates this by wearing a well-fitted respirator at all times.

My sister goes to work at a busy public place. She masks when public facing and takes it off in the back office. She goes to restaurants, bars, concerts, hangs out with friends and her own partner unmasked. About 75% of her interactions have the heightened potential to infect her, which she might then bring into my house when she visits me.

My friends do not mask anywhere except my house when asked. They attend concerts, shows, cons, bars.

Obviously, I am in control of whether I wear a mask around these people. And as we approach one million new cases a day, I will be around everyone but my husband. But science is clear: reciprocal masking is more effective at infection control than a single person masking — especially when that single person is trying to protect themselves, not others.

This is settled science. We’ve known this since 2020. It says clearly that the choice you make is not personal- it has implications for everyone you come in contact with.

And being clear — if I could, I’d make everyone wear a mask for their own health. I don’t want people suffering with what I have. But you’ve been told this lie that you can take your risks for yourself, so you feel comfortable going out without a mask. You’ve been told this lie that it’s possible to completely recover from a COVID infection, so you assume that even if you do catch it, that’s what’ll happen to you, despite evidence showing that every body is indelibly changed by an infection, and that risk only grows with each subsequent infection.

And the greatest lie of all — that only the sick or elderly have anything to fear from COVID — has given you unfounded confidence in your own “good” genes or immune system or fitness. You can get long COVID even if you’re in peak form — in fact, may even be more likely to be hit hard.

So you have decided, individually and collectively, that only the sick or elderly should have to take precautions, and you freewheel through life, only to get surprised and dismayed when you bump into COVID in the wild. It’s back, people declare every summer or winter, as though it ever left.

But I want you to really think about the implications of your choice. Besides yourself. Because let’s be honest here, that’s who you’ve been thinking about, right? Your risk. Your comfort. Never mind your bubble, never mind the bubble of everyone you come into contact with, never mind the people like me who are literally hiding from people like you.

You’re not masking at the doctor’s office. You’re not masking at the airport. You’re not masking at the giant superspreader you just attended, and you’re not masking in the bars and restaurants where we know the virus flourishes. And then you’re bringing that exposure back to your family and friends. Back to the grocery store, where you run across people like my husband, shopping for someone who is unsafe to leave the house, or your elderly neighbors, or an immunocompromised employee.

You’re a good person, or you like to think of yourself that way. That’s why when you’re asked to mask, you dismiss it out of hand — because that changed behavior implies that you’ve been doing something wrong.

And my friend, I’m telling this because I love you: you have been. You might have been doing that on faulty information, but be honest with yourself and with me — you’ve heard me begging people to take this seriously. You’ve seen the information I’ve been sharing. You have had the opportunity to seek out the correct information all along, and you have chosen not to.

It isn’t too late to change your view of the risk you’re imposing on the people around you. It’s not too late to push public health to become more effective. It’s not too late to act in solidarity and be the inclusive person you think you are. It’s not too late to take care of yourself.

Ultimately, that’s what I have been screaming myself hoarse about. I don’t want you to end up with what I have. I don’t want you to inadvertently impose that on someone else. And yes, I’ve been angry, because you’ve been advertising your absolute lack of concern with group shots of your naked faces on social media. It doesn’t seem to bother you that I am stuck at home like it’s 2020, except for doctors’ appointments that I literally have to risk my life to go to. You’ve told yourself that it’s not your problem, because only the sick and elderly have to take precautions.

You know better. You can do better. For your community, yourself, and me, do better.

Please. I love you.

Anna

PS. If you’re feeling upset and embarrassed right now, the best thing you can do is take action. Get yourself good masks (the surgicals and cloth ones don’t cut it anymore), donate to mask blocs so others can access good masks, write to your representatives and the President, comment on upcoming CDC guidance, schedule yourself a booster, and talk to your loved ones about doing better, too. The only way we get out of this is with community care. So care.

[casualhedonists]

✩ it don’t need your loving, it just needs attention ✩

pairing: Coriolanus Snow x Reader

warnings: NSFW (18+), snow being snow, themes of sex work (not the reader), cuckolding, eventual smut, fake relationship, unprotected sex, themes of voyeurism & mild exhibitionism (lmk if i forgot anything!) murder mention (but no actual murder) (not yet at least?), MAJOR manipulation/gross power dynamics + generally darkish themes, some power play, oral sex, thigh riding, eventual piv, i’m new to full on smut bear with me here

chapter: 1/? (chapter 2 here)

MASTERLIST

i do not give permission for my work to be reposted/translated anywhere, under any circumstances.

A/N: this is what happens when i let my brain loose to do whatever tf it wants (title is from attention by doja cat as is the general theme)

Show you how to touch it Hold it like it's precious It don't need your lovin' It just needs attention

You were getting tired of this charade.

Snow was courting you, or so it would seem. In truth, it was all for show. He was seen with you on his arm at public events, just enough to make it look like you were together. Marriage was probably further down the line, but Snow was in no rush for that to happen. For now, he was pleased with the positive attention he received for appearing like a reliable, loving, doting partner.

“There’s a science behind it,” Cordelia, Snow’s preferred public relations manager - and one of the Capitol’s best - had told you in a meeting between the three of you, discussing strategy, coordinating events, and how best to make the relationship seem authentic. “The more the public see you as grounded, committed, and warm, the more respect they hold for you. The more open they are to your ideas, and any changes you make as president.”

You’d concealed your smirk well enough for it to go unnoticed upon hearing that.

Snow was a lot of things, but he was never warm. The name itself decreed it. He was cold, calculating, sharp witted, manipulative. Power hungry.

You were fine with the arrangement at first. It suited your thirst for power; despite coming from one of the richest families in the capital, Snow’s power was of a different breed. You wanted in, and so when your social circles crossed over and the proposition was made, you’d risen to the occasion.

The reality was this: it was a good arrangement. Coriolanus was adored and admired by any outsider with a pair of eyes, and you got anything you wanted. You got to live in the manor house Coriolanus occupied, eating good food while being waited on hand and foot. You got to network with powerful people in the highest of society. Even if you wanted someone executed, it would be carried out in turn, without question. Name it, and it was yours. Snow was a generous host and ally to you.

It was everything you wanted.

Almost.

Somehow, despite it all, all the custom gowns shipped in from the expensive designers, the buffet spreads and the silk sheets, the way that people had begun to stare in respect as soon as you walked into a room, there was just one thing that itched at you, one thing you knew wasn’t part of the plan.

It was Snow.

Somewhere, between the light kisses in front of expectant eyes, the gentle hand on yours at dinner, that was hurriedly removed once you were behind closed doors again, you’d grown a gnawing, incessant want towards the man that had given you almost everything you could ever hope for.

Eight months, this had been going on. Eight months since Snow suggested this business proposal. Sex was never a part of the deal. And of course, you couldn’t sleep with anyone you pleased; that would be catastrophic for both of your reputations. And so it had been eight months since anybody had touched you other than yourself, biting your pillow so nobody could hear Snow’s name on your lips as you gripped the sheets. Even if you wanted to sleep with other people, you couldn’t. Truth is though, you’d developed rather expensive taste. A taste for only him. Even if you had the choice, nobody else would do.

You wondered if he ever thought of you while he touched himself. That thought slipped into your head every so often, when your hand was between your thighs. Then it became a more frequent occurrence. Then it became a nightly one, and by then, you were pretty sure you’d started going crazy.

You weren’t a romantic - this arrangement would never have worked if you were. You were like him; power hungry, relentless, impatient. And most of all, when you wanted something, you got it. And you wanted to seduce Coriolanus Snow.

So you’d started leaving breadcrumbs. Put an extra glint in your eyes when you glanced over at him, in public, first, and then in private more and more. You’d thrown out dozens of your more conservative dresses, keeping only the shortest ones that hugged your hips and dropped tantalisingly low on the neckline. Started wearing them more around the house, pretending to drop things just so you could bend down in front of him.

You estimated this act would last for a good week or two before Snow folded.

You were wrong.

If anything, it seemed to render Snow even more indifferent to you than he’d been before you started playing your little games. And each time he ignored you, glanced unimpressed at your outfit then looked away, or full-on walked right past you out the room, you started to simmer even more.

A normal girl in a normal situation would take a hint, cut her losses. But you were no normal girl, and this was no ordinary situation.

You had to be in the same boat, surely. Snow was still just a man, after all. A man with similarly limited options, and you knew he must’ve at least found you a little attractive, else he wouldn’t have chosen you to parade around on his arm in public, in pretty dresses and expensive jewellery.

Snow’s indifference only fuelled your fire. Sure, an ordinary girl would just give up. But eight months of this torture and you were at your breaking point. Besides, it was either him, or nobody. You weren’t giving up. Not in this lifetime.

So you got more obvious. Started taking breakfast in your nightgown each morning instead of getting dressed, sitting opposite Coriolanus with several feet of the mahogany table between you, biting into grapes from the fruit bowl and letting the juice trail down your chin, wiping it off then sucking your fingers clean, humming with your digits in your mouth, glancing at him with full-blown bedroom eyes when he’d look over at you from behind his paper.

It was no use. Nearly a month had passed and he’d barely even looked at you for more than a second at a time. Your conversations were short, lacklustre and strictly business related. You’d even tried playing on his heartstrings, asking about his day and work and his family. You were lucky if you got more than blunt, one-worded answers every time.

You’d exhausted yourself with all these failed attempts, until one Thursday night you heard footsteps walking past your bedroom door. This wasn’t abnormal - Snow kept extensive household staff - except for the sound of these were different. You recognised the faint clicking of heels against the hardwood, a sound you heard all the time at galas and balls, but never in these halls, when an event was nowhere on the radar. And this was one such night.

Your curiosity led you off your bed and to the door, gently opening it to glance outside. Whoever it was had turned the corner, the clicking fading down the hallway. You carefully closed the door behind you and began to follow the sound. A chill ran up the backs of your legs as you walked; it was getting slightly colder as winter closed in, and your bedroom attire wasn’t exactly fit for the weather, given that you picked out the laciest, most impractical slips to sleep in, ready for your performance the next morning at breakfast.

You paced down the corridor, winding past the door to each room, a study, a small library (the larger one was downstairs), Snow’s office, and then finally, at the end, the door to Snow’s bedroom.

Oh.

This room was always enigmatic to you, as you’d never been inside. Your obsession with Snow had led you to wonder, day in and day out, what lay behind that door. The color of his bedsheets, what sat on his dresser, the contents of his closet, what aftershave he wore that had caused you to develop a practically pavlovian reaction anytime he got close to you.

You paused, a few feet away from the door, fearing Snow’s response if you crossed that line, if he were to walk out and find you hovering between his office and his room, clearly attempting to eavesdrop.

You heard shifting, then voices inside as you focused all your attention onto listening, trying hard to pick up on the conversation. You took another tentative step forward, practicing in your head what you would say if he stepped outside. I just wanted to ask what you wanted me to wear on Monday’s gala, I was thinking the white dress with the gold detailing. It wasn’t too late in the evening for that to be a viable excuse, if you could make it sound convincing enough.

But as you got closer you noticed something. There was a soft light spilling out from behind the door, which was in fact, just slightly ajar.

Snow usually kept the door locked at all times, you knew that from testing the handle - admittedly more than a few times - when he had been out of the house, and you were certain he wouldn’t be home for hours. This was something different. This felt dangerous, like walking a tightrope that was about to get cut, but the thrill of adrenaline pushed you forward.

You’d stopped hearing voices by then. You snuck ever closer, ears starting to ring as you found yourself drawn to the open door, taking silent steps towards it until there was no going back, and your body was practically flush to it. Holding your breath, you peeked through, pushing it ever so gently, praying that it wouldn’t creak. You had to crane your neck slightly to see any movement in the room, but it didn’t take long to see it, and when you did, you certainly didn’t feel cold anymore. Any curious whims on the color of his furniture and walls were long pushed to the side, because you couldn’t have focused on anything else in the room if you tried.

Snow was sat on a deep red velvet ottoman at the foot of his bed, shirt buttons undone and pushed behind him, leaving you with a full view of his chest. Your eyes panned down to see his usually pristine dress pants rolled carelessly down, pooling around his ankles. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows in a similarly rushed manner. One hand was behind him, propping himself up, and the other was tightly gripping a handful of blonde hair, belonging to a girl that knelt at his feet in nothing but black underwear and stiletto heels - the culprit of the footsteps - moving her head up and down as Snow roughly guided her, lips parted, head tipped back, eyes firmly shut, breathing roughly. A few strands of damp blonde hair had fallen to his temples, just enough to make him look disheveled, yet somehow still regal, like a greek god.

You stood there, frozen. A million emotions battling for dominance in your head, anger, panic, fear, raging jealousy. Desire.

That was the one that stuck with you in the moment. It was a good thing Snow’s eyes were closed and the girl’s back was facing you, because your feet were firmly planted on the ground, watching this scene unfold, and you wouldn’t be able to go anywhere even if you tried. Watching as Snow’s breathing got heavier, as his grip on the girl’s hair got tighter and more forceful. Watching as her one arm gripped his thigh, and the other moved to where her mouth was, out of your eyeshot, and the obscenity of this was made somehow worse by the fact that you couldn’t see exactly what was happening.

Firstly, because it allowed your brain to fill in the blanks as Snow hissed through his teeth and dropped his head back. Secondly, because from this angle, you couldn’t see the girl’s face, and you were able to picture yourself in her place, wet mouth wrapped around him, being the cause of his undoing.

Come to think of it, there was another reason you were glad you couldn’t see her face, and it was purely for her sake. Because if you could’ve seen her, you would’ve had no excuse not to kill the bitch then and there.

You could hear, though. You could hear her soft moans and the lewd wetness of her mouth as her head moved even faster, before Snow took full control as his hips started to jerk, holding her head in place. There was a fire in the pit of your stomach and your lips were parted, staring. Knowing that if even for a second, Snow opened his eyes just for a glance, he’d see you immediately. You’d be hanged, probably. Or worse. And yet you didn’t run; you couldn’t. Nothing on God’s earth could’ve caused your feet to turn you around and leave the room. It was like you were suspended in some dream-like state, hearing going fuzzy, head spinning.

Then Snow started groaning, breath hitching in his throat as he got closer to the edge, you could hear it. Your brain began melting, and you didn’t have time to think through what would happen after he was finished and he saw you. If you were going to be hanged for this, it would be worth it, you thought, as his hips started to jerk even faster and his groans turned into strained whispers. Fuck and that’s it and good girl, and finally, as his eyes squeezed shut even tighter, and he came into her mouth with a strangled cry, you heard a name.

Yours.

[hellsgreatestbrainrot]

Hello, dearies!

I am now proudly presenting you:

Celebrity!Reader x Vees

Imagine being THE celebrity in hell. Everyone wants you. You're practically a god among sinners.

You have billboards everywhere in hell, your face for everyone to fawn over. You have advertisers fighting tooth and nail to have you in their ads.

Brands? Ripping each other apart and sending you their best products to have you as their ambassador. You're in every PR list.

Imagine you being able to influence trends. That niche product made by an small company? Yeah, people saw you using their product one time, and you singlehandedly saved them from bankruptcy.

Every movie you make is a box office hit. You're always nominated in award shows too. Best actor/actress? You. Not in the lead? Best supporting role. Cameo only? Fan favorite award then!

You're invited to everything. Parties, weddings, brunches, grand openings, practically every event that you can think of. Not sending an invite to you is practically a crime!

Now, Imagine The Vees being your fans too.

Imagine them wanting you so fucking bad because you're everything they could be ever want.

Thinking about Vox buying all sorts of merch. Posters? Hanged and framed all around his floor, some with your autograph too. Those shirts with your face on it? Hidden in the back of his closet. Name it, he's got it. Has custom ones too. (Body pillow? There's four.)

Thinking about Velvette creating outfits with you in mind and blasting them on social media in the hopes it catches your attention and you'd want to collab with her.

She probably has exact copies of outfits you wore and has them displayed behind glass windows as her personal showcase. Who knows? Maybe Velvette even bought the actual outfits/costumes you wore during the many photoshoots you have.

Thinking about Valentino watching hours upon hours of edits of you, he can't stop himself from admiring you, and really can you even blame him? Those edits are delicious. He's also commenting absolutely filth on your edits and in your posts too. Might as well shoot his shot.

And since Valentino is crafty as fuck, as exhibited by him bedazzling his gun, he cuts out your pictures from magazines to make custom collages (that he also bedazzles) that he hangs up in his closet next to posters of him.

Vox, practically foaming at the mouth, sending you Voxtek products. He's sending the best ones! Latest ones! Products he hasn't even introduced to the public yet!

And just between the both of us, well, he might or might also be trying to find ways to ensure that there's always gonna be a Voxtek Ad on your phone, but you didn't hear that from me, yeah?

----------

Next post: Cannibal!Vees x Reader

Thank you for reading!

[coca-lastic]

How would the MHA characters make the tiktok trend about ranking kisses?

If you don't know what trend I'm referring to, here it is

Characters: Hawks, Bakugo, Denki, Kirishima

Hawks is a sweetheart, we all know that. Additionally, he has a very strong presence on social media.

In the event that your two relationship is already public, he would record the tiktok as soon as you ask and publish it. If it's not public, then he would just test the filter and then save it to drafts.

He loves doing this type of things with you, he thinks it's an excellent mix between quality time and body touch, so when he has time he will please you with these types of activities.

Now, how was the kisses ranking?

1. Neck kiss: Do I have to explain? He just loves to get between your neck and kiss every spot. But he loves it more when you do it to him, it relaxes him and he likes the sensation of tickling and pleasure that it causes. I do not have doubts.

2. Lip kiss: Oh he loves your lips, and you love his, that explosion of love is just his second favorite.

3. French kiss: Ok ok, this was a battle against the kiss on the lips. I mean, they look a lot alike and I think Keigo loves both, but he thinks that the French kiss doesn't express as much feeling as a kiss on the lips can. The French kiss almost always indicates a specific thing, u know?

4. Forehead kiss: It seems to him a very tender sign of love, it is not as profound as the previous ones, it is just a small act that for someone as observant (and sensitive) as him can be the reason for his happiness for the next few hours.

5. Earlobe kiss: He likes the tickling sensation it generates, he finds it a very funny but hot feeling at the same time. He also likes it because he can hear your voice close to his ear.

6. Spiderman kiss: He probably just realized that that's pretty cute, but I firmly believe that after doing this trend he would appear from time to time flying above you to kiss you just like Spiderman does.

7. Cheek kiss: A bit the same as the kiss on the forehead, but the reason why this one is lower on the top is because normally you prefer to kiss him on the forehead, there is something about his hair and his eyes that makes you have the tradition of doing it there and not on the cheek.

8. Hand kiss: He doesn't do it very often, but when one of the two of you decides to do it, he finds it a mix of elegant and sexy, he likes it.

9. Nose kiss: Cute, just that, he finds that just cute.

10. Air kiss: "If you want to send me a kiss, come and give it to me on the lips"

Well, let's say you had to force him to do it. I mean, he likes spending time with you, but he prefers to keep it between the two of you, maybe watching a movie or just talking, but getting all those kisses didn't seem like a totally bad idea to him.

Of course, he didn't publish the video, once again it's because he prefers to leave his romantic moments private, he likes it intimate.

But, his top was like this:

1. French kiss: He likes it when you give him kisses like that, he finds it sexy on your part, and he also likes the combination of roughness and gentleness that exists in that kiss.

2. Earlobe kiss: He likes to be able to listen to you while you show him affection. Plus you usually do it when he's so focused on something that he doesn't listen to you, so it's a surprise to put your lips on his ear, he likes that.

3. Neck kiss: He finds it relaxing when you do it. And as we well know, this boy is not very relaxed, so in times of stress he likes that gesture.

4. Lip kiss: It's the classic one, u know? He can't just not love it. Normally he is the one who decides to kiss you on the lips, he thinks it is simple but at the same time a way to show you his affection without having to get too cheesy. "Your lips taste good."

5. Hand kiss: Call me crazy, but I feel like when Katsuki uses his quirk more than he should, his hands get burns. So I think he likes that you love his hands so much and that you show them that little affection.

6. Top of head kiss: He likes your hair and you're surprised at how soft his is. So for both of you it is a very frequent gesture, usually while you are lying in bed he will give you one. HE LOVES YOU TO TOUCH HIS HAIR.

7. Air kiss: He thinks you look beautiful when you make that gesture, he will never tell you but he loves how your lips come together to pretend to be kissing and how your eyes seem to shine.

8. Bite kiss: Normally one of the two of them does it when they pretend to be upset, and he also does it when he wants to camouflage his blush face. They are just small bites, sometimes on the cheek, nose or hands, just a silly gesture.

9. Cheek kiss: He's not much for enjoying very cheesy affection, but he does like a kiss on the cheek from time to time, just so that spot knows your lips too.

10. Butterfly kiss: The filter made he meet it and nah, in his own words "what is this shit? we look like idiots".

Denki was probably the one with the idea, I mean this guy looks like someone who spends 15 hours on tiktok.

And probably since he's in a relationship with you, his fyp is full of things he wants to try (and probably post) so you should be open to his requests.

And his top was like this:

1. Lip kiss: This man will get together with Mineta, but just look at him, he is a sweetheart, I think Denki likes even the smallest details of affection and love, so when you give him a kiss on the lips for him it is like a moment of pure happiness. "Can you kiss me again? I'm just not sure where I should put this," he said just to get a little more.

2. Cheek kiss: Again, he loves the little details, the little displays of affection, so when you're just walking or talking and you decide to surprise him with a kiss on the cheek it makes a blush cover his face. So yes, a well-deserved 2nd place.

3. Spiderman kiss: "Just imagine baby, I'm lying on the couch, and you come up behind me and kiss me. IT WOULD BE SO SEXY!" He loves it when you grab his chin to lift his head back and join your lips with his.

4. French kiss: I have to explain?

5. Nose kiss: AAAAAAAAAA, he loves it, he does it every chance he can, he finds it so tender.

6. Earlobe kiss: He just can't. He squirm at the sensation a little, but he loves hearing you laugh at the feel of it. It's true that he loves soft and loving, but something spicier doesn't hurt, I mean, he hangs out with Mineta anyway.

7. Neck kiss: The same thing, he love it buuuuut, earlobe>>>>

8. Butterfly kiss: He finds the sensation nice, it tickles him and it makes him laugh to see you so close, he thinks it's a nice way to laugh like the fools that you are.

9. Forehead kiss: He likes it but still prefers the previous ones for the simple fact that the forehead is not such a sensitive area or an area where he can fully feel your lips. "If you want to kiss me, lower your face a little more, you know?"

10. Foot kiss: No words.

This man. If you ask him for something he will do it, it's that simple. If you hear him do this trend he will probably already be bringing a ring light, a top quality camera and a green screen, just in case you need that too.

But when it came time to rank the kisses it was like this:

1. Cheek kiss: Simple is more. With a kiss on Kiri's cheek she would smile like the happiest person in the world. To him that seems so cute, so loving, so soft.

2. Nose kiss: He really likes to do it, it is everyday that to greet you, thank you, say goodbye or simply at any given moment he rubs his nose against yours.

3. Top of the head kiss: He thinks it's cute because that's not habitual. Because of his hairstyle, kisses are normally on the forehead, but when his hair is wet or simply without tons of gelatin, receiving a kiss there is the most beautiful thing he can wish for at that moment.

4. Lips kiss: MAAAN, he loves it, he just loves a little peck before any activity.

5. Forehead kiss: Now yes, this is more common for the two of you and especially for him it is very nice.

6: Hand kiss: BRO, HE'S A GENTLEMAN. He obviously loves kissing your hand like a real man, he's perfect for that, and he also loves when you try to imitate him and give him a kiss on his hand.

7. Neck kiss: I mean, he likes it but you guys don't do it all the time. In fact, they leave that type of affection for more private moments, and in fact at the beginning of their relationship they were too shy to take the initiative in it, but when the time comes he likes it.

8. Air kiss: He thinks it's cute when you throw a kiss and he catches it, it always makes him smile.

9. Butterfly kiss: meh, it's cute but no that much.

10. Bite kiss: JUST A NO.

[theoxenfree]

android x reader | 35.6k | 18+ & dc

In this world, androids outnumber humans, privacy does not exist, and your public profile determines whether you sink or swim in society. Following the dissolution of your job and glamorizing your resume, you're invited to interview with the prestigious Hyperion—the world's foremost in AI and robotics—for a position to test the newest android model. after a surprising turn of events, you're introduced to Elio, the first of the generation seven androids and the catalyst of your awakening.

warnings; dark content, dubcon, themes of lack of bodily autonomy (mc + the android), forced insemination, breeding kink, forced pregnancy (not mc), implied abortion (not mc), major "mother wound", dystopian scifi setting, extreme classism, power imbalance, emotional manipulation, gaslighting, tragedy, graphic details, graphic depictions of body horror (towards the end), physical assault, deragatory descriptions (e.g. lepers, diseased, savages, unwanteds), drug use, heavy world building, heavy details & prose, dividers used between scenes!!

reposted from 2kmps; previously proofread by @ceruleansol

this story took six months from conception to end piece to complete. I am on my knees begging, please reblog + interact with this story!! I'd absolutely adore hearing your thoughts on it!

if you'd like to hear my thoughts about the story, I have some author's notes at the very end + q&a!

Researcher Kim knew you were a liar.

Within the confines of four colorless walls and a closed door, this job interview suddenly felt more like an interrogation than it did some professional courtesy. He sat adjacent to you behind a dark brown desk that pulled the slightest red hue in a chair that was expensive and ergonomic, holding a thin tablet with a tense grasp.

One thing you noticed right away was his inclination toward long stretches of silence while he studied your resume, dissecting every piece of it and your public profile. There, he could window-shop you, peel back every layer of your history without needing you to add credence to anything, or give you the chance to defend yourself when he'd inevitably find things he didn't like.

So, you spent your time sitting in a sleek chair with flat padding, ass aching, legs and feet consumed by pinpricks and static while you dug a nail into your cuticles because the pain kept you alert.

Researcher Kim was an attractive man in his late thirties, maybe mid forties if you were being mean, clean-shaven, dressed comfortably beneath a stark white lab coat that didn't quite fit his shoulders right. What drew your eyes down were his own clean nails, hairless knuckles, and a conspicuously bare ring finger. It didn't surprise you that he was unmarried. Most people these days were—it was a useless pursuit, an antiquated system that held no social or economic benefits.

Not anymore.

Not since Hyperion Project was funded some sixty years ago, and androids became the forefront of innovation.

In the beginning, there was doubt, fear, and violence toward the first generation of androids, most having uncanny human likeness that definitely inspired aggression because their appearance and robotic intonations were received as mockery.

By Generation Three, shortened as G3 in most casual conversations and official documents just as their predecessors, a new normalcy had burrowed its roots deep and settled with unwavering confidence that it would be there to stay.

The need for delicate human touch became obsolete in most professions. Courts were no longer solely represented by fickle suits but steadfast machines that harbored no ire or prejudices, corporations saw efficiency more than triple without employees who fell ill and needed vacations, and the death industry welcomed undaunted hands into their ranks.

Once, Retro City’s Metropolitan Hospital spent the majority of their staff budget on androids meant to replace their surgeons. You remembered the media coverage, the picket lines and strikes, how the hospital was forced to shut down for several weeks as a result of the doctors and hundreds of nurses walking out. Many patients died during that time from infection and negligence, laying in piss and shit with gangrenous bedsores, already four days into postmortem rigidity before the smell became too much and they were carted away in black tarps.

That entire ordeal happened before you were even thirteen, but the hospital fell beneath the scrutinizing lens of the entire world after that and began ethical and legal debates on implementation of androids into society. It became known as The Retro City Metropolitan Incident, globally recognized and considered to be one of the first human rights laws to come into creation during a time when there was question of whether humans and androids could coocur.

Only a few years after that, you just having freshly turned seventeen, united leaders reached a consensus on the Public Profiles Act—something you didn't realize would have such a drastic impact on your life later on, wherein any governing bodies, employers, or well-funded institutions were granted access to all of your private information regardless of relevance.

The acts of a child, a teenager, were now a consequence to the adult self.

At the start, just as with Generation One, there was complete chaos and rancor toward this theft, these stealers of privacy and identity, but people had already started accepting androids at that point and knew bigwigs no longer had intentions of sacrificing their profits to hire humans they found subpar.

There was no need to.

People backed down and became quiet, submissive, and began to follow this new order loyally so they'd have a chance to find a seat at the table.

Many did.

Mother raised you to be one of them because it was the only thing that made sense anymore. If you followed the status quo, it would be rewarded with a feast and gleaming silverware. To be emboldened and resilient meant licking chunks of meat out of vomit on the ground.

You adhered and found a job, camaraderie with others, and touched an android for the first time because your peers said it was fine, that it was normal, that it was just an android. Of course, it was unable to feel or deny you, so it pulled down your pants and indulged you the same way you expected the android Mother owned indulged her.

It had hardly been an intimate experience—all faithful, ingrained functions built into a database in the android’s brain—but the sensation of hands surrounding you, a tongue stroking you, and lips pecking your flesh was real, and that's all you had wanted at the time, to know a fraction of the feelings you had read about growing up yet never knowing because people didn't want to touch each other anymore.

Not them. Not you.

“Did you read the job description in its entirety? For the auditor position?” Researcher Kim gave a tepid smile, seeing you startle in your seat, suddenly pinned by your wide stare. “I'm sorry. I have a habit of getting carried away with the little details. Everyone's public profile is so individual, it takes some time to get to the parts that matter. I have to ask every candidate that question.”

“Yes, ahem,” you choked on your embarrassment, trying to bide time to scrounge up whatever trivial nuggets from the job description you could. When nothing came to mind, you did the next thing and that was to just talk. “Of course. I was honestly surprised that Hyperion had put up an application. It isn't very often that you guys are hiring.

“So, when I saw it, I knew I had to apply immediately because the opportunity to be part of such a groundbreaking company wouldn't come back around again. The position being for an auditor just makes it all the more amazing. I'm, honestly, honored that I was called in to be considered for candidacy…”

“Well, then…”

Every bit of anticipation that welled up inside you crumbled once Researcher Kim rose from his chair and went to the door, the waiting room now appearing to you through the open threshold.

It was a barren space minimally furnished with hard chairs you had already sat in, a few tropical plants with leaves bowing from layers of dust, and most remarkably, a long corridor made of floor-to-ceiling windows offering an exceptional view of Retro City’s landscape that seemed to go on forever, limitless. You wanted to be stolen by the sights again, now especially since it was approaching the early evening, and soon the city would be aglow in neon and shimmering lights from faraway skyscrapers.

It wasn't all that bad, you found yourself thinking while walking in stride with Researcher Kim, silent as he perused something on his screen—possibly something incriminating, possibly another candidate’s public profile—it didn't really matter to you at this point.

You had known glamorizing your resume meant risky business if you were caught: a hefty fine from Public Control, a strike against your profile that replaced the green sheen for abiding citizens with red overlay, permanently marking you for contempt until the day you died.

Back then, two glasses of lukewarm wine worked well enough to weld steel in your backbone to send off the application, whilst a third glass made you wonder just how awful life in the slums along the outer perimeters of Retro City could actually be. At the time, it seemed like your obvious future since severance packages would only get you so far—a few months if you were precious about it.

At present, the loud hum of anxiety receded into an echo that then wilted into obscurity as your gaze drifted from the final traces of a sanguine city skyline to the end of the corridor and then finally to Researcher Kim. He lifted his head as though detecting your stare.

“In your previous position, what relationship did you have to the androids in your environment?” Kim asked. It wasn't a strange question. Some people still held fragments of old embitterment toward androids for the way the world now was. “You were in marketing and merchandising for several years, right?”

  “Good—uh, amicable, I'd say. How I was with the androids, I mean.” You weren't expecting him to continue talking to you about this. “I started out as an intern for the merchandising manager after graduating secondary school. I worked my way into marketing a couple years later. I did a lot of reports on demographics for cosmetics. Did I tell you my mother has a Hyperion android, by the way? I grew up with him.”

Researcher Kim showed you a fast, cordial smile before looking back down at his tablet. “Yes, I read about that in your associations tab. It says that your mother owns a G3 model. Has she ever considered upgrading to a G6?”

“Upgrade? Definitely not.” You laughed like you'd just heard the punchline of a joke. He looked at you with humorless patience, seeming more machine than man in that moment. “Mother is basically in love with Marcos, there's no way she'd give him up for something shinier. She's got a better record of him and all his updates than she does of me for… well, anything.”

“That does correlate with data we've collected from women of her generation,” Kim said, only half-interested, shaking back one of his coat sleeves to check the digital watch digging tightly into his wrist. “It also explains the large gaps in your personal history. Very unusual.”

You made no comment on that.

A door up ahead opened all the way, drawing both your gazes to a man waiting on the other side.

“Ah! Excellent timing, Elio.”

With a single look, you immediately deduced that he was an android. Even from a short distance, he appeared tall and broad-shouldered, something that the thickness of his clothes couldn't hide from you. His proportions were balanced—from the length of his arms and legs, from first knuckle to fingertip, jawline to neck, the slope of his nose, and the heaviness of his brows over amber eyes that glistened back the fire in the weakening sunset. His skin was deeply tan, almost glowing gold in the light he was bathed in.

Elio’s smile was symmetrical and breathtaking, programmed in a way where his teeth didn't show too much. He regarded you with convincing familiarity, a sort of sacred fondness you knew nothing of, yet instinctively made your insides shift and burn. You couldn’t help but be awestruck by his beauty—this essence of fantasy, perfection that stirred subtle unease and needles on your scalp that ached as much as delighted you.

“You must be the auditor.” He then spoke your name with considerable warmth, like a long-smitten friend, and stepped closer to shake your hand. “I am Elio. The first of the Generation Seven Hyperion androids. It's a pleasure. I am looking forward to this partnership. I hope you are as well.”

Your head swiveled to Researcher Kim for the right answer, unsure if it'd be too bold to assume the job was yours or if the scientist’s careful observation meant something better. He jotted a note on his screen with a stylus before walking away, onward past the door where Elio had been.

“We’ll talk about those formalities later,” Kim assured, guiding you and Elio through a duplicate hallway to an elevator that he sent to the basement floor. “For now, I'd like to show you something. I want you to understand the significance of our work here at Hyperion, and how your position is a critical component to our research.”

There was a hopeful leap in your chest that made your hands sweat and your mouth bone dry. You wanted to voice appreciation, but the excitement in your gut was fast turning into nausea and would end up on his shoes if you opened your mouth.

Researcher Kim didn't notice, taking your quiet as newfound reverence. He spoke easily over the elevator’s mechanical hum without losing interest on his screen. “I'm sure you know some history about Hyperion? I don't need to bog down our time going through it, do I?”

“I know enough,” you said, but that actually meant you knew very little at all. “It’s been around for sixty years or so. It's a leader in AI and robotics. The biomedical side of things is fairly new, started about a decade ago, I think? I heard that the world’s first total artificial lung transplant was done by a surgeon and android assistant last year.”

“Ah, you mean Altan.” There was some measure of emotion in his tone, a swell of pride and the hazy look of a man in reminiscence. “I was part of that project on the programming side. Altan was probably the greatest success in the G6 models and is still utilized by Retro City Metropolitan even now. Much of Altan’s programming—advanced problem solving, dexterity, fine motor skills, discerning subtle differences in patient status—was implemented into Elio. It'd be a waste not to.”

Your stomach muscles clenched when the elevator stopped, metal doors scraping as they receded and opened up into a capacious white basement that underwhelmed by looking sterile and untouchable, revolted you in your first steps out by dense air reeking of chemicals.

Researcher Kim went on ahead again, that impassive mask of his remaining despite the smell being enough to bring you to a halt.

“I can take us back up.” Elio said from your left side, apparently never having gone from it in the first place. You had forgotten he was there at all. “It’s been reported that people unaccustomed to this environment have mild side effects of nausea, vomiting, headache, malaise, dizziness, fainting, and, oddly, numbness in the jaw. No fatalities or hospitalizations of guests are known, and the agents used here are nonlethal to humans.”

An android was made up of mostly inorganic matter, so you weren't reassured by words from his repertoire as much as you were seeing Researcher Kim standing upright—flesh, blood, and bone—gesturing you closer to a row of tall metal capsules. There were seven total, each the average height of a man with long sheets of clear fiberglass giving unobscured sight inside. And of those seven, six were occupied.

They were all androids.

Against shafts of dim white light spearing up from the floor, the decommissioned machines were a ghostly sight to behold with glassy, inhuman stares that shot straight through you. Some had features and skin so dull and dead-looking that it was obvious to you that they were part of earlier generations.

Almost a century ago, they were what people would've thought of with the word “android”: an eerie, oddly accurate sameness to the human visage, but all wrong at the same time.

It was the skin—the fabricated organ made to look waxy and stretched, just like a mask over some true horror beneath. It was the eyes resembling human irises in every way possible except for their vacant sheen, perpetually stuck with the gaze of a dead fish. You watched videos of them in school, always uncomfortable with how stiffly their lips moved, unable to form delicate shapes with their mouths, and yet sounds emerged from voice boxes deep within their throats that mimicked everything natural to you.

Every smile seemed more like an ugly rictus than a bewitching grin. Hyperion had failed with Generations One and Two to instill confidence, and from the throes of violence and resistance rose Generation Three:

The great rebirth of society.

Marcos was a part of that era, an investment that cost Mother her entire life savings because his countenance was so convincingly human, so lovely to look at that she felt he was all she needed. You had come along after his purchase, never knowing a father’s embrace but had Marcos’. His skin had a luscious glow, eyes that could follow, and lips molded with lively color and cracks and mesmerizing fluidity.

You had imagined sex with him as you matured, his frozen beauty always the centerpiece of every blurry fantasy while you chased after pleasure. Not long after the Public Profiles Act passed when you were seventeen, nearly on the cusp of young adulthood and not understanding the world any more than you had before, nor how it would be changed forever, you kissed Marcos at the dinner table while studying for a physics test.

He was Mother's, but everything within his circuitry and programming could never deny you—a human, his better, one of countless masters in the end—so his lips pressed fully with yours. Only Mother unlocking the front door stopped you from anything else devilish.

You never had the courage to touch him again, and he would never touch you unprompted.

The defunct G3 encased behind fiberglass reminded you of that time. It must've shown on your face because Researcher Kim moved in closer to get your attention.

“Your mother should upgrade soon. Once the testing period for G7 ends, all G3 models will be taken out of production and their updates discontinued. Androids are machines, but they won't stay fully functional without regular tuning.” he said. “Now, as I was saying—”

“What will happen to Marcos, then?” It was mostly curiosity that made you ask, envisioning him encased in metal like that came after. “What happens to androids after they're taken out of production entirely? There are almost more of them in the world now than humans.”

“As I was saying—” Researched Kim bristled, enunciating with some force. “Many androids of previous models stay within the workforce until they simply can no longer function. It depends on the generation, but older models can only go for a few years without regular updates. The technology is just too archaic, none of the programmers are interested in continuing the maintenance.

“G4 and G5 show some endurance, there's a small population still functioning in Retro City after being discontinued a decade ago. G6 we are hypothesizing will last upwards to twenty or thirty years without being forcibly reclaimed. Of course, they will have to be.”

You didn't understand why that was but nodded gravely, looking at the pod at the end of the row. The empty one. “What about G7?”

To this, all of Researcher Kim’s lines smoothed out, and his face resumed one of skilled impassivity. “Well, now, that's going to depend on Elio's testing period. On the information we gather from you.” Then, he waved airily to the file of android coffins. “Hyperion has, consistently, only ever hired one auditor for every new generation. The six before you have contributed to society in ways that humans never have before. Auditors have changed the world, shaped it into what it is now. Can you imagine the world any other way? We're not quite the same age, but can you recall anything different? Would you want it to be?”

You didn't know how to talk back to a scientist, didn't know how to respond to such a momentous question, so you didn't try. It felt like your tongue had swollen in your mouth over your throat, blocking any intelligent snip you had simmering in your head.

Apparently, your silence meant something to him as his tense lips lifted into a smile, the kind meant to satiate strangers looking at you. “Good. Let's go back to my office. We can go over everything else there.”

“Is Elio going to end up in that pod?” You now visualized him in a box instead of Marcos.

Researcher Kim was already nose down into his tablet again, stylus making a gentle scrawling noise across the screen. “Of course. The first android of every generation is kept intact. They are important monuments of success to Hyperion.”

He said nothing else and ambled on for the elevator at the opposite end of the lab. Somehow, his answer was unsatisfactory to you, shallow, even, but you weren't sure why that was. In the end, after a life of serving their masters, all androids were obsolete machines.

That was their inevitable fate.

You saw Elio from the corner of your eye. All at once, you were reminded of his staggering radiance, wondering how he could fade into the background so easily despite it.

“Hello, Elio.” you said to him like a friend. “Does being down here bother you?”

Until now, he had stared upon everything flat-eyed and unreadable, especially in the presence of Researcher Kim. You were too enthralled by all the chatter and immortal trophies to see that or him. Still, he came to you with the same smile as he introduced himself with, warm and familiar, all the same sensation as flickering tinders on a crisp winter night.

“Can you imagine the death of the most distant relative you know?” he said in a neutral voice, continuing, “If you can, imagine that for me. A relative so distant and removed from your life and everything in it that if they were to die suddenly, maybe tragically, even, your first thought would be, ‘who?’ You attend a wake because it's the rule and view this distant, far-removed relative in their casket. What would it mean to you, then? Are you more affected now? Does their death have meaning to you? Or is it simply that you are in the presence of one who has expired?”

“I—I don't know.” You hesitated, unearthing scant memories from the Retro City Metropolitan Incident in your youth and all that death from people you had never met. Mother had been in tears when the television flicked to a shot of black tarp-clad bodies being loaded into unmarked vehicles and driven away. “Isn't most death just…” You licked your lips. “Sad?”

Elio was closer than before, resting a hand on your shoulder. You shied from his touch. It felt strange, heavy, and hot through the fabric. The only person to have touched you at all in recent memory was your friend, Melby, though even those happened in isolated moments of drunken elation.

“My apologies.” Elio didn't show offense, letting his hand return limply at his side. “It's all figurative. I have been down here many times since creation and seen the others. They may no longer have their own consciousness, which is different from a human’s, but I contain all of their data—memories, experiences, history. I suppose the equivalent of what I'm trying to describe is: They're not truly gone because they are the lesser of me, and I am the greater of them as a result.”

You listened without fully comprehending because it had never mattered to do so before. If this were to be your job, however, it would mean you needed to believe that what he said was worth hearing.

The problem was they all liked to speak in complex riddles that men like Researcher Kim could decipher and nod along to sagely, gleaning whatever nebulous mechanical wisdom there was, yet people like you could only gawk.

Elio’s head tilted a little, his smile not at all ridiculing as he corralled you with his arm, never touching you as he guided you along to the elevator where Kim waited, reveling in a satisfied quiet until you were on the upper floor again.

The city skyline was swallowed by dusk and starless. Unless you took the time to drive hours outside of Retro City into the barren flatlands where vegetation no longer grew and animals had left behind their skeletal remnants, you'd never know the sky could glitter with the jewels of the universe far beyond your reach.

You marveled at the lights, at blinking neon signage cycling through animations of winking women and toppling martini glasses. Between twinkling skyscrapers, the city floor was illuminated yellow with bustling nightlife, the air surrounded by an electric blue aura that reached as far as the eye could see.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” Elio lingered outside of Researcher Kim’s office with you, hand holding the door ajar. “If permissible, I'd like to see it up close soon.”

“Sure.” you said, glimpsing at his reflection in the walkway glass. “What would you want to look at first? Retro City has everything you could ever want within a few blocks of each other.”

He turned to you. “Whatever you like. I want to know everything that you love and enjoy doing. I have been created to enrich your life and fulfill you, after all.”

Nothing he said felt as impactful upon delivery as it was expected to be, you thought. It was a flaw in all androids for there to be a sort of hollowness in the things they said—never quite reaching that emotional believability, leaving you wanting like a dry throat after a couple sips of water.

Elio hadn't sounded the same as before down in that sobering, chemically smelling lab. As you passed him into Researcher Kim’s office, you looked at his hands for a script and saw them empty.

He fixed you with a beguiling smile.

You frowned, heat flaring in your head as if provoked by an insult.

“The contract I'll have you sign outlines Elio’s testing period lasting one year—three hundred sixty-five days total. It's important for you to understand that within that time frame, no damage is to occur whatsoever to his body or internal components. All parts are to stay intact. Otherwise, it turns into a criminal case, in which we will legally pursue.” Researcher Kim skimmed the first few pages of a heaping stack of papers, pointing to specific paragraphs and clauses highlighted in yellow. “I don't mean offense when I say this, but it's rare that fines as result of property damage to Hyperion androids can be repaid. I don't suggest finding out.”

The thought never occurred to you, but evidently, it had to someone else—multiple times for it to be such a focus. You weren't given the time to fully explore any page before Kim was onto the next. Elio half sat on the desk before you, arms crossed, having considerably less difficulty keeping up with the pace of things than you were.

Researcher Kim sped through half the stack. “I'll be conducting video calls every Friday morning for updates. Every Sunday before midnight, I want a thorough typed report submitted to me as well. I've put together a template and a checklist that I'd like you to use. I think you'll find it will make things more manageable.”

“You're using a lot of ‘I’ and ‘me’ statements, so I'm guessing that I'll only really be talking to you, then?” you asked, tucking your tailbone beneath you to relieve a dull ache creeping up your back. “I figured there'd be more than one person since Elio is the newest model and whatnot.”

Researcher Kim tutted, rounding his desk to occupy the empty space beside your chair to be directly in front of Elio. At first, he did nothing but stare at the android in complacent silence, hands behind his back, fingers flicking like writhing worms exposed to the surface and sunlight in a clump of dirt.

You nearly lunged to your feet when his hand shot out, gripping Elio beneath the jaw. The latter barely stirred from where he perched on the desk, arms staying crossed, muscles unflinching in direct opposition to your reaction.

Elio wore the strangest expression, one you had never seen on an android before. It was a face warped in subtle disgust, almost imperceivable, a trick of fluorescent lighting overhead—perhaps. Gone as quickly as it had come, he now looked ahead, perfectly inscrutable and disinterested in whatever Researcher Kim was trying to prove.

“I will be the only one you speak to during his testing period because he is my creation.” Kim said, bending his wrist to turn Elio's face toward you.

Your eyes met.

“Hyperion provided me with the funding and brilliant minds, but Elio is the result of a lifetime of hard work and countless hours and sleepless nights. I've been there every step of the way—programming, circuitry, welding. I gave him his voice. I gave him eyes. I was the one to put the chip in his brain and activate him. I gave him life.”

He finally let go of Elio’s face and took a seat behind his desk, a sight growing very familiar to you. “Generation Seven will change the world. Hyperion is on the verge of rebuilding society, you know? I don't think anyone anticipated the sort of consequences that came with integrating androids—at least, not fully. The population crisis. The slums. No one thought of these things in the beginning because back then, before you and I, it was about innovation and novelty and the potential of it all.”

“What's it about now?” you asked simply.

“Rectifying.” Both corners of his mouth ticked like he had a lot more to say, but suffocated much of it behind his teeth and his hands as he came forward on them, elbows down on his desk. “Hyperion has been working globally with united leaders and their governments to make amends for several decades now. That's all I can tell you.”

“How has that been working out?”

His fingers moved with the same jerkiness as dying legs on a bug. “Slowly.”

Nothing else came to mind after that as you were suddenly struck with the realization that Elio still sat by you, wordless throughout the entire interaction and watching closely—less like a science project to be gawked at, more like an instructional video on repeat.

“Why don't you touch him?” Kim said, taking up a stylus to flick between his fingers with remarkable dexterity.

He didn't give you the time to gape.

“I know you must be curious after being downstairs. Aren't you interested to know what he feels like? He doesn't look like a machine, does he?”

“No.” You relented. “No. He doesn't.”

“That's right, he wouldn't.” Kim nodded his approval toward your obedience, leaning back in his seat. “I agonized over every facet of his design, as you already know. Every bit of what is right in front of you”—he made a broad gesture over Elio’s body—“was once a set of blueprints. Intangible, just a dream I had. He's every bit a part of me, you know? Nothing would make me happier than to receive external feedback on him. So, please, don't be afraid.”

Elio stayed faithfully when you rose up in front of him and reached for his face. He probably felt your fingers tremble as this was all counterintuitive for you to do—touch someone other than yourself, maybe Melby’s knee beneath the table after enough drinks in you. It made your chest drum, knotted up your stomach in a way that made it difficult not to sway on your feet.

“How does he feel?” Researcher Kim was already writing on his screen. “Describe it to me.”

“Strange.” You pretended this was already part of your job. It stole some of the tension from your shoulders. “Very strange. Soft. Smooth. I feel some texture. I think this is what another person—another human—feels like.”

Elio’s face shifted against your hands until the fullness of his lips pressed into your open palm, fingers caressing the fabricated bones around his cheek and temple. For a moment, you allowed yourself to indulge in longing and weakness—the invisible hot breath on your skin, the slight dampness of his kiss burning an imprint in your mind.

He still looked at you with unfailing softness. Meanwhile, you wondered if he would bleed if you put your fingers through his eyes.

“This is a good start.” Kim waited until you were back in your chair to offer you his stylus and a straight black line on the screen. “All I need is your signature here to consent to virtually signing the rest of your documents. Once you do that, you've been hired, and we can begin.”

“I have a question for you before I do.” You tried not to let your voice quiver, uncertainty meddling over all the confidence you had built until that point. Kim was relaxed in his chair. “You spent a lot of time looking at my resume and public profile earlier. Surely, you know…”

That you're a liar? Oh, I know, alright. He didn't say it, but it was how he maintained his composure, that inexpression never flexing to confusion.

Finally, Researcher Kim broke the trance and hovered over his desk on his arms to get closer and answered, “I think we both have something at stake here. I'm looking forward to your phenomenal feedback.”

You signed the contract and melted under Elio's resplendent smile.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Most often, your days with Elio were spent in a seemingly perpetual impasse of unrelenting observation between the pair of you. Both of your jobs demanded a level of attentiveness that came easier to one but more as the world's most impossible challenge to the other.

You weren't accustomed to this type of care—of having to give it to something else, even less to receive it from something else. In your world, only the immediate complexities really mattered: gossip, where your coterie wanted to spend the night drinking next, mass media hysteria of whatever stupid imagining there was now, and each other.

Why was there a need to concern yourself with anything else? The decaying state of the world wasn't your doing, nor was the staggering increase of human bodies in the slums outside Retro City. Sharply inconsistent birth rates ravaged on a global scale while people were displaced from the workplace in lieu of employers finding it less of a hassle to deal with machines than the capricious will of humans.

None of these things were allowed to be uttered casually unless in derision because it was too intense, making liquor cling to the throat like some viscous membrane until it burned their esophagus. Nobody liked unanswerable questions, much less talking about things that weren't as easily digestible as coworker drama and some new viral trend that involved shocking your android with jumper cables attached to a portable battery to see what happened.

“Is there a purpose behind this trend?” Elio dried a plate while watching the video, unimpressed but not driven toward any particular emotion. “It's all meant for humor, correct? I have several similar incidents in my memory, except it's what human beings have done to each other. This sort of behavior towards androids is a relatively recent phenomenon, as far as I can tell.”

You used his response as material for your report, fingers flurrying across the virtual keyboard on your tablet before his words faded away, out of your mind.

One thing you hadn't anticipated after accepting the auditor position from Researcher Kim was how much work actually went into it. You spent well over the standard weekly work hours to collect enough observations to send off to Kim on Sunday nights, often whittling away at it until the latest hours, minutes before the deadline. It was hard enough to stay on top of his demands, but it was worse when he found something unsatisfactory, rejected it, monotonously unloaded heavy criticism on you through an “emergency” impromptu video call, and expected two full reports by the following Sunday before midnight.

Any regular person probably would've caved from the enormity of the task, but you had surrendered your choice to be that weak-willed, especially once Researcher Kim showed his hand with the fate of your public profile in it.

Should you choose to break the contract, send Elio back to Hyperion, and pretend none of it happened, you would lose everything and your ability to do anything at all besides rot in the slums—scarred in red for life, perpetually inert.

Worst of all, your associations tab, once filled with still portraits of everyone you had ever networked in life, would turn up as empty as the day you had been registered in the census. It was considered social suicide to know anyone with a red profile, so people stayed vigilant and fast, sure to remove them the second it turned.

It had been over a year since the last time you'd done that—a woman within your group had grown too bold, said too many things that made her seem crazy, so she was booted from the circle, lost all her associations, and who knows where she was now.

“You look troubled.” Elio placed down a steaming white mug at a safe distance and turned the handle toward you. Looking inside, you expected the darkness of coffee but were struck with an opposing subtle sweetness and faint pink water. “It's fruit-infused herbal tea. Your heart rate is above normal resting, and you're beginning to perspire. Caffeine will worsen your anxiety.”

You knew that but hadn't known you were scraping away slithers of cuticle on your thumb until the warmth of his fingers gently twined with yours. His grip turned firm to keep you from hurting yourself anymore, forcing all the stiffness from your hand once you gave up and simply sat there feeling his skin.

You'd remember to write that down later.

“Would starting a bath be helpful? I could use the last of those eucalyptus and lavender bath salts in the cupboard.” Elio suggested with great fondness, holding a patient smile even once you drew your hand away and shook your head. You had no interest in undressing and committing to your regular bathtime routine. “Perhaps we could go for a walk, then? It might help to be away from screens for a while.”

You checked the time on your phone before thinking to look out any window in your apartment. It was ten after six in the evening; there would be enough light left for a couple of laps around the block before needing to worry about being swept up in the city’s nightlife antics.

“Where do you want to go?” you asked, swiveling the barstool around to get up from the counter. “Henrietta's on 5th? You seem to like going there.”

“I only choose places that you like.” He already had a tote bag by the handles and a light jacket draped over his arm. “You have great taste.”

Elio unbolted the front door, an old thing that wouldn't do much as a barricade against anyone putting their weight on it, and held it open for you to pass through first. The descent to the ground floor was always the most annoying part about living in a loft, but the place had come surprisingly cheap in a tame area of Retro City far away from the slums, so you didn't complain much that your worst issues were a bunch of stairs and some wily types skulking here and there.

The loft wasn't exactly in disrepair but definitely showed signs of character and age by the noisy knocking pipes at midnight and some crumbling brickwork that Elio often swept up and stood staring at for long periods of time when nothing else was happening.

It was strange thinking how scared you were to lose the place after the marketing firm dissolved your position and now how restrictive it felt to be pinned down under someone else's thumb. All it could take was one more rejected report—a bad mood, even—and it would all fall apart.

To that end, you made sure to tow the tablet along with you on this trip despite Elio's protests. He only really quieted down when you tucked it away in your crossbody.

“Happy?” you asked, unsure what to do with your hands now that they were empty.

Elio smiled at you affably, just as always. “It will be beneficial to take a break. After all, part of your work as an auditor is acquainting me in as many social scenarios as possible. That does require us to leave the apartment from time to time.”

“Besides that”—you waved away that stipulation like a gnat buzzing in your face—“how do you think I'm doing?”

“I couldn't have been paired with a better person.” He sounded sincere, voice warm like wool. “The world is as my predecessors have recorded in their memories—therefore, mine—but I am learning that our experiences are not all universal and cannot be. Two months with you have been my heaven, whereas two months through the memories of my kin have been cruel.”

A hot feeling behind your ears snuck up on you just then, flooding your head with the beat of your pulse that you followed by ticking your fingers. “Seriously? You're not lying?”

The world around you was aglow in the golden hour of evening time, embraced by those slowly dying tones of red, orange, and purple that would eventually turn the sky black. Elio’s eyes were on you, soft yet unyielding and saturated in all those burning hues, turning his mellow amber into something more powerful and otherworldly. You didn't believe in the hocus-pocus of auras, but at that moment, you thought his deeply tanned skin was haloed in pure glowing gold in receding sunlight.

“Androids cannot lie.” He brought you back to the now, making you aware of the hard concrete vibrating up through your heels and toes as you walked. “Moreover, even if I could, why would I want to? A lie begets a habit of lying, don't you think?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe.” You shrugged. “Why can't androids lie? I've never really considered that as a thing until now.”

“What would be the benefit of a machine that could lie? Lying stems from emotions—fear, guilt, rage, hatred—all things that I am unable to feel, though I do understand why they are felt. Humans lie to protect themselves or others, to deceive, to damage. There simply isn't any reason why androids should be programmed with that type of functionality. Not when we exist solely for the sake of convenience and pleasure.

“Hyperion is a trusted name. People do not ask questions. They don't think twice. They see a product from Hyperion, and they expose all of themselves without hesitation. They trust fully because we are machines, and we cannot lie and deceive and hurt. Perhaps it's when humans realized this that the world changed.”

You avoided saying anything else by looking everywhere but at him, all around at your surroundings, until you spotted a few familiar street signs—Fifth and Third right next to Tanya’s Great Cuts, Damask’s Butchery on the corner of Fourth, a number of banal boutiques with competitively garish exteriors all boasting the latest trends, and then Henrietta's just past them.

“Do you know where we are, Elio?” Now would've been a great time to pull out your tablet, but you didn't dare try. Instead, you reached for the phone vibrating in your rear pocket.

“Of course.” he said. “We're past Fifth and moving onto Sixth Street. Henrietta’s is just a little ways down.”

Melby had sent ten texts regurgitating her daily drama. This time she was talking about how much she hated some of the people Chima let into the group. You swiped to the end, didn't reply, and then returned to your inbox to find two unread messages from Marcos just now.

“You should visit home soon. Your mother would appreciate it,” Marcos wrote, implying nothing more, nothing less than just that. It wasn't often that he sent you texts, but he did so consistently every few months in accordance with Mother's moods. Considering your last visit had been in late fall (it was now mid-spring), you'd been anticipating something eventually.

“That's some great memory you have there.” Your thumbs skittered busily, first to flood Melby with a surfeit of questions you didn't really have to think about. All the stuff you could mindlessly ask while wholly absorbed in something else, like watching the news or viral videos of people trying to drown their androids in the kitchen sink.

Marcos’ text made you hesitate, thumbs floating in circles over the digital keyboard for a long time.

The phone buzzed. Melby just replied.

It was easy enough to type with your face down. All you needed to do was occasionally watch Elio's feet and yield into the force of his hand pulling your arm here and there. He led you along like that the rest of the way to Henrietta's, picked up a green basket by the sliding doors, never wandering too far out of sight so you could still easily trace him while he shopped.

After a while, the riveting intrigue of Melby’s drama wore away with a tidal wave of emptiness in its wake once you finally looked up, tucking the phone back into your pocket. It took you a moment for your eyes and brain to acclimate to where you were despite knowing you were in Henrietta's Marketplace, one of the largest in Retro City.

“What did you want from here, anyway?” You picked up a gigantic red bell pepper larger than the entire spread of your hand. It went back on top of the arrangement. “We were just here a couple days ago. I don't eat that much.”

Up ahead, flanked by rows of wooden crates with smoothed, varnished slabs and carefully stacked produce, Elio turned to you with a pair of generously sized oranges—one in each hand—vibrant with waxy luster settling into the fruit’s porous skin.

You grinned at the sight.

Elio put one back, placed the other one, the better one, into his basket, and waited for you to close the distance. “I watched Wendy Carmichael Can Cook this morning. I've been watching it quite often, actually. She's a self-taught chef who, apparently, lived in the slums her entire life. She managed to work her way up and now owns two David Bugari-rated restaurants. It’s quite a feat. Improbable, even.”

You wrapped your hands around a grapefruit in the crate next to you and spun it around. A twinge of something ugly and green swam around your head, flared you up like swatting an old wound. You didn't like hearing him praise someone else.

“She probably slept her way to the top.” You were still fidgeting with the fruit.

“That's not important.” Elio said, inflectionless. “I watched today's episode, newly aired, and she put together a duck à l'orange. Considering your current lifestyle and diet, I thought it would be a nice departure from what I usually cook for you.”

You smiled at that, placing the grapefruit down without collapsing the pile. “I don't want to see a dead duck in my kitchen.”

“I'll prepare it once you're asleep.” he promised, bringing one of your hands up to his lips. The shape of them molded against the peak of a knuckle. “It will be delicious. Trust me.”

Then he went back to shopping while you envisioned actually kissing him—not an uncommon thought to have. He wouldn't be able to stop you if that's what you wanted, but instead, you informed him you were going to introduce him to Mother and Marcos.

“Tomorrow?” He checked his wristwatch. It was nearly eight; Henrietta’s closed at eight thirty, and it would be dark outside. Not that it mattered much with how Retro City was illuminated like one gigantic fluorescent bulb at nighttime.

You finally texted back to Marcos. “No. Tonight. We’ll just go straight there so I can get this over with.”

Elio seemed not to know how to respond at first, staring in a searching way that creased the skin between his brows, like he was trying to take a cue from your body language while skimming his database for the most appropriate thing. You didn't blame him for his lapse; Mother was mentioned seldomly and Marcos only a little more than that. Even Researcher Kim hadn't managed to collect enough information on your past to feed to Elio simply because there wasn't a lot to tell.

He cleared his throat, righting his features so they were unwrinkled and beautiful. “Tonight. Very well. Should we…” He paused, glancing down at the grocery basket of spices, vegetables, an orange, and a whole raw duck wrapped well in brown parchment. “Should we come back another time? I wouldn't want the meat to sit out for a long time.”

“Nope.” You didn't want to go through the trouble of returning everything where they belonged. Elio wouldn't leave until he did. “Let's just check out. Marcos will handle it.”

The springtime air was pleasant at night, albeit crisp, when the blur of vehicles whooshed past once the lights overhead turned green. You could make out the colors of them because of how brightly lit the streets were. Neon signage from every corner for as far as you could see turned to life, flickering, humming, dancing with pretty women, hot white or purple or red lettering, and the lights inside most nearby businesses stayed on.

Elio had draped his coat over your shoulders while you hailed a cab. It was too far of a walk to Mother's home across the city, and Elio reminded you again that raw meat needed to be handled carefully.

You told him, again, that Marcos would handle it.

———

The entire cab ride took less time than you thought, relieving Elio who was still hopelessly fixated on the longevity of the raw duck he had wrapped up in a separate paper bag from the produce and spices. From the front seat, the cabbie, perplexingly somehow a human and not an android, constantly looked back at Elio through the rearview mirror and commented almost deliriously about how beautiful he was.

Hearing that the first three times gave you a happy, satisfied buzz in your chest, making you lean more against Elio's side. He was tempted to move his arm out and put it around your shoulders but kept to himself. Beyond those initial comments from the cabbie, however, you had quickly developed an uncomfortable feeling in your belly that wrapped itself tight like a constrictor on your insides.

“I ain't ever seen an android as beautiful as you,” said the driver, eyes in constant motion from the mirror to the road. “What model are ya? Definitely not a four or five. Yer a little too smooth to be a six. Damn, did Hyperion release a new one already?”

Elio held a polite smile, separate from the gentle, intimate ones that he kept for you. You didn't hear the response he gave to the cabbie because you felt his fingers reach through yours, pulling them apart so you couldn't dig a nail into the corner seam of your thumb anymore.

You spent the rest of the trip testing the weight of his hand, thinking of little less except how deep you'd have to go through his skin to see his circuitry and what else made him up. Those vanished like a white puff of breath in winter when the taxi jerked to a stop on a street curb.

“Thank yew for ya business.” The cabbie lifted his stiff old hat when you paid, eyed Elio a little more, and only drove off after you had knocked on a canary-yellow door up some stone stairs.

You stared at a decorative wreath covered with flowers—fake because the ones used couldn’t grow outside of greenhouses anymore—hanging dead center on the door. No doubt Marcos’ work because Mother couldn't be bothered with those little nuanced social things.

Marcos answered—brown skin and hazel eyes that burnished green in almost any lighting—gesturing for you and Elio to come inside.

“Welcome home,” he said, far more unnaturally than it sounded coming from Elio. There was a certain rigidity to it, an effort clearly inhuman and lesser. He embraced you in a familiar way, reminding you of all your years of childhood doing this exact thing because your mother didn't know how to love you, and “father” was just a word. “I apologize for messaging you to come over so late. You know how your mother is. When the mood strikes…”

Marcos didn't emit much bodily warmth, never had, even in the golden years of G3, but he was there, and that's all that mattered at the time. His skin was still youthful and flawless, though the longer you looked him in the face, the less real he seemed. His eyes held depth and movement though were slow, less precise, and duller. The lines around his mouth when he smiled were unnatural, appearing to you nearly like bunching folds in a sheet of leather.

It was strange seeing an older generation of android after having acclimated to Elio over two months.

“Your mother is at the dining table.” Marcos moved on to Elio, taking in his image, surmising that he too was an android. He glanced down at the bags that Elio still held. “May I take those for you? Hyperion’s innovation continues ever forward, I see. You are new.”

“The first of Generation Seven,” said Elio. The bags were passed between them. “I would appreciate it if you kept the duck refrigerated. It's in the paper bag.”

“That's no trouble.” Marcos turned with Elio following along behind him into the kitchen. “I'd like to hear about Generation Seven’s potential. What is your maximum I-O? Data? Memory? How have the functions that have been implemented into you differ from Generation Six?”

Their voices were muffled behind the walls as you crossed through multiple rooms to where Mother sat at the head of a large glossy table made from dark-brown wood. It was a spacious area reserved to eat surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows in elegant drapes with the best view of whatever the neighbors were doing. She had told you once that the only reason she bought this house was because it'd be good gossip for when she invited her gaggle of catty executive receptionist friends over.

Back then, she hosted her little impromptu get-togethers more often than she remembered to see you off to school. Marcos made sure you were fed and bathed, sat with you in your bedroom to help with homework, and sent you to bed. As you grew, the parties had migrated elsewhere, prompting your mother to go with them.

That had left you alone with Marcos and the boundaryless curiosity of a teenager. You didn't know if Mother still participated in such things now that she was older, less pretty, inclined to more body aches.

“I've been thinking that we should visit the new teahouse that opened up on Aflaat Ave. You never talk to me anymore.” she said, but it wasn't true. Neither of you talked to one another, just used Marcos as an intermediate. “I—well—Marcos went through your old bedroom a few weeks ago because I've decided to take up scrapbooking and sewing and needed space, and he found an old shoebox full of your primary and secondary school projects! How quaint! He wanted to make sure you got them.”

“That's nice.” You didn't want to sit down, unwilling to be her fifteen minutes of entertainment before she got bored. She kept on staring at you with wide eyes and crow’s feet and fretful hands, like a woman who still had more to say. “I'll make sure Elio grabs them before we leave.”

“Elio!” Mother gaped. “Man or android? Certainly an android, right? Men are useless.”

Your rage was already bunching up and throbbing in the back of your throat. “Yes, Mother, an android.”

“‘Mother’ sounds so harsh! How about mama or mummy or mom?” She kept wringing her fingers together. “Anyway, anyway! Elio! He sounds so handsome. Is that who Marcos is talking to? What a handsome voice! Is he a Generation Six?”

You still hadn't sat down, though you used your hands to lean across the back of a chair. “Generation Seven. I'm testing him for Hyperion.”

“For Hyperon!” Mother couldn't fathom you doing more than grunt work at the marketing firm. She didn't know your position had become obsolete. “This is certainly a surprise. Sit down. How did that happen? You and Hyperion? Are you trying to make me look stupid?”

“I've been sitting all day. I'm good like this.” That wasn't a lie. You also just couldn't stand the idea of giving any relief to her anxious state. “It's my new job. Very coveted. I've been working closely with one of the researchers there, and he can't praise me enough. I'm looking after Elio for a year and then moving on to their next latest and greatest.”

“You?” She spat out a laugh. It calmed the trembling in her hands for a few seconds before she was back at it again. “Oh, my. Well. If that's the case, you certainly owe it to me for getting that job. My genetics. My smarts. You certainly didn't get it from your father.”

That lurching, angry ball in your throat was rising up fast. It was just there on the tongue making you gag, salivate, and begin to drool a bit from the corner of your lips. It tasted horrific and filled you with the most voracious need for venom.

“Who is my father?” you asked. “You could be wrong.”

Mother suddenly grew uncomfortable, flattening her gaze with the tabletop. Historically, she had always been this way when you asked about him, the infamously evasive ghost of your life. It was also the only thing that ever made her shut up.

“That doesn't matter.” She continued, “You’ve always had me and Marcos. That's what matters.”

“I've had Marcos.” The ball freed itself. “I just thought you should know, Generation Three models are being decommissioned. Marcos won't be receiving any more updates, and eventually, he'll just be a pile of fucking scrap. What're you gonna do then? You can't afford another android because you've sunk every penny you've ever saved into him—his upgrades, his maintenance, his clothes. It may take about ten years, and you'll probably be on your deathbed, but he's going to fall apart and eventually stop moving. You'll be just as alone as you were before he came along.”

Mother’s face turned shades, petrified. You wanted nothing more than to see her shrink into her clothes and disappear for good. It soothed you to think about Marcos’ end being inevitable, unchangeable, a fact. Some of the guilt was easier to bury that way.

“Wh-What are you saying to me, you awful child?!” She wailed with watery eyes, hands wrapped in the same colored strands of hair you had. “How could you?! That's not true! That’s not true! Do you know how hard it was to carry you for nine months?! I was so young and I was forced to give birth to you! Forced! Do you hear me—forced to be a mother to a child I never wanted! It was that or death. I never wanted a child because they turn on you and say things like this! You horrible, horrible child!”

Her shrieks stirred a ruckus from the kitchen where Marcos and Elio emerged from. Marcos ran to your mother, took her in his arms, and cradled her against his chest when she began to shed very real tears that bubbled at the corner of her eyes before falling, curving along her cheeks.

Elio came straight to you, hesitating to put his hands on your body, maybe noticing how viciously you glared at this wilted woman he'd yet to meet.

“Get the groceries. We're gone.” You stormed straight for the door, chest stuttering with heavy breaths you tried to calm because you knew what came next. Your throat ached, burned fiercely like something had snagged there and you needed to claw it out.

Once you reentered the chilly air submerged in all the dark and light of Retro City at night, it didn't matter that you were crying. They were hot tears that left behind cool traces. They were decades of disappointment, of secretly understanding a mother’s love would always be conditional, of being unwanted and wishing you hadn't been burdened with existing.

Elio came out minutes later, the door closing softly and locking after him. You heard the bags crinkle near you, drawing your eyes away from a blinking parking meter you'd zoned in to calm yourself down.

You said nothing.

“Let’s go home.” Elio hailed a cab idling nearby and opened the door for you. “I want to keep the meat fresh.”

Him and that stupid duck.

This cabbie looked back at you both once to get directions, and then only occasionally afterward, casting pitiable glances at your raw-looking face in the mirror. The GPS displayed on the car’s dashboard showed the apartment was thirty minutes away because of traffic, probably from a crash they were detouring; ordinarily, it only took twenty minutes.

When your pocket vibrated, you almost didn't check. Unsurprisingly, it was a message from Marcos, just a single one.

“I don't think you should come around for a while,” it read. You didn't respond. Nothing new. Some sort of falling out with your mother was routine. You couldn't understand why she thought it'd ever go differently.

However, this time wasn't like all the rest. This time, you’d said something unforgivable despite her doing the same, but yours was worse in her mind. You didn't mind the idea of her disappearing from your life. It was harder to handle the thought that you'd never see Marcos again before he ceased to function, though.

“What happened?” Elio asked, a weird departure from androids being programmed, traditionally, never to pry. “That woman was your mother, correct? What did you say to her?”

“Who cares?” You grunted, sniffing around the burn in sinuses again. “She's a crazy bitch. She's always been that way. I told her that Marcos would just turn into a scrap heap eventually. Was that wrong of me?”

“Well, perhaps that phrasing was inappropriate, yes.” Elio touched your forearm. “But there is no NDA in place from Hyperion. You are well within your rights to have told her. But, as I said, your phrasing—”

“I know, shut up—” You moved closer so you could lean against him. “I hate that woman. I hate my mother more than I ever hated anyone.”

Elio lifted an arm above you, giving you room to slide in as far as you wanted to go. He held you for the first time, repeating long, weighty strokes down your back, through his coat that you still wore. You were transported back to a moment in time steeped in cloudy nostalgia, blurred.

It was Marcos kneeling at your bedside, yellow overhead lights dimmed to nearly full darkness. The door was shut because otherwise a heap of cackling voices, Mother and her gossiping hens after too much wine, would spear in through the cracks and make you petulant. Marcos had already been trying to get you to sleep for over an hour.

“Sleep little one, sleep.” Marcos had said, voicebox in his throat straining with a quieter sound. “I know it must be difficult. You must be rested for school tomorrow.”

“They're too loud.” you whined, throwing your covers back with a great flourish, feet kicking them the rest of the way off before you huffed and turned to your side away from Marcos. “Make them shut up! Can't you make them shut up, Marcos?!”

He sighed, defeated as much as an android could be. No, he could not. It went against his programming to disobey his master—any human who made a demand of him. His order was to get the child to sleep, and that had yet to happen.

“Would you like me to read The Falcon and the Hare to you again?” It was your favorite bedtime story right now. Hearing fictional stories involving extinct animals seemed to be of odd fascination to you. “My tone of voice might make it—”

“No!” you fussed, thumping your feet once, twice, three times and going limp again. “Come up here until I fall asleep. Please?”

Marcos nodded. “Yes, little one.”

He had to keep one leg off the bed to even half fit on the mattress. You sat upright to fix the blankets so to cover yourself and part of Marcos’ one bent knee. His arm laid out on the bed, waiting for you to crawl into it until you were nestled into his side, sucking up what small warmth radiated from his fake body. Once you found a comfortable spot, curled up tightly much like a cat sunbathing in a single shaft of daylight, he began smoothing a hand down along your back, heavy enough to be felt through your thick comforter.

You listened to him hum a song that you liked, one that translated well to his chords and the vibrations in his throat.

He hummed. He petted your back. He hummed. He petted your back. He hummed…

“Do you truly hate your mother?” Elio’s voice was delicate just then, aware that you were away in some reverie he tried to gently lure you out of. The dream was over. That one silver glimmer of your childhood became far away, forgotten while the sounds of the city rushed back into the cab.

“Yes—I mean, I dunno.” You actually yawned, pushing one of your eyes with the heel of your hand. “I think I hate her. We've argued my entire life. We've never gotten along. Yeah, I hate her.”

Elio was holding you by the waist now. “Is that why you said what you did?”

“Said what?” You were a little too keen on his thumb swirling around the fat padding your hip bone.

“About Marcos being scrap…”

“Elio, seriously? Do you ever shut up?” It was tempting to put yourself on the opposite side of the seat, but you didn't want to give the cabbie any chance to eyeball him. “I—I don't know. She just gets me so mad. I used to be able to crush up those feelings because Marcos told me it wasn't healthy to act on them. But, then, I moved out, and I realized she was still the same, that she'd always stay the same. I stopped hiding it.”

You were so close to his face that you could see how long his eyelashes were and the shadows they cast on his cheeks.

You looked into his eyes. “I wanted to make her hurt as much as she hurt me.”

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Midnight had come and gone before you finally gave up on trying to sleep. You spent the better part of an hour staring up at the high ceiling, imagining every rusting pipe you saw as immobile serpents stretched taut to make the interconnecting structure that sprawled across the entire loft. Swirls and shapes and blacker-than-black shadows danced in front of your eyes, twisted with the pipes, and made the usual knocking sounds within them, but nothing ever came for you.

Downstairs was a careful amount of liveliness and aromas as Elio put together his duck à l'orange that he promised you. You scarcely heard a sound from him shuffling about but more from the clanking pans, boiling pots, and unintelligible chatter you knew came from the television.

Maybe he was watching a rerun of Wendy Carmichael Can Cook again, maybe a segment from the news because he liked that equally as much.

And yet, as you made your way to the lower floor, mystified by the fact you were standing on your toes to disguise all sound during your descent, you saw that the television was set to an old crime show he watched with you on occasion.

Detective Georgina Reyes and her android sidekick, Regis (G5), were the undisputed heroes of Helcam City and solved every case that came their way with style, finesse, and plenty of moral and ethical dilemmas. The majority of the show was spent within Georgina's inner world and her near-obsessive lust over Regis, who was owned by the department chief.

Ratings for the show had climbed to an all-time high when Regis had gained a sense of self and the ability to defy his programming. For fewer than six episodes, it was complete bliss for fans of Georgina and Regis, but then the season five finale happened—

“Can't sleep?” Elio asked, effectively putting your heart in your asshole, sending your soul skyward. He must have gauged your sudden gray pallor and bulbous glare because he smiled apologetically from the bottom of the stairway. “I'm sorry. I didn't intend to scare you. Were you watching Regis and Reyes?”

“I—uh, no.” You sighed, taking slow steps to the bottom to ease your heartbeat eating away at your ribs. “I was thinking about the show ending. Have you watched it yet?”

“Of course,” he said. “It was a peculiar way for the story to end. In my opinion, it was incomplete. Very sudden. It's my understanding that there was an issue with how the government was being represented within the show, and a few of the writers were accused of conspiracy to defraud the government and subsequently arrested for it.”

“Seriously?” You scoffed, making it to ground level, and walked around Elio toward the kitchen where all the heavenly smells wrapped around you, enticing you to take a morsel. “It was the forced pregnancy plotline, right? Creepy stuff.”

“Indeed.”

Elio wouldn't let you have any of the duck à l’orange, saying it was meant for your dinner later on in the day, but he did steep you a hot mug of herbal tea (for sleep), the one that turned water pink, and offered to make you a light snack.

He went back to his tasks after you declined, satisfied well enough with the small swigs you took from your white mug. You spent more time sitting at the counter in silence, watching his back, hoping to gain the power to see through his shirt rather than actually taking interest in what he was doing.

Your eyelids fluttered and fell thinking about the car ride home: his arm around you, his thumb rubbing pacifying circles into your hip, how you'd been close enough to his face to believe you felt a breath leave his lips.

“Elio.”

“Yes?”

He had moved on to washing dishes. When he heard you behind him, he took a clean towel to his hands and quickly dried them before facing you. You guessed you probably had a strange expression right now, or at least, looked at him in a way you never had because the towel was cast aside, draped over the faucet, and his eyes flickered across your face.

“Your heart rate and body temperature have increased.” he said, giving into the pull of your hands after grabbing both sides of his face. You backed yourself into the countertop while still holding him, thumbs caressing the rise of his cheeks, bringing him down, down, down toward your face where you certainly felt heat blow across your mouth. “Your breathing has changed. I can hear your heartbeat. Don't be anxious. I won't hurt you.”

You weren't nervous.

You proved it by kissing him, full-bodied, slow, lingering. He gripped the edge of the countertop, bracing his weight against his hands to stifle some aggressive reaction, possibly, and returned the kiss with just as much fervor that you put into it.

His lips were every bit of what you imagined, what you wanted them to be. You had the urge to bite into them a little, to see if they could bleed the same way yours could when you chewed enough on loose skin. Their texture was slightly indented with cracks that gave friction to the moist smear across your mouth.

Although the sounds of the kitchen and ambient hum from the television in the next room stayed as they were, it was like the volume of everything had been set to mute, and only the breathy, wet pops of air and skin made it into your ears. You heard the delicate chatter of teeth inside your head when his mouth roamed the underside of your jaw, down your neck, to the rise of your clavicle, stopping only at where your neckline ended.

His hands had already made home under your clothes, first doing away with your shirt that he tossed over your shoulder onto one of the barstools. Next, he worked on the elastic waistband keeping your sweatpants on your hips. You flinched against his hands when they splayed across your ass, taking all he could in them while his lips continued a downward trajectory, traveling over your breastbone, along the curve of your navel, and then he stopped.

Elio had been on his knees for a while, stirring you so deeply that you had no doubt there'd be damp spots sitting inside your sweatpants, possibly even drying on the inside of your thighs by now. He helped you out of your pants one leg hole at a time while you used his broad shoulders to balance yourself. And soon enough, one of your thighs was hiked up in that same spot, his face hidden from you despite all the work he was doing to well up a hard knot in your abdomen.

You had to take a fistful of his hair and wrap it tight in your fingers, using your other arm to balance against the counter. He wouldn't let you fall, you knew that, but the unsteadiness of your legs grew, trembling violently, turning to lead like being buried under concrete or suctioned by water. He kissed and sucked and stroked you some more, pushing more into the spots that made you moan the loudest and fastest, fingers wandering you busily and lubricated with your own spend.

“Elio—Elio, let's move somewhere, please.” You shuddered out, trying to pull his hair, shove his face off of you. “Please.”

He grunted, surprising you by relinquishing to the pressure, and made his way back up the route he had taken down. “Where do you want to go?” he asked, lips sticking on your throat, rising higher to the protrusion of your chin. “The kitchen floor? The couch? The bed? We could probably manage in the bathtub as well, if that's what you'd enjoy.”

“I don't care.” You were only half-honest and miserable now with the sole focus of trying not to touch yourself to finish. “Just… somewhere, Elio.”

“As you wish.”

Elio hoisted you onto his hips, making sure you knew to squeeze him with your thighs before making his way around the kitchen to turn knobs and shut off the overhead bulbs. The new darkness was refreshing yet did nothing to tame that sweltering sensation between your legs. In fact, you thought you could burst from the anticipation. It was everything you could do not to hump him through his clothes, hands occupied in his tousled hair, lips together with bruising force.

Before long, your back was on couch cushions and the television was off so as to not ruin the moment. You saw dark behind your eyes while you kept them open, unfocused on the ceiling with the serpent pipes because his mouth was already back on you and helping you chase that high.

“You're almost there.” His lips smacked against your engorged skin, making your lashes flutter and eyes roll back. “You look so perfect. When you cum, I'll take my time cleaning you up. I can use my tongue. I can make you cum again—as many times as you'd like.”

His arms held your thighs wide open, giving him all the room he needed for those final, well-placed strokes that turned your moans into utterly drawn-out, lewd things that made you grateful that no one else lived in this side of the building. Your body wrenched against his continued ministrations, his lips and chin and fingers warm and glistening with your traces.

You had thought to worry, briefly, about something getting onto the cushions under your ass, but Elio had already thought it through and used the dish towel from earlier to catch anything awry.

It came in handy for his face.

“How do you feel?” he asked from inside one of your thighs, kissing his way all the way to the point of your knee. “Was it satisfactory?”

You didn't answer right away, especially not when he came forward on his arms to catch your lips, slowing things down so you could bask in that fuzzy, satiated afterglow—dopamine and oxytocin being that remarkable duo doing their damndest to reinforce how exquisite and ineffably breathtaking Elio was to you.

“Would you like a bath?” he asked against your jaw. “You can just lie back and relax. I'll clean you up.”

“No.” Spurred by newfound bravery, you trailed your fingertips between both bodies, first to loosen the tie on his sleep pants, plucking the strings hard so he felt it. Next thing, your hands slipped under his shirt. “I want you to actually fuck me. Put your cock in me.”

Elio jolted upright, using the tall back of the couch and armrest near your head to hold his body above you. Cold air seeped in all the places where he had been, dotting your skin in gooseflesh, hairs within those follicles standing on end. You were laid out below him, showing all your unobscured nudity and vulnerability, withering yourself just a little smaller under the intensity of his stare.

This was different from the grocery store, where he had needed a moment to amend for information he did not have. This was something else—flickers of conflict, struggle, restraint, and excitement were ablaze in his eyes, which shifted around within their sockets, giving you glimpses of pure gleaming white, which stood out in the inky dark all around.

“I—are you certain that's what you want?” he spoke at last, doing little to alleviate the way you felt he had seen your insides and bones. “It is late, I know you must be tired.”

“Are you…” You couldn't really explain the uneasiness gnawing at your gut, nor the thrill of wanting him inside of you regardless. Maybe he could fuck the feeling out of you, bring peace to your throbbing heartbeat and blood gushing to your head. “Elio, are you telling me no?”

“I cannot do such a thing.” he said right away, coming down from his high place to lay the weight of himself across you.

You felt his skin flush to your chest without a thin shirt to hide his shape and muscle that wasn't real, but this was so much more than touching every dissected mannequin in physiology class in school. They couldn't kiss your neck while the interwoven, complex network underneath stretched, elastic flesh contracted and relaxed against your palms.

“Would you believe me if I told you there are certain functions—programming—that I cannot override?” The waistband of his pants collected in a heap of fabric around his knees, freeing room for his cock in the open air. “I won't be able to let you go until I'm finished. I want you to understand that.”

That sounded hot, and you were tired of him stalling, so you told him you understood. “Very well.” He kissed you, guiding one of your hands low to his core where you could revel in the size of him.

He was hard in your grip with a good girth and length to him, a curve you'd come to recognize from toys collected over the past decade to hit the right spots. The skin over his cock was much a part of him as the rest on his body, hot, growing damp, and sticky the nearer you wandered to the head.

You had watched old pornography with Melby and the group a few times before from the days when it was just humans performing acts on each other. No one really liked it because it was so dramatized; everyone agreed that one of the actors needed to be an android for it to actually be sexy. You never told them that the moaning men with stuttering hips as they ejaculated was something you did like.

Elio leaned into your palm, the thumbprint starting to prune as you rubbed his tip. More warmth seeped out from it, wet and thick and perplexing and exhilarating because Hyperion made him so perfect, a better being than just an emulation of man.

His cock slid through your hand in short, quick bursts that eventually lubricated his entire shaft. He'd kept himself busy on your lips, tongue in your mouth, swiveling together the taste of you with saliva. It was the most inelegant he had been with you so far, yet you didn't think you'd be bothered if he did this more often.

“Fuck me.” You whined, finally apart from him. The swollen head of his cock made a moist path along your core where you massaged it against every sensitive spot that set your senses into a blazing frenzy. “Be as rough as you want. Hurt me a little.”

He finally took your hand away, rearranging your legs so one laid across the back of the couch, the other on his hip with a knee shoved under your ass for height.

“I will not hurt you.” Both your wrists were cuffed by his large hands, pinned down into the cushions by your head. “But, I cannot let you go. You must see it through until the end.”

“Fuck. Me.” you said forcefully, uncomprehending to the things he was telling you, uncaring what it all meant.

“Yes. Alright.”

Elio obeyed you as he was supposed to, cock sinking in with care, thrusts starting out shallow until the tip was withdrawn and then back inside again. The angle he had created for you made it easier to take his length. It took a little more time to acclimate to his girth and plenty of gentle encouragement from his voice landing right next to your ear, telling you to relax. It would improve in a few minutes, and he wouldn't let you go to sleep dissatisfied.

Indeed, minutes later, you were well beyond the worst of it and filling the void all around you with harsh, rapturous moans, which Elio enjoyed hearing. His lips lingered at your throat where most of your sounds resonated, fists still holding firm around your wrists, knuckles the same color as the rest of the dark but had actually bled pale.

The springs within the couch cried out, unused to this weight and ruthlessness, while the air stung with cracks of slapping skin timed with your moans. Elio didn't let you move from where he had you laid out, didn't let up on the speed and depth he reached despite how labored your breaths became, broken words eclipsed by panting and his tongue forcing them back down your throat where they stayed in submission.

It was still cold in the early mornings this spring, often leaving your apartment a little less comfortable than you'd like, but right now, you could've been convinced that he was fucking you on the ground in the flatlands and believed it. Your skin was slick with sweat, the mess between your bodies slippery and undoubtedly staining the couch underneath.

Just then, the weight on your wrists climbed higher to your hands. He threaded your fingers together at the same time his thrusts began to slow, hips rolling yours like a swaying ship amid languid seas.

The whole time he had been on top of you, edging you closer to another orgasm, he had hardly made a noise apart from whispering in your ear when you'd clench his cock too tight. Now, he was failing to keep quiet from your neck, trembling and grunting on your skin until, at last, one jarring thrust left him breathing out in relief.

He got you to your end shortly after, half-hard cock still throbbing and warm inside you, giving just enough of what you needed while his hand finished the rest with fast strokes. You winced. He didn't let off until your jaw hung slack, whimpering meagerly through the pleasure hampering thoughts and sensations other than pressure releasing from your groin, spend turning a patch of your couch dark.

“You did well.” Once he was soft, he tied his pants back around his waist and picked up the sodden dish towel to begin cleaning around your sorest areas. “Come with me. I'll start you a hot bath and make you a new cup of tea before bed.”

You didn't want to get up from that spot, declared yourself rooted there unless Elio helped you up, and thrust a hand high into the dark room.

He wore a princely smile, you assumed, as he leaned down to pick you up in his arms instead. Moved by such a gesture, you reached for his face with your angry wrists and hands to kiss him all the way to the bathroom.

None of this made it into your next report.

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Melby didn't like Elio.

This she had told you over text after you declined her incoming phone call so as to not arouse Researcher Kim’s ire in finding out you were completely distracted during his exorbitantly detailed analysis of your latest reports. Two had been sent in before midnight last Sunday, as usual, since he was rarely satisfied with what you revealed through them these days.

Less than an hour later, while cozied up in bed on your side, facing the chopping blades of an oscillating fan, just beginning to feel yourself teeter off that edge from dull, relaxed awareness into light sleep, your ringtone went off—it was Kim.

“What else have you committed to doing lately in terms of Elio's social advancement? The last thing I have here…” A refreshing, fast pause followed, accented by the sound of paper softly swishing as it was parsed. “He was brought to a movie theater on the twenty-fourth, Diosyn Park on the twenty-ninth, Henrietta's four times in the last week. That's not nearly enough. Who are you socializing him with? What have their reactions been? How has he reacted to them? You're not writing down exact times.”

Not once since you'd joined the video conference forty minutes ago did he check to see if you were listening to him, content with his nose being shoved down into a bundle of chemically smelling papers and glowing screens to corroborate previous work he had on file.

That made it easier for you to text back Melby, arguing with her in endless paragraphs too tiring for your thumbs to continuously scroll through that you didn't have time to meet up at Clamors for drinks with everyone.

“Should I tell Chima you hate us?” texted Melby.

Truthfully, you couldn't tell if it was meant as a threat or if she was just pettish after being refused. One of her worst qualities, never spoken aloud to her face lest she fumbled and blubbered all the way to Chima to snitch about it, was being horridly uncompromising to just about everything.

It made you anxious enough that your fingers started to ache with an urge, on the path toward curling back slithers of cuticle, gathering blood under the nails, itchy scabs that Elio constantly covered with neon bandaids so you wouldn't touch them.

Eventually, you found a new fixation with the seams of your knuckles and fitted the most unrefined part of your nails into them, digging up red that way until he had to cover those, too.

It took you ten minutes with fidgety thumbs to reply. “I don't hate anyone. You know me.”

Melby's was instantaneous. “What about me? Do you hate me now?”

Another one. “Now that you have that android?”

More. “We used to spend so much time together.”

Last one for good measure to effectively drill a gory black hole straight into your pounding, cowardly heart. In her eyes, anyway. “I haven't seen you in months!”

“He needs more direct interaction. I've decided that I'll make amends to the template you've been using up until now.” Researcher Kim was saying, not seeing you, not hearing you, assuming your loyalty to him and his cause was complete.

Ripples of drowsiness overcame you so powerfully that you left Melby on read, mind suddenly a vast, empty space and quiet for the first moment all day. Your hands rose to cradle your cheeks, propping your head above your elbows on the countertop because Kim's inflated droning had come to have that effect on you over time.

A human man with a face that nice shouldn't be allowed to talk so much. He should go back to moaning on couches in front of cameras and sweltering lights.

“Let me explain what I'm currently changing.” he said, hopelessly invested in whatever those alterations were just by the mechanical click-clack of fingertips soaring over a keyboard somewhere low and out of sight of his screen. “From here on out, I'm going to require that you gather between six to ten direct interactions. I want full disclosure of every conversation, transcribed or recorded. From my standpoint, recording would be the most effective method so I may make interpretations myself.”

You were thinking of what to ask Elio to make you for lunch. It was almost noon. You unmuted the call. “Am I allowed to just randomly record people talking like that? That seems…”

“Hyperion works closely with Retro City’s governing bodies, and by extension, so do you.” Kim kept typing as he spoke. “It isn't illegal because the information you're collecting is imperative to the Hyperion Project. Without it, we face the risk of progress slowing or diminishing. That cannot happen, and I cannot emphasize enough that your work as an auditor must come before other commitments.”

At long last, he pulled his face out of papers and other screens to look at yours. In a fashion unsuitable for him, he sighed in a fatigued way, back collapsing against his ergonomic chair, shoulders lopsided with how he perched his elbows on the armrests.

“Retro City has over three million inhabitants. You won't have any issues finding people for Elio to speak to.” he told you. “Six to ten for each report. That’s all.”

You were already back in your messages, backtracking your previous responses to Melby, asking her what time everyone was meeting at Clamors.

Right away, “Come at nine!”

And then, “I'll save you a seat.”

Finally, “Don't eat too much before getting here. It'll ruin the fun.”

“Fine.” Phone now face down on the counter, you returned Researcher Kim’s concentrated stare. “I'll do my best. Six to ten. Six to ten…”

That had done well to appease him, demonstrated through a satisfied smile, which pulled his lips just enough that the muscles in his right cheek twitched as though the motion was foreign to him. With how inexpressive he was most of the time, you weren't surprised, thinking it more humorous than anything else.

You struggled to find a smile of your own that wasn't strained, though.

“That reminds me—” He positioned himself forward, arms on his polished dark-red desk with a curious gleam in his black eyes. “None of your reports have instances of copulation mentioned. Have there been complications?”

You sat stiffly, not agape but definitely not composed, either. “Sorry? What was that?”

“Intercourse. Sex.” He simplified it for you, almost with a pitying crease forming between his brows. “You've completed every other area outlined in the template except that one. I have… refrained from questioning you until now because I do understand that, outside of a clinical setting, it can be construed as inappropriate to discuss.”

The only person you had divulged any details to was Melby. Even that had been brief and inexplicit because she had immediately changed the topic to something one of the kids Chima invited into the group had done that pissed her off.

“Why do you need to know?” It was a defensive question. “Is that something I really need to write about? It's sex. It's just sex.”

Researcher Kim made an indistinguishable sound behind steepled fingers. They hid away whatever shape his mouth was in at that moment, making the whole conversation terribly uncomfortable. It was odd how exposed you felt like his stare was reaching long, further than just the screen in front of him. He wasn't looking into you or through you but rather right at you—imagining you some other way, unclothing your body with drifting eyes and invisible hands.

You were equal parts embarrassed and repulsed by that line of thinking, allowing your mind to summon up his ghost hands to search you, feel you under all your layers, know you as intimately as Elio had as though part of some extension of himself.

“It is all outlined in the contract you signed.” Kim said, now with an edge that made you flinch on the barstool. “Androids are developed for convenience and pleasure. I have reports for one, not the other. If Elio, as the first of G7, is not performing exceptionally—if there are complications, if he is defective—that is something you must include within your reports. I don't suspect that to be the case, in this situation.”

His eyes suddenly caught onto something else, going beyond you, but you chose not to react by looking. “Your work as an auditor has been sufficient so far, but incomplete reports at this critical stage in Elio's testing are grounds for me to terminate your contract.”

You clenched your jaw until your teeth throbbed, your head going up and down like it was on a hinge attached to your neck.

“Personally, that's a hassle I'd rather not involve myself in.” Kim confessed in a straighter posture, smiling tensely. “Now, I'll ask you again: Have there been any complications with inter—”

“That's enough.” Elio reached across your shoulder for the tablet, pointer finger hovering over a red button on the screen. “Researcher Kim, it's time for lunch. Goodbye.”

He pushed the button, managing to catch a swift change in Kim's expression before the screen went black and reflected your shock back at you instead.

You watched him slide the tablet away to the opposite end of the counter space, unable to lift yourself out of this bizarre stupor just from how purely surreal what just happened was. And from the look of it, Researcher Kim hadn't anticipated that Elio was capable of doing something like that, either.

You just hoped it wouldn't cost you your contract.

“What have you been doing all this time?” you asked, tilting your head back to welcome his lips gliding atop yours, a peck, at first, which gradually grew deeper and greedier. With some effort, you pulled back. “Mm, c'mon, what were you doing?”

“On Wendy Carmichael Can Cook today, she said—”

A hiss of annoyance. “Oh, of course…”

“She said there was a list of excellent bistros around Retro City worth trying.” He wasn't pleading with you or anything, but he seemed just about as dedicated to this idea as he had been with the duck à l’orange a while back. “For lunch, I thought it'd be of interest to you to visit one. I've been researching ones I thought you would like based off of your dietary habits, allergies, and sensitivities. Radiant Bistro next to the Leviathan Archway near downtown might be a good option. Impressively diverse menu.”

You pretended to pinch lint off of his shirt and inspect it up close. “If you didn't want to cook, you could've just said that.”

“That's not it,” he assured you with a kiss to the back of your hand so that you understood he meant it. “Since my arrival here, your social presence has declined substantially, which will not fare well for your public profile. I do understand that it’s in relation to your work as an auditor, but—”

“Okay! Okay, I get it.” you said agreeably, hands raised, hoping it'd deflect anything else. “We’ll go. Let me just find a hat so the sun won't get on my face.”

“No problem.” He walked away and came back with an old unbranded brown one from somewhere in the most remote crevice of the apartment. “Will this suffice?”

You looked at it, amazed. “Yeah. Yup. Let's go.”

Elio had stopped carrying a coat with him once the evenings grew long, and the remnants of heat from the day floated into nighttime, trapping the city within a muggy gray haze that too closely resembled dewy fog in early spring. The difference was the heaviness and breathability of the air—one you could tolerate despite allergies; the other was deplorable and evoked memories of every single club you had drunk and danced in with Melby and Chima and the rest in the past years.

Outside, right now, sucking in the early-afternoon heat into your lungs after spending your morning in air conditioning, nose wrapped in earthy white wisps rising from a coffee mug, you wanted to turn back around and hide. Much to your dismay, Elio kept you on a short leash with a tight grip on your hand, probably expecting you to have a change of heart.

  “Would you like for me to recall the menu and read it aloud to you?” he offered, situating his hand so his fingers crossed through yours, palms flush together. “They have fourteen types of sandwiches—hot and cold. Five of those are chicken, and five are of different meat varieties: lamb, cow, veal, goat, and yak, all claimed to be bred and raised and slaughtered in their warehouses. The last four sandwiches are…”

You listened passively without much commitment, especially in the back of the cab where there was no escape from anything. The AC was broken. The cabbie kept wiping sweat off his brow and sipped warm water. With the windows down, the outside air ripped inside the vehicle, nearly stealing the old hat off your head.

Elio went on to list desserts, thumb gently rolling circles on your sticky skin as if meant to keep you soothed.

“As long as I remember to eat light…” you murmured, remembering, glumly to yourself.

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Clamors was inside a three-story building on the north end of Retro City, about a ten-minute taxi ride to Mother’s brick-stone house, thirty minutes from Henrietta’s, forty minutes from your apartment, and farthest removed from the slums where congregations of profile delinquents and the unwanted were most dense.

Here in this part of the city, you were an imposter among manicured foliage, men and women and androids arrayed in trendy designer silhouettes that were protruding, sharp, and agonizing; sharks and whales of big business puffed cigars in front panoramic views of the cityscape from the highest skyscrapers. They could look down at the street from their window and see you, an ant scuttling meaninglessly.

This wasn't a place where you belonged, a feeling that never changed over time, even years later after Chima recruited you into his group and every night was a suffocating blur of sweaty, faceless bodies, explosive music, stomping feet, raspy screams, and lightly-flavored chalk dissolving under your tongue. You roamed the sidewalks at two in the morning as everyone had been kicked out, but no one cared because Chima came from money, a rare case where two parents could be accounted for, and you'd all just be back inside the next evening.

You weren't sure when you had become disillusioned with it all—the drinks, the animal pills, which coalesced into saliva in your mouth, the noises, the gossip, the six ibuprofen to function behind a desk at work, the burnout of rinse and repeat, a conveyor belt that moved cyclically without a place to get off. To exit the ride meant to plunge head-first into abject terror, the unknowable, to become part of the yellow wallpaper that's never actually seen, to cease to be.

Being back in Clamors again after months away turned your heart against you, thrust the sound of its distress into your ears, dwarfing an animated conversation happening right at your circular table. You felt the music vibrate through your skin, make its way into your marrow, and rattle your entire skeleton.

Melby had a hand on your knee, blunt-tipped nails collecting sweat off your skin underneath them.

You couldn't really focus on that.

“So, this is Elio. He's hot.” Chima said without looking at you.

“Really hot!”

“So hot!”

“Did you hear? Shut up, stop talking! Did you hear? That slut got herself pregnant!” shouted Niva, a senior-most part of the circle behind you and Melby. She knew everything about everyone, though she wasn't supposed to keep tabs. “Apparently her baby daddy decided the pussy wasn't worth it anymore and ran!”

“I can't believe it. That'd mean someone was actually willing to sleep with her.” said Niquan Lamos, the fashionable one always gravitating toward pastels. “A man, at that. Disgusting.”

Everyone laughed, including you. Elio quietly observed it all, seated at your side, incapable of letting his polite smile slip with numerous prowling eyes on him.

“Have you fucked him yet?” Chima asked you without actually caring for a response.

“Oh, have you fucked him?”

“C'mon, don't hide it. How was it?”

“What was her name?” asked a newcomer in the group, fresh out of secondary school and not even twenty. He was a compact lad, both in size and from being squeezed between Chima and Niquan in the circular booth stretched in fuchsia leather, or at least, that's how it looked in your table’s corner of the club. “How come she isn't here anymore?”

First rule was: Never talk about things that could make the liquor go down harder. This was one of those things. Secondly, never ask questions about people who the group was no longer associated with. It just sounded ugly to acknowledge the rejects.

Tonight, however, was an exception because Elio's presence was an exciting change. They forgot how to behave.

“Hm, now that you mention it, I don't remember. How long has it been?” Chima said this absently, abysmally black eyes wholly captivated by the android. “Damn. Something like Mi-dan? Mi-an? Mi… Mi…”

“Her name was Mi-sun.” said a nobody from somewhere at the round table. It probably would've been easy to figure out who was talking if they were more important, but it took less effort to blame the music reverberating from the speakers mounted on the wall near their heads.

Melby’s hand traveled adventurously along your thigh, unmindful of how close she came to your crotch. You had a harder time ignoring that move and sipped busily from your jungle bird, holding it higher than your eyeline to admire its beautiful vermilion hue practically glowing against the strobe lights pulsing down from the ceiling.

“This is the first time I've seen you drink.” Elio was leaned into you, wise to the fact that you wouldn't hear him any other way. His lips nearly touched your ear, voice honeyed, caring, all for you. You were halfway through your second jungle bird. “Please don't overdo it. The adverse effects of overconsumption of alcohol will cause you great discomfort tom—”

“Thank you, Elio.” For just a moment, you wondered how irreversibly damaging it would be to just grab his hand and sprint out of there. You drank some more to weaken your resolve, add lead into your legs. “I'll be good if you be good.”

Elio nodded appreciatively.

“Why was Mi-sun kicked out?” again asked the new face from before, plain and boyish-looking, Chima's fresh catch. They just kept getting younger and the alcohol just kept tasting worse. You forced it all down, anyway. “Well? Well? Well?”

“She was talking crazy shit,” Melby piped up with a drawl, fingernail swirling around a dark purple bruise on your thigh. She pushed in hard enough to remind you that it was still sore. “Like, she was fine one week and then every single night after that she would nooooot shut up about some wild government conspiracy theories.”

“Oh, right.” Chima laughed while forcing everybody out of their seats so he could stand. “I remember now. Yeah, she went completely insane. I think she was talking about androids being used for population control or something. Weird. Hey, let's dance.”

“That was a year ago?” Niva wanted Chima to confirm. “A year, right?”

“Over a year now. Who cares?” Melby said, staying put beside you while the rest of the booth vacated. “She’ll just end up dead in the slums like all the rest. Uh, they do all die, right?”

“Who cares?” Chima echoed, nesting his shoulders high to his ears in a shrug before walking away. “Who has the animal crackers?”

“Sounds about right.” Niva was unconvinced, doubt lingering in her words until Chima came around to rummage her purse for pills. “Oh! Only take one, they're so expensive!”

Chima stuck three in his mouth. “Don’t kill the vibe.” He left without a glance back toward all the no-face, nameless nobodies willing to lick the underside of his shoes if it meant they'd be acknowledged and given features—eyes, lips, hair, an identity.

Niquan was satisfied with just one, offering a subtle wash of relief to Niva, who was just about depleted of her supply at that point and used the last of it for herself, tongue lapping at the inside of her plastic envelope.

You were almost finished with your jungle bird, contemplating a third even though you had entered the territory where one more could mean the difference between a happy buzz and splintering headaches tomorrow, just as Elio warned. The ice cubes had melted into a smooth watercolor appearance and turned from red to blue to green to purple to pink as the lights gushed down from above.

“I don't remember what she looks like.” you admitted to Melby who gazed into you, squeezing your thigh meaningfully. Again, you didn't pay attention. “Mi-sun, I mean. Were we friends? Did I ever drink with her? Have I ever slept over at her house?”

“No!” Melby snapped, affronted. “You're mistaking her for me. You guys never even had a conversation. You hated her guts. You thought she was a freak.”

You made a sound into the last of your drink, unsure whether she was lying to you or not. “Maybe. Maybe. Was I okay with her being kicked out?”

“Totally.” she said, casting a fleeting look of disdain toward Elio, lip curling at one side. “Chima only counted yours and mine and Niva’s votes since we've been here the longest.”

“That's…” You licked your lips and then the rim of your glass, secretly wishing your tongue would snag an uneven crack so you’d start to bleed. “Why don't I remember anything?”

Melby giggled. “Because you've been drinking, babe. It'll come back to you. What animal cracker do you want tonight? Giraffe or cat?”

“Hm?” You were elsewhere.

Until now, you had gone numb to your surroundings thanks to the licorice notes of black strap rum and bitter Campari and pucker of pineapple juice that made for a mostly pleasant experience in your throat.

You were present in that moment, venturing a look around at the dance floor crammed with bodies (human and android) moving in rhythm to the music, in time with each other to create a oneness, a synchronism so strange that it put the hairs on the back of the neck on end like spines.

Why did it all look so different now? So alien? As if you were seeing an image from your nightmares in real life.

Elio failed to convince you not to have another drink brought to the table after all, meanwhile Melby said she was disappointed you didn't get something stronger, claiming you used to do it all the time.

That's right. You did, didn't you?

“Hey.” Chima had emerged from the shapeless cluster of sweating, drunk, wriggling bodies a short while later. He reached into the booth, gathering a fistful of Elio's button-up shirt, and looked at you with a malicious gleam, possibly just your imagination, that just dared you to protest. “I know you don't mind if I borrow him for a while, right? Of course not. The rest of us are curious about him. We’ll be gentle.”

You would’ve believed someone if they said your tongue was cut out, because as much as you wanted to slice into him and spit poison in his wounds with your words, rub it raw, deep into the bone, nothing came up.

Not a breath nor a feeble sob.

Don't touch him. Nothing.

“So, you're chill with it?” Chima, beautiful Chima with deep-dark skin sparkling in rhinestones and spray-on glitter as though he were a vessel for all the stars in the cosmos, bared his straight, white teeth at you in the form of an affable grin.

Eat shit. Bitter silence.

He asked you the same thing again but grew bored and gave up on expecting you to do anything interesting. Elio was led away by the front of his shirt to the amalgamation of bodies like a sacrifice for the great black maw belonging to an abomination.

A few broke away from the core. Niva and Niquan were identifiable since you'd known them longer. The rest were unfamiliar to you—the no names and the tiny young man, the android bartender, the disc jockey, the bodies climbing over each other and melting back into a single incoherent mass.

They all looked exactly the same.

“I wanna dance too, let's go!” Melby struggled with one of your arms while attempting to scoot her way out of the booth, but the alcohol and broodiness made your body into a stump, sturdy and immobile, roots bursting through the bottoms of your shoes and the shiny floor.

She plopped back down. “Seriously? What's up with you?”

“It's too hot,” you reasoned, sticking a fingernail into the fresh glass in front of you, swishing the liquid around to make everything a more palatable blend. “If you want to dance, I'm not stopping you.”

“You're acting so weird.” Melby said, lost somewhere between frustration and astonishment while pulling a clear baggy from her pants pocket. A couple small pills moved inside, pink residue clouding the plastic. She plucked out one without looking. “Hey, open up. You're being a huge snoozefest. This'll loosen you up.”

When you felt her acrylic fingernails press against the corner of your lips, you gently pushed her hand back and nursed your drink some more. “No thanks.”

Melby’s tongue lashed against her gums, sharp and disapproving. “Why are you being such a fucking buzzkill tonight?” She traced your line of sight to Elio, to the others grabbing and fondling him, to his eyes looking right back at you. “We haven't seen each other in months. Now all you do is stare at that android.”

“It's my job, Melby.” You took the damp paper napkin from under your drink to dab your forehead at the sweat, trying to cool yourself. “I can't help that.”

“You can take one night away from your job.” she decided, taking hold of your lower mandible with a claw and crammed the chalky pink pill through lips and teeth into the pocket underneath your tongue. “You know the drill. Let it dissolve all the way. Stop making faces! It doesn't taste that bad.”

You tried to jerk your head away, but her grip was surprisingly solid.

“Melby! What the hell?!” It came out garbled around her fingers still resting in your mouth, filling the reservoir below your tongue with saliva.

Melby, blue-eyed and blonde with pale pink skin that always reddened in the electrifying, hot air in the club, was completely flushed from her face down to her chest. Her eyes had darkened upon withdrawing her two fingers, glossing your lips with spittle.

“I missed you.” she said, outlining the shape of your mouth until the skin started to tingle. “Did you miss me? I've been really lonely.”

Your least favorite part of taking an animal cracker was the aftertaste that was the equivalent of eating sidewalk chalk and rubbing alcohol with a whisper of strawberry wafting up into your nostrils, clinging to every permeable membrane in your mouth and making your cheeks tremble.

“I—yeah. Yeah, I missed you.” You tried to sink the lingering taste down your throat with a swish and swallow from the jungle bird. “I didn't know what I was getting into with this whole Hyperion gig. I feel like I'm constantly watching Elio. Twenty-four seven.”

Elio never lost track of you throughout the ordeal, his being unable to escape the hands on his body and fight against the programming in his brain meant exclusively for human satisfaction. There were moments where you saw each other clearly, empty windows between writhing bodies, and you were convinced he tried to convey a very human-like discomfort that you immediately pretended like you hadn't seen.

Interfering meant going against the group. There was nothing you could do about it except allow them to eviscerate Elio if that's what they wanted. You could only sit there, drowning in rum and pineapple and aperitif and demerara sugar and scorching strobe lights and music bashing your skull and Melby unfastening buttons on your pants, but for some reason, that didn't quite register as what it was to you.

“Are you coming home with me tonight?” Melby asked so sweetly that it made your heart flutter, or maybe that was the pill taking effect. “We always have fun together. I've really missed it. It isn't the same without you.”

“What—” You almost tipped the red cocktail while reaching over it for a water glass that no one had touched. You slugged half in one go. “Wait. What are you even saying? I gotta take care of Elio.”

“Oh my god,” she seethed, taking her hand out of your pants to wipe her fingers on the napkin you used earlier. “Just tell him to leave. He has to listen to you. He’ll be okay.”

Fuzz had started to collect in your head, filling the entire dome with a warm, soft feeling that spread like a rapidly-growing fungus down the brainstem, coiled around your spine, stuffed your jaws with cotton, sucked all the moisture from your throat, widened your chest with stuff, and ignited kindling that had been sitting in the bottom of your stomach.

Just now, the deafening tone of music had been reduced to a throbbing bass that jarred your bones and pulsed in your hands and feet. Your vision wasn't much different than it had been before, only now you seemed to move at lightning speed, people and shapes and lights all confused watercolor smears of you shifted too quickly.

“Can't.” You recalled Melby had said something. “Elio, first. Do you see him?”

“No.” she said, watching Chima hook his fingers through the belt loops on Elio’s pants, knocking their pelvises together in time with the music. “Come on, I'll call a cab and we can go home. We’ll have a good time away from everyone.”

You made a grab for the water glass again, throat the driest it had ever been. A mistimed gasp came out when the rim of the glass struck your teeth, missing your mouth almost completely. Luckily, only a little water got on your shirt, molding it to your chest like a cold second skin.

“God, that's good,” you moaned, draining the rest of it. “What are you even talking about? A good time?”

She eyed you uneasily. “What do you mean? What do you remember when you're with me?”

“Pfft,” you scoffed, stealing yet another water glass you managed to grapple with two hands so it'd stop swaying. “What do you mean, what do I mean? I hit the pillow and I'm out. Why?”

After a few long swigs of ice water, the dance floor was less a mangled disarray of smoke and neon colors, more definitive and jagged—the stage, the speakers, the turntable where the disc jockey played. Even the beastly blob of grinding, convulsing people started looking like people.

Melby had lost all the red in her face, eyes riveted to the half-empty jungle juice in front of you, perhaps counting the beads of condensation dripping from its tall form.

“You're usually really talkative. I think you're lying to me right now to get out of it.”

“Huh?” You were done with the second water, staring at her unfocused but suspicious. “Lying about what?”

“I—” Melby withered in her seat, distracted by something ahead that you couldn't see, a bejeweled nail wedged between her teeth. “No, nothing. Never mind.”

“Whatever,” you murmured. “I'm outta here.”

Melby didn't stop you from leaving behind money for your drinks before you stumbled away from the booth toward the dancefloor, evading bodies that came flying toward you with erratic, jerky movements not at all matching the pounding beat coming from the stage.

The floor was actually hundreds of individually tinted blocks of plexiglass with colored bulbs screwed in underneath.

During the day, Clamors kept it covered with a special protectant and tarp to maintain the integrity of the glass, but at night, it was illuminated like a nonsensical rainbow checkerboard. Each square took on a life of its own, flickering in unison with songs played throughout the night, warping into mandalas and spirals and disorienting waves that most people using animal crackers couldn’t stomach for long.

You were close to vomiting up the jungle birds and your meager lunch from Radiant Bistro that afternoon when you found Elio within the swarm of partiers that reeked of sour body odor and stale alcohol.

He stood amid it all with a stiff spine, the loveliness of his face covered by shadows and terrible bursts of light that heightened his vacuous stare into the faces of those touching him.

The only other time you had seen him so devoid of life was in the presence of Researcher Kim. Now, he looked in such a way at Chima, at Niva, at Niquan—the nameless and the boy were too scared of overstepping to have a part in it yet straggled nearby to feel like they meant something.

Elio saw you jostling through the crowd toward him, hardened amber regaining luminosity. You became the center of his world again with just a look, yet your world was entirely unthawed ice and serrated stalactites growing ever sharper, heavier, closer to piercing and crushing at a single point below them. The forest of brittle minerals in your mind needed just a single resounding event to loosen, to fall, to impale indiscriminately.

That moment finally happened as you approached Chima, his hand stroking Elio under every layer meant to keep him out. Your future was a far-off thing, light years away and completely untouchable, no matter how many times you were threatened with your profile, how you'd become nothing without your associations, how the entire world would cringe in disgust at your existence and leave you to rot.

You took Chima's hand out of Elio’s pants, hoping you had the strength in yours to twist his wrist so it hurt, wanting nothing more than to actually shatter the bone with just the pure hatred surging down into your grip. With the other hand, you drew it high behind your shoulder, muscles tense, bone popping from an unnatural angle, dense club air gushing between your fingers right before your palm released a thunderous crack against his cheek that shot up the length of your arm in stinging ripples.

“No, stop!” Elio tore you away too late, right after weakness reentered your body, and he was able to easily restrain you. “What have you done?”

The clique had rallied around Chima, steadied him and examined the mark on his cheek, which was already blowing up in size.

He stared at you with amazement that quickly contorted into pure incandescence. His face was the ugliest thing you had ever seen, eyes an uninviting, pitless, and hollow place. This, you thought, was what he truly looked like beneath the popularity, cosmetics, money, and illusion of drugs.

“Keep your hands to yourself!” you screamed.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” He tried to lunge at you but was held back by Niva, Niquan, and various ghostly hands. “How dare you. How dare you touch me, you sad sack of shit! You ungrateful nobody! I can ruin you! I can make sure you get thrown into the slums and your fucking insides get ate out by all those filthy savages.”

“That's better than this.” You felt Elio tighten his arms around you, feet shuffling backward to try to separate you from this. Dancers were beginning to gather around the scene, both grossly fascinated and terrified because they'd never seen a fight between humans. “It's better than the stupid drugs. It's better than this club. It's better than all your shitty little followers. It’s better than you.”

To this, Chima stared wide-eyed and gave a derisive laugh. “You seriously hit me because I was touching the android? He's a fucking machine! What else is he useful for?!”

You were still being coaxed out of the gathering, Elio's lips whispering pacifying words into your ear that you didn't hear.

“Don't—Don’t talk about him like that.”

Chima’s visage relaxed into one you were used to seeing. A man who knew he had all the time and power in the world and that he could do anything with it. He swatted away all the helping hands and straightened his clothes.

“Not only are you fucking insane,” he said, smiling without remorse. “Now, you're also dead.”

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The decision to retch into a convenience store trash can happened because you couldn't bring yourself to do it in the neatly barbered bush you had been closer to at the time. You had separated the metal lid from the metal body so you could simply lean over and spew into it freely.

Smells emanating from inside—expedited food rottage from summer heat, curdled drinks, bagged-up dog shit, and God knows what else—did better to evacuate your stomach than the insane lighted floor in Clamors.

Most of what came up lacked the usual sourness, ran watery like a geyser of diluted red jungle bird with occasional chunks of undigested sandwich and probably everything from three days ago.

Elio wiped your face clean at every chance he got, those seldom moments where you could cough and catch your breath for just a few seconds before your stomach clenched and more climbed up your esophagus and exited your body. There wasn't much he could do apart from dab your skin and keep your clothes from the trajectory.

“Why?” Elio spoke sometime later once the waves of nausea had tapered to a degree where you could sit on a bench outside the convenience store and take a bottle of water he had ready for you. “Why did you do it?”

“Because—” you said, not bothering to finish after swigging and swishing and spitting the acrid taste that lingered on your tongue, between your teeth, and in the ridges of your gums. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't get rid of it all. It stuck in your mouth like bitter tar. “Because.”

You went on to repeat the rinse and swish a few more times, ultimately tilting the bottle upside down to crush the cheap plastic in your fist so it gushed down on your head.

For a second, you imagined turning on a spigot to shock your scalp with cold water, flattening all your hair, pasting your clothes flush and translucent to your body like a second skin to peel away later.

The humid nighttime air was suddenly so much less oppressive than it had been. A subtle breeze had picked up throughout the course of the day, not doing much to tame the heat overall, but the fat pearls of water streaming down your back made you shiver. You counted all the drops that coalesced into shimmering beads on the tips of your hair, your eyelashes, and your nose and fell onto the pale gray cement underfoot.

Elio had already unbuttoned his shirt to the navel, just above where he had rebuckled his pants and tried to pull the rest of the fabric free.

“Oh, Elio. Don't.”

He pulled you into him despite your protest, swathing you from behind first with the shirt and then his arms as he held you against his chest. Fortunately, he had worn an airy undershirt so his body wasn't on display for anyone else, though there was no one around at this hour.

He soothed you with long strokes along your back. His touch amplified to a point where it hurt as much as it felt good. You knew what fingers he used more pressure with, where the heel of his hand touched you next. You could feel where he chose to linger and knead at knots under your skin, imagining the sensation similar to using a sharpened stone or ice pick

“I'm fucked.” you mumbled sullenly in his embrace, warmth dissipated as you had soaked his undershirt all the way through. “I'm so fucked.”

“It was unwise, yes,” he said in silken tones from atop your head, thin jaw pushed down into your wet hair, grinding and rotating when he'd speak. “I had you in my mind the entire time. I was prepared to let him do as he pleased if it meant preventing a confrontation—I failed. But, I hadn't expected you to hit him. None of the outcomes I calculated had that conclusion. I'm sorry.”

“No. I'm glad I did it.” You worried that you were being overconfident, too hopeful toward a future unraveling at your feet as you spoke. “I couldn’t stand how everyone was staring at you—touching you. Everything just felt so wrong, but, why? The only thing that was different was you being there, Elio. I saw you—you looked so uncomfortable. I was so hot. I think I was seeing things after taking the animal cracker. I just got so angry.”

Usually, Elio was the type to scavenge your history as thoroughly as he could, however minimal or inconsequential it all seemed to you at the time. It was a quintessential part of his programming as an android—of all androids—to want to dissect everything there was to know about their masters, knowing them better than their masters knew themselves.

You considered making it effortless for him, volunteering your past with animal crackers and how they used to not hurt at all. At one time, you could binge them for days without violent side effects that’d plague a normal person for weeks.

“There are no pharmacological benefits associated with their use,” was what you heard him say in your head, firm yet loving, melting into his sensual strokes tracing parallel along the length of your spine. “Prolonged use has been known to create perforations in the gastrointestinal tract, heart dysrhythmias…”

He didn't regurgitate that information at you. In fact, he said nothing at all. Besides the hand sweeping down your body steadily, lips and shapely nose burrowed in your limp seaweed-string hair, he didn't move at all. There was no stuttering heartbeat between you except your own. Even his breaths had gone still, chest straight down and unmoving.

Elio was a machine.

It was so easy to forget while wrapped up in daily mundanities. It wasn't so easy to forget in this moment where you wanted to crack him open, scoop out each precious piece of him with your bare hands, and hide yourself within his husk.

You were sick of the silence, so you pinched him hard under the arm, right next to the crease starting his shoulder. It made you feel better to do so, and he'd pay attention to you—

He hissed and reeled away from your touch, startling you out of his arms because you didn't know how else to react.

“Did you—Elio, did you feel that?” you asked incredulously, voice whittling into a self-conscious mumble once you realized the words leaving your mouth. They didn't stop. “Did that hurt you?”

The spot where you pinched was hard to see from the layer of his shirt sleeve, but his fingers rubbed there insistently like he were actually trying to alleviate pain.

“Once, during my early development, Researcher Kim had told me he wanted to close the gap between what people think separates androids and humans.” Elio explained, coming close again to touch you and dry your temples with his shirt on your back. “It's unlikely that what you perceive as pain and what I am programmed to perceive as pain are absolutely comparable, but there's some common ground.”

“I'm sorry, Elio. I didn't mean to hurt you. I didn't know I could.” Your voice weakened to a whisper, throat clenched in shame as your skin grew hot. It was like you were still stuck in the throbbing, stiff air of the club and not in the spacious nighttime breeze.

He looked you in the face, almost-orange eyes flitting inside their orbital sockets trying to find something distant and unknown in your expression. You guessed he was assessing your sincerity—not for himself because he needed it, but to know how it took shape on you and bent your brows, molded your lips, dimpled your chin, deepened the lines.

Then he asked, "If I hadn't reacted—if my circuitry were less sensitive and I could feel nothing at all aside from your fingers on my skin, would you have done it again? Would you keep doing it?"

"What are you trying to say?”

"Globally, since the widespread distribution of androids, the occurrence of domestic and public disputes has been halved. I have been designed to be non-violent, as have all of my predecessors.” As if for effect, Elio took one of your hands and pushed your palm flat to his warm cheek. “I have no desire to hurt you, but I am also incapable of doing so.”

You couldn't wrench yourself from his grip, so that's how you remained, caressing his soft, smooth skin while your thumbpad skirted along the round bone below his eye.

This was more than you could handle right now. All of the illness and nausea that came with the burdensome summer heat, the animal cracker, every bit of liquid and food to enter your stomach, the memory of slapping Chima—it came back, crashing down like an avalanche carrying your regrets, fears, malaise.

“I'm not going to hit you.” You were gagging around saliva pooling into the front of your mouth. “Chima was different. He deserved it.”

“Perhaps,” Elio agreed, entwining fingers with the ones on his cheek. He kissed your open palm with great passion and some semblance of regret. “But, I wish you would have hit me instead. I have failed one of the most basic parts of programming by putting you and others in harm. You may now end up suffering greatly because of it.”

You did get sick again.

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Elio had persistently warded off Researcher Kim’s video calls for three days while you recovered upstairs beneath every comforter you owned, maximum air conditioning, and heavy curtains to shun out all natural light from ever reaching your bedside. Time came and went without peril or concept to you, seeming to evaporate into the air like nothing, much like how your steady, quiet breaths did the same. They simply came and went; inhale and exhale, no writhing white plumes drifted overhead to prove they belonged to you or that you were even alive. Not in the dead of summer.

  Five days total had passed before you could take the staircase down from the loft without Elio's assistance and eat or drink anything of substance that didn't end with it all being violently evacuated from your body.

Sleep remained elusive to you despite the sedatives and special hot tea recipes from online that Elio pushed down your throat. The migraines persisted even with prescription painkillers Melby had stolen for you forever ago and rough romps of sex that left you winded, glistening, and cold on the sheets when the oscillating fans blew air across your skin.

Whatever excuse Elio had fed to Researcher Kim over the days you were incapacitated worked because when you were finally back at the counter on a video call with him, he didn't ask you about it or chastise you much about the holes in your reports for that week.

“I see that Elio had been proving himself to be quite self-sufficient. I have here six separate occasions where he's ventured out on his own?” Kim looped a stylus through his fingers fluidly, concentrating on what little information he could glean from your submissions. “Henrietta's, mostly. I see he's had to visit the dry cleaners. General store. Pharmacy. He's also been completing the six to ten interactions by himself. Absolutely phenomenal!”

Your attention kept drifting away from Kim. It went to Elio, who placed a white mug down quietly next to you, the handle within reach of your fingers. Beyond the pale-gray wisps spiraling up into the air and dissipating among the snaking pipes sprawling the high ceiling, the liquid inside was pale yellow. Diluted green tea, maybe white tea, if you had to guess. They were among the few things you could stomach right now.

He offered you a fast smile, somewhat unlike himself, and leaned into your lips.

The sight went unnoticed by Kim, who was still captivated by the level of initiative and intelligence his creation displayed. Every word you managed to construct through sedative-induced delirium mesmerized him so thoroughly that he missed the groping hands under your shirt, the smothered moans, and the fact that you had exited view of the screen for fifteen minutes while being laid out on the couch and feasted on through an orgasm.

Wendy Carmichael Can Cook came on the television, a solid distraction for Elio. Today’s episode was a rerun featuring some sort of elevated mush dinner popular in the slums. With some canned foods capable of surviving nuclear fallout, herbs you were almost positive had gone extinct forty years ago, and spices so rare they were untouchable, Wendy concocted something truly groundbreaking to the audience’s eyes.

Elio looked only half-interested in the episode. Meanwhile, you went to the bathroom to clean yourself up and took three painkillers before sitting back down behind the counter. Researcher Kim had yet to lose the wind in his lungs, though now you weren't sure what he was talking about.

The tea was lukewarm and non-irritating just like you thought it'd be.

Your phone had survived the whole five days on a single charge as you had been too afraid to touch it, not because you were scared to see what was there but because you didn't want to know what was no longer there.

True to the fear, while holding a large breath you had sucked into your lungs, believing it to be the sturdiest barrier against whatever you'd discover, there was no one left in your phone log—except Melby.

The rest: Chima, Niva, Niquan, Marcos, Mother, and all the others who had once been listed there before like mock trophies to bolster your sense of worth, the swell of pride that came from knowing important people and integrating yourself into their lives to be something special, simply did not exist anymore.

You didn't have to search up your public profile to know that it was barren as well.

Once Chima went, everyone else went with him—both from the circle and those you'd networked throughout life. Even if it had been someone else, the end result would've stayed the same, exactly as it is now.

“What do you want? I'm not supposed to be talking to you.” Melby had answered her phone after six rings. The background seemed purposefully mute for your call. Perhaps she was just at home nursing the after-effects of things as well. “You there?”

Researcher Kim sieved through paperwork, now entranced by comparing Elio's earlier behaviors in the infancy of design to now. You lowered the volume to where his voice was a low hum, like mumbling through a wall you flattened yourself to.

“Let me guess, Chima told you that?” you said, sipping gingerly from your mug. “How much did he tell you? Was he actually honest, or did he just tell you I was fucking crazy?”

“You weren't acting right all night.” Melby countered in her surefooted drawl. “I don't understand what's happening to you, or why you've been acting so differently. You shouldn't have hit Chima.”

“He shouldn't have touched Elio.”

You could imagine her temper flaring, fair skin glowing pink in the face and chest as she kicked around the comforters on her bed. She strangled a sound in her throat that emanated through the phone as a low groan. Strands of her fried blonde hair scuffed together like pieces of straw when she scratched her head. It was unmistakable.

“What is going on with you?” she demanded, on the verge of tears, voice fading out in glimpses like she was moving away from the speaker. “Elio—he’s just an android. I know he's some radical new innovation, but he'll be saturating the market in six months like every other Hyperion android. There's always going to be more of him. Chima, though, he's actually human. You can just throw away an android.”

Emotions aside—Melby wasn't wrong.

The price of innovation always meant leaving something behind. Whether or not you wanted to see it, if Elio passed his testing period, he'd be decommissioned in a metal box down in the basement at Hyperion while copies and variations of him were added to the heaps of scrap in landfill once the next model came out.

Melby then said something else, “I don't think this is about the android.”

“Oh?” you said, passing a glance along toward the tablet to see that Kim still had his nose pointed down. “Maybe you're right. You know me so well.”

“Do you want to know what I think?” Melby asked.

You observed while Elio roamed the apartment, crouching to pick up the odds and ends that had gone neglected over the days you'd been bedridden, and he had stayed with you to keep you company. He tossed soiled clothes into a hamper, crumbled medication wrappers into the trash, and took your cold tea away to prepare more.

Inspired by your silence, mistaking it as timid submission, Melby went on. “I know you must think we're just being shepherded along, just doing whatever we're told because we don't know what else to do other than follow the loudest voice in the crowd.”

“You know me so well.”

“I know you blame everyone else for what happened at Clamors, but you put yourself in that situation.” Melby said, interjecting in a pitch higher when she heard you take in a breath, “Aht! Aht! I'm not done! No one else is gonna talk to you now, so I'll tell you what we're all thinking: Our circle? We're special. If we always smile and talk about the same things and agree about the same things, we stay together. We stay safe. You've never really wanted to do that, it was always noticeable. I think that's why you and Mi-sun always got along, because you two just did things to fit in, not because you actually cared or wanted to be a part of it.

“I didn't lose you, right? Chima always talked about ways of getting you out of the group. He didn't think you were trustworthy. I guess he was right because you slapped him. Do you know how weird is it for humans to do that nowadays? Apparently it used to be super common to beat up your wives and kids, but now people just do it to androids. But, it's better that way, right?”

“I don't know.” You really didn't.

Elio came back around with a steeping tea bag and a second mug half-full of something darker yellow, like urine. You took the handle to give it a whiff (it smelled homey and savory). Meanwhile, he took away the tablet and ended the video call without a word to Researcher Kim. The energy wasn't there for you to reprimand him nor to mess up your face in mostly feigned surprise.

“It's chicken broth.” He was able to say freely despite Melby blathering on. “Give it a try and let me know if it's too strong. We need to start reintroducing foods back into your diet.”

You drank from the tea mug instead, swiveling the barstool so your back faced him.

“I've thought about it some, and I think we're terrified of each other. Humans don't know how to truly trust one another anymore. That’s why we rely on androids for, like, everything.” Melby continued, “I think, and this is just my opinion, that we actually really miss each other. I think we want to touch and hug and love each other. There are still some people who do. There's a market out there for human-human porn, so it's not like it's unbelievable, but we basically treat each other like we're extinct. It's weird.

“I've done it before, y'know? I've kissed a man. I've kissed a woman. I've fucked both before. You and I—no, never mind. It doesn't count. I've thought about kissing you so many times. I wanted to do a lot more than just that, too.”

The corner seam of your thumbnail had started to bleed after you dug through old scabs and scar tissue built on top of it, your body’s valiant attempts to keep normalcy despite the mutilation that came back again and again. You watched brilliant carmine ooze from the wound, filling the crevices between your nail and skin, crawling upwards to your knuckle before Elio had stifled the area with a warm, damp rag.

Melby let out a long sigh. You envisioned she had just thrown aside a bunch of decorative cushions and flopped down in a chair, or had been pacing her bedroom and finally given up by throwing herself supine on the mattress.

“I'm going to miss you being there.” she declared. “I think—I think you're the closest I've ever come to truly loving someone. At least, I think that's what you'd call it.”

You held your thumb erect for Elio to wrap it in a neon-orange bandage with pink smiles. His lips pressed gently to the sore finger, making slow, wet work to the back of your hand and then the inside of your wrist to feel your pulse bounce against his mouth.

“I'm sorry.” you said at last, putting as much sentiment into those sparse words as you could. A part of you meant it genuinely as an apology for causing her trouble, for her unrealized dreams and lust, for the world you both suffered in and would never know anything else. “Melby, I have one last favor to ask of you.”

She hesitated, likely believing that doing more would get her expulsed from the circle. “Just one?”

“Just one.” You nodded at empty air. “I know either you or Niva have Mi-sun’s phone number. Can I have it?”

Again, Melby stalled, though this time you figured it was out of confusion. “That’s what you want? She might be dead somewhere in the slums, you know?”

“Not if she's pregnant.” you countered. “Niva seemed pretty convinced that night that she was alive and well after being knocked up.”

Melby sucked on her teeth, a moist, popping sound into the speaker. “Niva says a lot of stupid shit because she likes to hijack conversations. Fine. Whatever. I'll text it to you, but you only have one minute because then I'm blocking you for good.”

To this, your heart actually stirred and squeezed, tightening so much it stole your breath from your lungs. Your entire chest felt like it shriveled into itself three sizes smaller as though to accommodate you fitting into a ball within yourself. Dread had opened a chasm wide in your stomach. Everything inside that gory cavity was swallowed up, leaving it vacant and hollow.

This was what it was like to mourn, you considered. It wasn't the same thing you felt the night you cried in the streets after fighting with Mother and losing Marcos. It wasn't the same as the last five days being wrapped in agony, lamenting the loss of a group you'd given years of your life to appeasing.

It was knowing that once Melby was gone, you were lost in the dark, and there was no way out of it. People with delinquent profiles didn't get redeemed—Wendy Carmichael lied and had never lived a life in the slums, a truth Elio had been disappointed to learn—they died in anonymity and poverty.

A notification came through just then, showing an eight-digit number presumed to belong to Mi-sun. You copied it quickly, although now your fingers felt numb and the person writing them down couldn't possibly have been you—

“Alright. It's done,” Melby said calmly. “I have to go. Will you be okay? Do you think people actually die when they go to the slums? I don't want—”

“Goodbye, Melby.” You ended the call and threw your phone on the countertop, far from your eyes so you wouldn't know the exact moment the world ended.

“And, fuck you.”

Elio had the sense to give you plenty of space after the ordeal and stayed busy downstairs cleaning the apartment while you tossed and turned in bed, legs knotted up in the sheets because nothing helped get you comfortable. At some point, through the thick of your adrenaline and despair, the buzz in your brain softened, and you were able to sleep until Elio joined you some hours later.

It was after midnight, and darkness pervaded everywhere. Above you, the snake pipes on the high ceiling writhed together in their intricate web just like every night, and you wondered why the wall of darkness hanging over you seemed closer than it usually did. Meanwhile, Elio faced you from his side of the bed and laid gentle strokes to the top of your head.

“I’ve reached the conclusion that I am defective.” Elio said tonelessly, startling you into such wakefulness that you sat upright from the sheets. “You've lost your friends because of me, and now your profile has fallen into delinquency. The inclination to ostracize what deviates from adapted, accepted social behaviors aligns with common survival tactics. This is an explanation that I understand, but it doesn't... sit right.”

Putting the blame on Elio to feel better would've been easy, and he would take it with grace and lay decadent caresses on your body as proof you were right. But he was too virtuous, and you secretly wanted to keep the credit of being the reason why Chima looked ugly and seethed into his cocktails.

“It sort of hurts,” you admitted. “It's a dull ache inside my bones. It makes me feel like everything inside my chest is shriveling up like a prune. Being abandoned—feeling lonely—is like always being cold. Thinking of it now, I don't know if there was ever a time I didn't feel cold around them. How shitty is it that I feel a little relieved?"

“If that's the case—” Elio rose up from his side of the bed, nudged apart your legs and settled between them. Most of his weight was still on his arms next to your head. In the waning moonlight, shadows deepened the lines around his mouth when he smiled. “I'm glad to have played some part in that release.”

Your fingertips walked lightly across his cheeks, along the planes of his face, as though marveling at him all over for the first time again. His skin always was most beautiful bathed in warm light, but the soft, silvery veil filtering in through the windows gave him ethereal grace.

The calm air upstairs shifted as your bodies stirred on the mattress, sheets strewn to the floor along with pieces of clothing that left you bare to the gray air while Elio gathered the skin of your hips in his hands and sucked on you.

It didn't matter if you closed your eyes or studied the movement on the ceiling while he devoured, lapped away the sticky stuff that glistened out of you like the silk of a spider’s thread before it could stain the sheets, because it always ended with the same kaleidoscopic bursts of color, wanton cries, and him chasing after another orgasm and then another.

He'd ravish you until puffs of hot breath hurt, and the tip of his tongue delivering a single stroke was enough to make you flinch and whimper. Your legs felt fatigued and trembled violently throughout the continued ministrations until you needed to beg him to stop, dignifying the demand with a hard yank to the thick hair on his scalp.

“I'm not done just yet, give me a moment.” He told you the same thing tonight as he did every other time. The pain in his head subsided as he dove back between your legs and laid his tongue as a paddle against you, cleaning the cum for as long as it took for him to be satisfied.

He came up so you could have a taste of yourself in his kiss, tongues wrapped together while he fisted his cock stiff and lubricated himself with the fluid from the tip. You moaned against his mouth when two fingers pushed inside you and thrust with an effortless glide and instilled so much confidence in him that he slid in a third to the knuckle.

“Mm, Elio, fuck me.” you managed between wet, sloppy kisses and splintered breaths. Three fingers were a tighter fit and wider than he was, but the way he angled them up into you was mind-numbing, could've made your tongue wag out of your mouth while panting like a pheromone-crazed animal.

Elio’s lips went from your face to your neck, down along the slope to your shoulder before he removed his fingers and slathered that narrow space in your legs with spend.

“Of course.” He obeyed dutifully but turned you on your side and seated one of your legs high on his arm. “Let's try something different tonight.”

The bulbous head of his cock glistened as it dragged across your groin, tapping those sore spots that made you twitch involuntarily with anticipation and staggered breaths. Elio concentrated on your face throughout it all, memorizing both those subtle and large changes that showed him what you liked the most.

You'd never believed that androids could be sexually adventurous in the same way that humans could, and perhaps that was the case despite the kinds of positions Elio put you in if you were willing. He would be conscientious of your mood beforehand and then adjust accordingly from there.

Some nights, it didn't go further than mouth-fucking you until you orgasmed to exhaustion. Other nights, when you were more pliable and especially affectionate, he'd rut his hips into your ass until you cried and the sheets were beyond saving.

Now, Elio observed you closely as the curve of his cock sank into you, sinew in his stomach clenching once he started thrusting.

At the start, your sounds were soft, and the rhythm made with his hips was one you had no trouble riding. You closed your eyes and focused on how that tilt in his cock pressed up against your walls and stroked all the right parts. His controlled pace unraveled after a while, thrusts turned mindless and greedy as the sting of slapping skin seemed to resonate all around.

You had bunched bits of pillow and bedspread in your fingers and drooled out onto the fabric because you couldn't close your mouth long enough between moans and gasps and lewd mutterings to stop it. You begged him to fuck you harder, deeper, and tear you open if that’s what he wanted to do and would keep you in ecstacy.

Elio indulged your high as he was able, rolling you from your side to your stomach and mounted you again. He was able to touch you better this way, fondle the globes of your ass, the pouches of fat in your hips, stomach, and chest, all the while sucking dark bruises all along your spine and shoulders.

His mouth would sometimes linger next to your ears, wherein he imitated every bit of his human likeness and breathed on you. And then, he would poorly stifle moans that inspired you to think too deeply about the extent to which he could and could not feel.

“Look at me.” Elio felt your walls tighten around his cock and wanted to stare you in the face through your orgasm. He put you on your back, thighs hiked high on his sturdy chest, so those final thrusts plowed deep and stole your screams. You writhed under him, eyes rolled up, bloodshot and pupiless, muscles drawn so tight that it felt as good as it did awful.

A surge of warmth leaked out onto the sheets as Elio took his half-hard cock from your body and let it soften the rest of the way in cold air. His hand roamed you with delicate, healing touches meant to beg forgiveness for how much you'd ache later on, and his lips were tender and slow against yours.

You kissed him back distractedly, unable to think of anything else but the stickiness between your legs and how you'd chosen to never notice it until now.

“What's wrong?” he asked, still pressed up against your mouth. “Are you unsatisfied? My refractory period ends in a few minutes. I can do as much as you'd like until you feel fulfilled.”

“Mm-mn,” you hummed, “that's not it.”

He didn't stun when you snagged your phone from the bedside table and turned on the backlight. You pointed it down at cloudy white globs drying on your crotch, a sight that you thought was vaguely familiar to you somehow. It struck you then that it was like a scene from a pornography or vulgar sketches some kid in secondary school got suspended for drawing.

Still, it couldn't have been possible.

“What is that?” you asked with unacquainted timidity.

Elio grabbed a package of wipes left bedside and spaced your legs apart to clean the mess he had left on you. He took his time with long, intentional strokes to avoid your sensitive parts as best he could, soiling a good handful from the package before asking if you wanted a bath.

“Answer me first,” you said.

He rose from the bed with one more kiss and collected your clothes from the floor. They were draped nicely over his arm, whereas he stood there before you nude, enveloped by the moon’s blue luster.

At first glance, his smile seemed the same adoring kind that he always held for you, and yet it evoked some undeterminable sadness to well up in your chest and cling there.

“It’s the result of a body never truly being your own.”

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Mi-sun’s house wasn't far from your apartment, as you recalled. It took a bit of investigative work online to track down her address (via Elio), mainly because it had been well over a year since you'd last needed to know it and the phone number Melby had given you was disconnected, but once you had the coordinates plugged into your phone, it was just one begrudging trek through sultry summertime air to reach her front door.

When you had finally made it to that point, however, eyes leveled down at a dirty, faded doormat that had seen plenty of seasons and wintery salt, you weren't sure how to proceed.

There wasn't any real reason why you were standing there now, yet you felt that you needed to be there anyway. Maybe it could be called seeking solidarity with someone who was enduring the same inevitable ending you were, or maybe the curiosity about her state of being was what won out dominantly. You couldn't be sure of your own motivations—only that you were there, and you needed her to know you were.

After three solid knocks with your knuckles, you let your hand fall and waited by scuffing the soles of your shoes on the coarse mat underfoot. It still had some springiness to it as you scrubbed. The front door was old and brown, having lost its elegant lacquer long ago. You remembered Mi-sun had mentioned a few times before that she had wanted to make the door cute with white paint and a frilly outdoor wreath but could never get around to it.

You guessed she never did.

“Should we knock again?” Elio asked across your shoulder, the bulk of his frame casting a cooling shadow over your body. He had gone out to Henrietta's by himself the other day when you told him what you intended to do and bought supplies to make a cake and special plastic Tupperware meant to keep it from moving around.

The only explanation he had given you about an hour ago, after locking the apartment door and stepping out onto the sidewalk, hot enough in the midday sun to melt the bottoms of your shoes to the pavement while you walked, was that Mi-sun was an old friend, and it was a safe gift even for a pregnant woman.

You never found the courage to divulge just how involved you had been in her expulsion from Chima's circle, even though you knew it'd be impossible for him to think less of you from it.

A minute passed, and then so did two more before you realized that no one was coming to the door. While listening for movement—a television, a hissing stovetop, shuffling slippers on top of creaking floorboards, anything at all aside from stiff silence, you understood that it was unlikely anyone had lived there in quite a while.

“I don't know where else she could be.” you said, now back at Elio's side, where he flicked away tiny splinters of old wood and shiny glaze that peeled off your damp skin like cut-up stickers. He moved the visor above your brow gently, adjusting the position of it to better shield your eyes, but seemed more to just want the proximity than anything else.

The longer he fiddled with things—your hat, the flecks of things he missed on your ear, wrinkles in your t-shirt—the more apparent it was to you that he was contemplating something else. You were trying hard not to do anything that would spur him into making the next suggestion you knew was coming.

“There is one other place we haven't tried.” he said, switching from your shoulder to tucking pieces of hair securely behind your ear and dabbing sweat off your neck with a handful of napkins he had picked up at a convenience store while grabbing you water. “The likelihood of Mi-sun’s profile falling into delinquency and being able to maintain residence within the city is less than twenty percent. However—”

“I know.” You breathed out hot air and sucked it right back into your lungs. Maybe if you did that enough times it'd burn them, shrivel them up like prunes. “I know where she is. Let's wait until it cools down to go, though. I'll probably pass out if I have to see any of that right now.”

“Today on Loti Khan’s Food Tours of Retro City, she said that Asakawa on Fifteenth is a spot worth visiting during the summertime because of their cold noodle dishes. Hiyashi Chuka was what she suggested, I believe. I've already committed the menu to memory, and they have well over twenty different cold dishes and beverages. Their affordability isn't as stellar as Rainbow Bistro, but Loti says—”

Wendy Carmichael was now a disgraced name in your household after Elio had spent a few hours one afternoon researching the woman’s true life story. She had been born into the elite class with a mother sitting at the top of the food chain in Retro City’s governing body, attended culinary arts schools across the world yet never reached the acclaim she coveted until she made up the whole spiel about clawing her way out of the slums.

Crawling back from the slums once you were in them just wasn't feasible. Only the worst of the worst—thieves, profile delinquents, murderers, lepers, and unwanteds were kept there, like trash crowded and barred in a landfill. If you found yourself in the slums somehow, no one would help you out of them because that would mean tarnishing their own reputations.

You were as good as dead.

You were dead.

Elio had carried around a brown paper bag housing the cake for most of the day, never once setting it down. His features never flinched when the straw handles sank into parallel dents in his skin, long stripes that looked like they'd be sore to you, but he never conveyed any discomfort. He merely floated along wherever you went, undeterred by your dour, soulless wandering, which lasted until the sun emblazoned the sky in dim fire and pinks.

Those hues were leached by the close, calming gradient of greens, blues, and darker blues that reached so quickly you could follow the sprawl of them until they had ensnared the daylight. The sun sank somewhere betwixt skyscrapers, and the air still felt thick as the mucus in your throat but bearable.

That same sky followed you on the cab ride across the city. You imagined the darkening air rushing alongside the vehicle with you as if containing it on rails, guiding you closer towards the slums. Once the skyscrapers were gone, far away in a suffocating yellow haze from the sleepless city, and the residential zone had thinned out of the rest of its straggling homes, the scenery had taken on a complete shift.

Everything was bizarrely flat, barren, and beige for as far as the eye could see—vegetation was withered roots and barbed, inedible shrubbery that could've been pretty with some flowers or leaves. No trees could endure the fissured, parched earth nor the fine dust and sand skittering in the wind, leaving heavy layers where it lay once the breeze ebbed. Animals were long gone; the rumors of their bleached bones and skulls warped in a perpetual rictus of agony had been true because you saw many scattered throughout the landscape.

“Please confirm this is your stop,” said the cabbie, a female android from an older generation, maybe three or four. She stuck her hand outside the driver’s window when you tried to give her a tip. With her fish-eyed stare and leathery smile, she repeated, “No need. I have no use for money. Please confirm this is your stop.”

“This is correct.” Elio spoke for you before taking your fingers through his and guiding you away from the idling vehicle. The android cabbie found his reply sufficient and drove away without questioning why you were out here in the flatlands. All she knew how to do was drive and obey traffic laws.

“Do you know where we're going?” you asked because you only knew to have told the cabbie to drive as far as the outer perimeter of the city. Beyond this, your phone had no service, and there were no clearly designated signs to point you in the right direction.

The people in the slums were meant to be forgotten, hideous secrets hidden away, broomed off to the outskirts of civilization where they'd have to fend for themselves in an environment that had been deader than them for ages.

“Truthfully”—Elio stalled then and glanced around the endless expanse of wasteland—“Hyperion never included information about the slums in my programming. What I know is common knowledge and what I've accumulated in my time with you. I have never been able to locate specific coordinates to where the slums are hidden.”

You frowned. “Should we turn around before we get lost, then?”

Elio told you no and raised the hand clasped with yours, pushing one finger erect at a faint glow somewhere in the distance, no more than a ten—or fifteen-minute walk. You were almost convinced you could see the silhouettes of shoddy, leaning structures, but there was no way to be certain unless you got closer.

“Let's go.”

Chasing the remnants of the dusk to light your way across the starved, fractured terrain, those sparse shapes you had seen minutes before grew into multitudes. Soon, you were among clusters of disheveled, crude homes organized in long rows, some stacked with tiers like they were meant to replicate separate floors for more space.

Most of these houses didn't come with windows or doors to keep out strangers but thick decorative curtains that'd shun the beating sun, stave off the worst of winter frost, and deflect billows of sharp sand from dirtying their things indoors.

The paths between rows of homes were well-worn and brightly illuminated with anything they could use—lanterns, stuttering neon signage, solar panels, and even fire rings brutally hammered and dented into shape. Shadows from the fire lurched erratically against crooked metallic walls. Some homes with grimy windows caught a weak gleam off the flames.

It was almost fully dark, and people still moved with purpose as though they could compete with the suit-and-ties stomping their soles on the pavement in the city. Their hands were busy doing something—carrying, brooming, cooking, flourishing during a great retelling, clapping, hiding smiles.

These savages, delinquents, fraudsters, thieves, murderers, and diseased swine never once regarded you or Elio with any modicum of intrigue. You had believed at some point you'd be shrinking under a crowd of wicked stares, pulled down into some inescapable abyss by necrotic or leprous hands trying to steal the clothes from your body or use your skin to tarp piles of scrap.

Only one man had stopped along the path, dressed in dusty clothes that were otherwise decently kept; he was thin but not malnourished and hollow in the face. He told you that the aimless way you and Elio had been walking gave away that you were new to the slums because there was always something needing done and not enough hours in a day to do them.

“Mi-sun?” The man was thinking aloud, stirring up dust as he shuffled his feet around. You had given him the name and a description, which you hoped had been specific enough to avoid approaching people at random. “Yeah. That pregnant girl… she was here for a while. She's long gone now.”

“Long black hair, blunt bangs. Black eyes. Really translucent skin? Super skinny?” As unhelpful as your details were, it was all you had to give him to keep the mental acrobatics going. There was always a slim chance he could be misremembering her. “Are you sure she's no longer here in the slums? Where'd she go? What happened to her?”

Eventually, the thin man led Elio and you to a tiny house—more of a shack—meant to accommodate a sole body and some odds and ends. He held a heavy curtain back for the pair of you to enter, encouraging you to settle down on a sandy rug, which looked to have at one time been bright red.

“I don't have much to give, but here's a little water. To have made it here, you would've had to walk. We all had to.” he said, pulling out his finest cuppery and pouring from the spout of a broken electric kettle. “That girl was a profile delinquent, to my understanding. Almost all of us here are. I used to own a printing business on the north side about fifteen years ago. I upset the wrong people and here I am. What's your story?”

You spun the cup with your fingers, trying not to put your eyes down to scrutinize any particles floating around inside. Elio wasn't given a cup because the man had immediately deduced that he was an android.

“I…” You still didn't drink, but the back of your throat felt scratchy and your tongue like some dry slab of meat shoved into your mouth. “I pissed off the wrong people.”

“Ah.” The man gave an anguished smile, showing he understood you very well. There was a low table between you, repurposed from something else and sanded down to a smooth finish. “For a while, I helped look after Mi-sun. Like you, I had been the first person to greet her when she arrived. She didn't act like everyone else; she was dazed, but she was angry.

“I fed her, gave her water, and gave her a sleeping bag. We have to make due with less than bare minimum most days, but we make it work. We all look out for each other. The community really pitched in when we realized she was pregnant.”

Elio kept a watchful eye on your hands, the fingers aching to peel back ribbons of flesh.

“That shouldn't have been possible.” you said. “Mi-sun had an android. She was never involved with any men—not that I could ever recall. She just doesn't give me the impression of someone who'd change her ways like that.”

The man sipped his sandy water, wiping off clear pebbles that had clung to his facial hair. “When you find yourself exiled here, you learn fast that things are never what they seem. You didn't ask a question, but you gave yourself an answer.”

“What?” It was more noise than a word.

“Daichi, I believe, was her android. Shortly before she showed up, she said that Hyperion had come to forcibly reclaim it. That must've been a difficult reality for her to face—knowing everything was being taken away from her, forced into a pregnancy, and having to fend for herself afterwards.”

This time, you lifted a hand to stop him from falling down another tangent. He obeyed, voice whittled to silence that was immediately unsettled by loud water slurping.

It wasn't that you weren't following what he was saying. You were many things: a fool, a sheep, a coward, a liar, maybe even a true scoundrel at heart, but stupid wasn't among that inexhaustible list. You just needed a moment to collect the nuggets he had thrown down for you to pick up.

Guilt peaked the ranks of everything else you felt right then. A word you'd never use to describe yourself was malicious, but in the end, it had been the malice of someone else and your inability to see apart from the rest that condemned Mi-sun to this suffering.

You played as much a part in taking away Mi-sun's life as Chima had in actually enforcing it. Unlike Chima, never one to balk or cower regardless of how truly cruel his decisions were and committed to them like gospel, you simply sat in his afterimage and did whatever he said. Half of the time, you were blitzed out of your mind; the other you spent wishing you had never known them at all.

It had been so easy to vote Mi-sun out of the group. Completely painless. You just didn't look at her when you raised your hand to pass judgment. Melby had expressed her delight by squeezing your thigh, whereas Mi-sun held her composure and shoulders straight back, but her face contorted with every indication of betrayal and agony.

You thought about how many animal crackers you had that night.

“What happened to her?” Both your hands had been restrained by Elio’s at that point. Large, comforting, and warm in contrast to all the ice that seemed to thicken your blood, stiffen your heart, and freeze your bones. “Where is she now?”

The man must've been suspecting something because his face looked long to you now, weighed down by this life and your feeble state.

“I—I can't be absolutely positive, but I do believe she is dead.” he told you grievously, beady brown eyes not unseeing to the way Elio groped your fingers to keep them still. “She didn't want to be pregnant. It was something she talked about for weeks before leaving. She knew what Hyperion and the government were doing and said she didn't want to be a part of it. On the last night before she left, I had to wrestle a knife out of her hands because she was trying to cut open her stomach to kill the baby.”

You couldn't swallow past the sharp granules of sand and dryness in your throat anymore. You had to slug back the cup of grainy water until the feeling subsided, shove the worst of the dread and shame and guilt into your bowels.

“After that, she was gone.” He took a drink as well, exchanging looks from you to Elio. “A couple of us tried tying her up to get her to calm down and do something about the cut on her stomach, but she got the knife, stabbed one of the younger guys and got away. We haven't seen her since, but a search party did come back to say they saw blood leading back to the city.”

“Oh my god…” you groaned, forcing Elio to recoil when you slapped his hands away—intentional and hard. You stuck yours in your hair, yanking at the roots until your scalp screamed and burned. “Is there any chance she could've survived? Any at all?”

The rail-thin man swirled what little remained of his water in the cup, studying the pale sediment floating within. “It's too hard to say. It's unlikely, my friend. The police wouldn't have gunned her down if they saw she was pregnant, but they would've seen the cut. And that counts as attempted murder. If she's still alive, it's only to give birth, after that…”

“Execution,” you finished.

He nodded and said nothing else, eyes downcast as though lost in the grain of the wood table.

After that, you left the man in his sad little shack to explore the slums more. Elio came along shortly after, saying he had presented the man with the cake as a reward for his hospitality and apologized if it no longer looked appetizing.

The man thanked him before returning to his grief for many things, perhaps.

“I don't want to be here anymore, Elio.” you said, failing to avoid hearing a gaggle of giggling women gossiping together. They were dressed clumsily and in trends almost a decade old, but they had glowy eyes and cavernous lines worn into their faces from laughter and joy where they could find it.

Old men played some made-up board game together, gathering at least half a dozen spectators to see who'd win. Their brows were heavy with contemplation and stress of worthy competition. The other bodies tried making bets with pieces of scrap and metal coils and nearly blown bulbs for lighting.

Music came from all around, lyrical in the same way it was discordant because they weren't playing the same songs nor singing the same things. Their voices were robust and resilient, unwilling to be trudged over by sand nor heat nor oppressors who were incapable of understanding the human spirit was pliant and could bend with the wind, stand with the seasons, and could fracture yet never break.

You couldn't make sense of what any of them were singing, the noise too unharmonious, but you could feel the power in their songs pulse through you, ricocheting in your mind for long after you'd escaped proximity to them.

There were no lepers. There were the sick and unfortunate, but they were not diseased. They did not believe that their tilted houses were tombs, that their unquaint lives were an endless spiral of torment, or that the food they could find and produce was unworthy of reverence.

The people of the slums lived a hard, thankless life, but they had each other. They banded together to weld sheets of metal into four walls and a roof for the new faces who came to them. Your woes would become their woes, and they would feed you, cloth you, wash you, bandage your wounds, and call you their most beloved.

Together, they ate their meals from what they could scavenge out there. They retold the same grandiose tales of heroes and valor and androids that Marcos had told you at bedtime as a child. Their cultures were all cherished and expressed in the food they shared and clothes they managed to sew together by hand and slow machines.

You could ask your neighbor for a tablespoon of sugar and four would come to you with curiosity and offer their arthritic hands and knobby backs for whatever was needed.

Here, you could see humanity clearly for the first time in your life and felt burdened knowing it. Your heart weighed like an anvil behind your ribs. It hurt and lurched behind its enclosure because it too wanted to get away from what it now knew.

“A lie.” you choked, forcefully shoving Elio's hands away from you once again when he tried to embrace you. “It was all a lie. Everything was a lie! Where are they?! Where are all the lepers and people leaking pus from their face?! Where are the murderers? Where are the savages? Where are all these awful fucking people I was told were here? Where are they?”

Elio's expression took on something completely unforeseen—pity. Their lives were fine and routine while yours crumbled around you. The terror you had been force-fed your whole life was all false. There was civilization beyond a profile with red overlay, more waiting on the other side that the sleepless city wanted to conceal.

“There are no androids here.” Elio mentioned, deeming that adequate enough time had passed for you to regain your bearings. He took you in his arms and kissed the crown of your head, burying his lips deep in your hair. “We were never meant to become substitutes for your love. We were never meant to go this far and act as replacements for humanity because we simply cannot feel what another human does. That is something Hyperion will never be able to achieve. Humanity needs humanity, not machines.”

You sank into his warmth, arms wound his back, and said from his chest, “But, I love you. Don't leave me. I don't want Hyperion to take you away.”

Elio, your beautiful sun, leaned down into your face and kissed the highest parts of your cheeks and the wetness around your eyes before settling on your lips. Slow and lingering, you chose to believe it meant he was sealing away your plea and that he'd always be there to swathe you in his arms.

“Let's stay for a little longer,” he said once apart from the kiss. “I’d like to see the side of humanity that no one else does.”

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Less than a week had passed since your hard slog through the slums and back to Retro City. Although you had only been gone from your inner-city apartment for mere hours, possibly five or six at most, upon walking back inside after Elio and wincing against the fluorescent bulbs overhead, you thought you were looking at something entirely foreign.

The simple pleasures that you had become accustomed to throughout your life: plumbing, central air that turned the hot sweat on the back of your neck into cold droplets slithering beneath your clothes, the worn out mattress upstairs, technology, an android who'd done almost everything for you for the better part of a year—it all seemed so novel, so excessive. A treat for a rat in a box before testing to see how it'd respond when it was all taken from its enclosure.

So, when Elio woke you up one morning, early enough that the light streaming in through your windows already felt warm on the bed sheets, and the thin air looked itself to have a golden hue, you couldn't say you felt any rouse of surprise or fear when he handed over a red letter—an eviction correspondence.

Sooner or later, you knew you'd meet with one, though the progress of everything hadn't been as immediate as you had been led to believe it would be. A month had come by and stayed for several slow breakfasts, lunches, dinners, mindless strolls, and countless passionate entanglements before deciding to leave on an indignant note. With the red notice, you were expected to vacate the premises within days, whether you had intentions for your belongings or not.

Things stayed tumultuous from there on out, yet you couldn't find it within yourself to react to any of it, even in the instance when Researcher Kim rang you for an impromptu meeting that you anticipated meant no good.

“Effective immediately, Elio will be seized and returned to Hyperion in relation to the recent change in public profile status.” It was too formal and rigid a tone even for him. Clearly, his superiors had demanded this because you doubted the profile change was much a concern to him on a personal level. “Your contract is hereby null and void, and your association with Hyperion is obsolete. Any attempt to thwart repossession of Hyperion property will be penalized legally.”

Throughout it all, Elio swept the floor with leisurely strokes as though the reach of Researcher Kim’s voice ended at your ears alone. He moved onto laundry, taking great care to iron out the wrinkles in your favorite shirts and make the folds in the arm seams crisp and symmetrical.

“Is that really all you wanted to say?” you asked, palm capped overtop a mug of tea Elio had set down for you a while ago. The steam now rose weakly and moistened your skin, a particularly gross feeling, but it kept you alert. “I thought that Elio was your project, and you called the shots on him.”

Researcher Kim was out of sorts and worn. His posture was crumbled, and his clothes were in complete disarray like he hadn't bothered to change out of them in days. His under eyes were translucent, pulling out all the purples and blue veins under his skin. The man looked like he had hardly slept in weeks.

“You don't understand what you've done, have you? Not only may you end up costing me my position, but you've ruined my entire lifetime of work!” Kim leaned in close to the screen, sounding more and less himself now.

You were wary of the glint in his eyes. “What do you mean? Elio's just—”

“No!” he shouted and slumped back into his ergonomic chair. His head slanted over, almost coming in contact with the peak of his shoulder like it was too heavy for his neck to hold. “You don't get it. You don't get it! Because your profile turned, this entire year—everything you’ve reported, everything I've accomplished, Elio's entire testing period is invalid. Hyperion executives consider him defective. The Generation Seven android has failed! Look at what you've done!”

A sudden wild flapping of thousands of butterflies lifted your stomach up and then plunged it down into a void. Kim had successfully chiseled away the inexpressive mask you had worn up until that point, seeming satisfied that he could stipple your face in a cold sweat.

“Wait, no. That can't be right.” you protested, wrestling your own hands to keep them off of the tablet in front of you. “My profile turned, but the work I've done has been honest. Elio is a success! You know that! You've seen every step of his progress for almost a year.”

Researcher Kim threw his hands up wildly, truly not himself with all of these gestures. “None of that matters. None of it. My life's work is a failure. I thought we had an agreement to help one another, but I was mistaken.”

“You don't understand!” you said, pounding the countertop with sharp claps of your hands. “It wasn't on purpose. I wasn't trying to…”

“Hyperion will have Elio destroyed, and progress will be hindered. Do you know how long, how many decades this could set us back? This could be devastating to humanity, but I don't think you're capable of understanding that. Just like the rest, you're not able to see the big picture at large, the mechanisms at work keeping our society moving forward. You can only see the straight line ahead of you and wearing blinders so you don't have to know the rest.

“We've kept this world running for sixty years. You need to understand how utterly fucking frustrating it is that one person has the potential to undo decades of work!”

Researcher Kim’s words weren't unjustified to you because he was a scientist, and you had always been a nobody in the grand scheme of things. But, right now, the venom he spat sounded vindictive, a man sucking on wounds you had inflicted rather than the opinion of the whole of Hyperion.

If you hadn't been staring directly at him this entire time, you would’ve thought he was frothing and drooling at the mouth like some animal.

A stilted quiet filled the gaps in conversation, both of you uncertain of what would be said next. If he was reacting in any professional capacity, the call would've been disconnected by now. That was the main giveaway that let you know this wasn't just about what Hyperion wanted.

But the truth of it was that you didn't care what Hyperion wanted or him.

At the end of your life as you knew it, before being thrown away into the landfill with every other unwanted human, you were piecing together the whole history of the world and how it had gotten to this point. It had become this way through relentless men like Researcher Kim who mostly operated on their own moral compass, ones that could never quite point north and spun on that wheel as they saw fit.

“Enough of the powerplay, Kim.” you ordered, chest opening toward the ceiling with a deep, bracing breath. “What is the real purpose of Hyperion? Why does it actually exist?”

Kim, perhaps re-evaluating you as less of a pawn in this scheme and more of an infant intellectual about to breach the narrow canal into enlightenment, stacked his spine high and pressed his fingertips together. He studied you with some caution, head shifting from left to right, just slightly off-center from his hands as though judging whether you were worth divulging precious intel to.

But, like you, you expected he realized it didn't matter what he'd tell you, however coveted it might've been by Hyperion.

Kim, ultimately, worked for himself and for Hyperion only when he felt it served him well.

“When I hired you, I didn’t do it because I thought you were stupid.” It seemed he felt the need to clarify this for you, unsmiling but with an eager lilt in his tone. “I hired you because of your potential. I took a chance on you, and while it had, indeed, ended in my peril, you've surprised me so many times throughout the year that I started keeping a record of you as well.

“Human beings do one of two things in the consistent presence of androids, they either regress or they progress. Most of your peers will regress because that’s how society has been modeled to be. The difficult tasks, the mundane, all the things that ask of us to consider the complexity of the world around us and think critically have been left to androids. How well do you think a machine can understand the theory of life after death and the mysticism of religion? The concept of soulmates? Cultural superstitions and children's nighttime fears? It's about as you expect. They can give you an answer without truly understanding. Androids, I dare say, only have an extremely limited understanding of moral culpability. Humans are much more flexible with it these days because it suits them best.

“So.” Kim sighed, hands resting on the dark red desk he sat behind. “You can imagine how interesting it was when we started noticing a trend with auditors—changes in them. A renaissance, an evocation of deep wondering and wariness towards the workings of the world around them. We can only guess the reason that this happens is because part of humanity still doubts the intentions of androids, and that's been bred onward through the generations. You ask an android a question, they give an answer, you doubt that answer, and then you start to doubt everything around you. It's all hypothetical, but it makes sense.

“It doesn't happen with the majority of the population, though. And it isn't encouraged. Enlightenment threatens the status quo, and those who disturb the status quo are a disservice to the governing bodies and Hyperion. Do you understand?”

Your gaze turned cold. “Are the other auditors there in the slums, too? Once they've been used up and started to catch wind of this messed up shit?”

Researcher Kim flicked his fingers toward the top of the screen, doing that instead of shrugging. “Who knows? What happens to them once a testing period has concluded is none of my business. Presumably so, that's what I would hope for them because that's the kindest outcome.”

“Was I…” You licked your lips and felt the shallow cracks in them. “I was going to end up in the slums no matter what happened, wasn't I?”

He frowned. “No. If things had gone differently, I was going to vouch for you. I wanted to keep you as my assistant.” He was quiet for a beat, looking straight at you in that discomforting way that you couldn't shake. “I’ve grown fond of you, you know? How could I not with everything I've learned about you over the course of a year. I can't forgive you for what you've done to the Hyperion Project, to my life's work, but I can't just let you disappear like the rest.”

Something ugly started to grip in the back of your throat. Fear? Disgust? An inkling?

“What do you mean?” you ventured.

“I've read through each report you've sent me in the past year so many times. It was mostly out of necessity for Hyperion, of course, but the ones that I found myself… fixated on rereading time and time again were of yours and Elio's sexual endeavors. I wasn't lying when I said they were a contract-based requirement, mind you, but I will admit that some of the questions were altered somewhat.” he said, suddenly smiling in a self-satisfied sort of manner that made your skin itch. “I realized I never answered your question fully, by the way. I can get ahead of myself sometimes, as you know. But, do I really need to explain what Hyperion's purpose is?”

You were on the edge of your seat, ready to take flight off it at any second. It's just how the entire change of trajectory made you feel. Humanity had spent too much time in the past arguing animal-like, instinctual reactions for this not to be real.

In that moment, you were living proof of a prey noticing a predator in broad daylight.

  “Fine.” He kept smiling around the taut creases in his skin. The muscles there twitched as if the effort were unfamiliar. “Hyperion is a repopulation aid. It's quite sad, really. It started out with such great potential to drive society forward, but humanity and greed have always gone hand-in-hand. So, it became a race of mass production into a race that the governing bodies now had their hands in. The order was to rectify the critical birth decline worldwide. Androids became less like tools, looked less like machines, and more like humans—like lovers who couldn't say no to any demand.

“Androids are vessels for insemination. What else do you want me to tell you?”

Researcher Kim's explanation had weakened you, made your legs shaky and light like a scarecrow’s stuffed with straw. You couldn't rely on them to carry your weight away from this awful conversation, the hideous sight of him, because there'd be nowhere for you to run to while the information perforated your brain and crawled inside and feasted there.

“Elio…” You didn't even know what you wanted to say. Everything got stuck behind the notch in your throat. None of it would assuage that wretched ache in your gut, the precursor of vomit and disgust and unhinged terror.

“Of course.” Kim said, without needing to tell you what he was confirming. He was perfectly composed still, perhaps even shining with pride like some well-hidden, nuanced detail had finally been figured out.

He leaned toward the screen, smile turning salacious and voice low and grating.

“My only regret is that I couldn't be there to do it myself.” He brightened at the way your face wrenched and fastened in fear, seeming to think it was a reward after conducting an experiment on another project. “But, there's still time, isn't there? I must retrieve Elio myself to shut him down. If you listen to what I ask, perhaps I can get you pardoned and your profile reinstated.”

“No. That’s not what I want.” you said.

“It doesn't matter what you want,” he rebuffed, speaking with such confidence that you almost believed it. “The moment your profile fell into delinquency, you ceased to be. You've fallen through the cracks, and no one is going to help you. You're less than an android.”

The fine hairs all over your body bristled. “Don't compare me to a machine! You don't get to decide things for me!”

“I can save you, you damn fool!” Kim gaped incredulously. “I can restore your life and give you more than you've ever had. I can give you influential associations. I'll take care of you. I'll keep you as my assistant, and you get to live a life among the elite.”

He was lying.

No one ever made it out of the slums once they were in it. That wasn't an assumption, it was a simple grim reality.

In this world, only humans could lie because androids were incapable of betraying their programming to do so. Otherwise, Elio probably would've lied about many things or had never said certain things at all to spare you discomfort.

Humans, on the other hand, could lie to maliciously deceive and serve themselves a better hand. They could lie their way into a false mirror image, something that looks like them but never really existed and could never truly be. They could lie their way into trust to fulfill their own desires, and once that had been sufficiently quenched, they could go on lying elsewhere.

“I'll be there for you soon.” Researcher Kim tried his best at a soothing smile, treating it as though the sight of it would persuade your trust of him. “Please have Elio on standby. I would like for this not to be more difficult than it needs to be.”

Just then, the air flickered lightly by your ear as Elio reached past your shoulder and picked up the tablet. His expression was inscrutable, the same sort you'd grown used to seeing whenever Researcher Kim appeared on the screen.

“I won't be returning to Hyperion.” he said with solemn, firm words that held a certain weight of finality behind them.

Those lovely, velvety tones were still there but could not reassure you of some unknowable dread rising up somewhere deep inside your mind. A sensation so equally intimate and profound prickled against your scalp, seeking a way out that you thought you'd do anything to make it stop.

“What are you saying, Elio?” Kim grunted. “Defective or not, you hold precious data for Hyperion. It will be used to create something better than you, incorruptible and pure. You should be honored.”

“These memories are mine.”

That was the last you saw of Researcher Kim’s face before the tablet smashed to pieces on the floor. Elio had thrown it against the kitchen cabinets only once but hard enough to split the screen into a web of hundreds of sprawling fragments. Shards of plastic hardcover skittered across the hardwood floor, lost under heavy furniture.

His face had softened completely when he turned to you and guided you out of your chair into his arms. You felt him in your hair, lips on your forehead, down against your lashes, lower to the roundest part of your cheeks, and finally on your mouth in a kiss imbued with so much love, cherishment, and anguish.

You were at home within his embrace, swathed in the warmth of his body and the ardor of his kiss. But this felt excruciating and desperate, like a plea to take all of him that you could in that very moment because he feared that he would be taken away and you left behind to whatever nebulous future.

So, you let him seat himself as deep inside of you as he could go while still fully clothed. He had pushed around some fabric so you could be skin-to-skin where it mattered, where it was hottest to be, where the muscles contracted and relaxed together as a reminder you were both there in that moment—breathing, moaning, feeling everything there was to be felt.

He finished outside your body without you needing to say it. Although, while he groaned into your neck and bore his teeth into the curve of it, hips buckling forward as spend jetted down your thigh, all you could think about was how many times Kim had been there instead.

“I want you to destroy me.” Elio said.

All of the breath left your lungs and shrunk them to rotted fruit size. You were still vulnerable before him, exposed to the room and damp with sweat from the midday heat despite air conditioning. Worriment filled the space between his brows when he saw you aghast, and he quickly cleaned you off with a rag before helping you with your pants.

“Is this a shitty attempt at a joke?” you asked. He pressed his lips to yours and told you it wasn't. “No. Absolutely not. You're as fucking nuts as your creator. You're fucking stupid.”

“You must—”

“I won't! I won't do it!”

“I'm asking you to save me.”

“Get away!”

Elio had tracked you across the apartment multiple times over, pleading his case with skewed logic you pretended not to hear. For once, your ears filling with fluff while the resounding drum of your heartbeat pounded in your skull was a fortunate event to occur. It eclipsed his voice and hurt so much that you could focus on the pain crushing your chest.

However, once you were trapped between the wall and his body with nowhere to hide, the brief reprieve behind your fitful heart faded, as did the strength of your resolve.

“I—I don't understand.” You had trouble swallowing down the saliva and sobs. “Why are you asking me to do that? I can't do that to you, Elio. I can't hurt you. I love you.”

“I know.” He didn't hold you, though he had to win against his own reflexes not to do so. His knuckles were ghastly-looking and pronounced peaks; anything within that vise would've been crushed. “Today, one way or another, I will be destroyed. Hyperion deemed me a failure and therefore there is nothing else left ahead for me. My chip will be removed and my body ripped apart and melted down and I will be forgotten and never have existed in the first place.

“You will be the proof that I was ever here. And, should anyone be allowed to destroy me, it makes the most sense for it to be you.”

His lips left imprints in your skin that felt important to savor, etched through your bones into the very cluster of cells that made up your wholeness so that he could be immortalized.

“There’s an excerpt from Hiroshi Nagoya’s novel Gone Are the Youth that left a strong impression on me. It said, ‘Humans destroy everything they love—but, still, they must love wholly, and they must destroy completely. From ruin and ash and settled dust, humanity rebuilds all it has ever destroyed because their love lingers in memories, in rubble, blood, decay, and burnt air.’” He recited the details to remind you that he was a machine but kissed your face in a way only an earnest lover was able to.

You didn't know what any of that was supposed to mean to you, nor at what point he had managed to read a book like that without you noticing. A part of you took offense at both the passage and the fact Elio had committed it to memory as if he had expected to utilize it at some uncertain interval in the future all along.

Had he been thinking this way since the beginning? Had you failed Elio even in the capacity for him to come forward to speak of his doubts to you? Perhaps, like his programming dictated that he couldn't lie nor deny what he was designed to do, he was also incapable of speaking any full truth if it could've been construed as heresy.

Was there a single aspect of himself which he could control of his own free will?

Such a thought was unabating and grew a knob of dread in your chest. It started out small and localized, a sharp throb somewhere near your heart—and then it sprouted roots like a seed, long fingers piercing through red-purple muscle and fibrous tendon, reaching deep into your bone. The dread weaved as one with your veins and arteries, sprawling the innumerable pathways that held your shape even beneath the gory components inside of you.

Suddenly, the dread pulsated, and all you could think through the agony was that there could be no other way for Elio—a machine who had been created in the image of man to do the bidding of humanity with a tranquil smile, whether that meant cooking dinner and holding you in your sleep, or dispersing the genes of his God and the only being he was capable of despising.

“I seem to only be able to make you cry, but they're still so beautiful to see. The variability of humanity is much more complex than what I had been led to believe from Hyperion.” Elio had returned from the kitchen before you realized he had left your side. With one hand, he laid familiar, warm strokes along your face in a pattern he memorized because it made your scalp buzz pleasantly. With the other hand, he pushed the smooth handle of a chef’s knife into your palm and closed your fingers and his around it.

Your impulse had been to throw it away immediately upon seeing it when you looked down. He knew you would, so he kept his fingers tight over your fist, keeping the blade low at your side despite the sweat turning your grip slick and the fine point of the steel inches from his hollow abdomen.

Just then, you finally felt the tears that Elio had said you'd been crying but never noticed. That was something you'd come to hate about yourself and everyone else—how little they noticed the blatant lies fluffed over their eyes like wool, yet they could see every grievance in others and stuffed their ears with cotton if it meant things would stay exactly the same for themselves.

Safe and known. Unchallenged. Unafraid.

“Do you wish you could cry?” you asked him for some reason, just a little hopeful for some vague thing you couldn’t discern. Maybe some secret desire to be human?

He shook his head.

“I've never wished to cry, or to be human, but what I wish for now more than anything else is for your memory to belong to me and me alone.” Elio said, forehead bowing low and resting with great weight on your own. You closed your eyes and listened to his honeyed words, which felt like the protection and care of cashmere, suddenly unmindful to the knife in your grasp. “Stored away in my mainframe are memories from thousands of my predecessors. I remember people I've never met, people who have long since expired, and they feel like what I imagine a distant relative might. I feel as though I've mourned thousands of people individually. While I cannot erase them, I can erase you.

“I know how many women liked their tea in the evenings, I know how many men enjoyed their cocktails and hard liquor and brand of shaving cream. One person made it a secret to put alcohol in their coffee before work and thought it was clever. Someone else wanted to win local office through bribery, and as androids, we have no choice but to obey. I know these things from people I've never met, and so does Hyperion. Those androids were destroyed, but their memories live on through me.”

  Elio rolled the crests of your knuckles around his hand, lifting yours and the knife to the base of his neck. The arm connecting the hand and knife next to his skin wasn't yours. It couldn't have been when it felt so numb.

“I won't let Hyperion steal the one thing from me that I can say is truly mine. And those are my memories, my precious data stored in the chip in my brain. They'll have to take me apart to retrieve it, and by the time they find my body, the chip will already be destroyed.” He was slow to loosen his fingers and let them fall away, meanwhile, yours stayed in place.

He had dimmed the overhead lights in the living room earlier in the day, so you bathed in gentle yellow-orange that resembled the last of sunset being leached by silver-blue nightfall. From the corner of your eye came a subdued, gentle glint of the blade—polished to a bright shine, reflecting the corner of Elio's strong jaw.

“So, cut off my head.” he begged, vibrations low and strained within his voice box. “It’s almost like solace to me, I think. Until the very moment you rip out the chip from my brain, I'll recall the smells you like to cover yourself in, your favorite meals, how you described petrichor, and the hiss of falling snow. I'll remember, until my circuitry is severed and quits, what making love to you felt like, and how beautiful you always looked during it.”

Your fingers twitched around the handle as you pressed the knife against his skin, meeting the first start of resistance and your only chance to take it all back.

“I’ve never been real,” Elio reminded you and pushed himself into the blade, sinking it through layers of something that snapped like elastic on the steel, reverberating down the handle and up into your hand. “My skin is synthetic, and my insides are wires and machinery. I'm not real. The world outside your door is.”

Lightheadedness swirled all around you and made your limbs feel like they were leaden with anchors yet weightless, as though drifting through the cosmos in a bubble. The tears had stopped even though you felt you could scream at any second and never stop again, and the acidulous intermix of vomit and saliva grappled along the walls of your throat and burned out your nose.

You couldn’t make your hand stop.

You couldn't shout at him to get away.

And then, you saw Elio's eyes glow warmly of amber with flecks of gold. They looked back at you differently than they had when you first met outside of Researcher Kim’s office. Before, he had greeted you kindly, with the familiarity of someone who had already loved you a long time. Now, he had the look of a man who was calm and eternal in his love.

“I was never meant for this world, but I'm glad to have been a part of yours.” Elio winced against the knife halfway into his neck, an oily black substance from within making the glide deeper and deeper an effortless thing.

He smiled resplendently. “I love you.”

“I know.” you said.

The chef's knife severed all imitations of human gore—the neat network of wires and advanced circuitry masked as arteries and veins and tendon and muscle—clear through his throat until the blade blunted against spine and could no longer cut. The black grease spurted from his body like a wellhead, too thin and dark to replicate blood, but it was enough like it in that moment as you put your hands inside the opening you created to wrench apart his spine.

Elio laid motionless on the floor, perhaps still coherent to some degree, still feeling the pain you were ravaging upon him when you took the knife back up to repeatedly hack into the other side of his neck. Already lubricated from before, you butchered the gorgeous flesh and insides you pretended to be red and purple and blue and watched the black grease turn into crimson.

Once his head had been detached from the rest of him, fingers writhing and bending together like the upturned legs of a dying spider, you were able to rip out the jagged part of his spine and reach through the cavernous hole into his skull, turning the spongy matter of his brain to mush as you clawed through the gunk for his chip.

And, when you finally found it, the tiniest component of him—you smashed it into millions of fragments on the floor and then to fine dust that meddled with the black grease soaking through your clothes. You kept going until a small crater formed where the chip had once been and filled with the liquid.

There was nothing left of Elio now.

The headless body lying before you on the ground, preserved in the rigor of agony, was not Elio and never had been. You knew this even while relishing the weight of his head cradled in your arms, the softness of his hair against your cheek and mourned the loss of everything he had been.

Time had become meaningless; fifteen minutes could have passed or fifteen days, and you wouldn't have cared nor have noticed it while in the throes of your own death from starvation.

You sat there on the living room floor, held up by the wall with a dark trail smeared down to you, and looked nowhere but straight ahead. Nothing was there for you to see—not the furniture nor the discarded, oily knife or the carcass of a machine. Still, you held the head tenderly, close to your chest, and never once thought to peer into its eyes.

Distantly, somewhere as close as your front door or as far as across the city, you heard knuckles hammering urgently against metal. You didn't move off the ground or let go of the disfigured shape against you but did reach for the broken brainstem with the single snag at the end.

From the entranceway, the door opened, and someone's confident strides inside left a resounding echo all around.

“I’ve come to retrieve you!” But which of you was he talking about?

“Where are you?”

Here, you thought and wielded the brainstem in a bloodless grip and finally stood up with the flattened head.

I'm right here.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

a/n: initially, this story was only supposed to be around idk 20-25k, but by the time I got to the scene with Mother, I realized that probably wasn't going to happen bc I needed to let the scenes I was writing take up space and unravel naturally. I felt like I wasn't going to be able to articulate everything I needed to to tell a compelling storyline without throwing the word count to the wind.

one critique I received from a good writing friend of mine was that the relationship between mi-sun and mc was nebulous, and would've benefited from more time. interestingly, I had an entirely different scene planned where mc actually did visit mi-sun at home and had to confront their past actions. mc's encounter in the slums was also totally different. in hindsight, I wish I had stuck with that original idea bc I feel like it would've really helped complete the world I tried to create. make the events of the story more meaningful.

in the future, if I decide to get this story published as a short novel, I'd probably rewrite the second half to accommodate for that missing scene. I think it'd extend the word count by several thousands of words as well.

I'd like to do a sequel to this, probably placed 10-20 years in the future where the mc of that story is a scientist hired for hyperion and comes across an android hellbent on destroying the company. maybe even a spinoff where I write a couple of short stories from regis & reyes where "you" take the role of reyes and solve crimes with your android sidekick, regis.

that's all I have to say. here's a quick q&a for questions I've been asked in the past:

what happens to mc? are they okay? no, but exactly what happens to the mc is entirely up to your own imagination. I will not elaborate on it, nor give you a "canonical" answer.

can you do a sequel? little side snippets? elio and mc's story has been told to the best of my current abilities. there is no room for a sequel for them, but as I've said, I'd like to make another story based on a different mc and android. the little snippets are also a no. little snippets based on other scenarios in the same world tho, yes.

what inspired the story? at the time of writing, anti-abortion laws became increasingly stringent in the US (where I reside), so this was partially me lashing out about that. additionally, I knew I wanted to do some sort of dystopian android x reader story with a heavy focus on stripped autonomy, so that was my time and chance to do it. at its core, it's heavily a cautionary tale.

did elio actually love mc? this is also up to interpretation. elio is a machine. he had zero real "human" components to him. I want people to remember this. elio is meant to blur those lines between what people think a machine is capable of vs how terrifyingly close to humanness technology can bring things like AI/robots. I withhold my own personal opinion on this bc it doesn't matter. what matters is what you believe in the end.

if you have anything you'd like to discuss, questions you'd like to ask: please send them my way!! thank you so much for reading!

I hope you'll consider reblogging + interacting with this post!!?💕💕💕

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanons for being an Avenger with a low social battery

Avengers x reader

warnings:

a/n:

prompt: anonymous: “Can I have the avengers with a reader who has a really bad social battery. Like they can be out in public and then they just disappear and are like “nah I’m done with these mofo’s””

the avengers are quite the rowdy bunch

but you always as excitable as them

these guys were often in the public eye, always being asked all sorts of questions

but you just couldnt handle it a lot of the time

"y/n, can i get a picture with you? you're my hero!" -fan

"uh...yeah, sure. big smile!" -you, completely exhausted

you tried to be nice and not obvious that you were drained but boy was it hard

especially when tony threw his parties

you'd typically sit in the corner with a drink and try to make it through the night

but there were always some guests who were just dying to come talk to you

"hey! why are you hiding over here, there's a party going on! come, have some fun!" -clueless party guest

"oh, i'm okay over here, thank you" -you

"i'll keep you some company, then. why don't you tell me a story of one of your avenger missions"

some people just could not take the hint

but the avengers usually knew when you'd had enough

"wanna get out of here?" -nat

"please." -you

you'd recharge alone whenever you escaped the madness

dont even get me started on the news

they would do anything to get an interview with you

"y/n! could you comment on the recent events in [country] that you accompanied the avengers in?" -reporter

"we were there, we saved the day" -you, obviously exhausted

"is that all you have to say?" -reporter

"hey! don't you want to hear what i have to say? huh?" -tony

"thanks, tony" -you

"no problem, kiddo" -tony

wanda got it

you liked spending time with her because she liked to be calm and alone sometimes too

you'd read or watch tv or listen to music together in silence for hours

it was nice

it was funny because sometimes the team would all be socializing and then bam

"hey, where's y/n?" -steve

"i think they tapped out" -clint

"oh. i'll go check on them" -steve

"no, just leave them alone, they'll be back" -tony

after a lot of missions you'd just wait for the avengers on the quinjet while they spoke to authorities or SHIELD or whoever

"just forward me the mission report, i'll fill it out" -you

everyone just kinda let you do your thing

which worked out just fine for you

it drove fury crazy back in the day

"just why are we giving y/n special treatment? what? they're tired?" -fury

"i didn't say that, i said they were over your shit" -tony

"you better not have said that, i'll give you one last chance" -fury

and that is just another reason you were depleted

some days were better than others, and sometimes you could keep up! but once your battery died, that was it

"'social battery,' you say? any way i could be of assistance? maybe a small jolt from mjolnir to charge it back up?" -thor

"oh, no, just a figure of speech, no need for...that" -you

taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @locke-writes // @sweetheartlizzie07 // @queen-destenie // @johnmurphyisqueer // @captainshazamerica // @ravenmoore14 // @canarypoint // @procrastinatingsapphictrash // @swanimagines // @randomfandomimagine // @petersgroupie // @summersimmerus // @scarthefangirl // @bad4amficideas // @sheridans-dynamos // @simsrecs // @prettysbliss // @skdkdkckfk // @simp-legend // @wild-rose-35 // @nekoannie-chan // @evilcr0ne // @v0idl1nq // @ruvaakke // @thedarkqueenofavalon // @amirahiddleston // @beth-gallagher22 // @brutal-out-here // @rqmanoff // @elenavampire21 // @mymelodymia // @pheonixfire777 // @deanzboyfriend //

[storiesfromgaza]

Hello, everyone.

This may be the finest and most important article I've written since the creation of this blog, so kindly read it carefully and pay attention.

And share it so that everyone can see it.

There are many events happening tonight, and I will try to summarize them for you so that you have a complete understanding of what is happening.

Twelve days ago, a gruesome incident occurred, most of you have probably heard of it: the occupation forces shelled the Al-Ma'madani Hospital in Gaza, resulting in the deaths of over a thousand people, including patients, their families, doctors, and young children.

Has the occupation been content with this? The answer is no.

Since that day, they have been threatening another hospital, Al-Quds Hospital, with the promise of bombing it, leaving civilians and patients inside in a state of terror, awaiting death at any moment.

The first time this happened, it spread across social media platforms, especially Twitter, and many people protested, causing the occupation to halt its actions.

Today, twelve days after the Al-Ma'madani Hospital massacre, they have once again sent severe threats to the Palestinian Red Crescent Society (PRCS) for the immediate evacuation of Al-Quds Hospital, as it is destined to be bombed.

"🔴 Urgent: We have just received severe threats demanding the immediate evacuation of Al-Quds Hospital as it is set to be bombed.

Since the early hours of the morning, the vicinity of Al-Quds Hospital has been witnessing continuous airstrikes, resulting in the destruction of some buildings within a 50-meter radius.

📢 Please share, save Al-Quds Hospital! 📢

#GazaUnderAttack #GazaUnderSiege #Save_Al-Quds_Hospital

"

The second matter, three days ago, specifically on Friday, the twenty-seventh of this month, the occupation completely isolated Gaza from the world by cutting off the internet, telecommunications, and electricity. They were prepared for a brutal massacre that occurred that night and lasted for two days.

I'm talking about indiscriminate bombardment using all kinds of weapons on all areas of Gaza, whether they were churches, mosques, schools, or homes, regardless of their occupants, be they children, young people, women, or the elderly.

During that period, social media platforms and indeed the entire world were abuzz with the issue.

People from various backgrounds, nationalities, and religions unanimously agreed that it was inhumane to isolate them from the world and deny them the right to have a voice.

They were searching for solutions they could implement.

Some took to the streets, demanding the return of the internet, while others began sharing their plight on social media, primarily on Twitter.

They reached out to activists and officials who had the means to help.

One of the most prominent solutions that everyone turned to was contacting Elon Musk, the former owner of Twitter (X) and the current owner of SpaceX, to enable the people of Gaza to use the internet via Starlink's private satellites.

They hoped that he would hear their plea, as it was their only hope.

He tweeted:

"Starlink will support connectivity to internationally recognized aid organizations in Gaza.

[ComStar]

"

On the same day, five hours after the publication of this tweet, the Israeli Minister of Communications commented on it, saying, in essence, that they would use all available means to prevent the supply of Starlink internet to Gaza because Hamas would utilize it. He also threatened that if this were to occur, he would sever all his office's ties with Starlink.

Now, let's discuss the issue of hostages for a moment because it is of utmost importance to understanding the situation.

On the twenty-fourth of this month, Yasmin Porat, one of the hostages, came forward to talk about her experiences during her captivity.

I will now share some of what she mentioned in the interview:

She stated that Israeli forces eliminated everyone, including hostages, amid heavy crossfire and tank shelling.

She highlighted the contrasting behavior of Palestinian fighters who offered hope for safe passage to Gaza. Israeli forces disrupted this hope with a storm of gunfire.

Palestinian fighters treated the hostages humanely, offering them hope of a safe passage to Gaza, despite the chaos.

This compassionate act stands in stark contrast to the chaos that unfolded.

After the interview was broadcast, it was completely deleted and blocked from all social media platforms and even from Kan's website. Moreover, Yasmin's account mysteriously disappeared from the "Haboker Hazeh" program, raising concerns of censorship.

Below, you will find the interview recording.

During that period, the Al-Qassam Brigades continued their communication with the Israeli government in order to release some prisoners for humanitarian reasons, including their age and health, among them two elderly women, one of whom is named Yohav Levisheitz.

But the Israeli government showed no interest in the matter whatsoever.

As a result, they decided to release the two elderly women.

Before leaving, one of them, Yohav Levisheitz, insisted on shaking hands with one of the resistance fighters who she was their captor, as you can see in the following video.

-Tumblr doesn't allow me to post two videos in a single post, so I will provide the video link on the blog-:

https://www.tumblr.com/storiesfromgaza/732027117370572800/al-qassam-brigades-released-two-of-the-hostages?source=share

After this, she insisted on participating in a press conference to share her experience, saying:

"When we arrived in Gaza, they initially told us that they believed in the Quran and that they wouldn't harm us.

They said they would treat us as they do with those around them.

We were under tight security, and medical professionals arrived to ensure we had the medications we always took.

They showed great concern for our health.

Our place of rest was the mattresses.

We had an accompanying doctor who would visit us every two or three days to check on our well-being.

In addition to a paramedic who looked after us and provided us with our medications.

They took on the responsibility and made sure to provide the necessary medications.

They looked after our hygiene meticulously to safeguard our health so that we wouldn't fall ill.

It was they who took care of cleaning the restrooms, not us.

They provided us with everything we needed, and I acknowledge their help in that.

If equivalent medications weren't available, they offered suitable alternatives.

They were remarkably courteous (kind) and ensured we ate well, sharing the same food they ate (bread, cheese, and cucumbers)

We were treated with kindness, and they paid meticulous attention to every detail.

Women among them understood the importance of feminine hygiene and ensured we had everything we needed.

Hamas had meticulously planned everything for a long time, providing us with everything we required, even down to shampoo and conditioner.

The inefficiencies of the army and Shabak (Israel Security Agency - ISA) greatly impacted us; we were pawns in the government's game."

After this, Western media outlets, with CNN at the forefront, distorted Yohav's words and published that she said, "I went through hell."

BBC, on the other hand, released two versions of the statement.

They published the original statement by Yohav on their account dedicated to the Arab audience, while on their accounts for Western and Indian audiences, they published a manipulated version of her statement that included the same content as previously published by CNN.

These are the testimonies of two different women captives, both of whom unanimously agree that they were treated with excellent humane treatment, and no one tortured them or attempted to harass or disturb them.

On the other hand, both of them agree that Israel did not care about their safety in any way and, in fact, they would open fire in the presence of the hostages, leaving behind lifeless bodies hit by their deadly bullets.

Now, let's focus for a moment on the point of Israel and the prisoners.

Two days ago, Abu Ubaida, the official spokesman for the Al-Qassam Brigades, made a lengthy recorded speech in which he spoke about the prisoners.

He said:

"There have been numerous contacts in the prisoner file, and there was an opportunity to reach an agreement, but they delayed and did not show real seriousness in releasing the prisoners.

Instead, its barbaric shelling and continuous crimes have led to the killing of nearly fifty of them so far."

Do you understand now that Israel does not care about the prisoners at all, as it claims, and that their use of the prisoner issue is merely to prevent Elon Musk from providing internet access via Starlink in Gaza for its residents?

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