#bc it makes me SO overheated instantly

[manwithoutaspleen]

god damn the worst part of being disabled is how hard it makes taking care of my cats like. i know i need to play with al more so i was throwing around some springs for him and he was interacting and it was so cute and then i got that fucking. im gonna pass out feeling. and like i always sit down so i’ve never actually passed out so of course i feel like im faking but i took my heart rate and it was in fact over 120bpm and its like. fuck man i wish my body would just let me play with my cat!

[racingliners]

F1 Re-Watch 2013: Round 8 - Great Britain

I race I did watch live at the time... but had to watch a recording of it bc I fell asleep as I'd gotten back from a school trip the day before.

Anyway, my main memory of this race is all the very bad and very dramatic tyre failures which... big yikes. Seb also retired with some kind of mechanical failure which meant that Rosberg won. But apart from that I don't remember much else, so let's get into it and hope it's not completely awful 😵‍💫

Ah Silverstone, my forever beloved 💚

Okay starting grid: Merc 1-2 with Lewis on pole (spoiler alert: he's one of the drivers who has a tyre blowout :(), Seb P3, Dan P5 holy shit, Jenson P10 and Jev P12.

Helmet watch: I can't quite tell but it looks like Seb has pictures of all the RBR team on his helmet which is adorable

[Formation Lap]: Mediums and Hards are the tyres for this race.

cut to the stampede of mechanics and engineers trying to get back to the garages.

[Start/Lap 1]: Lewis shooting off at the start and Seb taking P2, I LOVE THIS SONG

Grosjean going round the outside of the of the McLaren's at Luffield holy shit dude

Jenson up to P9 🥰

or not Fernando just got past him :(

[Lap 2]: Lewis with an 8 tenths lead already, that's why they named the start-finish straight after him

[Lap 3]: aaaaand Lewis fastest lap.

Meanwhile Sutil is in P4. Team Silverstone once again be Team Silverstone-ing, at Silverstone

[Lap 5]: Lewis up to 2 seconds ahead of Seb, he's goating folks

The way that I know the tyre failures are coming but I have no idea on which laps they happen, it's like a really aggressive jack in the box.

(iirc Lewis, Jev and Checo were the affected drivers)

[Lap 6]: So yeah I'm just going to enjoy the Sewis 1-2 while it lasts 😭

[Lap 7]: Not Jenson complaining of his tyres overheating already, he's on the hards 😭😭😭

And Perez just got past him

and cut to Webber's busted front wing, man announced his retirement that weekend and someone decided to beat him up at the start as a send off

[Lap 8]: Seb fastest lap 🥰

ah shit there's Lewis' delaminated left rear tyre 😭😭😭

Cut to a v disappointed looking Ross Brawn

I know it's been ten years, but you can meet my fists Pirelli

The fact it happened down the Wellington straight too like.... big fucking yikes man

[Lap 9]: Anyway he's made it into the pits and is back out on track, although in plum last :(

[Lap 10]: So Seb's now P1 with Rosberg P2 and Sutil P3.

Oh jeez it was Massa that was the second left rear failure

[Lap 11]: cut to someone from Pirelli watching Massa's stop in the pit lane dbuhsfubh

[Lap 12]: Unsurprisingly, a load of cars have made their first stops

And a Grosjean fastest lap, because why not

"There's two men trying to stop Sebastian Vettel running away with the championship, and they're not doing a very good job of it" okay Brundle I will give you that one right.

[Lap 13]: Rosberg makes his first stop for hards.

[Lap 14]: and Seb makes his first stop, also for hards

The fact that Sutil is in P3, Team Silverstone baby!!!

[Lap 15]: Jev with tyre failure number 3 😭

The thing literally just exploded as we went through Stowe like... Pirelli I am in your walls

This race is legit the reason why I get anxiety every time I see one tyre failure bc my mind instantly goes back to the mess that was this race

[Lap 16]: And Safety Car. Likely for all the debris.

And honestly this race still pisses me off bc all the drivers were told to stay off the kerbs, but maybe Pirelli should have made better tyres in the first place

[Lap 17]: Adrian Newey with his head in his hands, a colossal mood

Anyway, soapbox away for now. Lewis is up into P14.

[Lap 18]: oooh internal SC cam. Bernd Maylander my forever Driver of the Day.

Cut to another Pirelli man in the Merc garage 👁️👄👁️

the TV director had a lot of fun with that, I can imagine

[Lap 19]: And also big shoutout to the marshals at the time for picking up all the little bits of debris in such record time.

"It's been a bit busy the past few laps" NO SHIT ROCKY

[Lap 20]: and a lap later he's calling out Seb for his fuel usage 😭

I can very easily see why I only remember the tyre failures from this race bc the replays of all the incidents are not fun

oh damn they even sent the track sweepers onto the circuit to clean up the mess

[Lap 21]: SC in this lap

stresssssss

(not bc I fear Seb losing the lead, bc I fear more carnage)

and off Seb goes!

casually just leaving Rosberg for dust

[Lap 22]: oh damn Perez got Webber on the outside of Abbey

...and Webber gets the place back

cut to Lewis driving on the kerbs at Maggots and Becketts, is2g

worth noting that not single driver has listened to their engineers when it comes to avoiding the kerbs. They are all menaces to society.

[Lap 24]: But he did get past Gutierrez going into Copse so... that was sexy I'll allow it

[Lap 27]: Somehow, Sutil is still in P3

the absolute scenes of it all

Seb's gap over Rosberg up to 3.3 seconds, that's my boy!!!

[Lap 28]: Dan passes Grosjean for P6!!

Another piece of debris on the track oh my fucking god

this race is almost causing me physical pain, maybe I had a point when I passed out watching this at the time

Okay apparently Gutierrez just trashed one of the break marker boards everyone's tyres are thankfully fine

[Lap 30]: Alonso makes his second (?) stop

[Lap 31]: oh shit Rosberg is 1.5 seconds faster than Seb???

don't tell me the DNF is coming sooner rather than later

I mean, I know it's coming, but still. This race has been too much.

[Lap 32]: Lewis up to P9... because of cars ahead making stops :(

It's okay bud you win the race a year later and do very iconic things you're all good

[Lap 35]: Rosberg pits again, I have lost track of the number of stops everyone's done ngl

At this point I just want everyone (excluding Seb's incoming DNF) to make it to the end of the race with all four tyres on their cars 😭

[Lap 36]: And Seb pits

while Webber got past Alonso for P4

[Lap 37]: Jenson up into P11

And Lewis into the pits again, he comes out in P11 so he could still get some points

okay this battle with Di Resta is actually really good, annoying that Lewis is down in P12 though

[Lap 38]: aaaaand he takes back P11 going through turn 4 *chef's kiss*

[Lap 39]: pls don't cut to a dejected Jev I am very emotionally fragile bc of this dumb race

[Lap 41]: *Lewis back into the points klaxon*

and there's Seb going slowly 😭

[Lap 42]: sounds like a gearbox failure

and Safety Car bc his car stopped on the main straight

p a i n

I have been personally victimised by the British Grand Prix of 2013

on the plus side at least Seb didn't have a long run to get back to the RBR garage 🥲

[Lap 43]: And Rosberg and Webber make their third (?) stops

[Lap 44]: Cut to Vivian, with some very on brand Petronas teal nail polish.

Okay so mainly recapping the running order for myself bc there has been too much going on: Rosberg leads from Raikkonen, Sutil, Dan, Webber, Perez, Jenson, Alonso, Lewis and Grosjean make up the top 10.

This has been a Motor Race™️

[Lap 45]: And off Nico goes!

[Lap 46]: Webber and Lewis both up a place at the restart

as is Fernando

jesus fucking christ there goes Perez's tyre

Pirelli you owe me emotional damages

[Lap 47]: Meanwhile Webber just shot up into P3

and Lewis is into P7!

[Lap 48]: or make that P6

worth noting that Lotus didn't pit Raikkonen under the SC, as Webber takes P2 going through Copse.

[Lap 49]: Lewis into P5!!!!!

this race has legit been batshit insane

[Lap 50]: Rosberg fastest lap, he has a 1.4 second lead over Webber

I should add we have three laps left

And Alonso takes P3

[Lap 51]: aaand Webber fastest lap

love me some fastest lap ping pong

Lewis P4!!!!!!!!!!

He had pole, dropped to last after his tyre failure, and goated his way back to P4. That's they they named the start-finish straight after him folks

[Lap 52]: Last lap. I am exhausted.

Rosberg has a 9 tenths lead so he's good

[Finish]: And Monaco Man wins the British GP!!!

Webber P2, Alonso P3, Lewis P4, Raikkonen P5, Massa P6, Sutil P7, Dan P8, Di Resta P9 and Hulkenberg P10.

My god, those last 10-ish laps combined with everything that happened beforehand... I need a lie down. Pirelli will be meeting my fists and paying my emotional damages even though it's been 10 years since the race.

Next race - Germany!

[snackhobi]

a human touch, part I

Part [1] / 1.5 / 2

(masterlist here)

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

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

then he turns up at your door. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No human could ever look this good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“After you, please,” he says.

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

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

“Not as pretty as you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's just depressing, really.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Purple.”

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

You think it suits him better.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/n.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ahh, Saturdays. You love the weekend. 

“Good morning.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure,” you mumble. “I think—woah!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why can’t I just wear your clothes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Of course, you never do.)

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

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

“All done?”

“I think so.”

“Nice.” You feel content.

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

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

You promptly roll off the sofa.

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

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

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

Ah. 

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

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

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

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

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

V looks utterly enraptured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go for it,” you say.

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

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

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

Just for an instant.

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

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

But then V laughs. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” V says, and you blink.

“For what?”

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

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

He chooses dinner, never leaving your side.

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

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

So here he is.

(And here you are.)

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

“Morning,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

“I won’t be long,” you promise.

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t you want to see the clothes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Thank God.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I have to go to work tomorrow.”

V tilts his head down to look at you.

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

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

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

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

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

So you do.)

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

“Morning.”

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

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

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

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

It’s… nice.

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

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

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

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

“Oh?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

taglist: @beyoncesdragon​

[rawhcney]

OUT OF CHARACTER !

taryn !

twenty-one +

she/her pronouns.

fun (?) fact: was awake for a solid 72 hours straight this week bc of insomnia. love that for me

IN CHARACTER !

babe miranda, thirty-five, ward ranch manager.

formerly a ward wrangler, your local rodeo queen, and wild child (is that title really outdated?? just the child part)

your girlhood is exhibited on the floor beneath the passenger seat, a museum display of livelihood that rattles and shifts with each bend in the road and every twist in fate: emptied tin cans and flattened pennies engraved with carnival brands, flowers torn up from the roadside, guts ripped from dysfunctional scanners and overheated radars you rest your wet socks on. you spend this early life, without metaphor, as an accessory to the storm — packed into your father’s truck, running towards the things everyone else hides from. we chase storms, he tells you one night, so that one day there won’t be any more running — toward or away. we’ll just stand there and let them pass over us, clean as a sheet.

babe grows up the daughter to a meteorologist and storm chaser, her life between the ages of six and twelve something nomadic and dangerous, home-schooled from the passengers seat by her eccentric father while they floored through cornfields to track a twister.

at twelve they roll into great falls, her father having anticipated a hurricane rolling through the area in the oncoming days. at the local gas station they meet a man who would invite them to dinner after hearing about their intentions in the city - a gesture they’d grown used to given babe’s father’s warm charm and the southern hospitality of the great plains. unexpected was the land they pulled up onto that evening - jim ward’s ranch, sprawling as god’s eyeline.

babe is instantly besotted by everything she sees and the promise of everything she can’t. by the end of dinner, jim ward is equally interest in the advantages of a storm-reader on his property. a guest house is offered for the weekend, and in the end they never leave. a few months later jim ward sees hector miranda appointed as a meteorologist for the town, allowing the two-person family to live on his lands. quid pro quo, that seems to mean he gets an extra early heads-up when disastrous winds are rolling through

she grows wild once she’s put roots down - not in the sense of a wayward child but in the sense of dandelions and weeds, rocketing up and around everything in sight. catch preteen babe in the fields by moonlight, watching the switchgrass curl in the wind, or wandering too close to the howls at the edge of the woods. moving from girlhood to womanhood sees that wildness turns from the kind of weeds to the sort belonging to foxes and coyotes and wildcats, slick and coy. invents ship’s mast with the local boys, drinks whiskey with the old ranch hands, walks off from bush parties to skinny dip in the lake, etc etc.

dad expects her to return to their lifestyle after graduation, chasing degrees and then storms across the plains. jim ward offers her a job contract and a silent nod towards the hands cabin. nobody talks about the fact that this shouldn’t have been a choice she had to make. her father leaves down the dirt road and babe packs up and moves into an old cabin as the new wrangler. any stone the wards need turned, she throws her whole body into. it’s how she got all these bruises. 

throw in an Incident in her early twenties wherein babe enters the woods wearing white and returns in blood, only for the wards to hand her a map, a pen, and some bleach...

undying loyalty to jim ward/the ward ranch as an entity, but someone should probably start to break that down. do you love it because you love it or do you love it because it was the manifestation of all the things you never had as a child or because you were pitted against your own father by the man who mentored you or because you feel you owe a debt ??? WHOSE TO SAY

promoted to manager of the biggest goddamn ranch in the country this year by a very sick old man and plans to do whatever necessary to ensure its continued success <3

too old for the wild child label, but still a Thoroughly Untamed Woman

WANTED PLOTS & CONNECTIONS !

if you want to plot pre-opening (pretty please w sugar on top??) you can find me at miss atomic bomb#3520 on discord !! im already obsessed w all your chars, please don’t mind me choking on my love in your comments

wild horses couldn’t tear me away / ride or die best friends. they fight frequently and occasionally pretend like they’re calling it quits on one another, but it’s never gonna happen. they’re in it for life

you knew what you were doing / babe’s first serious love and/or heartbreak, 10-15ish years ago.. and yet there’s still tension

by way of moonshine / drinking buddies, always lapsing into stories of the shit they’ve done

it’s babe, not baby / ward ranch hands with a crush on the hot lady in charge, hi hello

what’s it to you / rivals from the hawthorne family/ranch !! babe takes a very ‘i don’t start shit but i’ll be the one to finish it’ approach

your name flat against the roof of my mouth / friends with benefits! a few angles to consider: longstanding fwbs with feelings they simply will not discuss; we used to seriously date and now we just hook up; drinking buddies who always swear its never gonna happen again; we’d-be-in-hell-water-if-anyone-found-out

wear the brand on your upturned wrist / ward ranchers/cow bosses/hands etc that either got into serious shit and needed babe’s help to get out of, of vice versa

weed in the garden / anyone who wants to challenge babe’s authority on the ranch... vibrating eye emojis

like a glass bottle against the wall / a duo who used to get up to No Good together, back when they were younger and particularly wild - maybe shit went sideways or they just figured it was better they grow tf up. bonus points for messy romantic entanglement.

and all the other good stuff! exes, friends, enemies, found family, etc!

( @greatfallstemp )

[pinkandgreenarepurpleandyellow]

Part 2 of me slowly irritating the fandom to death with mediocre pencil sketches and world-building concepts!

A quick disclaimer: A lot of the stuff here is just me fleshing things out bc I love filling in small world-building holes. The base for the style guide was @soledadcatalina's post from several years ago (that I currently cannot link bc Tumblr hates me) but with a lot of additional stuff based on my personal concepts and various experience/people I've met who have done some versions of these things (not the fighting and killing stuff, just bits and bobs). Although I'm a bit of a clothing nerd and love both analyzing and constructing design elements for wardrobe I am not a professional. (Image ID at end of ramble below the cut)

Ok so in my quest to find any vital descriptors I re-read the first there books, then Silent Night, then the bonus chapters, and then Lockdown again. The clothing is described as grey in a few places but the cover of Solitary shows Alex's jumpsuit to have stripes, so I finally came to a compromise. The jumpsuits start out as black and white striped classics but the warden is cheap and so the ink is shitty, quickly blotting and fading and staining so the older jumpsuits are a greyish color. (This will be come relevant for bandanna section of this post, towards the end). The actual Furnace logo is something that a little extra effort was put into, possibly being embroidered into the fabric (tbh yes I think the warden would do something like that just to be an extra level of asshole). The material itself is also not the best kind, and can shrink if overheated for too long.

Each latest batch of inmates is given a brand 'new' jumpsuit with distinct stripes for their first day. After they go into the showers, their uniforms are now officially part of the prison-wide circulation. There's always a very slight surplus for the sake of laziness and mild convenience, but not enough so that popped can vandalize the torsos of the jumpsuits or smuggle a second one out. But that doesn't stop people from fucking up the legs and the sleeves.

So, as a general rule, sleeves are fucked with more than legs partially for safety reasons and partially because shorter than expected sleeve are less of a pain than being tall and dealing with pantlegs that fit like capris on you because some short assholes just have to make it all about them even though plenty of the jumpsuits have shrunk over time so you think they could just vandalize those instead. So there's a certain amount of jumpsuits around that will actually fit on shorter kids, with very few additions or removals due to the risk of getting beaten up for constantly fucking up the uniforms. A good way to tell a short old-timer from a new fish is that the old-timers will push and shove for the ripped-leg jumpsuits while the new fish will try to go for either the less worn out models (that don't fit in the slightest and have the stripes still) or the leftovers.

Aside from the ripped legs, the solution most short kids have is the roll the excess up somehow. On someone taller, the baggy look is an option but when the fabric is a foot longer than your legs, you gotta do something. New fish go for the very big and bulky cuffs that have to be rolled up like 7 times to let their feet touch the ground directly. More experienced kids tend to make stylistic cuffs. Maybe it's mis-matching the height to which the pantlegs are rolled to, maybe it's rolling one leg the usual way and rolling the other one inward, but the cuffs end up looking more stylistic than necessary, which adds to the overall look.

Moving up, we've got sleeves. Most are also too long, but are usually shorter than they started due to inmates instantly ripping small pieces off of the edge for toothbrushes, hair ties, or just boredom. The life cycle of the sleeve is 'Starting length', 'fraying at edges', 'loose t-shirt sleeve length', and 'sleeves torn off completely'. Most of the older jumpsuits are in the latter two phases. Sleeves are narrower than the legs by a slight margin. Again, despite the inevetable degrading of the material over time, the number of shorter-sleeved jumpsuits is relatively stable, although it does go up and down more frequently.

With these basics, you can start telling apart people's time spent in the prison, level of deference to the warden, their hierarchal status, and their odds of survival in encounters with the other inmates. Of course, some of the excess or completely worn out jumpsuits are stolen and scavenged or ripped apart and passed around for anyone who needs more fabric tan there is in a sleeve or who needs a big square/rectangle of material.

Finally, the part that I personally get excited about, bandanas, accessories, and miscellaneous usage!

Skull Bandanas: Canonically all surface items are confiscated and I have no doubt that includes the gang bandanas. On the surface they probably either buy them or use paint (depending on area and resources, etc) but neither of those are really an option within the Furnace itself. So, to make a proper Skull bandana: take an extra jumpsuit, cut out a decently sized square, bleach out a rough circle in laundry (put some extra focus on the black stripes to make it look more natural), either burn the fabric at laundry /kitchen or get soot/the blackest dust available in the chipping and turn the white stripes surrounding the Skull black this way, and then use the same process for rough eyeholes. More detail-oriented members can heat up shanks/small pieces of metal and also add on rough teeth and holes in the nose area.

The finished product is a roughly black square with a roughly white skull in the center, to be worn only by the Skulls. Atempts to mimic the design to blend in don't work as the Skulls are relatively selective. Most of the bandanas were made within the first month (using just striped squares for the first part) and to get one now usually requires ousting a previous member unless Ambrose makes an exception (made twice within the span of five years).

Fifty-Niner Stripes: Usually made with the a mixture of dust and dirt from chipping. Some of the more unhinged members had tattoos from the surface but nowadays it's mostly dust/soot used as paint (can be stored in some extra rags and mixed with some of the chemicals in the laundry).

Leopard marks: These are established as cigarette burns on the surface and shiv-made holes in gen pop but I do think someone suggested 'hey what if we just use dust like the others' and promptly got shanked for it.

Accessories: So that sounds a bit weird, but allow me to explain. Strips roughly the length of sleeve's circumference can become improvised hair-ties, good for anyone who can't/won't see a slicer and anyone with long hair, which I imagine isn't too small of a population. Longer and thicker strips of cloth wrap around feet to act as (shitty) improvised socks. And even though wearing a bandana even remotely similar to the ones the Skulls use will get you killed, plenty of inmates make a similar version (sometimes just a long and wide rectangle) to act as durags or very basic headbands to keep sweat out of their brows during hard labor. Unlike the Skull ones, these tend to be either striped or faded grey.

Miscellaneous: Obvious, but the the sleeves and pantlegs frequently act as bandages since no one wants to go to the infirmary. There's also the pre-emptive use as a basic form of wrist/ankle tapes and a shitty version of a boxing glove by wrapping cloth around the hand. Shorter strips wind around shanks to make handles. Scraps and useless pieces of the jumpsuits quickly add up and some clever people figure out that they can sweep up all the pieces, shove them into the pillow case or under the sheets and get slightly better sleep.

[Image ID:

Two pictures of black and white pencil sketches on paper. The first shows four generic inmates dressed in the Furnace jumpsuits lined up and facing the camera. Aside from one with black stripes on his cheeks and one with a bruise on his face, they have no facial features. The focus is on the uniforms and their distinctions. The second page has more small notes about Skull bandanas.

Inmate Uniform Notes (going right to left for inmates, head to toe for notes):

On the first kid, who is dressed in a striped Furnace jumpsuit zipped up all the way with baggy sleeves and extremely rolled up-cuffs the notes are: "Surface hair" (referring to clean and neat haircut), "Zipped up", "New uniform, bolder stripes", "bulky sleeves covering hands", and "very rolled up legs".

The second kid, who has messy long hair and a partially unzipped jumpsuit with faded stripes, baggy but uncuffed legs, and ripped up sleeves (down to wrists), has the notes: "Can't/won't see the slicers", "mostly faded stripes", "worn/torn sleeves", and "baggy legs, maybe a little rolled".

The third kid is significantly taller, with hair in a slightly neater cut pushed back and two stripes on his face, marking him as a Fifty-Niner. He is holding something in his right hand and there are bandages wrapped around his left fist. His jumpsuit is completely faded and partially unzipped, with the sleeves ripped off and the legs fitting almost perfectly, if a little big, and he has the notes: "better cut since in a gang" (hair), "coal/dust lines" (gang markings), "arms completely torn off", "stretched and worn out after years" (in reference to whole jumpsuit), " 'bandages' made of ripped sleeves" (fist), "stripes fully gone", and "excess bit [of pant leg] tucked under".

The fourth and final kid is shorter than the first three, with closely cropped scruffy hair, a bruise on his left cheek, and cloth wrapped around his right wrist. His jumpsuit is zipped all the way up, the sleeves are rolled to the elbows, and the legs are mismatched, with the right ripped short and the left cuffed. The notes around him read: "scruffy cut (wounds hidden)", "Zipped up but other details make this a fashion choice", "fading stripes", "casual sleeves", "improvised brace for wrist", "shrunk from overheating" (referring to the uniform fitting him despite him being smaller than average), "mismatched legs" (one ripped, one rolled up), and "stylistic cuff" (referring to rolled up leg).

Skull Bandanna Notes (and misc) (going roughly right to left, top to bottom):

Bottom right corner shows two small hair ties, one made of just one scrap, and one with a second scrap twining around, mimicking an elastic hair tie. Above, in the main square, are two versions of the unfolded Skull bandanas, roughly square-ish with the Skulls having circular eye sockets, small slants at the nose, and vague outlines of teeth. The top version is more detailed and the bottom is more likely to be what was worn in gen pop.

Across the top are three rough sketches of inmates wearing the bandanas. One is wearing his to cover his scalp, with the skull front and center. A small note on his points out the grey area in the middle, cutting through the black and white, reading "stripes faded but not gone". The one in the middle has his bandana tied around his neck and is looking up. The last boy wears it around his forehead, still leaving the top of the head uncovered as he glares down.

At the bottom of the page there is a simple sketch of part of a jumpsuit, with the stripes and a note "bleached out with time". The picture next to it shows a rough square (the starter for a Skull bandana) with visible stripes. A note to the black stripe reads "bleach (laundry)" and the one to the white stripe says "burn or cover in black dust (laundry/chipping when guard is distracted)".

Between the boys wearing their bandanas and the starter sample are small pictures of a few shanks and sketch of a Fifty-Niner in profile, glaring to the side. A note points to the mark on his cheek, reading "soot".

End ID]

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

i really liked your thh girls accidentally killing their s/o post, could you please do that but with the boys? its okey if not, i just really enjoyed it!

Thanks! That request already has Chihiro in it, so you get the rest of the boys!

I’m not sure about Byakuya (he’s so careful and diligent with everything) and Makoto (bc let’s face it he’s been accused of murder more than enough times).

.............

Taka

After surviving Celeste’s murder plot, he lives long enough to see the last floor of the school.

The execution of Alter Ego put him into shock again, but with your help and comfort, he was able to regain his will to live and push forward.

For a while, Kiyondo was gone...though not for too long.

In the garden’s shed, you found a giant pickaxe with Crazy Diamond engraved onto the handle.

You made the mistake of mentioning the name out loud..

As Taka rushes over, taking the pickaxe, seeing the name and...suddenly remembering everything from before.

This must be a sign from his bro...it had to be.

And in an instant, the soul-bond reignited.

You worry he’s gonna do reckless things with the pickaxe, so you try taking it away from him.

"NO!!! You’re not gonna take away the only piece of bro I got left this time!!!”

But in his blind rage, Kiyondo fails to realize where he swung the pickaxe..

Until he sees you on the ground, blood gushing from your head...in a way that eerily resembles Chihiro after Mondo struck him.

The shock turns him back to normal again and...once Taka realizes what he’s done to his beloved..

He drops to his knees and lays his head on your chest, sobbing apologies.

"I-I'm sorry! I'm..I'm so sorry! I didn't mean it..please come back..."

Hifumi

You were just going to the equipment room, hoping to find or craft something you could defend yourself with.

You also wondered where Hifumi was--you thought about making a replica of some anime weapon, and he seemed ecstatic at the idea.

Maybe you’ll surprise him with one!

But as you went in and looked around...

You were suddenly struck in the back of the head with some heavy object, which killed you instantly.

And you’d never know it was your boyfriend, who dropped the hammer as he screamed in horror.

He kneels beside your body, crying and shaking as he tries waking you up, telling you not to go into the light.

This wasn’t suppose to happen..he was expecting Taka, not you!

He was so nervous about killing someone he wanted to get it over with, so he just blindly swung the hammer at whoever entered.

Why....why did it have to be you, of all people?!

There’s no way he can continue with Celestia’s plan...not like this.

Leon

He found a metal baseball bat in the warehouse.

Besides having it as a potential self-defense weapon, he just likes practicing his swings.

So he does that in the gym’s open space, tossing several baseballs towards the wall and whacking them when they bounce back.

He realizes how much he missed playing this sport--when he wasn’t forced to, of course.

He pays no mind to the gym door opening, too indulged in his talent to really see you and the baseball that rolled past him.

“Leon! Batter up!”

Grinning, he swiftly turns and swings the bat..

But he realizes much too late that it struck the ball harder than necessary.

He hears a sickening ‘crack’ noise and is shocked when he sees you collapse to the floor...

Blood splattered across your face and the baseball lodged in your eye socket.

With a horrified scream, Leon drops the bat and runs to your side.

‘Holy shit, holy SHIT!! Please be okay please be okay-’

But you aren’t moving...and your other eye remained bleak and wide open.

He’s crying so hard it hurts to breathe.

Instead of protecting you with his talent, like he promised...he ends up killing you with it.

Mondo

You two decide to have an “endurance contest” in the sauna.

Of course, he’s still stubborn about taking off his uniform.

So you decide to keep yours on.

He teases you into giving up, asking if you wanted his jacket, but you insist on staying.

Despite the heat gradually suffocating you.

Eventually, Mondo surrenders first and leaves the sauna to cool off, grumpy about your victory.

“Guess you win this one..but next time I’m gonna......” 

But he stops and realizes something’s wrong.

Wait..why weren’t you following him out? Didn’t he say you won?

He goes back inside in worry..

Only to see you passed out on the bench, your clothes soaked in sweat, your skin overheated, and...your eyes lifeless.

‘Fuck..fuck..fuck..why didn’t you tell me it was too much to handle?!!’

The biker panics as he quickly carries you out, trying to cool you off as much as possible.

But you’re already gone.

He can only yell and punch the wall in anger and grief.

Goddamnit all. Why did he pressure you to do this?

Yasuhiro

(This’ll be in an AU where he’s punished in his unused Quiz Time! I Heard There’s a 30% Chance execution)

You can only watch in horror as his execution takes place.

It’s a quiz show setting, and he’s stuck between three different doors.

As mockery of his talent, there’s only a 30% chance that he’ll choose the correct one leading him to freedom.

But you couldn’t bear to see your boyfriend get executed--even if he did kill someone on accident.

So you manage to intervene, yanking him away from Door C before he can open it.

But unfortunately, it came to life, opening to reveal sharp teeth.

Like a hungry beast it bit on your arm, making you scream in pain.

Hiro screamed in horror, frozen on the spot at first..but he came to his senses and tried saving you.

Yet it was too late as you're devoured by the door as it slams shut.

Underneath it..a pool of blood seeps out.

While that distracts him....the door lunges at him next and swallows him whole.

But he accepted that demise.

He got you killed, too...so he deserved this punishment.

[power-of-plot]

The warmth of the soul.

I put a lot of effort into this bc we’re nearly 100 followers! Again i can’t thank you enough, i’ll try to write all my posts like this and improve :)).

Warnings: Sadness? Slight spicyness. (at the end, it’s more emotional than spicy but i put the warning just in case.)

Summary: To celebrate your time together you decide to go to a turistic place of natural hot springs, the circunstances end up making a much more enjoyable moment than it was expected to be.

Word count:10.5k 

Gn reader!

A couple birds flew above the heads of a couple, one with an odd hair color of red in the left and white on the right while the other had (hair color and length), their palms pressed against each other as they interwined their fingers staring down at the water body mere inches before their feet. Breaking the contact of their hand they took a step back from the other to take off their clothes revealing swimsuits underneath them, a smile crept into both’s faces at the sight, all left to do was to make themselves comfortable in that small natural pleasure.

The sun shone bright in the light blue morning sky as any small cloud was nowhere to be seen, the air was cold and, logically, so was the water..

“Eek! It’s a little cold hehe.. i’ve seen many videos of people going head-in into freezing water so we should just get used to it, right?” You said with a nevous smile as the skin of your leg bristled at the wind brushing over the cold water dripping from it.

“You’re right, besides, it shouldn’t be too deep” Shoto said calmly as he took a small jump into the water splashing some out to your feet, indeed it was cold, even someone like him who didn’t mind the lack of warmth flinched at the low temperature. “I-it’s fine, i doubt this is a dangerous temperature”

Seeing his stoic expression you supposed it was bearable so you followed him in. He wanted to rest his arms on the rim of the pool but what comfort would that bring if his skin bristled more than it already was at the slightest exposure to the surface? You tried your best to not move or shiver underwater to keep what little warm you had left, both remained still for an awkward minute internally debating wich was worse: to get out and freeze instantly or stay in the water freezing but waiting to get used to it. This was supposed to be something relaxing however it seemed you had entered an icy prison.

“Sho.. should we cheat?” You said with a small stutter as your teeth chattered softly

“...Why should we cheat on each other..?” He replied with a concerned look, once again to your delight taking things literally.

“N-no hehe i mean.. what if ins-instead of enjoying this the “natural” way we warm it up? With your quirk, if your comfortable with doing so that is! I know how you feel about your left side, i wouldn’t want to force you into something you-”

“I’ll do it” He cut off all your rambling bluntly but with a smile. “Seriously?” You gave him a dumbfounded stare tilting your head as a little excitement flooded your system “I’m sure about it, thank you for taking in mind my feelings” If only the warmth of his smile was more than metaphorical neither of you would feel like lobsters in the supermarket (lmao sorry for my lack of seriousness but i couldn’t get it out of my head) “I’ve done something similar during my training with myself in water multiple times so it shouldn’t be risky” 

“..Please, tell me if i’m overheating the water..” His voice changed as he made his request, despite it was imperative language his tone made it seem like a beg from someone in deep vulnerability, one look at him and the surrounding was enough to tell why: his left side, soon hot water and someone he loved, in a way all he once feared was right there.

“Of course but i know you would never hurt me, it’s your quirk, it’s under your control” Your reasuring smile gently pushed him into concentration as he took a deep breath, his gaze fixing on the water as his body temperature slowly rised, he was so lost in the thought of accidentally burning you the heating rate was far too slow to be felt at the distance you were from him. "Can i get closer?" You asked as your lips and nails were taking a blue tint, seeing your state he quietly nodded trying to speed up the heating to a rate that stayed under his parameters of "safe". 

Each limb you moved felt as if thin layers of ice were covering it, your toes brushed against cold uneven stone beneath them with each step and small ripples you provoqued damped the dry skin of your shoulders. As you switfly approached Shoto your shivers died down thanks to the sweet caress of heat all over your body, being right infront of him no coldness could be felt, how would it be to have contact with the source of heat then?

"Sho... can i touch you?"

I don't want to burn them.I don't want to hurt them.I can't burn them.I'm not going to burn them.I'm not going to burn them. You had touched and cuddled on his left side, you had touched his scar before but never when he was using his quirk, though the remainings of his old self begged it would never come to that he knew he'd have to overcome his fear and underestimation to his control over himself, for both. The heterochromic male quietly nodded preparing to feel your touch as his hands fidgeted underwater, your hand got closer and closer to his left shoulder and then

"Woah!"

"D-did i burn you?!"

Almost like a reflex sharp ice sprouted from the natural rock edges behind his back and around the pool, not exclusively on the surface but underwater as well, thin and easy to break layers of ice formed at the top of the water and his skin.

"No it's okay i'm alright! you didn't burn me, you surprised me!" You raised your hand ignoring the cold to show him your fully unharmed palm, any possible dread flooding his eyes washed off after he found no wounds, he released a shaky breath he didn't know he was holding.

"What were you surprised about..?" His shy voice asked

"You. I wasn't expecting it to feel that way, it was just..." You couldn't think of any words to describe your delight at the sensation of his warm soft skin, you gesticulated with both hands as your mouth was ajar with your lack of ideas "I'm happy you're learning to be okay with this part of yourself... i think it's- beautiful"

"That cursed left side of his looks more like him everyday, i don't think i can't raise that kid anymore... his left side is.. unbearable."

At the recesses of his heart where fire still wildly burnt everything on it's way, a storm of warm ice stopped the scorching destruction, gelid ice of hatred and avertion became one another with frost of love and longing. It all melted off to remove the weed of sour memories allowing new flowers to bloom and damaged roots to heal, was this what feeling affection towards his whole self truly felt like? This is how it felt coming from you?

"...Thank you." As he smiled tenderly anew, a small droplet sliding down his face freezed on his cheek before it was able to get to his chin, resulting in a diminute crystal clear orbe adhered to his skin.

The sun raised to a fortunate angle, as the sunlight touched the ice he had created, multiple rainbow reflexions proyected over the rock and the skin of both, his frozen tear produced a dim sparkle as the light remarked his fine features and pigmentless locks of hair, the image before you was beyond unique.. so must he be thinking to himself about you.

Slowly but surely you moved towards him to gently wrap your arms around his neck and torso, resting your chin over the crook of his neck with a sigh. “I’ll always be by your side whenever you need help, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I love you Shoto.. i’ll always will.” 

Heat. You were feeling heat coming from his body.

Both his arms wrapped around you holding you close and tight, his left hand rested on the back of your head while his thumb moved in soothing circles over your hair, you could feel the tension on his shoulders as he did so. “I love you too y/n.. thank you for everything, for falling in love with me.. and my quirk.” He planted a peck on your forehead “Quirks are hereditary, almost anyone can have one nowdays.. that’s not what i fell for” You drift away from his neck looking into his ocean and onix eyes, he in response raised an eyebrow asking for further explanation.

“It’s the warmth of your soul.

You are so special.. so kind.. so caring, one day you’re going to be a great hero everyone looks up to, i know so”

His ears but overall his cheeks adopted a peachy color at your words, out of all the times you unintentionally soothed the pain of the many cracks of his heart this, only surpassed by your amazement and appreciation towards his quirk, was the strongest blow you had given so far in the half year of your relationship. Once more, he felt a small something damping his cheeks.. followed by another one, and another one.

"I'll make all people feel as protected as i feel when i'm around you." His left hand moved to cup your cheek before it descended to your chin, his fingers tipped it delicately to close the gap between your lips, slowly, almost teasingly.

"Slow burn, huh..?" He closed his eyes as he felt the back of his head being pushed forward, connecting your lips in a passionate kiss leading into aimeless contact towards the face, the neck, the lips of each other. He radiated a pulse of heat with every single one of your caressess, to warm your hands up so they’d match his temperature he placed one of your palms over his temple, pressing kisses and pecks from your risk to your neck, leaving small hot patches over your body. You in exchange do a bigger move sliding your fingertips down over his swim t-shirt to pinch a small part, asking for permission, he confirms with a nod grasping the back of your hand, his toned chest and abdomen were quickly uncovered as the fabric smoothly slid up underwater, he couldn’t help a light smirk as you admired the result of all his harsh training. 

To think the mere image of the body he had avertion of in the past could enlighten someone as much as it did you, it could make him doubt of the meaning of many words, this feeling couldn’t be just simple sweet descriptions.

You gave him a whole new perspective on what it mean to be complete, what it meant to claim things that went against any logic.. you taught him to not be afraid of giving into his instincts. That day you complemented each other, not in a animalistic way, that was barely the tip of the iceberg, for the first time in years the feeling of protection and strenght, of being with someone dear to him and manifesting something as personal as his left side, cohexisted in his heart.. neither had to be pushed aside for the other to exist, he felt freedom and love. You realized just how much he cared for you and your well being, the way he might have seen his hands as claws that would burn you to ashes, how heavy was the weight of the path he had chosen.. what great treasure you had found, you swore to yourself you’d keep it and it’s flame alive for as long as fate allowed you to.

Holy crap.. i’m kinda proud of myself. It’s official i’m gonna open the requests tomorrow :D! Thanks for reading!!

[ikeservant]

(TW) Can I get reactions for Kenshin, Ieyasu, and Hideyoshi (or anyone else you want) with an MC who is always really bright and happy around others but, depressed&self h**ms when they are alone? Thankssss xoxo

-Request from @arthotsglasses

Thank you for this ask ^.^! Little message: This is relatable to me and many others, and depression is a bully that causes mental and physical hurting. To those that have depression and self-h*rming tendencies, know you’re not alone and you have so much value as a person <3. Don’t be afraid to ask for help! Here’s a helpful link with some helpful alternatives that have helped me and others if anybody would want to try these as an alternative, and there’s a lot of lists and ideas from other websites as well that are helpful too :

https://www.ditchthelabel.org/15-safer-alternatives-to-self-harm/

Anywayyyy back to the headcanons!

TW: mentions of depression, s*lf h*rm, su*cidal thoughts

(TW) Can I get reactions for Kenshin, Ieyasu, and Hideyoshi (or anyone else you want) with an MC who is always really bright and happy around others but, depressed&self harms when they are alone? Thankssss xoxo

Thank you for this ask ^.^! Little message: This is relatable to me and many others, and depression is a bully that causes mental and physical hurting. To those that have depression and self-h*rming tendencies, know you’re not alone and you have so much value as a person <3. Don’t be afraid to ask for help! Here’s a helpful link with some helpful alternatives that have helped me and others if anybody would want to try these as an alternative, and there’s a lot of lists and ideas from other websites as well that are helpful too :

https://www.ditchthelabel.org/15-safer-alternatives-to-self-harm/

Anywayyyy back to the headcanons!

TW: mentions of depression, s*lf h*rm, su*cidal thoughts

Kenshin: He always noticed that something was troubling MC, even if they did not try to make it obvious. MC was always cheerful around him and the others, being a ray of sunshine to his dark coolness. He noticed MC would keep their sleeves from rolling up, almost like they were terrified of showing their arms. He realized this when it was summer time. MC was sweating and overheating, but when Kenshin asked if they’d like to change in lighter clothing or just even roll up their sleeves, MC quickly shut those ideas down. “Hehe I’m fine. You’re such a worrywart!” MC said with a giggle and smile, but Kenshin wasn’t buying it. When MC almost fainted from the sudden heatwave, Kenshin propped them up, loosening and rolling up their sleeves to cool them down. It was then that Kenshin noticed the many cuts on MC’s arms, some faded while others more fresh. His mind immediately went into panic, adrenaline overload. “Who did this? Who hurt you?” he frantically asked, panicked and enraged that MC could get hurt like this. “I-I did. I’m so sorry. I keep on thinking of everything I do wrong and I don’t want to bother anybody else with my problems. I get so tired of constantly switching between being happy for everybody else but so depressed and self-hating when alone. It’s so hard. I feel like a disappointment” MC’s normally smiley face was welling with tears, sobbing as they explained. Kenshin quickly scooped up MC, eyes wide with fear and sadness. He already lost one person to suicide, he didn’t want someone so dear to him now to harm themselves. “I am so sorry. I failed to protect you. Your wounds are my wounds. Don’t you ever do this again. I can’t bear to see the love of my life hurt and hate themselves.” After tears were spilled by both MC and a few from Kenshin while hugging eachother, they discussed how to help MC. As much as Kenshin would want to lock MC away somewhere where there’s no way MC or anybody else could harm them, he knew that would make things worse and restrict MC’s freedom and desire to connect to their close friends. He would definitely be more observant of MC, being slightly overbearing. If he noticed that MC was starting to feel drained and not feeling up for being cheerful, he’d make an excuse to the others so MC could get some space. Would encourage MC to be honest with their feelings, telling MC to tell him whenever they’re feeling a depressive/harmful episode coming and that it is never a bother and considers it an honor that MC can trust him. Whenever he’s unable to be around MC to comfort/provide company, he makes sure his bunnies are around MC bc he figures they’d calm MC down and distract MC from the urges to self harm. Both Kenshin and MC learn from eachother that they each have mental scars and emotional problems and that is valid, they can lean on and support one another to be the healthiest and feel the best they can be.

Ieyasu: MC was always helping Ieyasu see the bright side of things, making his grumpy pouts turn into a slight smile. MC’s goofy laughs and smiles lit up the room, something he greatly admired about them. However, sometimes MC would have a sad look in their eye, something they’d instantly wipe off and deny if somebody asked. When he got closer to MC, he tried to express concern in his roundabout way, but MC was always able to dodge the question, finding a distraction for him and going away to their room. Unfortunately, when MC was making a hot soup with Ieyasu, they spilled the contents on their lap, burning their legs. Ieyasu immediately went into doctor mode, ordering MC to roll back their kimono cloth so he could put inspect the degree of the burns and assess what he should do to treat it. MC fought him, but finally agreed when Ieyasu looked so earnest and worried at them. When he saw MC’s upper legs, he saw the burns from the soup but he also saw scars and cuts. “How the hell did these happen and how come you never came to me to treat these?” He’s seen self inflicted cuts and internally knew what was going on, but he dreaded the thought of MC doing this. When MC knew they couldn’t lie or smile out of this, they opened up, expressing how frustrated they get at themselves and how they feel like they deserve the harm they give themselves. How MC never wants others to worry about them and did not want Ieyasu, who already had negativity in his life, be burdened by MC’s problems. Ieyasu grabbed onto MC’s shoulders, looking into MC’s eyes with the most hurt gaze they’ve ever seen. “You have never been a burden. And you do not deserve the pain you give yourself. I have seen several crooked, horrible people and you are definitely not one of them. And you don’t have to be cheerful all the time if you don’t want to. I love you for who you are as a human being, not an idealized image. I know I’m not the best at being open with my feelings, but believe me when I say that you are allowed to make mistakes and have faults and be vulnerable. Just please do not hurt yourself over it.” Ieyasu made MC spend the night, treating their leg burns and cuts and also finding calming herbs that can help calm MC’s nerves. He would be more gentle with his words around MC and being more mindful, he’s not the best with words but makes sure that MC knows he’s there for them and wants to do anything he can to help them. Would probably roast anybody into a corner if they so much as say one harmful thing to them. Would go into the library and pull out any books about depression and what can help lessen the symptoms, trying to find any way to physically help. He learns to be more honest with his feelings by reassuring MC that they are capable and lovable. Suggests MC keeps a log tracking their moods and to write their feelings to help. Read somewhere that animals can help, leading him to put MC in charge of taking care of Wasabi because he’s “too busy and Wasabi keeps getting in trouble.”

Hideyoshi: MC always made sure to brighten up the place and work hard to make sure everybody was happy. MC would always lend an ear and encourage Hideyoshi when he was doubting himself or fed up with certain people/things. Hideyoshi always offered to help them, but MC would refuse, saying that he’s already got a lot on his plate and that they’re totally fine. He noticed something was off with MC one day, almost as if MC was pushing a happy front all day to hide something wrong. He decided to drop by with some tea during the night when he heard heavy breathing and sniffling, making him enter quickly to see if something was wrong. What he saw was MC with a knife in their hand, just about to graze into their skin. Hideyoshi dropped his tray, running to MC with wide eyes and roughly grabbing the knife, chucking it across the room. “WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?” he’d harshly ask, scared and confused as to what he saw, unfortunately this just caused MC to cover their face in their hands and start crying with a panic attack, making him soften his gaze and pull MC towards him to rub their back and calm them down to the point they were able to talk. “I’m sorry for doing this. I just keep trying to make everybody happy but I just feel so sad and empty and I don’t know if I want to hurt myself just to feel something or because I am angry at myself or what but I feel like I can’t stop. I didn’t want to bother you with this I’m sorry.” “You have no reason to apologize. I should be the one sorry for not noticing you were in pain. You are so positive and loving towards everybody, but you don’t feel that way about yourself, that seems very unfair. The only thing that bothers me is that I can’t find a way that can magically make you see yourself the way I see you.” “Sounds like something I should be saying to you.” MC sniffled with a small giggle. After a little bit, they talked out how to help communicate their feelings and recover from self harming. He’d be very cautious and a bit overbearing at first, hovering over MC and internally panicking when they were around sharp objects, but after some talks about it he learns to give MC some space when needed while also being supportive. Would look up all he could about depression and helpful things to do, leading him to get herbal teas that have calming properties and also getting ANYTHING and EVERYTHING he can get his hands on in town that looked like it could help MC. Things that could make good stress balls or trinkets to rip/pull/roll around/squish: get ‘em. Journal paper, brush, and ink to either write down their feelings or brush on their own skin: get ‘em. Would suggest MC to write down the good things that happened during the day as well as things they like/make them happy so they don’t just focus on the negatives in life. Would reassure MC that their feelings are valid and that they are still a wonderful human being that he wants to be with and support their healing and growth.

[hail-langdvn]

Work on an Off Day

Summary: Duncan’s been a bit too busy for (y/n). REQUESTED (:

Warnings: smut, fem!reader, language, daddy!kink, maybe a bit of dirty talk (i say maybe bc im horrible at dirty talk LMAO), probably more but im bad at warnings im sorry

Word Count: 1.9k

(hi, ugh its me. ive been mia and had the meanest writers block but im back for like the 50th time! i havent watched house of cards a day in my life but i assumed after all the hc & research ive done that this’ll be enough lmao)

He was in his office all day. Not that (Y/N) was complaining, at least he decided to stay home today. But when (Y/N) had pestered him to stay home, she envisioned his physical being with her, not being cooped up taking every single call in between whatever else Duncan did on a day to day basis. She didn't really ever ask what he really did, but she had a overall generality of it.

At first they planned to just stay in and watch whatever she wanted to watch—a lazy day because she never had those with him often. But then when Duncan got the first call, that idea got thrown in the trash. He whisked away into his office and never came out.

(Y/N)'s a reasonable girl! Moderately. Today was supposed to be their day and when something meddles with that, she was no longer reasonable.

When Pretty Woman wasn't making her smile to herself anymore and her thoughts consumed her, she decided to go a bit on a whim. (Y/N) pushed herself up from the couch and made her way to the office upstairs, where her boyfriend stayed.

Slipping in unnoticeably was easy, he was vigorously typing on his MacBook and talking to God-knows-who.

“No, that's not what I asked for.” He stated, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Give me a second.” Duncan puts the phone on mute for a second before turning to face his girlfriend. “Sorry, baby, I have to take care of a few things. Give me thirty minutes.”

Thirty minutes went by and he was still taking care of “a few things.” (Y/N) couldn't take anymore neglection; if she knew today would be like this, then he should've just gone to work.

The second time she entered the office she made it clear she wasn't taking anymore of this. When Duncan heard the knock on the door, he expected to see her in his oversized t-shirt she stole, the gray sweats she always wore at home, her hair in a loose ponytail, and her glasses threatening to fall further away from her face. However, (Y/N) wasn't there to be a pitiful girlfriend pouting for his attention. If she was going to get his attention, it was going to be drastic.

“Hold for a minute.” He hadn't noticed her, yet, which definitely annoyed her. But that didn't discourage her. “Baby- fuck.”

She sat on the black leather couch from across the room innocently as if she didn't waltz in there with his favorite lingerie set. “Are you done, yet?” She needily whined, slightly parting her legs not breaking eye contact.

“I'm in the middle of an important phone call.” He explained, gripping his pen as she started sucking on her two fingers. When her fingers were coaxed in her saliva, (Y/N) slid aside the panties she wore and rubbed her clit.

“So, you don't want to play with me, daddy?” She asked with a frown, giving him a clear view of her pussy. “That's why you stayed home today.”

“Five minutes.” He abruptly said, holding up his five fingers. She huffed, shrugging at him kicking it up a notch. Her index finger and thumb slightly pinched her nipple allowing a whimper to escape, growing wetter by the second. When she knew she was wet enough to slide a finger in, she wasted no time. Pumping her finger in and out, she grasped Duncan's attention more when an ungodly moan left her.

“Three minutes, daddy.” She taunted, glancing over at the clock on the wall to the right of her. Slipping the second finger in made her feel a little more full, yet it didn't feel as good as when he'd slip a second finger in. Nevertheless, she didn't stop herself.

“Look, I'll call later, I have some other business to take care of.” Duncan quickly hangs up and focuses all his attention to her. “Such a dirty slut, while I was taking a call?” He queried, walking over to her. “Shouldn’t have answered in the first place.” She sassed, sucking on her fingers. Her every move taunted him. “Supposed to be our day, remember?”

He instantly feels bad for his girlfriend, remembering the real reason why he was in his home office. Duncan wasn't even supposed to be working today. “I'm sorry.” He mumbled, approaching her on the couch. “How 'bout I make it up to you by playing with your pretty little cunt?”

Her legs feel like jello hearing his voice and tone change. (Y/N) melts under Duncan's touch when she feels his hands grip her thighs as he crouched down to become leveled with her pussy. “Didn't I ask a question?” He sternly asked, glancing up at her.

“Please, daddy, touch me.” She whimpered, feeling his breath against her.

“Doesn't sound like you want me to even touch you.” He teased, pretending to get up.

“No, no! Please, daddy. It's been two weeks! I need you so bad, please.” She moaned, trying to get him to at least slide a finger in or something. “I've been a good girl for you waiting all day, please, please, please—“ and she continued to splurge more nonsense rambling to prove how much she wanted him to touch her. Duncan didn't move a muscle or change expression, he derived off her begging alone.

When she noticed his small smirk, her mouth clamped shut. She thought she earned it, but when Duncan stood up, tears grazed her eyes. “Where are you going?” (Y/N) asked, watching him turn away from her and walking over to his desk.

“I spoil you too much.” He plainly said. Her eyebrows furrowed while her eyes glossed more by the second. “You beg like that all the time, and I give it to you. I just think you're not wanting it, you just say that you do.”

The games he played were painful, especially when she was severely turned on. (Y/N) was practically halfway to her orgasm before he approached her moments ago! He didn't want to cut her any slack?

Her sweet face contorted into a sadder version of his baby doll. “I-I was being a good girl! I tried to convince you as much as I could.” She sadly pouted, standing in front of his desk. “Please, daddy. I won't take it for granted, I promise!” Her final plea made Duncan give in. Who wouldn't?

He slid his rolling chair back allowing her to sit atop his desk with her legs wide. “Gorgeous.” He muttered before sliding his finger in her sopping pussy. (Y/N) suppressed any moans, not getting any permission to moan, yet.

Duncan couldn't hold back anymore, he attached his mouth to her clit. Laying his tongue flat, he licked upward, gathering all the juices in her mouth. His eyes never left her, yet (Y/N) clamped her eyes shut, being a bit intense for her.

“Look at me, baby.” He mutters on her clit. She forces her eyes to open and look at Duncan. “So sweet on my fucking tongue, almost forgot how good you taste.” He praised pumping his fingers in and out attempting to get her to cum faster.

“Oh god.” She exclaimed, unable to suppress anymore moans. “Please fuck me already, Daddy.” She whines, setting him off a bit. Duncan forgot how easily she could get overheated and assertive when he doesn’t let her moan.

He stops, sliding his fingers out and standing up straight. Instead of an angry expression or one of those “don’t-be-ungrateful” looks he’d normally give her, Duncan gave her a cheeky smirk licking his fingers clean. “You sure you want that now, darling?”

His ominous tone could send anyone running for the hills, but (Y/N)? She would consume it and ask for more. Maybe that’s one of the reasons he loves her so much. “Of course, Daddy. That’s why I asked.” She returns with an even more crazier tone matched with a grin, leaning into his personal space.

Duncan was already hard from when she strutted in his office and started pleasing herself. If she hadn’t been so assertive any sooner, he would’ve ripped his clothes off himself. But (Y/N) took care of that.

“So hot, Daddy.” She innocently grinned, taking her place back on the desk.

“Look at you,” He ushers gripping his cock, spreading her legs apart. “Wanting me to fuck you over my paperwork.” He teasingly rubbed his tip up and down her clit, earning a frustrated groan from his girlfriend. “What’s that, baby? Forgot that I control when you can have my cock?”

The tension of all of this wouldn’t let her form a coherent sentence. It was on the tip of her tongue like a single word forgotten. “Daddy,” she managed to get out, “Please don’t tease.” It was weak, but enough to make Duncan bury his cock deep in her. In less than a second his thrusts came in and came in rough. Her mouth gapes open and her eyes slam shut from the instantaneous burning in her stomach. Duncan’s hand gripped her thighs and his hips slammed into hers. She needed this for the past two weeks.

Her moans became louder by the second and she could’ve swore that after the first minute she could’ve cum. But she asked for this, so why in the world would she let in so easily?

“Squeezing around me so tight,” He spoke aloud, “must feel so good, huh, baby?” She could only respond with a moan in the state he had her.

“I-I’m gonna—“

“Not so fast.” He said, slowing down his pace to a painstakingly slow (yet, rough) thrust in and out. “I don’t fuck you for two weeks and you need to cum so soon?”

She let out another frustrated moan. “You just wanna tease me, you don’t want me to cum, Daddy.” Duncan smirks at her, his slow thrusts brought his a little closer to his own orgasm. When she was finally into the slow pace, he decided to tease her further switching the pace (for his own purposes, as well) and bringing the two of them to their climaxes. “Go ahead, cum around my cock.”

Her walls tightened around him and in an instant her cum dripped down his cock. Duncan slips out of her, jerking himself off, finishing himself off before shooting all over (Y/N)’s chest. She grins at him, swiping a bit of it on her finger before sucking it clean.

After showering and cleaning themselves up, Duncan finds himself in the bathroom staring at his beautiful girlfriend. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” She asks, genuinely curious, halting her face washing.

“I’ve been so busy with work,” he glides behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, “and it was supposed to be our day today. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, silly.” She laughed, bending over washing the rest of her face wash off with water. “I wasn’t mad, just frustrated.”

“Maybe I can stay home tomorrow, too. Make it up to you.” He suggests while she dries her face.

(Y/N) turns to face her boyfriend and shakes her head. “As great as that sounds, you wouldn’t be able to keep that promise. Just make it up to me when you get home.” And boy did he do that.

[justme-living-life]

Its funny..... more like pitiful.

How I sit on my couch and can almost fee you laying there on top of me as we watch a movie. How I work at my desks and glance off to the side where I would set the phone bc we were on video call. How I reach out my hand and expect to take hold of yours. How I cook and imagine you spinning around dancing to the music you are blasting. How I walk around the store and turn to see if you are still walking there next to me or did something catch your eye. How I smell coffee and instantly the taste of you mixed with your iced coffee comes to mind. How I cant even instantly goes with can you odd. How I cant think of the Nutcracker. Skyscraper. Ready player one. Pacific Rim. Sewing. Icecream. Pineapple soda. Dr pepper. Pizza. Museums. Harry Potter. Doctor Who. Vacations. The beach. Long car rides. Cold fingers and noses. Overheating. Crisp nights. Clear night skys full of stars. Rainy days. Hammocks. TØP any of them. Chocolate the 1975. Andy Grammar crazy beautiful. Freash eyes. I choose you. Owl city. All about us. Fireflies. Tedy can I. Blake Shelton HoneyBee. Dan and Shay Speechless. (And dear god. ) Alex and Sierra’s I Love You. (That one kills me everytime). With. Out. Instantly. Having images of you flash in my eyes.

How the image of you in the black and red dress climbing up into the tree is there. Or the grey dress and the nutcracker. The white dress under the trees by the water. The gaming headset and the glasses and not make up wrapped up in a blanket cocoon (my favorite). The makeup for work. Beltloops. Sweat pants. The kitty ears. The bunny ears. The antlers. The hair up. The hair down. The hair pulled back with the pencil. The tired long day of work look. The sleepy about to fall asleep look. The happy excided. The upset. The Dont mess with me. The im hungry. The I missed you please hug me look.

Its funny how this all flashes in seconds of something reminding me that I fucked shit up. How I did all of this. And I failed at fixing any of it. I deserve all the pain and suffering that it all brings back. Bc at the end of each flash. I feel the loss of you even more.

Yet. I think the funniest thing is. My dreams. For a while now. I have dreamt of you. Sometimes its not you standing there. Its your ora. How it made me feel to be around you. But others its you standing there within reach. Sometimes I get to hold you again. Sometimes I get to kiss you. Sometimes i get to talk to you. Argue even. Hear your beautiful laugh. See that gorgeous smile. And sometimes I get to just see you. And thats even enough. Just to see you stand so far away from me.

Its funny how almost everything around me reminds me of you. How every song is you. How the wind blows around me and I feel you.

Its funny how... its not funny. Its sad really. Bc I wont ever forget any moment. Ever amazing part. Of you.

[theranskahovs]

Crimson *Sergei x Reader*

Warnings: period sex. more dirty talk than usual.

A/N: I should just change my url to “sergeimalikov” bc that’s all I ever write now 🤗 do you know how easily I could’ve wrote sergei getting his red wings you’re welcome I didn’t

•••

The warmth of Sergei’s hand on your lower back is soothing, especially when he massages in slow circles. Every few minutes he gets caught up in the show he’s watching and forgets what he’s doing, until he remembers and begins the movement again.

You let out a deep breath as another wave of cramps flows through you. Your fingers tighten their grip on Sergei’s shirt as you let it pass. From your position on the bed you can’t see the TV, but you don’t mind. You’ve wrapped your arms and legs around Sergei, with your face pressed into his neck. Just the thought of moving away from him is unappealing.

Sergei’s hand strokes over your hair absentmindedly, making you want to cuddle even closer to him if it were possible.

“It hurts so bad,” you groan, the sound muffled by his shirt.

“I know, kitten, I’m sorry.” You’ve taken painkillers but they refused to kick in, you were already overheated enough without a heating pad, and Sergei was doing his best but his hand on your back didn’t help that much.

“Have you ever tried sex to help with cramps?” He asks bluntly.

“No. Most guys are terrified of blood.”

“If I was scared of blood then I’m in the wrong business,” Sergei says with a chuckle. “Do you... want to try it, then?”

“Sure. It’s not like it’ll make it worse.” You move up so your faces are level as you give your verdict.

Sergei smiles, leaning in to kiss you and roll you over. “Wait, wait, wait, give me a minute.”

You hop off the bed, going to the bathroom. You grab a towel from the cabinet and peak your head back out to toss it to Sergei; you’re lucky you had a darker one that was clean. You head back into the bathroom, preparing yourself. You debate putting your pants back on but decide against it, knowing they’ll just get bloody anyway. While you’re at it you take off your shirt, it’ll make it easier.

You take a moment to pep talk yourself, reminding yourself you look sexy even if you don’t necessarily feel it. In all honesty you feel bloated and crampy, and those together don’t equal the highest confidence.

You emerge from the bathroom, hurrying to get on the towel. Even though there’s no way anything could be dripping out already you’re scared to stain the carpet.

“What?” you question as you position yourself on the towel. Sergei’s staring at you, making you wonder if there’s already a mess. You feel so vulnerable, and with your hormones a mess it almost makes a frustrated tear spring to your eye.

He grins at you, “You’re so gorgeous, angel.”

You smile sheepishly back as Sergei finishes stripping. Once he’s done you pull him down for a kiss, arms wrapping around his neck.

He hovers above you, and you’re glad he’s putting less of his weight on you than usual. Normally it’s a comforting presence, but your stomach is already in too much pain.

You pull back as he starts to pinch your nipple. “Be gentle, everything is sore.” He nods, pressing a kiss to where he pulled too hard.

He presses kisses all over your chest, hands heavy on your waist. Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging slightly when he bites your neck. His tongue roves over the area he bit, soothing the sting.

Your nails drag down his chest as he kisses you again. It’s a slow and sensual kiss, not rushed but still just as passionate.

You reach down to stroke Sergei’s half-hard cock, enjoying the low groan he makes. In turn he licks his thumb and reaches between your bodies to play with your clit.

The sensations are heightened and it has you letting out a soft moan. His fingers slip further down and before you know it he’s sliding one in. “Sergei!” You gasp, half in shock and half in pleasure.

He adds another finger, and continues rubbing your clit. He sighs at how tight your grip on his cock is getting, bucking into your hand. Your thumb smears the precum around his red tip.

“Sergei, please,” you whine as his fingers hit your gspot, begging for even more.

“Ready, babygirl?” He grits out.

“Yes, daddy.” The feeling of being empty has your walls clenching around nothing as he pulls his fingers out. He spreads you open and teases your entrance with his dick.

You sit up on your elbows, “Don’t you want a condom?” You don’t think he’d want to get his dick bloody.

“Doesn’t make difference to me” he says with a shrug.

You nod, laying back down. He presses in slowly like you asked, slipping in easily from your arousal and the blood. Both of you moan once he’s fully in.

He grips your thighs, keeping your legs spread open. When you look down to watch his movements, you see red fingerprints on your thighs.

You flush at the sight, knowing by now blood must be all over the towel and on him. You feel so exposed. Somehow it’s the most intimate you’ve ever been together.

He fucks you slowly but intensely, and a rough thrust has you crying out and putting your hands on his chest.

He stops instantly. “What’s wrong? What is it?” His eyes are full of love as they search yours, hating that he hurt you.

“I think you hit my cervix, and it did not feel good.”

“Do you want to stop?”

That’s the last thing you want. “No, just- just don’t go that deep.” You laugh to yourself, thinking it’s probably the first and last time you’ll ever say that sentence.

He nods, pressing a kiss to your forehead. He moves down to your lips, and the kiss radiates ardor.

“Better?” Sergei asks after a while.

“Yes, so much.” Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer.

He smirks down at you, “Guess my cock is just too big for you.”

You giggle, “Or my cervix is lower this week, but I’ll let you think whatever you want.”

“Oh?” He hums, challenging you to keep talking. If you weren’t feeling so bad he’d probably punish you for making such a comment.

“It’s too big for your pretty mouth, no? That’s why you always choke on it, right?” He angles his hips so he’s hitting your gspot, leaving you a moaning mess.

“Daddy asked you question, kitten.” His thumb presses harder on your clit, making your head spin.

“Mm- yes- your cock’s too big for me,” you grit out, barely able to form an understandable sentence. Your hips roll, desperate to meet his thrusts.

Sergei kisses along your jaw line, nipping at your bottom lip. Your fingers dig into his shoulders as you murmur, “Fuck.”

You’d have hoped you wouldn’t be able to think of the pain, but instead it turned into a dull ache. Still there, making you wince if you thought about it, but buried beneath the arousal you felt.

“You feel so perfect, princess,” Sergei groans into your ear. “Gonna make me cum.”

You smirk at the praise. His thrusts get sloppier as he nears the end. You’re not far behind, each circle of your clit sends a zap of electricity to your core. Each press of his dick against your gspot has your walls fluttering around him.

“C’mon baby, cum for daddy,” he encourages. You bite your lip, focusing on how amazing his length feels as each stroke stretches you out.

“Want me to fill your cute little pussy up? Have my cum drip down your legs?”

“Mmmhmm,” you moan out, the beginnings of your orgasm taking hold.

Everything happens so fast. Your clit is being rubbed at what feels like supersonic speed, and every thrust is hitting perfectly.

“Sergei!” You exclaim, before your body takes over, sending ripples of pleasure through you. Your walls tighten around Sergei, bringing his own release. He tightens his grip on your hips, moaning deeply.

He hovers above you, resting his forehead on yours as you both recover. You put your hands on both sides of his face, kissing all over.

He pulls out and rolls over onto his back next to you. You prop yourself up on your elbow, admiring how well the post-sex glow looks on him. You stare at the blood that’s on him, his hands (which by now you’re well used to) and his dick.

“Do you feel better?” He asks.

You nod, smiling back at him. “I need a shower now, though. Join me?”

He makes a sound of agreement, getting up and starting the water. You stay laying down for a moment, remembering the cramps you had before, and acknowledging the way they’re not piercing anymore. You make a mental reminder for next month.

[simply-breeee]

Nov. 12 - 4:38pm

I feel the urge to write. My life is a complete mess. Okay so if you've been reading my posts in chronological order you may notice ive been talking about two different guys in my life. Okay well here everything that you may need to know:

* There is B1, B2, my SM, my Best-ee and lets name him gramps. Okay so 'him' from the summer is B1 and B2 is the new/old guy. everyone else will be explained as needed.

Okay so boom these past two weeks or so I been chatting with both B1 and B2. Before anyone says anything - never once was I told that these two individuals wanted to exclusively 'talk' to me. Okay so B1 started slipping up, or better yet I noticed his character flaws when I was shown 'better effort' from B2. Mind you, me and B2 have been an on and off type of thing for the past year but never made anything official. So B1 is slipping and B2 is back in my life showing me all the attention I could ask for.

Well happening on the other side of town im in a blocking battle with gramps over Best-ee. okay so apparently gramps had feelings for me (unbeknownst to me) and felt some type of way about my relationship with best-ee. Know best-ee was technically gramps friend first, but me and best-ee get along so well that we instantly clicked. well that rubbed gramps the wrong way and made his lash out on me because he felt like I was 'his' and that I we was supposed to end up together but now that im friends with best-ee thats getting in the way of his plans.

MIND YOU these are feelings I had know clue about and even still, I told him when we first got cool that I didn plan on being worth anyone and that I just want him as a friend. I guess that conversation went over his head bakes he sure was pissed about me and best-ee's relationship. Now with what just happened I understand why but im getting ahead of myself. okay so fast forward, I went off on gramps because I did like how he would act towards me because of a fantasy he had. SO now we are on better terms but its still awkward. And now he trynna push up on my friend SM.

Okay so yesterday I was on the phone with best-ee and SM when I got a call from another friend of mine (she doest really need a name). So me and her are on the phone when B1 decides to call me. I answer for him and chat for a second. we talk until he says hold on and hangs up. so I try to call back my best-ee while I test SM to see if she is still coming over. best-ee took too long to answer so as I was about to hang up B1 calls back. I talk with him and some bs (which is a whole other situation) happened. While being on the phone with him B2 called and ofc I chose his call so I switched calls over. While talking to B2 I called SM on my Mac and, putting B2 on mute, told her what happened with B1. She said I should block him lol. so me and B2 talk for a little while longer until his phone overheated and we hung up. during all off this my cousin also called me, so now im on my Mac with my cousin and B2 on my phone (before the overheating which was seconds apart). So when I get off the phone with him I call Sm on my phone and tell mat cousin the situation with B1. Ofc my best-ee decides to call em back so I made a big group chat with those three and let them sit on the side. I ended up calling back B1 and they overheard our conversation. They l said block him. He was being stale asf and barely talking. Ik I shouldn't make excuses BUT he was playing the game with his friends. he called me ig for my presence but thats it.

I eventually added B1 to the group cal and it was awkward asf bc best-ee was actin like that one uncle that ask all them questions. now fast forward to that night- B2 is seeming very distant which is not enjoyable -his head was hurting and he had to work. I decided to got over to my best-ee house with SM just to get off campus. After 🍃 we all just chilled. It was me, SM, gramps, and best-ee. So I usually sleep in the same bed as my guy friends because ion plan to fuck em so it shouldn't be an issue if we lay together. We got cuddle or nun hell half the time we sleep back to back. Well this time was different.

So this morning we was laying in the bed and I feel best-ee hadn't in a fist like shape next to me. we are both laying the same way but there's a gap between us which is where his hand is. So, his had was in a. fist between us and I didn't think anything of it. It was hovering close to my butt but again we sleep in the same bed al the time and never had any issues. Okay so I fall back to sleep and next thing you know im being woken up by feeling a hand on my ass. He was resting his hand on my ass. So I was like "what" because I thought he was trynna get my attention... he had never done this before- the only reason I didn't jumpy to conclusion is because his hadn't was between us earlier so to me it made sense that you wold just let your hand and set it down on what's near to get my attention.

Okay so I said 'what' and he said 'huh' so I was like 'you need sum/what you doin' (something along those lines, this was at 8am so leave me be) and he was like 'just trynna see sum' so I was like unt un no sir, so I said ' no best-ee I aint one of your little hoes' and he was like 'what', so I took this opportunity to turn over (now facing him0 and said 'im not one of your little hoes' beastie no sir you to finna be trynna been that with me. thats LITERALLY what gramps was just pissed about becasue he thought this would happen and now you trynn make it happen. No sir. Everything was cool after that like when we woke up up and got out the bed. and for anyone wondering I was in a pair of brown plaid pj pants for 5below and a California love shirt. my outfit was giving very conservative and comfy.

I just want B2 to not go to work so we can ft while I do my hw. At the same time I am a adult and realize he has to work and make money and I shouldn't put my emotions before him livelihood. Especially emotions that are not even valid because im being unreasonable.

[anthyssas]

“Homestuck Isn’t Dead” Tag i know this is supposed to be like ask tag, or one day - one paragraph tag, but i dont have enough follovers for first and enough patience for second, so im posting it as it is warning: tipsy typing, so i might have a lot of typos and mistakes 1. Do you have a chum handle? What does it mean? um, no? i have "metaphora_madness" one, designed to kinda resemble ones, but it does not strictly folllow the rules 2. Is your username homestuck related/have you had one hs related? nope, never! i always try to create something original and mine 3. Do you call your s/o a matesprit? 1) i dont have a s/o 2) if i had, id never do that 4. Do you call your best friend your moirail? lol noooo. my best friend is a ordinary person and knows nothing about homestuck 5. Are you “kin” with any characters or commonly called a character? nope, but extended zodiac test said im a true aries, does that count? 6. God Tier? true aries means derse+time, but speaking about class i have no idea, maybe ill figure it out later 7. Do you make HS fanart? i cant draw, so no 8. Do you make hs fanfiction? i CAN write, but no, i never wrote any fanfiction 9. Do you roleplay homestuck? where and how often? omg no, i thik its weird. no offence, ill just never participate in something like this 10. Do you cosplay homestuck characters? Who and where? OMG YES! actually the only time i went out in a homestuck related cosplay was summer 2015 with my dead aradia, and since then i never did a full cosplay, but recently i tried a couple of costests, and some of them gained A LOT of appreciation! 11. Are you apart of ask blogs? i have no idea what "apart" supposed to mean here, but i have never ran or asked any ask blogs 12. Are you in any homestuck groups? again, no idea what initially "groups" was supposed to mean, like, internet communities, or real life meetups, but no, never. i am an old, boring and asocial person unfortunately 13. Favorite character? aradia ♥♥♥ 14. Least favorite character? no idea, theres a lot i dont really like, but none in particular 15. OTP? i try to avoid shipping, so nope 16. NOTP? nope 17. BROTP? nope 18. Do you want homestuck to just die already? what. when i got into homestuck in 2015, it was kinda dead already and i was really upset by that, so no, i want it to revive! and hiveswap really helps 19. Are you following up with hiveswap? Do you play? Watch YT videos? i do! and i have hiveswap installed, but my laptop just instantly dies from overheating when i try to play, so i never moved further than joey's room yet 20. Tell us how homestuck has effected you in real life? no idea, i never thought about that! apart from falling in love with the colour red and wearing my aries tee like everyday. and probably also connecting any zodiac signs and real people under these signs with troll characters lol 21. Have you met anyone through homestuck? no, i try to avoid hs fandom people in real life bc they are mostly teens and really weird behaving. and my contemporary old geek friends were either already done with hs the moment i got into it, or not really eager to get into it 22. Have you left the fandom before? i never really was "in fandom" until troll call happened lol 23. How many times have you read through it? currently on my 3rd readthrough, first in spring 2015, second in spring 2016, recent one i started in kinda november 2017 and currently stuck on ACT 5 ACT 1. this one is my first readtrough in english on original site actually. first 2 were of a fan translate, which was really accurate though 24. Did you ever skip intermissions/dialog/animations? i was going to say no, never, but i probably skipped a couple of flash animations on my 2nd readthrough bc this was at work when i had nothing to do but still dreaded that my supervisor will roast me about watching cartoons lol 25. Opinions on the fandom? it depends. theres a lot of good people, but theres a lot of weird people too though. and theres a lot of good but weird people which i have no problem with! 26. Opinions on the comic? haha, would i post this if the comic was crap??? it's perfect! i have less morality level that the fandom teens, so im totally ok with some awful shit that happens in comic bc its still not in real life. i enjoy it as it is 27. Do you favor the trolls, humans, or carapaces? or cherubs? but yeah, trolls, of course. i am an old ass dark elfs' fan, so i have a soft spot for any grey-skinned character 28. Favorite moment of all of homestuck? i dont specifically have one or just forgot it, i have no idea. to name one, it's probably the beforus arc and those 3 walkthrough games with dancestors? i dont even remember how it's called, bit i liked those 29. Least favorite moment of all of homestuck? act 1, before all sburb fun starts. i know its important for plot and story and all that, but its sooo boring that i actually started reading hs in 2014, went through first 5 or 10 pages and dropped it until good times, that actually happened year later 30. Tell us a homestuck based story. i have no idea what should i share here! like, i wear my aries tee a lot, and one or two times i might or might not hear something like "ewwww, homosuck!" on streets from people passing by, but im not sure. and at a con in 2015 when i was in my dead aradia cosplay, i had some non-cosplaying teens approaching me and appreciating my cosplay and saying "you are SOOO CANONIC", but 99% of HS cosplayers there acted like they dont see me at all as if im a real ghost? and there's a lot of stories like this but im not sure if i should share those here 31. How homestuck related is your blog? like, 80%? i still post life stuff and other stuff i like, but it's mostly hs

[niftylion]

Boyf Riends wisdom teeth headcanons

!!Mentions of blood, surgery, drool/saliva, needles, all that good stuff about teeth and removing of teeth!!

I gotta put a read more/ keep reading tab bc this is gonna be long and some based on real experiences,,, zoinks

Also some fluff in there

Okay so rad,,, 

1) Jeremy got his wisdom teeth out first bc he had to get a cyst in his gums removed before he got his braces on (braces headcanon woOT). 

2) Jeremy got three out at once so he was super loopy and low-key stubborn, his dad and Michael had to act as human crutches and lug him to the passenger’s seat bc he refused to use a wheelchair

3) Jeremy drooled a lOT and after Michael sat in the back, Jeremy turns his head real fast and goes, “I,,, I look like a fuccon zthombiiiiiiiiieeeeeeee” with gauze in his mouth anD MICHAEL TRIES SO HARD NOT TO LAUGH BC HE KNOWS IT’LL MAKE JER LAUGH AND THERE’LL BE BLOOD EVERYWHERE

4) ??? Jeremy thinks the mask for the laughing gas looked like a skeleton kind of jaw ?? and he gets really upset bc Michael never took pictures and now all Jer has is an inaccurate memory of how (un)cool he looked??

5) Jeremy’s cheeks get suPER puffy and his face is always kind of blushy/red bc he basically has a helmet of ice packs around his face,,, and the rest of him is overheating bc he’s waddling around in blankets against the wishes of the dentist who was all like “doN’T WALK AROUND” 

6) Jeremy almost starts crying when he gets on his phone the first time after his surgery bc his hands are all fumbly and he can’t even hold the phone correctly bc he’s still waiting for the anesthesia  to wear off

7) Michael gets him to calm down by playing Bob Marley ( 6 and 7 happened to me, my mom being Michael in that scenario)

8) They have one (1) picture of Jeremy after his surgery, it’s him with his ice helmet, sleeping on the couch, in a cocoon of blankets, drooling. Jeremy cries every time he sees it.

now for Michael

1) Michael is a big bABY 

2) ?? He’s in the waiting room fidgeting and he gets called for his appointment, gives his glasses to Jeremy all dramatic like, and says “remember me”

3) Jeremy rolls his eyes and follows Michael, glasses in hand, to the cursed surgery room.

4) Jeremy sees that the laughing gas mask does NOT look like a skeleton jaw, he is disappointed

5) Michael is out instantly, he’s not sure if it’s the gas or bc he stayed up until 5 worrying about it.

6) He wakes up after the surgery, first thought, “can I take my teeth home” 

7) He lets Jeremy and the nurse lIFT him into the wheelchair, he doesn’t care, he’s getting carried and escorted

8) Michael is still blind,Jeremy has his glasses

9) Jeremy helps Michael with his seat belt, puts his glasses on, and Michael just sits there in awe, gauze dripping, and says “eyes, your ey–,, you’re, p r e t t y,,” 

10) JEREMY IS LIKE “BRO YOU’RE ON DRUGS THIS IS OKAY JUST NAP ON THE WAY HO M E”

11) Michael spends the car ride literally drooling at Jeremy

12) First two days, he loves getting babied and cared for by parents and Jeremy, by the fourth  day he can kind of eat on his own and with soft solids?? N O P E!! He asks Jeremy to get the remote and feed him that good applesauce and blow on his already room temperature soup,,, 

13) Michael has more videos of his wisdom tooth loopiness, most of them are just of him sleeping/sleeping on Jeremy and changing his gauze and complaining

14) One video has Jeremy jokingly asking if he was pretty on the second day. Michael, recently woken up and still loopy from the pain medication he took before sleeping says, “Hell y-y ea hhhhhh,, th e pr- prettietht b oooyy” and plopping onto Jeremy’s lap. 

15) The video ends with a shaky camera and Jeremy going “hhhhHHHHHHHHHHFFFFFFFFFFF”

[imagines-never-die]

Boys of your choice finally working up the courage to talk to their crush, but their crush just became 1000% more intimidating to talk to bc they're wearing something a bit more revealing or cute today. (Not naughty or anything when I say revealing, maybe they run into them on their way to the pool and it's the first time seeing them in a swimsuit or something)

(For this one, I went with Junkrat, Roadhog, and Zenyatta)

Junkrat

It wouldn’t be very hard to tell if Junkrat liked you; he’scertainly not very subtly about it. Everytime he blows something up, he just has to show you! Whenever he raids amilk tea shop, he just has to getenough for the both of you. And he can’t just sit next to you—he has to sitright next to you and practically breathe down your neck! So yeah, it wasn’texactly a secret to anyone on base that Jamison liked you. Now, it was just amatter of time for him to man-up and confess.

Behind the scenes, he was practicing like crazy, writing outwhat he’d say in his chicken scratch handwriting and crossing it out againsaying, “no, no, that sounds stupid.” He practiced in front of the mirror, hepracticed on Roadhog, and he practiced on training dummies! But nothing couldprepare him for the real thing. The one day he decided to confess to you wasthe one day Mei and Tracer invited you to go swimming. It was your day off,after all, and you weren’t sure when you’d get lovely weather like that again.

So when he finally confronted you on your way to the pool,you were wearing short shorts and were shirtless/wearing a bikini top. Herounded the corner of the hallway, looking all determined and ready.

“Oh, hey Junkrat,” you smiled and waved.

His jaw went totally slack as his eyes instantly moved toyour exposed flesh. Ooooh shoot, he was out of it.

“Urm…Junkrat?” you approached him worriedly, “Are you ok?”

“U-uh—I,” he suddenly straightened up, scratching the backof his neck, “W-well, I was just looking for—for you!”

“Oh really? What for?” you asked.

But no matter how hard the junker tried, he could not keephis eyes off your pecs/breasts. He had never seen them out there like that! Howwas he supposed to handle this now when he could barely look you in the eye?!All his well-rehearsed lines had suddenly gone out the window.

“N-nothing!” he yelped anxiously, “Nevermind, nevermind,wasn’t important at all, I swear!”

“O…k?” you scratched your head curiously, “Well Mei, Lena,and I are going swimming this afternoon if you want to join us,”

“Oh, hehe, naw!” he waved his hand dismissively and tried tohide the growing red on his face, “I-I can’t swim anyhow,”

“You can’t? Well how about I teach you?”

“N-Naw, I couldn’t let ya do th-that!” he giggled nervously,“You go and—uh er—enjoy your time with the girls, yeah! I’ll uh…catchup withyou later!”

With that, he sped off down the hall, muttering under hisbreath, “…When you’re fully clothed…”

Roadhog

It might be a little harder to tell if Mako has a crush onyou simply because he’s such a quiet guy to begin with. You’ll have to havesome sharp eyes to notice him watching you silently out of the corner of youreye. You might also be able to tell by how nicely he treats you compared to theother agents. He’s more gruff and blunt with the others, but he’s a lot gentlerand more docile with you.

His main concern about confronting you with his feelings isthat he’ll be shot down. After all, you’re so cute and pretty, why would youlike a big Aussie man who kills people for a living? Roadhog missed a lot ofchances to confess to you, simply because he thought it “wasn’t a good time” orthat “you looked busy” or that “he’d just bug you.” But they were all justexcuses to put it off.

Finally, one evening Junkrat had enough of his partner’sfretting. It was time to get this whole thing over with! He shoved the fat manto your quarters and left him there, standing awkwardly outside your door.Letting out a sigh, he rapped his meaty hand on the door and waited for ananswer.

Sure enough, you answered with a cheery, “Hello Mako!” Buthe was totally caught off guard by what you were wearing. A floor-lengthballgown/tuxedo replaced your usual agent uniform, hugging you in all the rightplaces and making you look super sophisticated. Mako couldn’t think of anythinghe had seen that looked so poised. Looking at you then, how perfect and neatyou were, and thinking of himself, he began to think it would never work. Amessy ragtag junker with someone as classy as you? He figured he’d just be anuisance to you…

“Oh, right!” you noticed him staring at your dress/suit, “I’mgoing out to a charity gala tonight. What do ya think?”

Mako was silent for a few seconds save for the raspy breathsthat always emanated from his mask.

“You look…beautiful,” he said softly.

“Thanks,” a light pink dusted your cheeks, “By the way, didyou need something?”

All you got was more silence, but inside Mako’s head was araging inner turmoil. What should he do?! Make up an excuse and leave it there,or confess to them now of all times—when they were looking their most amazingand too good for him?!

“Um…I forgot,” he mumbled and started on his way back.

Your brow creased as you said, “Mako. If you have somethingyou want to tell me, you know you can,”

That stopped him, making him twiddle his thumbs nervouslylike he always would when he was around them.

He slowly waddled back over to them and breathed, “Just uh…I…Ireally like you, [Name]. Th-that’s all I wanted to say,”

Your eyes widened in shock as your blush deepened. Thiswould certainly give you something to think about at the gala.

Zenyatta

Zenyatta’s all about kindness to everyone, but when it cameto you, he turned up his kindness levels to over 9,000. You were pretty surethis omnic had a thing for you. The main trouble with him was that he had neverfelt something like this before! Omnics process embarrassment and infatuationdifferently from humans, and he wasn’t sure how to process those new emotion.So it would take him a while to learn how to cope with them, but once he did,he would feel ready to confront you.

He’d go through lots calming exercises to keep him thinkingclearly and concisely so as not to mess anything up. Zen wanted this confessionof love to be perfect. After a small search around the monastery for you, heheard your melodic humming coming from the main atrium. He always loved thathum and how it resonated through the air, making the coils and wires of hisbody vibrate.

Following the sound, he found you spinning around at thecenter of the atrium, practicing a small dance by yourself. You were wearing a…oh.Zenyatta’s approach suddenly halted when he saw the blue skater dress/ tux thatyou wore. He had never seen you so dolled up before! At first, it warmed hiscircuits to see you looking so pretty, but then they began to overheat. Oh no,it was happening again! Zen tried to get himself under control, but he justcouldn’t! He considered leaving, and telling you another time, but you noticedhim standing on the one end of the atrium.

“Oh, Zenyatta!” you called out, “Hi!”

To you, he just stood there all strangely stoic and quiet,but inside, he was panicking about what to do. Well, he figured, you hadalready seen him so there was no point in running.

Walking towards you, he said, “You look lovely tonight,[Name].”

“You think? Oh thank goodness,” they sighed in relief, “Iwas worried this didn’t fit right, so I was practicing a few dance steps in itjust to make sure it did. You think it’ll be ok?”

“Of course,” he nodded, “What is the occasion,”

“There’s a small dance going on in the village just belowhere,” you explained, “I know the other monks don’t like it when we leave the monastery,but I think they’re really missing out. They have lots of fun stuff to do inthe village!”

“Hey!” an idea suddenly popped into your head, “Why don’tyou come with me?”

Zenyatta let out a small gasp and suddenly pictured himselfthere: dancing slowly to music, you right up against him as he led you throughthe dance, everyone watching, his hands around your waist…ummm. He hadn’t evenrealized he was stalling until you waved a hand in front of his face.

“Oh! W-well,” he stuttered, “I don’t really know how todance, and I’m afraid I don’t have the proper attire for the event,”

“Aw ok,” you pouted, “Well, maybe the next dance they haveyou can come. We’ll get you a nice suit and teach you a few dance moves, too!”

“That sounds wonderful,” he said.

“It does!” you beamed, “Well I better start heading down. It’sa long walk, you know. See ya!”

“F…Farewell,” he waved weakly to you as you left.

He had let you get away. Then again, maybe that was for thebest since he could practically fry an egg on his metallic body he wasoverheating so much!