#mix note counting machine

[buckets-and-trees]

Taking You Home

Characters/Pairings: soft!dark Ari Levinson x Female!Reader, soft!dark Curtis Everett x Female!Reader, Ari x Reader x Curtis Word Count: 6.2k Summary: After waking up in Curtis's booth at Obsidian Stain Studio, you decide to explore more with the two men who've just ruined you.

Content/Warnings: explicit smut, mfm threesome, kissing, oral (female and male receiving), spit roasting, vaginal intercourse, unprotected sex, marking, overstimulation, after care, insatiable sexual appetites, praise kink, innocence kink, corruption kink, manhandling, allusions to voyeurism/exhibitionism

Author Notes: While not strictly a series, this is the second of probably four stories I plan to write for these three...

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You groan as you blink back into consciousness, the light too bright, and the the sound and feel of everything not as familiar as it should be.

And then there’s a warm hand on your cheek, and you lean into it, but that doesn’t seem quite right either.

“Welcome back,” Ari says with a soft chuckle.

You gasp and jolt up, memories flooding back to you now all at once. You're still in the tattoo chair, but it's been adjusted to a more upright position. A large, soft flannel shirt drapes over you, its sleeves hanging past your fingertips. The scent of pine and musk clings to the fabric, oddly comforting in its unfamiliarity.

Ari places a hand on your shoulder, easing you back into the chair. Your eyes scan around the room, taking in your surroundings with remembered clarity. The harsh fluorescent lights that had seemed so bright moments ago now reveal the familiar setting of the tattoo parlor booth. The buzz of machines has been replaced by a gentle hum of activity and soft rock music playing from a distant speaker.

"Easy there," Ari murmurs, his voice low and soothing. "You're alright. Here, have a drink."

He reaches behind him, retrieving a bottle of water and handing it to you.

You reach for the water bottle with shaky hands, your fingers brushing against Ari's as you take it from him. The cool plastic feels grounding against your skin. You unscrew the cap, the faint crackle of the seal breaking seeming unnaturally loud in the quiet booth. The first sip of water is a relief, soothing your parched throat. You hadn't realized how thirsty you were until the cool liquid touched your lips.

As you drink, you become acutely aware of the aches in your body - a dull throb from your freshly tattooed ribs, a deeper, more intimate soreness that makes you shift uncomfortably in the chair. The flannel shirt - Curtis’s, you realize - rustles softly with your movement, the fabric soft against your bare skin.

As if thinking of the man has summoned him back, Curtis returns to the booth, his hands full of cleaning supplies.

Curtis's eyes meet yours, a mix of concern and something darker flickering in their icy depths. "How are you feeling, sugar?" he asks, his voice low and gravelly.

You take another sip of water, buying yourself a moment to gather your thoughts. How do you feel? Sore, certainly. Overwhelmed, definitely. But there's also a strange sense of contentment, a warmth that has nothing to do with the flannel shirt draped over you.

"I'm okay," you manage to say, your voice a bit hoarse. "A little sore."

Curtis nods, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "That's to be expected. You took us both so well."

The memory of what transpired earlier floods back, causing heat to rise in your cheeks. You look down, suddenly unable to meet either man's gaze, and you take another swig of water.

Curtis gets to cleaning his tools and his station. Ari seems to give you a moment, but you can feel his eyes on you, and then he lays his hand on your knee and squeezes gently. You look up and give him a tight smile.

As you take another drink, your eyes roam over Ari's face, taking in the soft concern still etched in his features. His blue eyes, which had been dark with desire earlier, now shine with a gentler light. You notice a faint sheen of sweat on his brow, a few strands of his hair sticking to his forehead. It's a strangely intimate detail that makes your heart flutter.

“Do you have plans after this?” he asks.

“Um…”

“Because we’d like to take you to our place, do this more properly, see where things go.”

Your eyes widen at Ari's suggestion, a mix of excitement and apprehension coursing through you. The idea of going home with them, of continuing this unexpected adventure, is both thrilling and terrifying.

"I..." you start, then pause, unsure how to respond. Part of you wants to say yes immediately, to dive headfirst into whatever this is. But another part, the more cautious side, hesitates.

Curtis looks up from his cleaning, his ice-blue eyes locking onto yours. "No pressure, sugar," he says, his voice surprisingly gentle. "But we'd like to take care of you properly."

Ari nods in agreement. "We got a bit... carried away earlier," he admits, a hint of regret in his tone. "We just want to make sure you're okay, and, honestly, we'd like to explore this further if you're interested."

You bite your lip, considering their offer. You look from Ari to Curtis. His ice blue eyes are intense, but there's a warmth there that wasn't present before. "We don't usually do this, sugar," he says, his voice low.

“And by ‘don’t usually,’” Ari interjects, “he means we’ve never done this.”

Your eyes widen at this revelation, a mixture of surprise and intrigue coursing through you. The knowledge that this is as new for them as it is for you adds an unexpected layer of vulnerability to the situation.

"Never?" you whisper, your voice barely audible.

Curtis shakes his head, a rare hint of uncertainty in his usually confident demeanor. "Never like this," he confirms. "We've had our fun, sure, but…"

"But nothing like what happened here," Ari finishes for him. "Never in the studio, and certainly never shared anyone before.”

“Until you,” Curtis confirms.

The weight of their words settles over you, and you find yourself at a crossroads. The rational part of your brain screams caution, reminding you of the risks, the unknowns. It tells you to politely decline, to go home and process everything that’s happened. But there's another part, a part that's been awakened by these two men, that yearns to explore this connection further.

"Okay," you hear yourself say, surprising even yourself with the decisiveness in your voice. "I'd like that."

But maybe you shouldn’t be surprised. Getting your first tattoo had been significant, a mark of a new chapter in your life where you made more bold choices about your life. Coming back for the second one had been wanting more beautiful ink on your skin, yes, but this time around it had also been to see what you had left unexplored with Ari, only to end up with Curtis, and then to have such strong connections with them both.

If you were trying to let go of rigidity in your life and make more decisions based on being happy, not on the expectations of others, to allow yourself to explore, this certainly hit that mark.

And that’s what you remind yourself of when you’re in the shower in their home just over half an hour later. You’d ridden over with them in Curtis’s old truck - old but beautifully well-kept - taking the middle of the full-length leather bench seat. Ari spoke more than the quieter Curtis, but the conversation had been easy between you three together.

They’d shown you quickly around the modestly-sized bungalow house, then Curtis suggested you shower while they waited for the dinner Ari had already ordered ahead to be delivered on the drive over. You’d agreed, feeling sweaty and sticky from the earlier sex, and also wanting a moment to yourself. The hot water running over your skin felt nice, but after the first few minutes, you found yourself more anxious being alone and eager to be back with them. It seemed strange to be away from the men while you were in their house, and you also wanted to uncover more of what this might be.

You only showered from shoulders down, keeping your face and hair dry, while also being careful around your freshly tattooed ribs. Stepping out of the shower, you quickly towel off, and hang the towel on the rack. When you look to the bathroom counter, your clothes are gone, but have been replaced with a pair of grey sweat pants and a soft looking, forest green t-shirt. They’ll both be big on you, but there’s a drawstring in the waistband of the sweats.

You slip into the borrowed clothes, the soft fabric a comfort against your clean skin. The t-shirt hangs loosely on your frame, the neckline dipping low enough to reveal your collarbone. You roll up the hem of the sweatpants and cinch the drawstring tight around your waist.

Taking a deep breath, you open the bathroom door and pad barefoot down the hallway. The smell of food wafts through the air, making your stomach rumble. You realize you haven't eaten since before your tattoo appointment, and suddenly you're ravenous.

You hear the low murmur of voices as you approach, which die away as you enter the living room. Ari and Curtis were setting out takeout containers on the coffee table. They both look up at you, their eyes roaming appreciatively over your form in their clothes.

"Feel better?" Ari asks, a soft smile playing on his lips.

You nod, returning his smile. "Much better, thank you," you reply, your voice soft. The smell of food draws you closer, your stomach growling audibly.

Ari chuckles. "Sounds like someone's hungry.”

“Come on, sugar,” Curtis reaches for your arm and tugs you closer, “let's get some food in you."

You move to join them, settling on the plush couch between the two men. The coffee table is laden with an array of Chinese takeout containers, the aroma making your mouth water.

Ari hands you a plate and a pair of chopsticks. "Help yourself to whatever you like," he says, his hand lingering on yours for a moment longer than necessary.

As you start to collect an array of the delicious spread on your plate, Curtis reaches for another of the containers, watching you. "So," he says, his voice casual but his eyes intense, "tell us more about yourself. What do you do when you're not getting tattoos and driving tattoo artists wild?"

You laugh and bite your lip a little. Driving them wild? The notion that they’d really been thinking about you makes your heart race.

You play off the latter part of the question, but do begin to share some of the standard stuff.

Plate filled with a good array of food to start off with, you sit back and settle in, acutely aware of their warmth on either side of you. The domesticity of the moment - sharing a meal, dressed in comfortable clothes - contrasts sharply with the intensity of your earlier encounter, creating an intriguing dynamic. That had been surreal, overwhelming. This is tangible, even cozy. Yet, there's still an undercurrent of electricity, a tension humming just beneath the surface.

The three of you eat and talk. Bouncing between the three of you, it’s across the board from where you’re from, where you work, hobbies and interests, friends and family, nothing too deep, but all of the good beginning pieces.

As the conversation flows, you find yourself relaxing more and more. The initial awkwardness fades, replaced by a comfortable camaraderie. You're surprised by how easy it is to talk to them, how naturally the conversation flows.

Curtis, you discover, has a dry wit that catches you off guard, making you laugh unexpectedly. Ari is more openly charming, his stories animated and engaging. You find yourself drawn into their world, fascinated by the glimpses they offer into their lives.

Their dynamic fascinates you. At times they seem like oil and water. You learn that they met working at the tattoo parlor - both of them had ties to Steve, the owner of Obsidian Stain and Sin. They admit they would never have ended up roommates except Curtis had been closing on this house about the time Ari and his wife separated (then divorced), and timing just seemed to make it convenient. From what you see, though, three years of cohabitation has forged a strong, almost fraternal bond between them.

Curtis reaches for your empty plate, his fingers brushing against yours. "All done, sugar?" he asks, his voice low and warm.

You nod, suddenly aware of how close he is. "Thank you, it was delicious."

Ari stretches, his arm coming to rest on the back of the couch behind you. "So, now that we've fed you," he says, a hint of mischief in his eyes, "what would you like to do next?"

As the question hangs in the air, you feel a rush of heat flood your cheeks. The earlier encounter at the tattoo parlor flashes through your mind - intense, frenzied, almost dreamlike in its surreal passion. But now, in the cozy comfort of their home, you find yourself craving something different.

"I…" you start, then pause, gathering your courage. "I'd like to take things slower this time. To really savor it."

Curtis's eyes darken with approval, while Ari's lips curve into a slow, sensual smile.

"Slow can be good," Ari murmurs, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your shoulder through the borrowed t-shirt. "Very good."

Curtis leans in, his breath warm against your ear. "We can do slow, sugar. We can take all night if that's what you want."

A shiver runs down your spine at Curtis's words, his low voice sending tingles across your skin. You turn your head slightly, meeting his intense gaze. The icy blue of his eyes has darkened with desire, and you find yourself drawn in, unable to look away.

Ari's hand slides from your shoulder down your arm, brushing the backs of his fingers along your skin, drawing goosebumps in their wake. "Why don't we start by getting more comfortable?" he suggests, his voice a low purr that makes your breath catch.

You nod, not trusting your voice to remain steady. Curtis stands first, offering you his hand. You take it, allowing him to pull you to your feet. Ari follows, his hand never leaving your body as he rises.

They lead you down the hallway to a spacious bedroom. The king-sized bed dominates the room, its dark sheets inviting and intimidating all at once. Ari gently turns your face towards him, his blue eyes dark with desire. "May I kiss you?" he asks, his voice low and husky.

You nod, your breath catching in your throat as he leans in. His lips meet yours in a kiss that's both tender and passionate, a stark contrast to the frenzied encounters earlier. You melt into it, your hand coming up to rest on his chest.

As Ari kisses you, you feel Curtis shift behind you. His strong hands find your waist, slipping under the hem of the borrowed t-shirt to caress the soft skin of your lower back. His touch is deliberate, exploratory, but mindful of your freshly tattooed ribs, and it sends shivers of pleasure through your body.

Ari breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours as you both catch your breath. You feel Curtis's lips brush against the nape of your neck, placing soft, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your shoulder. The dual sensations make you dizzy with desire.

"Is this okay?" Ari murmurs, his hands cupping your face.

You nod, unable to find words as Curtis's hands slide around to your stomach, his fingers splaying wide across your skin, seeming to have no cares for your soft belly, touching in a way that dispells your own typical self-consciousness over your figure.

“Words,” Ari is insistent to prompt.

"Yes," you manage to whisper, your voice breathy and low.

Ari smiles, then leans in to kiss you again, this time with more intensity. His tongue traces the seam of your lips, seeking entrance. You part your lips, granting Ari access as his tongue slides against yours. The kiss deepens, becoming more passionate but still maintaining a languid, exploratory pace. Curtis continues his ministrations on your neck, alternating between soft kisses and gentle nips that make you gasp into Ari's mouth.

Ari's hands slide down your sides, avoiding your freshly tattooed ribs, and come to rest on your hips. His thumbs trace small circles on your hipbones, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure through your body. Curtis's hands, still splayed across your stomach, begin to inch higher, his touch feather-light and teasing, brushing up against the underswell of your breasts.

Ari breaks the kiss again, his eyes dark with desire. "Let's get you out of these clothes," he murmurs, his fingers playing with the hem of your borrowed shirt.

Since they took your bra and panties to the laundry along with your other clothes, you’re acutely aware of how little - only the shirt and sweatpants - stand between you and nakedness. But you nod, lifting your arms, and Ari slowly peels the shirt off. As your top half is laid bare, you feel momentarily exposed, but the way both men look at you - with hunger and appreciation - quells any insecurity.

Then Curtis turns you in his arms and traces a finger under your jaw. “You need to know we will always take care of you, but we also want to thoroughly ruin you.”

A ripple of fear and intrigue surges through you, and you shiver, pressed between them.

"Is that what you want, sugar?" Curtis asks, his voice low and gravelly. "To be thoroughly ruined by us?"

You swallow hard, looking up into his intense blue eyes. "I think I'd like that," you whisper, surprised by your own boldness.

Ari's hands slide around your waist from behind, his chest pressing against your back. "We'll take it slow," he murmurs in your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "But we won’t hold back unless you tell us if something is too much."

You nod, unable to find your voice for a moment. Then, remembering Ari's earlier insistence, you whisper, "Yes. Please."

A slow, predatory smile spreads across Curtis's face. He leans in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that leaves you breathless. His tongue explores your mouth, dominating and possessive. You moan into the kiss, your hands coming up to clutch at his shirt.

Meanwhile, Ari's hands roam your hips, fingers tracing the waistband of the borrowed sweatpants. He hooks his thumbs under the elastic, slowly sliding them down your legs. You step out of them, now completely naked between the two fully clothed men.

Curtis breaks the kiss, his eyes raking over your exposed form. "Gorgeous," he murmurs, his voice husky with desire.

Ari's hands glide up your sides to cup your breasts. His thumbs brush over your nipples, causing them to harden into tight peaks. You gasp at the sensation, arching into his touch.

"Sensitive," Ari observes, a smile in his voice. He continues his gentle ministrations, rolling your nipples between his fingers and Curtis watches, his eyes dark with lust.

Then Curtis drops to his knees in front of you, his hands running up the backs of your thighs. He looks up at you, his ice-blue eyes dark with lust. "Spread your legs.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you comply, widening your stance. Curtis's hands slide up to cup your ass, kneading the soft flesh appreciatively. His hot breath ghosts over your inner thighs, making you shiver with anticipation.

Ari's lips find the curve of your neck, placing open-mouthed kisses along your pulse point. His fingers continue to work your breasts, alternating between gentle caresses and firmer kneading. The dual sensations of Ari's ministrations and Curtis's teasing touch have you trembling with need.

Curtis leans in and presses a kiss first to your mound. You whimper, wanting those lips lower. He chuckles, but a moment later he satisfies your craving, dipping lower, his tongue darting out to taste you. You gasp at the contact, your hips jerking involuntarily. He chuckles against you again, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure through you.

"Steady, sugar," he murmurs, his hands gripping your hips to hold you in place.

Ari's lips brush against your ear as Curtis's tongue delves deeper, exploring every fold and crevice of your most intimate area. "Look at you," Ari murmurs, his voice low and husky. "So beautiful, so responsive. Wet and eager for us, aren’t you?”

You whimper, unable to form words as Curtis's skilled tongue finds your clit, circling it with exquisite pressure. Your legs tremble, and you're grateful for Ari's strong arms supporting you from behind. “Can you feel how good Curtis is making you feel?"

You can only moan in response, your hips rolling against Curtis's face as his tongue tortures your clit, undeterred, a desperate edge of hunger to it. Ari's hands continue their ministrations on your breasts, pinching and rolling your nipples between his fingers.

"I bet you taste divine," Ari continues, his breath hot against your neck. "Curtis is savoring every drop of you, isn't he? Look at how eagerly he's devouring your sweet pussy."

Blinking open your eyes, you peer down to witness Curtis's ice-blue gaze unwaveringly locked on yours as he diligently presses his lips and tongue against your sensitive flesh in a delightfully intoxicating rhythm.

Ari's voice continues to weave a sensual spell, his words sending shivers down your spine. "Watch him explore every fold, every crease. Can you feel how he's drinking you in?"

Curtis's eyes remain locked on yours as his tongue delves deeper, alternating between broad strokes and focused flicks against your clit. A sudden involuntary shift of your hips is met by his strong hands gripping your waist, maintaining control.

"I bet you taste like honey and sin," Ari purrs, his lips brushing against your ear. "Sweet and intoxicating. Curtis can't get enough of you, can he? Look at how he's losing himself in your pussy."

A soft moan escapes you as the dual sensations of Ari's provocative words and Curtis's expert exploration create an all-consuming sensory experience. The gentle scrape of Curtis's stubble against the tender skin of your inner thighs leaves a pleasant tingling sensation in its wake while he sucks on your clit, holding you firmly in place.

“We started to talk about you, about all the things we wanted to try,” Ari continues. “And anytime you came up, it escalated, until we started scheming over what we could do to you together,” Ari's voice drops even lower, his words a sensual caress against your ear. "We imagined tasting every inch of your skin, exploring every curve and valley of your body. Curtis would fantasize about burying his face between your thighs, just like he's doing now. Can you feel how hungry he is for you?"

Your breath hitches as Curtis's tongue flicks rapidly against your clit, sending jolts of pleasure through your body. Ari's hands continue their assault on your breasts, pinching and rolling your nipples until they're almost painfully sensitive.

"I'd picture how your eyes would flutter shut in ecstasy, how your lips would part in a silent scream of pleasure," Ari continues, his voice thick with desire. "But silent screams won’t be good enough for what we’re going to do."

Your breath catches in your throat as Curtis's tongue flickers with increasing speed and precision over your clit, sending electrifying waves of pleasure coursing through your core. Ari's hands persist in their exploration of your breasts, teasing and tormenting your nipples with an urgency that leaves them tingling and hypersensitive.

“You have no idea the things we’ve talked about,” Ari presses on. The pressure in your core builds, aching for release as Ari's seductive words fuel your desire. "Dirty things. Depraved things. Things you’ll only ever experience with us. We want to make you lose control, push you past your limits, see how much pleasure you can truly handle."

You moan louder now, unable to keep quiet any longer as the two men continue their assault on your senses. Their combined efforts push you closer and closer to the edge until finally, with a shudder and a cry of pure ecstasy, you reach orgasm.

Curtis eagerly laps up the remnants of your pleasure, a satisfied moan escaping him. Though you are momentarily lost in the haze of bliss, Ari brings you back to the present with a sudden slap to your breast. You gasp and flinch in his embrace, but before you can react further, he scoops you up and tosses you onto the bed. Following closely behind, he hoists you upwards by your hips until you find yourself on all fours, vulnerable and eager for the next stage of this illicit exploration.

You feel Ari shifting to remove his shirt behind you, hear him toss it to the floor, all the while your body still tingling from the sensations that just overwhelmed it. You look around for Curtis, pleased to find him coming around to the other side of the bed. You watch, mesmerized as Curtis shrugs out of his shirt and laying it aside, revealing a toned chest covered in coarse hair and intricate patterns of ink. His stomach muscles ripple under your gaze as he steps closer.

Curtis approaches you, his eyes dark with desire. He reaches out, caressing your cheek before gripping gently at the nape of your neck. "Open," he commands softly.

You comply without hesitation, parting your lips as Curtis guides your head towards his crotch. With his free hand, he unbuttons his jeans and pulls down the zipper. You watch, breath quickening, as he frees his hardened length from the confines of his underwear.

Ari leans down and presses himself against your back. You feel the heat of his body and inhale the scent of his cologne. His large hands knead your hips, stoking the needy ache in your core back up. “You're so fucking beautiful," he says, his voice dripping with desire. “You ready for both of us?”

Curtis guides the tip of his cock to your lips. "Take me in, sugar," he says, his voice low and gravelly. "Show me what that pretty mouth can do."

You part your lips wider, welcoming Curtis's thick length into your mouth. As you take him in, you feel Ari's hands spreading your legs further apart. The anticipation of what's to come makes you tremble with desire.

Curtis groans as you swirl your tongue around the head of his cock. "That's it," he murmurs, his fingers tangling in your hair. "Take me deeper."

You comply, relaxing your throat to take more of him in. The taste of him, musky and masculine, fills your senses. Behind you, you feel Ari's hands caressing your ass, kneading the flesh appreciatively.

"Look at you," Ari says, his voice thick with lust. "So eager for us. Your pussy is dripping, begging to be filled."

You moan around Curtis's cock at Ari's words, the vibrations eliciting a deep groan from him. His fingers tighten in your hair, guiding your movements as you bob your head up and down his length.

Behind you, you feel the blunt head of Ari's cock pressing against your entrance. He teases you, sliding it up and down your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal. "You want this?" he asks, his voice husky with desire.

Unable to speak with Curtis in your mouth, you push your hips back, silently begging for Ari to fill you. He chuckles, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "So impatient," he murmurs, then slowly, torturously, he begins to push inside you.

You gasp around Curtis's cock as Ari stretches you, filling you inch by inch. Ari's thick length stretches you deliciously as he pushes deeper, his grip on your hips tightening. "God, you're tight," he groans, his voice strained with pleasure. "So wet and hot for us."

Curtis's hand in your hair tightens, guiding you to take him deeper into your mouth. You relax your throat, allowing him to slide further in until you feel the coarse hair at the base of his cock tickling your nose. He holds you there for a moment, your nose pressed against his pelvis, before slowly pulling back.

"Go on," Curtis growls, his ice-blue eyes dark with lust. "Take it all."

Ari begins a steady rhythm, his thrusts deep and purposeful. Each time he pushes in, it forces you further onto Curtis's cock, creating a delicious cycle of penetration. The dual sensations of being filled from both ends overwhelm you, pleasure coursing through every nerve in your body.

"That's it, baby," Ari purrs, his voice dripping with lust. "Take us both. You're doing so well, stretching around my cock while you swallow Curtis down." His hands grip your hips tighter, fingers digging into your flesh as he pulls you back onto him with each thrust.

Curtis's grip on your hair tightens, his other hand coming to cup your jaw. "Look at me," he growls. You raise your eyes to meet his intense gaze, ice blue eyes dark with desire. "Good girl," he murmurs, his thumb tracing the apple of your cheek as your eyes well with tears.

The intensity of their ministrations overwhelms you, pleasure and sensation flooding every nerve. Ari's thrusts grow more forceful, each one driving you further onto Curtis's length.

"So fucking tight," Ari groans, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. "Taking us both so well. You were made for this, weren't you?"

You moan around Curtis's cock, the vibrations eliciting a deep growl from him. His hand tightens in your hair, guiding your movements, holding you far down on him, and he goes for a shallow rut, pulling back only a fraction with each rock of his hips, dominating your mouth.

Your eyes water as he pushes deeper, testing the limits of your throat.

Ari's hands grip your hips tighter, his fingers surely leaving marks on your skin. "You're ours now," he pants, his thrusts becoming erratic. "Gonna fill you up, mark you from the inside out."

Their bodies continue to move in unison, sweat dripping down their flushed skin as they moan and curse.

"Fuck," Curtis hisses, his hips jerking. "I'm close."

His cock twitches in your mouth, and you know he’s close to the edge. His hips buck more wildly, but he keeps his eyes locked on yours, until finally, with a loud cry, he spills his seed down your throat. You stare into each others eyes, and the possessive intimacy of that moment rocks your to your core, as you do your best to swallow every bit of him.

Seemingly as affected as you, the second he withdraws his cock from your mouth, he’s stooping to claim it in a kiss, even while you’re gasping for air. He doesn’t care, desperate to devour you. His release is on your tongue, and that seems to make him feral, but you also taste yours in his mouth, and both of you moan into each other, tongues stroking and tangling. You don’t need to breathe, you need him consuming you like this, his lips as eager against your lips as they were against your cunt.

Ari's thrusts become more frenzied, the sound of skin slapping against skin mixing with your moans.

“Fuuuuck,” Ari’s voice is primal from behind you. “You were right, watching someone else wreck her while inside her is unreal.”

Your brain glitches at his claim - that they talked about you like this, that he’s saying it right now? Your cunt clenches around Ari’s cock, and he groans. You feel him twitch inside you, and you whimper.

“Mmm, you like that, baby,” he says, no question at all. His hand snakes beneath you, and he begins tapping your puffy clit.

You cry out, bucking at the assault, and Curtis pulls away to watch you fall apart even more.

"Come for us, sugar," he growls, still holding your face in his hands. "Let go."

And the combination of his words with Ari’s thrusts and the torment of your oversensitive clit have you shaking and shouting out incoherently.

“Flip her,” Ari instructs Curtis, and Curtis deftly and swiftly grips your shoulders and has you on your back the next second. You grip his arms, needing to hold on to something as your head is spinning in pleasure and with the swift repositioning. As you look up, it’s to the intimidating but glorious sight of these men looming over you. Curtis is still watching your face, and it’s with difficulty that you tear your gaze away from him, but Ari’s grunts and heavy breathing beg for your attention, and you watch, transfixed, as he furiously fists his cock, bringing himself to finish. He cocks his head up in triumph as he groans and shoots his load over your stomach and chest, hot ropes of cum sinfully marking you.

You lay there panting, your body trembling with aftershocks as you try to process the intensity of what just happened. Curtis and Ari hover over you, their eyes roaming your body appreciatively, taking in the sight of you marked and thoroughly debauched, face flushed, chest heaving.

"Incredible," Ari murmurs, his hand tracing patterns through his release on your stomach.

Curtis leans down, capturing your lips in a deep, possessive kiss. When he pulls away, his ice-blue eyes are dark with satisfaction. "You did well, sugar," he praises, his voice low and gravelly.

He cups one of your cheeks in his hand, and you lean into the touch. Then he licks the trail of salty tears from your other cheek, and the gesture deals a bolt of heat through you again, though you feel exhausted and boneless.

“Think I could become addicted to you,” he murmurs quietly, and Ari grunts in agreement.

Ari disappears for a moment before returning with a warm, damp cloth. He gently cleans you up, his touch tender in contrast to the roughness of moments before. The care in his actions makes your heart flutter.

Curtis takes the chance to step away briefly, as well. He’s back once you’re clean, and helps you sit up, supporting your back and handing you a glass of water.

You accept the glass gratefully, your throat parched from exertion. As you sip the cool water, you feel the bed dip on either side of you as Curtis and Ari settle in next to you. Their warm, solid presence is comforting, grounding you after the intense experience.

Curtis keeps a steadying hand on your back as you finish the water, then takes the empty glass from you.

"How are you feeling?" Ari asks softly, his hand resting on your thigh.

You take a moment to assess yourself. Your body feels pleasantly sore, used in the most delicious way. There's a lingering tingle of satisfaction coursing through you, mixed with a sense of vulnerability that's both thrilling and slightly overwhelming.

"I'm... good," you manage to say, your voice a bit hoarse. "Really good, actually."

He chuckles, the sound low and warm. "Glad to hear it."

Curtis takes the now-empty glass from your hands. His eyes rarely seem to leave you, always intense on you. It’s as intimidating as it is captivating. It truly takes someone with Ari’s charisma and assertive manner to compete with the way Curtis’s intense stoicism draws you in. They’re a dangerous force to be reckoned with.

They both lean in to you, beginning to slowly kiss and touch you again, and you hold onto each of them, one hand tangling into Ari’s luscious hair, the other snaking around Curtis’s strong back.

As Curtis and Ari press closer, hands and lips exploring your body with renewed curiosity, you can't help but marvel at their seemingly endless stamina. Their touches are gentle yet purposeful, igniting sparks of pleasure across your skin.

Curtis's lips trail along your neck, his stubble scratching deliciously against your sensitive skin. His hand cups your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple, coaxing it to a hard peak. You gasp at the sensation, your body still hypersensitive from your recent orgasms.

Ari's hand slides up your inner thigh, his fingers dancing teasingly close to your core. His lips find yours in a deep, languid kiss that leaves you breathless. When he pulls away, his blue eyes are dark with renewed desire.

"Think you can go again, beautiful?" Ari murmurs, his voice low and husky.

You swallow hard, your breath catching in your throat. "I... I think so," you whisper, your voice trembling slightly.

Curtis smirks, his ice-blue eyes glinting with approval. “Think we may have you passing out again?”

Ari laughs, and your face flushes as you bite your lip. You let out a shaky breath, both intimidated and thrilled by the prospect of more. "Maybe," you admit softly, "but I'm willing to find out."

Curtis's smirk widens into a predatory grin. "Oh, sugar," he growls, his hand sliding down your stomach, "we're going to have so much fun with you."

Ari's lips find your neck, placing open-mouthed kisses along your pulse point. "We're going to take you apart," he murmurs against your skin, "piece by piece, until you're nothing but a quivering mess of pleasure."

Their words send a shiver down your spine, arousal pooling in your core despite your recent orgasms. You feel almost drunk on their attention, their touches, their promises of more pleasure to come. You surrender yourself to their touch. The night is still young, and you find yourself eager to discover just how much pleasure these two men can wring from your willing body.

read the next part: Worship in the Bedroom

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I got to the end and realized I did not feature their gorgeous tattoed bodies nearly enough, but I GUESS THAT MEANS I'LL JUST HAVE TO WRITE MORE OF THEM ASAP!

[pure-smut]

off limits.

featuring: Togame Jo x f!reader

contains: reader is Choji's sister, brother's best friend trope, a bit of angst, dry humping, outersex I think it's called? that thing where you rub genitals without penetration, someone help a gal out it's embarrassing to write smut and forget the name of the s*x thing you wrote about

note: all characters are aged up to 21+!

word count: 4.4k

masterlist

series: 1. off limits | 2. radioactive

MDNI | 18+ content

a/n: phew boy did this one run away from me. i'm thinking this could be a series? yes no maybe?? let me know y'alls thoughts <3

Everyone knows that you, sister of the leader of Shishitoren, are off limits. It’s the bane of your dating life, every potential boyfriend too scared to even talk to you, let alone go further.

And it’s why you fall so hard for the boy from Bofurin.

He’d approached you on a night out, a rare mix of Shishitoren and Bofurin members in the same place. You asked if he knew who you were and he said yes. You asked if he was scared and he smiled and said no.

In hindsight, you never should have entertained a Bofurin boy. But you were so excited about the prospect that someone might like you enough to disregard the tentative agreement between your gangs. Between secret meet ups and stolen kisses, you let yourself fall for him.

Stupid.

He eventually stops showing up to your secret spot, stops messaging you back as quickly, stops taking your calls. You think you’ve done something wrong – you must have done something wrong – and you become frantic.

Are you leaving me? you message him.

He doesn’t reply for three days.

He’s met someone else, someone on his side of the tracks. It would never have worked out between you two anyway. He’s sorry he led you on, sorry he gave you the wrong idea. It was just a bit of fun anyway, right? You’re a great girl and you’ll find someone soon.

You smash your phone against the wall.

You throw on your shortest dress and your highest heels. You meet your friends at the bar, meet other Shishitoren members, slam your cash on the bar and buy rounds for everyone. You dance and laugh and drink, drink, drink, and on the inside you feel like your heart has been scooped out your chest and dumped on the side of the road.

The night becomes blurred, conversations and people mixing into each other like paint, until you can’t distinguish each from the next. You feel sick but you keep drinking, keep dancing, keep laughing.

You land hard on the ground but you don’t feel anything. Someone says something to you but you can’t hear them.

You feel like you’re in a washing machine, spinning. And then you don’t remember anything at all. *

You wake up to a dark room. You have approximately half a second of peace before the worst headache you’ve ever had in your life starts thumping at the back of your skull. Your tongue is stuck to the roof of your mouth and when you reach up to rub the sleep from your eyes, you realise you’ve still got last night’s make-up on.

“Uuuugh,” you groan and the taste of your own mouth makes you grimace.

You’re still in last night’s clothes, the dress hiked up to your waist from sleeping in it, but at least you remembered to take your shoes off. You can feel the burn in the balls of your feet from dancing in them too long.

You roll over in bed, blindly groping the nightstand for your phone before you remember you smashed it. You groan again, burying your face in the pillow, as the memories of yesterday come back with a vengeance.

I’ve met someone else.

It was just a bit of fun, right?

You’ll find someone soon.

Rage curdles with heartbreak in your stomach, making you feel nauseous. Who else? you want to cry out. Who the fuck else in this goddamn place will even come close to me?

Pressure builds behind your eyes, forcing you to suck in a deep breath to stem the tears. You refuse to cry any more over that asshole. You exhale shakily. Fortunately, or unfortunately, you’re so hungover you might expire right here in the bed so you have more immediate concerns you can focus on.

You manage to stumble out of bed, pulling your dress back down, and find the lamp light, casting a warm glow across your studio apartment. It’s only when you try to walk to the kitchen that you notice a dull ache on your leg.

You look down to see your knee is skinned, caked with dry blood, a fresh bruise blooming around it. You vaguely remember falling over but didn’t realise you’d actually hurt yourself.

“Gotta be fucking kidding me…” you mutter to yourself.

You’re annoyed but half-grateful – the physical pain is at least a distraction from your current emotional pain. You limp to the kitchen and pour yourself a glass of water. You drain the whole glass is one go, gulping it down like you’ve been traversing the Savannah for a week, and pour yourself a second glass. Your head is still thumping but you’re pretty sure after you brush your teeth, your mouth will at least go back to normal. But that’s a task for later.

With a heavy sigh, you pad over to the living area.

Except there’s something weird about it. You stare at the couch, blinking. Did you put a pile of blankets on there last night? You frown. You don’t remember doing that but you don’t remember a lot of things past a certain point.

Your eyes trail over the blankets until they settle on something even weirder. It looks like a tuft of jet black hair is sticking out from under the blanket. You blink again, your hungover brain churning as fast as it can to process what you’re seeing.

It’s only when the pile of blankets moves, an arm stretching out, that you scream.

There’s a fucking man in your house.

“Get out!” you screech.

You launch the glass of water at him but miss. It bounces harmlessly off the back of the couch but water goes everywhere, spraying the stranger.

“Ah.” Togame Jo pushes the blanket off himself, half-drenched. He scrubs his hand over his face before pushing back his wet hair. “That was a weird way to wake up.”

“T-Togame?” you stammer out, rooted to the spot. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Togame sits back, his hair still dripping water down his face.

“Oh, hey, y/n,” he says as if just realising you’re there. “Good morning.”

“Yeah, good morning, what are you doing here?” you demand, hand on your hip. “You scared me!”

Togame looks genuinely surprised, his eyebrows raising.

“Oh, shit. Sorry.” He looks around. “What time is it? Think we slept in.”

You spread your hands, still waiting for him to answer your question, but he only stands up, stretching his arms above his head.

“How you feeling? Oh, I’ll make the coffee.” He yawns and walks past you to the kitchen.

“Togame.”

“Hm?”

“You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.”

“Hmm.”

Togame opens your cupboards, pulling two mugs free, as if he lives here. You cross your arms across your chest, your headache making your patience wear thin.

“Togame…” your tone is warning.

“What’s the rush?” He turns to grin at you. “My guess is you’ve got a hangover that could slay a walrus so why don’t you just… chill?”

If that instruction came from anyone else, it’d make your temper flare. But it’s Togame. He moves like a sloth. You sigh and uncross your arms.

“I’m going to brush my teeth and take a shower. I feel like shit.” You stomp past him to the bathroom. “I want three-”

“Three sugars,” Togame finishes, winking. “Known you long enough to know how you like your coffee, doll.”

You turn away and close the bathroom door before he can see the blush on your cheeks. Truth be told, you had the fattest crush on Togame growing up – he’s only one year your senior and he was always around, being best friends with your brother. It fizzled as you got older but he still has the ability to make your cheeks flush. Sometimes you think he knows it.

You take a long, hot shower, ignoring the sting of your knee as you clean it. It's not so bad once the blood has cleared, just a scrape against the skin. That's one less problem, at least.

Once you’ve scrubbed away the hangover and your mouth feels clean again, you feel almost like normal. Your headache persists but it’s calmed to an annoying throb instead of feeling like a chainsaw in your skull.

You step out of the bathroom in your towel, hair dripping, to find Togame on your bed, scrolling his phone. You give him a flat look.

“What do you think you’re doing? Get off.”

Togame cocks his eyebrow, amused.

“Couch was wet.”

You press your lips together and exhale. You decide to ignore him and start picking through your clothes on the floor, trying to find a clean pair of pyjamas. You have absolutely no intention of leaving your home today.

“Your towel’s a bit short to be bending over like that.”

Togame’s voice makes you snap up to standing. You spin to face him, cheeks hot.

“Togame!”

He only grins wide at you, chuckling.

What has gotten into him? you think as you start searching your clothes again, more carefully this time. Togame’s always been a light flirt but nothing this brazen. And he still hasn’t told you what’s doing here.

A sick feeling overcomes you. You slowly turn to him.

“Togame…” you say and he looks up from his phone. “Last night, we didn’t…”

“Jesus, y/n.” A notch appears between his brow and you realise he looks hurt. “No, nothing happened last night.”

You take a shaky breath, an embarrassed heat crawling up your neck.

“Right. Sorry.”

“Y/n.”

Togame sits up straighter, tugging his t-shirt over his head. You watch, wide-eyed, as he hands it to you.

“Wear this and come lie down already. I’ll tell you why I’m here, alright?”

You try your best to ignore his bare torso and accept his t-shirt. Togame makes a show of covering his eyes as you quickly change into it. Too late you realise you didn’t pick up any clean underwear but Togame’s t-shirt falls to your mid-thigh so it should be fine, you just need to make sure you don’t accidentally flash him.

Togame pats the space on the bed next to him and you cautiously climb on, tugging the hem of his t-shirt down.

“Okay. I’ll start by saying I know you had a rough day yesterday so there’s no judgement here…”

Immediately, your anxiety spikes.

“Your brother and I found you in one of the clubs. You were…” He struggles to find the right words.

“Completely wasted?”

“Yeah.”

You sigh but it’s not unexpected news – you already knew by the hangover and the lack of solid memories.

“You were telling everyone you hate Bofurin.” Togame scratches his head. “That was weird. And then you fell and hurt yourself so I took you back home. Made sure you weren’t going to choke on your own vomit and then took the sofa.”

You groan, drawing your knees up to your chest and putting your face in your hands. Humiliating.

“I don’t hate Bofurin,” you say quietly. “I hate one Bofurin boy.”

“Ah.” Togame clicks his tongue in understanding.

The brutal break-up messages invade your mind again, your chest aching. To your horror, hot tears spill down your cheeks.

You try to twist away before Togame can see but he stops you before you can, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you towards him. His bare chest is hot against your cheek and you can smell the familiar scent of him on his t-shirt. It’s so comforting and familiar, it’s like a dam breaks inside you.

You break down, howling and burying your face in Togame’s chest.

“I hate him,” you sob. “I hate him, I hate him.”

Togame stays quiet, resting his cheek on the top of your head as he lets you cry yourself dry. You eventually pitter out to a sniffle, your nose blocked and eyes puffy.

“I’m just gonna get you a tissue, okay?” Togame says before releasing you.

When he returns, you dry your eyes and blow your nose, taking a deep breath. Even though the hollow feeling inside your hasn’t gone, you feel lighter. Like a weight is off your shoulders.

“Thanks,” you say, still sniffling, as he climbs back into bed.

You catch sight of his chest, shiny with your tears and… other things. You wince.

“Sorry,” you mumble.

Togame only shrugs but you feel bad so you kneel beside him, pulling a fresh tissue. You swipe it gently across his chest, cleaning him off. You feel Togame’s eyes on you, watching you, and glance up.

“What?”

“Who was he?”

You look at him properly, hearing the hardness in his voice. Togame usually has a smile on his lips, and he still does, but his green eyes are sharp as emeralds. You heave a sigh.

“You want to fight him.”

“Maybe.”

“Mmm. Thought so.” You shake your head, pulling back and throwing the tissues in the bin. “It’s not worth it, Togame.”

“He hurt you.”

“Yeah, but I let him.” You squeeze your eyes shut, pinching the bridge of your nose. You huff a laugh. “I don’t know if it’s even him I loved or…”

A thickness appears in your throat, tears threatening again.

“Or what?” Togame’s voice softens.

You know if you speak, you’ll cry, so you just shake your head instead.

“Y/n…”

Togame sits up straighter, reaching across to grasp your hand. You inhale deeply, pushing back tears.

“I…” You swallow and try again. “I’m off limits.”

Togame squeezes your hand so you keep going.

“I can never have a proper boyfriend and that fucking sucks. I just got so excited that I found someone.” Your vision swims and you irritably brush away the tears. “I don’t know if it’s him I liked or just the fact that I had someone. Anyone.”

Togame is quiet, his fingers interlaced with yours. You scrub the back of your hand against your cheeks until your tears stop, shoulders sagging.

“Man… Choji sucks,” Togame says, breaking the silence. “I suck too. I didn’t even think about how this would…”

He scratches the back of his neck, wincing.

“I’ll talk to your brother for you.” Togame squeezes your hand again but your head snaps up at his words. “I’ll tell him-”

“No! No, don’t do that.” You shake your head. “It’s awkward and it won’t help. What, is he gonna go to the whole of Shishitoren and say, step right up and bang my sister?”

Togame sniggers and you find yourself chuckling quietly with him, despite yourself.

“You’ve got a point,” he concedes.

You take a deep breath, giving your cheek a couple of light slaps.

“I do feel better though,” you tell him. “After talking to you. So, thank you.”

Togame gives you a lazy grin.

“Anytime.”

“Even though I’m gonna die alone.”

“Not true.” Togame shakes his head with a smile. “If there wasn’t this dumb ‘off limits’ rule, you’d have guys falling at your feet.”

“Shut up,” you say but you’re smiling hard, cheeks warming.

“Seriously,” Togame says, locking eyes with you. “Trust me.”

Did all the air just get sucked out of the room or something? You try to take a breath but your lungs feel tight. Togame’s gaze bores into you and you’re suddenly hyper-aware you’re still holding hands.

Wait, what did he mean by that? Did he mean him? Is he talking about himself?

Despite your spiralling, Togame seems completely unfazed.

“I’m gettin’ hungry. Let’s order in.” He talks like it’s obvious he’s spending the day here. Which you’re not entirely mad about.

“Uh. Yeah, sure.”

You watch as Togame grabs his phone, tapping through to a delivery app. You take the opportunity to really look at him. You know what he looks like, obviously, you’ve known each other most of your lives. But you’ve never really looked before.

His dark hair is still messy from being wet earlier and his undercut is growing back, needing to get shaved again soon. You admire the curve of his strong nose, his sharp jaw. When your eyes fall on his lips, you dart a tongue out to wet your own automatically. Togame glances up to catch you staring and you immediately avert your eyes, pretending to study the ceiling.

“Were you star-” he starts.

“So what food are we getting?” you interrupt him, leaping off the bed and pulling down the hem of your t-shirt.

You’re not entirely sure why you jumped away from him so you pick up your laptop as a cover, except you trip over your clothes on the way, your feet tangling in the fabric. Togame regards you with an amused look, waiting for you to return before handing you his phone.

“Choose whatever you want, my treat,” he says.

You would normally protest, insist on splitting 50/50, but you’re too flustered to do anything except tap in your order and hide your red-hot face as much as possible, climbing back into bed next to him. Togame’s watching you so you focus on searching for a movie on your laptop, not looking at him.

“Y/n,” he says.

“Hmm?”

“Y/n.”

“What?”

“Look at me.”

You swallow hard and reluctantly turn to face him.

“Yeah?”

Togame’s face has turned serious, his playful smile gone.

“Put the laptop away,” he says and there’s an undercurrent of a command there that makes you do what he says.

You put the laptop on the nightstand and as soon as you do, Togame pulls you on top of him so you’re straddling his lap. You inhale sharply at the sudden movement, his t-shirt riding up your thighs. You tug the hem back down, covering yourself, and look at Togame with burning cheeks.

“What are you doing?” you protest.

“You like me,” he states plainly. "I didn't want to say anything because I thought it would make you feel worse but..."

Your brow furrows.

"But what?"

Togame gives you a sly grin.

"You were kinda... all over me last night."

Your stomach drops out your butt. Your throat closes to a pinpoint.

"What?" you choke out.

"You told me you got a crush on me."

"Oh, god."

"Said you wanted me to come back to yours."

"Please stop."

"Which I did, obviously, but like, just to make sure you were okay. You were really out of it. So yeah, that's how I know you like me."

Are you having a panic attack? Because this feels like a panic attack. It feels like your lungs have closed up shop. You didn't think your face could burn any hotter but you swear you can cook an egg on your cheeks right now. You've never prayed harder for the floor to swallow you whole.

You go to move out of Togame's lap but he grabs your hips, stopping you. Before you can say anything else, he continues.

“Honestly?" Togame rests his head back against the headboard, regarding you with an easy smile. "I like you too. Have for a while.”

The casualness of his confession is at odds with the way your heart thunders in your chest.

“You’re right – you’re off limits. Choji never explicitly said anything but it’s kinda implied. So, I held back.” Togame gives you an apologetic smile. “I didn’t realise how much of a disservice I was doing to you until today. Until earlier.” He takes a deep breath. “I fucked up. I’m sorry.”

Your tongue feels too heavy for your mouth. Your brain churns slowly, still not fully recovered from last night, as you process this, but at least your heart rate slows somewhat. You haven't made a complete fool of yourself if Togame likes you back, right?

“What… w-what does this mean?" you stammer. "Like, what do we…?”

Togame reaches out to brush your hair back from your face, tucking it behind your ear. His fingers linger on your cheek.

“I think we should talk to Choji before anything…” His gaze rakes over you. “Happens.”

“Yeah.” You nod. “You’re right. We should talk to Choji first.”

There's not a lot of conviction in your voice even though you know it's the right thing to do. You glance down at Togame’s bare torso. You place your hand on his toned stomach, sliding it up to his chest. He feels so good under you, his skin hot to the touch, the hardness of his muscle. And now he’s yours.

The thought emboldens you. You lean forward, trailing your hand up his neck to his jaw before carding your fingers through his dark hair. It’s softer than you expected, still half-damp, and Togame’s eyelids flutter as your nails scratch his scalp.

“Kissing is fine though, right?” you whisper.

“Mmm,” Togame hums. “If it’s just kissing…”

That’s all the permission you need.

You close the few inches between you, pressing your lips against his. Togame runs one hand up your thigh while the other cradles your jaw. He kisses as slow as you expected, taking his time with you, savouring you. You part your lips to deepen the kiss and Togame gladly obliges, running his tongue across your bottom lip before slipping it inside your mouth.

Your entire crush, which you thought had fizzled out, explodes from its grave. Your skin buzzes, your hands running over his chest, his biceps, up to the nape of his neck to tug on his hair. The Bofurin boy was the only person you ever kissed and it was always nice.

This is so much more.

Togame rolls you over until you’re on your back and he’s on top, never breaking the kiss. You wrap your legs around him, pulling him closer. Your hands are on his back, feeling the muscles move as he supports himself over you. You moan into his mouth and Togame immediately pulls back.

“Ah, you can’t…” He blinks a few times, half-laughing. “You can’t do that to me.”

“Do what?”

“Make that noise. I’m…” Togame glances down and then back up again, fixating on a spot above your head. “I’m hard already.”

A smile crawls across your face, a thrill running through you. You tighten the grip your legs have around his hips, wiggling against him. True to his word, you can feel his boner through his sweatpants.

“Mmm, ah, aha, you’re really not making this any easier on me.”

“It’s just kissing, Jo.” You grin, pleased that you have such an effect on him, and pull his face down for another kiss.

“Mmm, I kinda liked that,” Togame says between kisses, a smile on his lips. “Say it again.”

“Jo,” you say sweetly, bucking your hips to rub against his hard-on again.

“Ah, fuck, that feels good…” Togame moves his mouth down to your neck, sucking on the skin there. “Mmm, maybe grinding’s allowed too.”

“I agree,” you say, pulling his hips down to meet yours.

Togame rolls his hips, rubbing his bulge against your naked pussy. The friction against your throbbing clit only spurs you on and you grind back against him. Togame groans into your neck, the stimulation teasing enough for all the blood to rush to his cock but just not quite enough.

“Jo, I need more…” you breathe, almost pleading.

You’ve been teased to the brink of your climax but it’s not enough to push you over the edge.

“I know, baby, me too.” Togame pushes himself up onto his hands, his cheeks flushed. “I’ve got an idea.”

He rolls onto his back, scooping his arms under you to take you with him, as you end up back on top.

“Raise your hips a little for me, baby,” he instructs and you do so.

Once you’ve hovering over him, Togame reaches down to push his sweatpants down slightly, just enough so that his cock springs free. You look down at it, mouth watering, before glancing back at Togame.

“I thought we couldn’t…”

“Don’t worry.” Togame smiles up at you reassuringly.

He presses his cock down against his stomach and, with one hand on your hip, guides you to sit gently on the shaft. As soon as you do, your lips pressed against his cock, he lets out a relieved groan.

“Fuck, that’s better,” he breathes. “Just grind back and forth, baby.”

The feel of Togame’s bare cock against your pussy makes your hole clench around nothing. Togame pushes up your t-shirt to your waist, holding it there so he can watch. Slowly, cautiously, you slide your puffy lips back and forth along his shaft.

“S-shit…” Togame mutters. “Good job, baby, just like that. You’re doing so good, just keep going.”

You rock your hips back and forth, feeling the ridges of Togame’s cock, his fat mushroom head rubbing against your swollen bud so deliciously. You let out a content sigh, leaning back to rest your hands on his thighs so you can roll your hips easier.

“Jesus Chris, you’re so fucking hot.” Togame’s usually sleepy eyes are locked onto you, switching between your face to your body to where your slick cunt grinds against his cock.

Your pussy drools for him, making the friction even better. Togame’s grip tightens on your waist, the heat of your wet lips against his girth bringing him to the edge of euphoria. You cant your hips slightly, rubbing your clit against the sensitive head of his cock, and Togame moans out loud. The pleasure you’re both inflicting on each other fuels the other, bringing you to the apex together.

“Jo…” you gasp and Togame knows he’ll do whatever he has to, to make sure he gets to hear you say his name like that again. “I’m gonna…”

You don’t get to finish your sentence. Your body seizes, your back arching, as you cream over his cock. The sight of you cumming is enough to usher in Togame’s own orgasm. He groans, long and low, his grip like iron on your waist. You feel his cock throb against you and look down in time to see him fire thick ropes of cum across his stomach and chest. You’re hypnotised by the scene – the stripes of creamy cum, the way Togame’s abs move as he breathes heavy, the half-lidded, satisfied look in his eyes.

He finally releases his grip on you, letting your t-shirt fall. You sit back slightly, not wanting to leave your position just yet, and reach for the tissues he got your earlier. With shared grins, you both clean the cum from his torso.

“Come here,” Togame says, opening his arms.

You lean forward, pressing yourself against his chest as he wraps his arms around you.

“We’ll talk to Choji tonight,” he says. “I don’t think we’ll last until tomorrow.”

You smirk, not disagreeing, but your smile falls.

“What if he says no?” you say quietly.

Togame’s chest rises under you as he breathes deep. He doesn’t have an answer for you.

masterlist

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[vivalabunbun]

Into the Sky of Artificial Stars

Summary: Could a chest that lacks a heartbeat still learn how it would feel? Could the whir of a motor be enough of a substitute?

Word Count: 25k (I will not explain myself)

Tags: Alhaitham x Fem!Reader, Slow burn (oh my), Slow fic (oh boy), SMUT(r18+), NSFW, Researcher!Reader, insomniac!Reader, Android!Alhaitham, Workaholic!Reader, soft!Alhaitham, Modern AU, Android AU, human x android dynamics, Heavy Angst, Fluff, Heavy adult themes, academic trauma, toxic family pressure, toxic academia themes, struggles of poverty and academic inequality, TW: Exploration of grief, death, and guilt, TW: Survivor's guilt and tragedy, exploration of humanity and morality, slight mentions of violence, service top!Alhaitham, test subject to lovers? slightly possessive!Alhaitham? body worship, touch starvation? cunnilingus, he falls hard like a fool, but what is there to catch a fool who tried to reach for an unobtainable star?

Authors Note: This has been in the drafts for a very long time. My first foray into sci-fi kinda? I did my best with jargon and everything, so please forgive any mistakes I've made in regard to the technical stuff. An exploration into an artificial star. Enjoy

Are you just your conscience? 

All the collective thoughts, desires, and ideals that congregate in your mind and influence your every action. Do your thoughts define you?

Are those cognitive functions, formed through a mix of instinct, teachings, and life experiences, what differentiates a man from a featherless biped?

If so, then are algorithms, simulations, and data sets interchangeable with what creates cognitive functions? Theoretically, it gives a machine the ability to develop a conscience. It gives a machine the ability to be human. 

Perhaps, a sterile lab won’t be the most fitting environment to form such a thing.

What if we clothe the machine, provide a roof over its head in a nice quiet house, and feed its mind with the mundane details of existence? Then, could technology bring a machine over the boundary of humanity? 

To engineer a brain, a conscience, a life with bare mortal hands. As if to replicate the gods. To compete with the authority of gods through scientific progression, many warn about the possible repercussions. 

However, if to give and take life is deemed sinful to be done by mortal hands, then what made those unseen gods any different?

Regardless, such philosophical ramblings won’t help you in finishing the half-written report in front of you. 

Looking past the two years' worth of reports sent already, innumerable papers penned by you within the sleep-deprived confines of the Akademiya. With a doctorate framed proudly on bland walls, that should be proof of your ability to type up a simple conclusion, right?

The weighted taps against a backspace key argue otherwise. Frustration leaves your lips in the form of a sigh as you test out a new string of words. Could these few sentences even be comprehensive of the leap in scientific progress made by mankind? 

The shapes of letters merge together, forming incomprehensible blotches of black pixels against the white backdrop. Quickly, your lids shut to offer your eyes some much-needed reprieve from the harsh light of the monitor.

It was quite naive of you to believe subjecting your weary eyes to the punishment of light mode would drive up productivity.

Your fingers remove themselves from the keyboard, perhaps your body’s stubborn protest against sitting at the desk for another minute. Maybe a coffee break is an order. 

You shouldn’t be too harsh on yourself, there hasn’t been a precedent for an experiment like this. A collaboration between the prideful Fontainian Research Institute and the arrogant Kshahrewar Darshan, the first of its kind.

Perhaps the real marvel is how the weight of their combined egos hasn’t sunk this project into the depths of abandonment. 

With a subtle squeak, your office chair rolls back granting you permission to stand up and stretch your weary limbs. Letting out a slight groan as signs of time made themselves known to your bones. The ramifications of your negligence. 

Slow steps pad through the quiet halls, floor boards singing a hymn with your leisurely stride toward the kitchen. As you make your way to the end of the long, empty hallway a silvery hue steals your attention.

Slightly obscured by the oak door frame to your home library stood the culmination of your years of overtime and long nights. A surge of anticipation places a slight weightlessness on your legs.

Approaching the end of the hall where the humble library resides, the oak doorway finally framed him in clear view. 

Structure much more nimble and organic than the gardemeks framework, with materials sourced from the finest suppliers. The most advanced software and artificial intelligence capabilities ever developed since the Akasha.

The first and only of his kind: The Android Alhaitham. 

The said pinnacle of human ingenuity and knowledge is currently flipping through a paperback book as the sunlight illuminates his synthetic skin.

The bounce light made his silver locks glimmer. As your steps slowed to a stop, he took notice of your presence. A soft snap of pages closing resounds through the passive air as Alhaitham turns his focus to you. 

Your gaze ran along the neat spines lining each shelf, a small stack of unsorted books still left by his feet, but this morning there were numerous identical piles littered all over the library.

He seems to not have any issues making progress on his assigned tasks, a great sign. 

You note that his button-down was a different color today, a sign that he’s practicing switching to a new set of clothes regularly.

A sign of routine, developing habits, and showing his steady learning of human behavior. 

The frustrations from an unfinished report fade into obscurity as the subject of your research continues to observe your form. How easy it is to forget the big picture when you stress over the small details.

With this gentle reminder, a soft curl tugs at the corners of your lips. 

Alhaitham repositions his stance, turning his body to face you, you figure he must be anticipating another task from you. Since he seems to be mostly done with his previous one, why not assign a new one?

“Could you brew me a cup of coffee, Alhaitham?” As he processes your request, you inspect his teal eyes, catching the slight glow signaling that his response is ready. 

“I could, but unfortunately the interval of opportunity has already passed.” His baritone voice articulates. 

A subtle quirk made its debut on your brows as your eyes shifted toward a clock hanging up in the corner of the study, its ticking hands displaying the time: 5:15 p.m. 

“Huh… you won’t grant me an extension?” You turn back to him. 

“If you have a request then please state it between my working hours of 9:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m., you’re always free to submit again tomorrow.” 

He doesn’t budge. An android capable of autonomous training and self-study is different from those gardemeks who only function when given tasks. The ability to develop self-awareness, consciousness, and to think comes with its own caveats.

In Alhaitham’s case, his stubborn nature. Conceivably, he likely reviewed Sumeru’s labor laws and decided that he was entitled to such labor rights as well. 

“I work overtime almost every day for your research and development, but you can’t spare me 15 minutes?” Your lips form a pout, but you already predicted his next output. 

“Your poor work-life balance is not my responsibility.” 

Your prediction was correct. 

Another sigh leaves your lips, it’s just one of the trade-offs you must accept. After all, learning to be a human is the reason why he was created. A feat once thought to be unachievable. But he exists, and he’s developed quite a character. 

To change the trajectory of this conversation you glance at the book held within his hold. 

“Frankenstein by Mary Shelly?” You read the title aloud. 

“Yes, the 1831 edition, it’s quite the story.” Alhaitham opens the covers once more. 

“Mm, maybe I should be more cautious of what information you come across.” A subtle grin tugging at the corners of your lips as his teal eyes land back on you. 

“It’d be a bit of an issue if you were to turn against me from the wrong influences.” Resting your body against the oak doorway as you observe the android process your jest. 

“There are safety restrictions already in place to prevent such occurrences, the possibility is near zero. However, if you are still concerned then feel free to upload a list of banned materials for the next version update.” 

A huff of a chuckle escapes you as you shift more of your weight against the wooden frame. 

“Of course, of course, just remember to place your books back where you found them.” Pushing off the doorway, you allow Alhaitham to continue his unsupervised learning as you amble closer to the kitchen. 

The soft clinking of cups and spoons chime through the evening air as you scoop a few ounces of ground coffee into the brewer.

As the water slowly brings itself to a low rumble, you occupy your wait staring out the glass and at the setting sun. The flaming scarlet hues and warmth blend into mellow indigo as the night begins to reveal her stars. 

Dusk, when the line between day and night blurs to an indistinguishable mess. Would a singularity also look as luminous as the setting sun? The answer might be closer than ever before. 

The reaction to the announcement of an android development project was at first astonishment, that human knowledge had progressed this far. And the secondary reaction that followed like ripples was fear. Fear that humans will soon be replaced by beings of silicon and steel.

That a singularity would signal the end of humanity. 

Well, this was always the common reaction to disruptive change. Many cases of public pushback and hysteria against innovations you can reference throughout history. The human reaction to the unknown. 

They always gossip and fearmonger about an android domination of all of Teyvat. But have those people ever stopped to consider that the android could simply be too lazy to have such ambitions?

Instead of becoming cruel overlords, they’d rather leave books strewn about as they dock themselves into their charging port. 

To learn to be human means to learn human slothfulness too, no? Or maybe Alhaitham’s algorithm just decided to train himself to incorporate it. What a peculiar enigma he is, this android currently residing in your house. 

Your thoughts circle back to a certain novel you haven’t touched in years. A work of science fiction written by a genius author barely over the cusp of adulthood. 

You wonder how she would’ve described this impending singularity. 

A distant toll rang from the depths of a dreamless void, each chime reaching closer and closer until the bright tune devolved into jarring blares. Piercing enough to set your heavy lids into motion.

Just as they peeked open, they flinched back shut from a stray ray that snuck between the gaps of your curtains. 

Your leaden body groans at the brightness of the room, the luminosity much greater than when you had originally settled under the covers. Yet, even with your groggy complaints the alarm resting on the nightstand offered no mercy, continuously bellowing its monotone pitch. 

With a sharp slap, your world returns to its silence. 

Angling the alarm towards you as you creak open one eye, the blurry red pixels slowly merge together to display the time. 

Didn’t you have a meeting scheduled for today? 

Another groan follows your dreadful discovery and you roll back under the plush blanket. Not much different from a child trying to protect themselves from the grasp of a fictitious monster.  

Soft comforters block the morning glow contained behind thick curtains, yet your permission to access a blank serenity was denied. It seems that your quota for sleep has been fulfilled.

Barring you from any excess repose, not that you expected anything less. A monster that torments a young mind might be fictitious, but the realities of capitalistic responsibilities unfortunately aren’t.

Taking in a deep inhale, you prep your body for the next set of dreaded actions with its drowsy limbs. Before it had the chance to protest, you kicked the covers off, ripping away the warm security from your skin. 

Ambling down the hall you gradually made your way into the kitchen, there under the morning light sat a steadfast figure whose eyes never left the book in front of him. 

“Good Morning.” You initiate the first conversation of the day.

“Congratulations.” 

You pause, hand in the midst of rubbing away the tiredness of your eyes. Staring perplexingly at his sudden praise. Alhaitham’s focus remains on his novel even as he answers your unasked question.

“You’ve beat your previous record of how many alarms it takes to get you out of bed, I believe it went off five times this morning.” 

A few beats of uninterrupted silence follow the aftermath of his response. A chain broken by a deep sigh which leaves your body.

“It’s far too early for this, Alhaitham.” Your hand goes back into motion, this time attempting to rub away frustration.

“Spare me your sarcasm until after you’ve made me breakfast and a cup of coffee.” 

From the glance you took at your clock from earlier, it’s currently well into his operational hours.

“Understood.” Setting the book down, his tall frame makes its way into the kitchen. 

Settling down at the lacquered table, your seat grants you a clear view of your android collecting some eggs from the refrigerator. Even as the hands of fatigue beckon your lashes to flutter shut, you refuse to indulge in such luxuries.

You had to watch just in case he decided his book couldn’t wait.

A series of trials and errors already well documented in those weekly reports back to the Akademiya and Institution. A human in training is bound to have some mishaps occur, or more accurately, this android might have different priorities.

One notable case was the time you asked Alhaitham to clean the floors while you attended a conference call. Only to step into puddles of soapy water the moment you leave your office door.

Connecting eyes with teal as he stood in the middle of it all mop in hand. For the time being, you’ve barred him from such tasks. 

Although, you wouldn’t be surprised if he made a mess just as an excuse to sit back on the couch with a book. This fickle android of yours. Your third sigh of the day. 

–-------------------------------------------------------------

The tranquil afternoon interlude that enveloped the house was interrupted by a sharp chime. Glancing at the numbers displayed on the corner of your screen, it looks like it’s right on schedule.

You had just concluded your monthly conference call, it’d be good to stretch your legs a bit after sitting through a few hours of professional formalities. 

Leaving your home office to journey toward the front door, you spot Alhaitham’s frame by the entranceway. His head turns to acknowledge your presence. Passing him to make your way to the front door, you hear him shift closer.

Soon the brilliance of a star pours into the entranceway, illuminating the hall as the door opens.

“Good afternoon, grocery delivery?” The young man on the steps greets, a strain in his polite tone as bags weigh down on his arms. 

“Yes, there was a last-minute addition of henna berries, were you able to get those?”

“Yep, they’re in one of these bags.” 

“Thank you, sorry for the trouble, I’ll take it from here.” You cast a glance over your shoulders back at a tall form standing idly. 

“Please come help with the groceries.” 

“Understood.” It took only a few strides for the burden weighing down on the delivery boy, effortlessly hanging them all on his engineered arms without a hint of strain. 

“Careful, they’re heavy, mister-” The warning dies at the tip of the young man’s tongue as his wide eye reflects the artificial glow of teal irises. 

It’s best to end this trial now, to prevent a commotion or disturbing the delivery boy who isn’t paid enough to be frightened. You could see it in the slight tremble of his agape mouth as his brain processed the thing in front of him. 

“Thank you again, please don’t mind him, have a great day.” Before you could hear his response, the door was shut. 

A bit rude according to societal norms, but you’re sure a generous gratuity bonus paid on top of the delivery fee is enough to stifle any disgruntlement. Considering his reaction, it looks like your hypothesis remains correct.

The people of Teyvat still need more time to adjust to the existence of androids. Just because science progresses, it doesn’t mean human acknowledgment moves at the same rate.  

Turning away from the door, a pair of glass irises connect with yours, a sheen of expectancy just under the brilliant teal hue. Alhaitham stands there with the bags still hanging from his arms. 

“If you already know what I’m about to assign you, then you should just take the initiative, Alhaitham.” You huff. 

“It’s not a bad habit to wait for any specific instructions.” Came his baritone rebuttal.

“Just take those to the kitchen.” 

“Understood.” He pivots away, taking slow steps toward the kitchen. 

“Ah, sort them into the fridge and cupboards too, do not just dump them on the counter.” You warn, learning from your previous mistakes. 

Seriously, Alhaitham has long evolved past needing step-by-step detailed prompts, thus you suspect it's merely an act of his.

You’ve watched his character develop, his habits form, and his routine take shape. Just where did he learn such behavior? This strange android of yours. 

You watch as he carries the numerous bags without a hint of strain. Alhaitham was much better suited for carrying your week’s worth of rations from the market. Unfortunately, he is proprietary technology.

Clearance to allow an android out into the world hasn’t been granted yet. 

Not that you were eager to receive it. The logistics of such an event are a nightmare to plan. The protocols needed in emergencies to ensure the safety of civilians and the millions of mora poured into his creation. 

There’s always a nonzero chance his system gets overloaded from trying to analyze every blurred face in a crowd. A nonzero chance that he would simply wander beyond the merchants and their fruit stalls. A nonzero chance that the gem implanted between his collarbones could spark curiosity. 

Those same curious eyes could catch onto the artificial glow of teal irises, morphing curiosity into terror. 

Even in Fontaine where it was more common for machines to walk among crowds, they were always designed to look like machines. Their clockwork pieces are obvious and distinguishable, a design choice to bring comfort to the mortal psyche.

An easy way for a human to differentiate a person and a thing. If that line becomes blurred, then…

With a deep sigh, you reel your thoughts back from their philosophical journey. Regardless, it’d be a problem for the future to handle.

–-------------------------------------------------------------

Soft clacks resound from the keyboard as a new string of words appears on your screen, documenting the events of the day on your laptop as you sit on your sofa.

The soft cushions are a welcomed change from a stiff office chair. Just over the top of your screen, Alhaitham sat across from an adjacent couch. Methodically folding a basket of laundry and sorting them into piles. 

An easy enough task for him, but as you watch you make sure to note down the improvements in his motor skills and dexterity. Movements organic and fluid, much like those of a human.

It truly is astonishing just how far technology has progressed, from clockwork pieces and clunky steps to the specimen sitting just a few steps away. 

A tall and sturdy frame, well-portioned face with handsome teal irises, and synthetic starlight hair. Features created from the finest equipment and materials, a truly magnificent piece of scientific progress.

Amid your appreciation for his structure, Alhaitham halts all motion, setting down the towel back into the basket. Resulting in your eyebrows creasing together. 

“What’s wrong Alhaitham? Did you forget how to fold a towel?” 

Alhaitham did not attempt to entertain your jest, so much so, that he simply stared past you. Teal eyes honing in on an object just beyond you, never breaking focus to discern the bewilderment on your face.

Finally relenting, you follow his stare toward a clock, reading the time: 5:00 p.m. 

“Seriously? You haven’t finished folding the laundry yet,” you remark in utter exasperation. 

The teal glow of his eyes shows that he’s received your remark, yet he doesn’t make an effort to return a verbal response. He chooses instead to simply continue staring at the time as his hands wait by his side in opposition.

Him staring at a clock, you staring at him, a one-sided showdown. 

A naughty cat prancing about a countertop where it shouldn’t be could simply be picked up and removed.

A disobedient dog dirtying the couch with its muddy paws could be lured off with the sight of a treat.

But an android? What are you going to do to an android whom you had to tilt your head up to make eye contact with? 

This wasn’t a hill you’re willing to die on, thus with a dismissive wave of your hand, you concede. Allowing Alhaitham to do as he pleases, which he graciously does. His form leaves the couch, heading in the predictable direction of the library as a deep sigh leaves you.

This stubborn android of yours, you made sure to document this on today’s report. Just as how it was yesterday, and the day before, and even the day before that. 

Hopefully, in the event of an actual android apocalypse, he might show you the same leniency. You couldn’t help but scoff at your ridiculous musings. A machine with nothing but a motor and battery in his chest, would he understand leniency even if you were to code it into him? 

Soon his frame comes back into view, a pile of books clutched within his hold, just as you predicted. Shamelessly, he sits in the middle of his unfinished chores while leisurely scanning the pages in front of him. 

This fickle, strange, and stubborn android follows the rhythm of his own motor regardless of what protocols you instill.

Yet, as you watch his fingers flip through the worn book and take up space on your couch, a smile develops on your features. A soft curl of your lips, easily obscured by the screen of your laptop. 

A fickle, strange, and stubborn android is not too different from a person, one who had a heartbeat.

An android who takes up space on your couch and house, making it a bit less empty than previously. That was good enough. 

What made man? Intellect? Innovation? Language? 

This was the dilemma assigned to him since the very first time his system powered up in that facility, welcomed into this world by glaring fluorescent lights and the numerous stares of figures in white coats.

A dilemma that follows him even to his current place on a spacious couch.

According to sources pulled from the Akasha and cross-references from numerous printed materials made available to him, many throughout history have been pondering this same conundrum. A philosopher once defined man as featherless bipeds. 

However, wouldn’t this make a plucked chicken a man too? A definition so ambiguous a mere student proved the teacher wrong. 

Then, is man defined by their flesh? Having skin and bones instead of silicon parts and metal components? To have blood pumped by a heart instead of operating off a battery and motor? Was it biology that defined man?

But if that was the simple truth, then why was Frankenstein’s creation addressed as nothing more than a monster?

From his arms to his legs to his mind, everything which made up that creature was human. He had blood, he had flesh, he had bones. So why was he chased away by flaming torches and pitchforks as a mob screamed ‘monster’? Why was a creature made from human flesh not human?

His train of thought halts as a familiar set of steps patter against the floor. Automatically, his sights hone in at the corner of a wall even before your face reveals itself from behind it. 

Teal-colored eyes refocus to catch the subtle perk of your eyebrows and widened eyes. An expression of surprise he analyzes, his immediate focus must have caught you off guard.

Did you have some other test outlined for him? Did you need to collect more data from earlier today? Another household task perhaps? 

How unfortunate, the hour on the clock read half past 8 p.m. Have you not learned from your tardiness the week prior?

“If you have a request, then please wait until 9 a.m. tomorrow when I’m within my business hours.” 

Even with the wall partially obscuring your form, the restrained giggle through lips fighting back a grin was picked up by his audio system. 

“No, no, there’s no more tasks for today.” 

As your gaze centers on him, he takes note of the refractions of fluorescent lights along your irises.

“Then is there something you’d like to discuss?” He prompts. 

“Mm… no, not right now.”

His stone-faced stare was enough of a response, judging by the smile spreading across your features.

“I just felt like checking up on you, after all, you are the most proprietary piece of technology at the moment.” 

At times like these, Alhaitham felt that the audio cue of a sigh was the most effective communication out of all the languages created by man. Muffed chuckles accompany it. 

“I’ll leave you be then.” 

The floorboards trill under your steps as you amble towards the kitchen. Alhaitham returns to the last few pages still left open on his lap. 

Small tinkering from beyond the living room serves as an ambient tune. The swift opening and closing of a refrigerator door. A harsh pull on a microwave door is contrasted by the bright beeps of buttons, leading to a low hum.

He hypothesizes there to be some leftovers spinning around. 

After the microwave sang its concluding chimes, the clatter of a plate follows a firm tug. A drawer rattles open, metal clinking against metal as you sift around for the right utensil. The drawer rattles again as it closes. 

Rhythmic footsteps take center stage as they trail back down an empty hall, Alhaitham waits to hear the resounding click of a door returning to its frame. Just as the final echo of the click sounds out through the air he places the finished novel on the coffee table. 

Leaving the comfort of the cushions, he makes his way to the kitchen to access the aftermath. A microwave door left wide open, a drawer only halfway closed, and of course another dirty coffee mug in the sink. 

Returning the microwave and drawer to their rightful states, his teal eyes count the pile of cups sitting since this morning. A collection that grew throughout the day. 

Alhaitham looks up in the direction of your office. A soft glow leaked out from under the gap of the door, bleeding light into the dim hall. His systems identify the audible taps of a keyboard and the occasional shift of an office chair. He deduces that you were working overtime again. 

He found it a bit ironic at times. A body of mechanical components has no qualms about lounging on a sofa. But you, a creature of flesh and blood, refuse to submit to the allure of rest. Although, Alhaitham wouldn’t find it too implausible that coffee ran through those veins of yours instead. 

Repetitive clacks of keys and mouse clicks play a melody he had heard ever since the first day he opened his eyes.

A tune that accompanies the rhythm of his steps and motions when he goes about his tasks as you document them.

A lullaby that plays after his routine tasks as he heads back to his charging port when you log a daily report. 

An accompaniment to the silent moon and her stars as you stay up at a desk. 

Needing to reach the next exit criteria. Needing to collect the next set of data. Needing to submit the next report. 

Would it be because a body of flesh has agency? With cells in a losing race against time, was there something you wanted to attain within your mortal hands from this research before the race ended?

Or did you just want to fill the vacant lull of this house with those little taps of a keyboard?

Regardless, it’s not within his capacity to disturb your work. Thus all he could do was roll up his sleeves, turn on the running water, and pick up a sponge. Scrubbing the cups with warm soapy water, imitating the motions you’ve shown him before, until the dried stains vanish. 

If it’s not featherlessness, if it’s not bipedalism, and if it’s not flesh… then could it just be agency that made him different from you? 

Maybe he’ll ask you another day, placing the cups into the dish rack. 

Sorting and organizational tasks are his strong suit, in other words, he’s very good at completing easy jobs. Leaving the more… tedious chores to you.

A heavy sigh leaves your lips as you rest on the handle of the broom. The hallway between your office and the bedrooms is the last section that needs to be swept. 

Alhaitham was likely back in his place on the couch, book in hand as he lounged around. Weren’t androids created in hopes of making life easier?

 So much for that, you internally huffed, repositioning your grip on the broom. A soft but bright clink catches your attention. Glancing down, you quickly discover the source. A ring wrapped around your finger.

Kept on your finger for so long, it’s become almost an extension of yourself, this keepsake piece of jewelry. 

Abandoning the broom against a wall, your other hand fiddles with the gold band. A frown forms upon your lips when a faint scratch shows itself on the gold surface

Gingerly, you remove the ring, pinching it between your fingers as you hold it up to the light, examining the damage closer. The shine of its once-polished surface was dulled by trivial scuffs and dents, damaged by the signs of time.

Regrettably, it seems you’ve been neglecting it as well. 

So much so, that the ring felt compelled to remove itself from your grasp in protest. Slipping out of your tender hold, which propels you into motion, graceless attempts at catching the small piece of jewelry to no avail. 

 It soon collides with the wooden floor as a chime rings out, still, gravity didn’t buy you enough time to catch the evasive gem. For it then decides to run under the gap of a door, disappearing from your sight. Leaving you there in defeat. 

Taking a deep inhale, holding it for a few seconds, you release the air in your lungs. Returning your gaze up from the wood grain, you stare at the obstacle in front of you: a mere door. 

Its brass knob gleams as if to taunt you, daring you to open it, to face what lay beyond. Slowly, you release your clenched fingers, setting your hand back into motion. You’re far too grown to be scared of a room in your own home, especially when you know what is behind it. 

Its hinges ring out in surprise, it’s been a while since they were opened. The daunting door opens up to reveal a lackluster collection of old furniture, picture frames, and various other assortment of items.

Their forms all covered by plain sheets thrown over them, silhouettes, outlined like ghost. A slight tickle appears in your nose from the layers of dust you disturbed. 

A poor, unfortunate room you’ve designated as storage, where items go to be neglected. You were busy enough with work as it is.

To avoid seeing the reminders of responsibilities you’ve been pushing off, you’d rather throw them behind a door. Out of your sight, out of your mind. 

The sooner you find that ring, the sooner you can turn a blind eye to the various items you’ve long abandoned yet refused to let go of. Amongst the dull dust and sheets, it wasn’t very hard to spot the golden glimmer from peaking through. 

Trudging towards the mischievous ring, you kneel to finally catch it within your hand. Such a troublesome thing, you chide as you stand back up. Bracing your other hand on the nearest sheet-covered surface, only for it to come into contact with an odd object.

Startled, you instinctively hold onto both the ring and the odd object as you jolt back up. Glancing down at your hands, your eyes finally identify the object. 

A collection of tiny planets and stars dangling from thin strings glimmered with the soft light creeping in from the afternoon sun. A soft smile made its way to your lips.

How silly it was that a toy made to entertain young infants had you so enraptured. You bought it on a whim, then tossed it into the depths of a dust-covered room. And yet it’s now back in your hands. Perhaps the beckoning of the stars still calls for you. 

A part of you wonders if it was your fascination with the night sky that caused sleep to evade you. Sitting up on a mattress well past bedtime to gaze out to the vast ocean of dazzling and blinking lights that dotted against a navy backdrop. While the pristine radiance of the moon reflected off your irises. 

Or did your fascination develop because it was always the moon and her stars that silently accompanied your long nights?

Gentle lights who lent you their well wishes and encouragement as you anguished through assignments and exams. 

What an honor it was for you to be able to witness her beauty so often. It was a pity that some, who disregarded her grace in favor of dreams, weren’t able to experience the brilliance of a starry night.

Maybe your parents fell in the category of the majority. Maybe that’s why they couldn’t even fathom such a thing. 

A past conversation over an old wooden table started in your mind before you could muster the strength to push it back. 

–----

“C’mon, eat, eat.” Your mother places a hearty serving of Biryani in front of you. 

The old kitchen table groaned under the weight of the spread of dishes on its surface. To call it anything short of a feast would be a lie. The walls of the modest home are filled with a variety of rich aromas and spices. 

“You have to eat to study harder, don’t think just because you made it into the Akademiya you can take it easy now.” Your father remarked. 

“I wouldn’t dare dream of it.” You picked up your fork. 

Letting out a chuckle, he pats your back as a rare smile graced his stern face. Your mother’s face mirrored the same radiance, the beaming glow of pride. For you, their daughter, their only child, and only hope had been accepted into the Akademiya. 

The most prestigious university of all of Sumeru and Teyvat, with millions competing for those few spots each and every year. Only the best of the best, only those who outshone the rest, and only those gifted and blessed would ever be admitted.

Yet, you were sent a letter from the oh-so-grand institution. 

A child from a town far away in the shadows of the grand Akademiya was accepted.

What were the odds of that? For a child whose own parents never got the opportunity for higher education to become the first to go off to university? The cause of this celebratory feast. 

The warm Spring breeze contributed to the sweetness of this small moment in time, as plates were passed and glasses clanked.

All those scattered notes, cramped hands, and revisions have rewarded you with the golden brilliance of sunrise after endlessly long nights. 

A smile crept up the corners of your lips. A light has finally appeared to illuminate this trending path you’ve climbed. 

Your father washed down his previous bite with a sip from his cup, placing it down before he began his next question:

“Have you decided on which Darshan to go into?” 

The sweet breeze turns into a chill down your spine as your fork halts its motion. The dilemma you have been dreading has finally arrived at the kitchen table. 

You had to memorize every mathematical formula. You had to pinpoint every detail in a historical timeline. You had to know every syntax of a sentence. You had to understand the molecular structures of life. 

A child had to learn everything, and now they had to pick something to learn. How would the child know? The child only knew how to study. 

“Amurta? Spantamad? Oh, what about Kshahrewar? I heard that it was also good.” Your mother chimed in. 

“Amurta?” Your father scoffed a bit. 

“Dear, as if this tuition isn’t expensive enough, think of how much med school will cost.” 

“Oh I know, I know, but you know how well doctors get paid! I heard those labs also give a decent salary.” Your mother reasons. 

“Ah, but it takes too long. Engineering isn’t half bad either, there’s been a demand for more engineers recently.” Your father takes another sip of his drink.

“Oh, but it’s not up to us,” she turned to face you. 

“It’s up for our little scholar now isn’t it?” 

A paradoxical question, because your options were already decided for you from the very start.

Carefully selected paths were already laid out before you as your parents watched on with expecting eyes, waiting for your foot to take a step on the path they wanted most. 

Poking at a stray grain of rice on your plate, you gather up the scattered pieces of courage. You were a child who only knew how to study, yet, a child is still susceptible to dreams, no?

“I have thought about it.” You began.

“And?” Your mother couldn’t help but nudge you to continue. 

“I was thinking about Rtawahist,” you confessed. 

It was as if even the sweet Spring air wanted to escape the now-still walls, leaving dread to fill the void it had left. No dishes were passed, no utensils rattled, and no cups clinked. Just bewildered stares you couldn’t bring yourself to answer. 

“Rtawahist? As in the school that looks at the sky?” Your father’s face had returned to its stern default. 

“Astronomy? Yes, that’s the Darshan that studies Astronomy.” Your eyes didn’t dare leave your plate. 

Among the options selected by them from their perceptions of future opportunities and prestige for you. You dare interject with one of your own. 

A deep sigh sealed your fate. 

“Astronomy? You want to study Astronomy? And get what job?” 

The pierce from your father’s harsh tone made you flinch, even though you expected it. 

“You can look at the stars for free, why would I pay to send you to school to study something so useless?”

“There are jobs for Astronomy.” You reasoned. 

“Like what?” His finger drummed against the wood. 

“Like-” 

You made the mistake of looking up from your plate, the fragile wisps of courage dissipated like smoke the moment you did. All the arguments and rebuttals you had prepared vanished along with it. The frown that pulled down your father’s face and the scrunched brow concern of your mother’s were enough to snuff out your pitiful rebellion. 

“Go on.” He challenged. 

“...” 

“That’s what I thought.” Your father snatched up his cup. 

Your focus retreated back to your plate, recentering on the grains of rice you pushed around with the ends of a fork. A motion that continued until another hand stopped yours. 

“Little one…” Your mother began. 

Her thumb traced over your fidgeting hand, a touch which comforted yet scorned you all at once. 

“You know that lady who lived down the street? Her son got a career working with computers and now they live in a big house, doesn’t that sound nice?”

You hummed. 

“Kshahrewar isn’t so bad, right? Just a few years and then you can get a good job.” 

Yes, she had spelled out the purpose of your studies like red-inked corrections on a test. It was how it always was, why did you think it would change now?

Having to prove you deserved the food on the plate in front of you.

Having to bring home top grades to prove all those books and materials were worth it.

Having to get a job that could break this cycle your parents were trapped in. How else would you be able to pay them back? 

It was their mora, earned from long hours and labor, that fed you, clothed you, and sheltered you. They made your world with their calloused hands. It was their justification to command it as well. You were their only child, their only investment. 

This was the dilemma imposed upon you. 

–----

Your fingers clench around the childish imitation of the night sky, running the plastic surfaces under your mindless touch. Thoughts still light years away in the recesses of your memories. 

How silly, for someone who loved the planet and the stars so much how did you forget that one fascinating detail? Planets orbit a sun because of gravity.

It was the force of a greater mass that commanded the lesser, it was what kept a planet going round and round within its grasp. It was the gravity of the sun that gave a planet a direction, a path to follow, a purpose even. 

Perhaps it’s because the sun knew what was best for its little planet.

It was the diplomas framed nicely on a wall that granted you a secure job, it was your cushy job that permitted you to purchase this cushy home. 

Your parents planned this out long ago, thus you merely just followed. 

However, when the sun disappears, when the central mass that gave a small planet a purpose disappears, what would the little planet do? 

Drifting endlessly in a vacuum of nothingness, with no direction, no path, no light. No day or night and an endless Winter, would it be as if the world stopped spinning.

That little planet would be no different than a cold lump of rock in a vast emptiness. 

A sharp creak pierces through the tormentful quietude, a chirr that reels your thoughts back to a dusty room. Head instinctively following the direction of the noise, you fixate on the doorway.

Catching the diffused afternoon sun glimmering in silver locks reminiscent of starlight. 

Alhaitham stands silently at the threshold of the door, its frame perfectly centering him as his teal eyes analyze you. Not a single engineered limb crossed the boundary of the dusty room. Just as it was defined in a set of restrictions implemented into his system by you. 

As evidenced by his unintentional disregard for his environment, the floorboards bearing witness to his careless execution of chores, you restricted him from this decrepit room.

Although all it contains is a chaotic collection of trinkets and keepsakes, the dust-coating provides them with a blanket of security. You saw no reason to change it. 

A telling teal glow blinks momentarily before Alhaitham breaks the lull.

“Are you uncomfortable anywhere?”

It was just now that you noticed the wet trails rolling down your cheeks. Wiping away the cooling dampness on your skin, you confirmed the presence of tears. Your senses took their time returning from their escapade.

Alhaitham remains in his spot, patiently awaiting your next response. How embarrassing it is, to be seen in such a state by a being who could shed no tears. Quickly, you wipe away the trails on your other cheek.

“I’m fine, just lost in thought for a moment.” Swiftly you place the toy down.

A smooth weight encased in the palm of your hand reminds you of the ring, the item that lured you into this dusty room.

Perhaps it should be best to have let it remain undisturbed on your finger. It’s a common wives’ tale that keepsakes ward off bad omens. 

“Is that truly all?” He made a no move, his eyes rescanning the environment as if unconvinced by your answer. 

You wonder if it’s because of some protocol or conditional in his software. Safety measures set in place during this test of whether an artificial being could live in harmony with mortals. 

However, as you gaze upon your magnum opus the specifics of programming and software fade into irrelevancy. Trailing your eyes up from his teal irises to his starlight silver trusses that glimmered in the soft light, revealing a hint of mint. It took you a while to find that exact shade during his manufacturing stage. 

There’s always a chance that a drifting planet could be caught in the orbital pull of another. Whether it be man-made or not didn’t matter.

As long as it was of a significant mass its gravity should be enough to pull a lonely planet from its aimless wanderings. It can set the stray planet into a new orbit, giving it a new path. 

A small lump of rock could find a new star to center around. 

“Yes, I’ll be fine.” 

You will be fine. Slowly, and with one step after another, you will be fine one day. 

The typical 24-hour day for a working adult can be broken down into a set schedule. Waking up at around 8 a.m. to wash one’s face and brush their teeth as they make themselves presentable for work. Followed by a light breakfast or a cup of coffee before. 

Some then start their commute to work or jump onto their desktop to clock in around 9 a.m. to begin their work. In the middle of their shift, usually around noon, they are granted a one-hour lunch break, after that they work until 5 p.m. when they finish their work. 

Coming back home to enjoy dinner around 7 p.m. followed by an hour or two of leisure before a bedtime routine begins. Washing the day's influences off oneself, brushing their teeth, and changing into comfortable attire.

If they want to get a restful 8 hours of sleep they cannot go to bed any later than 10:45 p.m. to account for the 15-minute downtime to allow the body to enter the sleeping state. 

This cycle then resets and repeats just as the sky cycles through the sun and moon. A typical and average reality for most adults in Sumeru. Well, from the data he pulled from the Akasha, this was the typical day for the average working civilian. 

It just so happens that you’re a stray data point skewing the graph.

If he were to estimate your bedtimes from the activity of your desktop and laptop, it would be a chaotic set of timestamps ranging from 2 a.m. to 5 a.m., sometimes the activity on your devices never ceased. An indication of what is referred to as an ‘all-nighter’.

Behavior that might be acceptable for those attending the Akademiya, but certainly not for a working adult. 

At this moment, Alhaitham stood in the hall just a few steps away from your bedroom door. His frame remained motionless to avoid disturbing the floorboards beneath him.

Taking into account your device’s activities, Alhaitham estimates your bedtime was 4: 45 a.m. this morning. Given how your alarm is set to around 8 a.m., amounting to about 3 hours of sleep.

Not even half of the recommended time by Sumeru’s health administration. 

By all means, Alhaitham finds it confounding how you’re still able to perform so efficiently at your job, managing both the Insitute and Akademiya while operating on a few morsels of sleep.

He wonders if that was the reason why you were selected as the personnel who’s facilitating his learning. 

Perhaps, they hoped he’d emulate your work ethic and efficiency. How unfortunate, his self-learning pivoted him away from such conduct. 

As he stands observing the woodgrain of your door, Alhaitham finds himself at a crossroads. It’s not within his capacity to interfere, conditionals coded into his software to prevent him from disrupting your privacy.

Laws mandating the privacy of employees and civilians alike.

Simultaneously, there are protocols instilled in him that instruct him to prevent harm from befalling you. 

A contradiction. Something that would cause a regular system to return an error as it fails to satisfy one conditional while trying to work within the bounds of another. 

Chronic sleep loss results in an increased risk of heart attacks, strokes, and hypertension.

Long-term sleep loss also results in impaired memory and concentration, although it’s not affecting your productivity now, it doesn’t mean it won’t decline soon.

These statistics were all provided by Sumeru’s health administration. 

The effects on the brain are quite severe as well, with increased feelings of stress, anxiety, and depression.

A quiet afternoon scene replays, in a dust-covered room, where he found you staring off at nothing as silent rivulets rolled down your cheeks.

That memory stored within his RAM was enough for Alhaitham to come to his conclusion. 

Alhaitham must act on his own will and deal with anything that appears harmful in his eyes.

To allow you to continue your destructive routine which is proving to be detrimental to your health would be inadvertently allowing harm to befall you. Thus, he decides one conditional must override another. 

Careful to prevent the hinges of your bedroom door from trilling, Alhaitham enters. Analyzing the shape outlined by messy layers of blankets draped over your figure, you must still be in the depths of slumber.

There are about 15 minutes before your first alarm is set to go off, since your commute was a simple walk to your home office, you had the flexibility to sleep through a few grating beeps. 

This habit could use a few improvements. He turns his focus to the thick curtains hiding the room away from the greetings of a morning star.

Sunlight sends a signal to the pituitary gland, calling to suppress melatonin production and increase cortisol production and serotonin.

A natural cue for your body to start, to allow the bright rays to touch your skin would also be good for vitamin production too. 

With a simple tug, the thick drapes were pulled away, granting the rays of the sun to enter and illuminate the still room.

Your body instinctively retreats deeper under the covers, a clear sign that the light is doing its job. He’ll leave the rest up to the alarm impatiently waiting to belt out its chorus of pitches. Just like the shadows slipping away, he exits just as quietly. 

It took only two alarms to get you out of bed and ambling down the hall toward the kitchen. A 60% decrease from when the curtains were shut, however, more trials are needed to conclusively establish a pattern.

His teal gaze follows you as you approach the kitchen. Hands rubbing at your eyes. 

“Why is it so bright?” Your words were groggy. 

“It’s morning,” he answers. 

An unamused glare replaces the fatigue in your expression, Alhaitham deems his response satisfactory. 

After a deep sigh, you shut your eyes again, still trying to adjust to the brightness surrounding you, hands returning to rub at your eyelids.

Excessive rubbing of the eyes isn’t good for them, he notes. However, before he could address it another prompt from you took priority. 

“Did I leave my curtains open last night?” You asked yourself. 

“Coffee?” He interjects. 

Glancing back up at him, you paused for a moment as your groggy mind remembered why you traversed to the kitchen in the first place, diverting your attention away from mysteriously moving drapes. 

“Yes, please make me a cup, Alhaitham.” 

“Understood.”

The android turns toward the marble countertop, preparing the coffee grounds into the machine as you sit at your place at the table.

One day isn’t enough to correct a bad habit, but over time, bit by bit, your schedule will fall into a new rhythm. 

–-------------------------------------------------------------

The cheerful doorbell ring interrupts Alhaitham amidst reorganizing the books on a shelf. Right on schedule.

From just down the hall he hears the knob of your office door turn as it opens, followed by a few cautious steps as you venture closer to the front door. As you pass the doorway of the library, Alhaitham observes the furrow between your brow on your perplexed face. 

“Is there someone at the door?” You turn to him. 

Another ring followed by a few gentle knocks answers your question for him as your head snaps back into the direction of the noise. Crime in this suburban neighborhood is very low, but he does understand why you’d want to be careful.

Perhaps, he should accompany you to ease your nerves over the sudden ring from the door. 

With an android just behind you, you had finally mustered up the courage to answer the daunting door under his teal supervision. 

“Hello, delivery from Lambad’s Tavern, paid online.” 

“Huh?-” 

“One order of Minty Bean Soup, one order of butter chicken, and one rose custard?” The delivery man interrupts your confusion as he lists off your entrees. 

“Yes…” you reply as you cast a glance back at an idle android. 

The entrees listed were all dishes you asked him to make you for lunch a few hours earlier. Judging by the suspicion upon your furrowed brows, he could tell that you noticed as well. However, with a delivery man holding out the takeout bag on the front steps. It’d be rude to just have him remain there, no? 

“Enjoy your meal!” He announces as he hands over the bag into your arms. 

“Yes, thank you.” You close the door, spinning around almost instantly to confront the android with the bag still in hand. 

“Did you order this?”

“Yes.” 

“Again? I asked you to make food, not order it,” you tsk. 

“I did it to optimize my time.” Crossing his arms in front of his chest. 

“All you have to do is heat up the frozen meals.” 

“Then according to protocol, I’d have to stay in the kitchen to watch over the oven and stove, not to mention the dishes I’d have to wash afterward. So ordering takeout would save time as well as not prevent me from my task of organizing-”

“Okay, okay. I get it.” You concede with a sigh. 

Taking a few steps past him towards the direction of the kitchen before you pause midstep to turn back to him. 

“Do not use your funds to order weird things off the internet.” You warn before promptly continuing on your way to have your late lunch. 

“Understood.” 

Just as he suspected, there isn’t a problem that can’t be helped with a bit of mora. If Alhaitham were to follow your request as you instructed, he knew that the reheated meal would turn cold as it sits abandoned on the kitchen table.

Even when he informs you of his task’s completion, you’d push back your lunchtime until you needed another dose of caffeine. 

However, a simple ring of a doorbell could do what he can’t. Drawing your attention and body away from the confines of your desk. An efficient reminder to have your meals at a regular time if he says so himself.

Besides, fresh ingredients are better than frozen meals in terms of nutrients. 

–-------------------------------------------------------------

The sun had long retreated into a navy blanket of the night, allowing the moon to take its place in the sky. Serene beauty watching over the nighttime bustle of Sumeru city slowly peters out, and many return to their homes at the beck and call of slumber. 

Alhaitham settled himself upon his spot on the couch, a lamp just off to the side illuminating the pages of his book softly. The quiet lull of the living room periodically broken by the crisp turn of a page.

The typical rhythm that resonates through the house around this hour. His acute senses pick up a frustrated pair of steps pattering closer. 

Ah, yes a new accompaniment has jumped this evening's tempo. 

“Is the router having issues again?” You groan as your frame appears from around the corner. 

Casting a halfhearted glance off to where said device sat on a side table, his teal eyes return to his book. 

“The light shows that it’s online.” 

“Then why is it taking forever to upload a simple file? It’s been five minutes and it’s not even halfway done.” You took quick strides past his idle frame. 

Crouching down to be at eye level with the device in question. Unplugging the power cord from its back and then sticking it back. Eyes studying the blinking lights as the router reboots and reconnects to the internet.

Pulling out your phone, you sigh as you try to load up a webpage only to be met by a spinning circle of contemplation. 

“Network providers tend to have slowdowns this late at night, some say it's due to bandwidth congestion while others argue that they do it to cut costs,” Alhaitham states, teal eyes honed in onto the text as to avoid your pouting glare. 

“Very helpful, Alhaitham.” Another sigh leaves you as you stand back up. 

He spoke the technical truth, those companies do tend to slow down their networks at night to save on some operational costs.

However, in this case, it was the former that was causing your device’s screens to perpetually stay in loading. Activities such as streaming videos, music, or downloading files take up the most bandwidth.

Alhaitham simply wanted to download some digital copies of recent scientific journals, and maybe a few songs here and there as well. All done simultaneously which led to some congestion.

How unfortunate. 

“This has been happening for the past month now, I should call the network provider, it’s driving me up a wall.” Another groan of frustration. 

His teal eyes follow your figure from behind the tops of his book, watching you rub your temples as if to expel the exasperation from your body with each mumble that leaves your lips. 

“The internet’s so slow I can’t even connect to the Akasha’s databases, that file is still uploading, what should I do in the meantime?”

His hearing was able to pick up each syllable uttered from under your exhausted breath. He shifts his focus momentarily toward the clock just across the room, reading: 10:00 p.m. Since you asked, it’s only right that he responds with his input. 

“It’s an issue beyond your control, the best option to utilize your time at this moment would be to get an adequate amount of rest.” 

This time it was your turn to respond to him with a deadpan stare, clearly unamused by his suggestion. 

“I want to analyze a few more datasets.”

“Missing a few hours of overtime won’t have any determinate effects on your productivity or livelihood.” 

“This is for the sake of your development, Alhaitham.” You sigh as if your statement would mystically change his rationale. 

“The short-term gratification you’ll get from sacrificing your rest for a few revelations isn’t worth the long-term ramifications of your health.” He bluntly discloses. 

Silence fills the room once more, but something odd seems to have mingled with the serenity of the air. This strange inclusion prompts Alhaitham to finally turn away from the pages, connecting his gaze with yours. 

“Was my response unsatisfactory?” He studies your expression, and rather than furrowed brows, he finds a soft roundness to your eyes. 

Him staring at you, you staring at him. A scene that continued for a few beats more before you were the first to break the stalemate. 

“No, not at all… it’s just very reminiscent of something I’ve heard before…” You turn away as his gaze follows. 

A few slow strides take you back to the corner, figure just about to disappear into the shadows engulfing the halls before you abruptly turn around. 

“Goodnight, Alhaitham.”

“Goodnight.” He mirrors. 

Alhaitham marks today as another successful trail of correcting a bad routine. 

–-------------------------------------------------------------

Adequate amounts of sunlight, regular meals, and coffee grounds mysteriously find themselves placed on the highest shelf in the cabinets. All the factors were in place to regulate a disastrous sleep schedule. 

Yet when Alhaitham checks your device activity, the data points remain scattered about the twilight hours of the morning. A true paradox.

Amongst the Summer afternoon rays seeping in through the windows, Alhaitham was tasked with tidying up the kitchen. An obscure cabinet in a corner was the last section before he could deem the request complete. 

There wasn’t anything in particular about the cabinet, it’s space housing an assortment of various vitamins. That was until his hand brushed against a plastic container which didn’t conform to the typical shape of vitamin bottles. 

Grasping it within his hand, he pulls the irregular bottle out from the murky depths of a cabinet and out into the sunlight where its identity unravels: a prescription bottle.

Barbiturates sedatives, colloquially referred to as sleeping pills, are used in treatments for insomnia. 

It looks like Alhaitham has stumbled upon the answer to the paradox printed on the faded label of a neglected bottle. 

Frankly, this revelation wasn’t all that surprising. He had long suspected it from the symptoms and behaviors you display daily. But it’s always good to support a hypothesis with evidence. 

Studying the container in his hand further, his gaze narrows as it hones in a corner of the label. In particular, the date printed along it. This bottle expired two years ago. 

It’s recommended that every civilian visits the Bimarstan annually for a checkup, in a nation where healthcare is free and accessible, this typically isn’t an issue.

Once more, you stood alone as a data point outside of the cluster. 

Stepping into the living room, he finds you tinkering with the network router again. A few more steps and then he was by your side. 

“When was your last medical check-up?” Cycling through his memory, Alhaitham failed to recall the last time you had a medical assessment.

Your body halts momentarily, before glancing up at his beryl eyes.

“I’m relatively healthy, there’s no reason for an assessment.” 

“The Department of Health recommends annual checkups at the very least.” 

“I don’t need to go to the Bimarstan,” you declare. 

A weight pulled down at the corners of his lips, creating what is called a frown. An expression he observed many times upon your lips whenever you label him as ‘stubborn’. He might finally grasp why you do such a thing.

Stubbornness isn’t such a good trait when you’re on the other side of it. Fortunately, he anticipated this. 

“In accordance with the law, you do.” The contents of the plastic bottle rattle as he reveals it, drawing your gaze toward it. 

“The regulation behind your prescription requires that all expired medication be brought back to the Bimarstan for proper disposal.” Denunciation behind his glass irises. 

Lips pressing into a thin line, you advert your eyes back to the blinking router in front of you. Each second of silence announces your defeat.

Human actions are limited by a set of laws and they must operate within the bounds, not too different from restrictions imposed on machines.

The consequences looming just a step away discourage most mortals from crossing the threshold. 

“I’ll schedule an appointment for noon next week, making use of your saved paid time off is recommended, does that work?” He prompts. 

“Alright.” 

A weight is alleviated from his lips, triggering the corners to curl upwards. A common response to the accomplishment of a challenge, he understands now why a mortal body does it. 

Perhaps a doctor's visit has been long overdue, foggy recollections of if the curtains were shut the night before and if a bag of coffee was accidentally misplaced. Poor memory is one of the repercussions of sleep deprivation, you’re aware of this fact. 

Healthcare in Sumeru is highly accredited for its accessibility and quality, the Bimarstan being the standard many hospitals around Teyvat strive to be. To have such a thing so accessible to you, it’s baffling to many how you failed to utilize such privilege.

You had your reasons. 

Many of these prominent doctors and diligent nurses were once classmates. A few vaguely familiar faces from across a lecture hall of some general course.

Faces you’ve passed slumped over textbooks and piles of notes in the late hours of the House of Daena, their dark circles matching yours.

Faces that graduated alongside you as celebratory cheers rang out with caps littering the air.

It’d be strange to meet someone you attended the Akademiya with once again in an examination room. 

After their years of medical school and surviving residency, you’re certain they’re more than qualified at their jobs. However, it doesn’t change the course of averted eyes and superficial pleasantries.

You breathe out a deep sigh as the receptionist calls out for you, informing you that you could head down to a private room. 

Leaving your seat in the waiting room, you do as the receptionist instructs, exiting the lively environment into a placid hallway. The receptionist’s face didn’t evoke any familiarity, nor did the doctor’s name listed on your appointment.

Many of these prominent doctors and diligent nurses were once classmates, but not all. 

Candidly, there’s only one classmate who you’d avert paths with within this establishment. In a hospital as large as the Bimarstan, the average number of staff ranges from around 5,000.

The odds of encountering a particular face out of a pool of thousands is nonzero. 

A polite knock draws you from your thoughts, your eyes travel toward the door of the private room you entered not too long ago as the handle slowly turns. Thick oak swinging ajar to reveal the figure on the other side. 

“Good afternoon, I’m Dr. Rana, I’ll be taking care of you today.” 

You return her greeting with a courteous smile and nod, statistics in your favor, the odds were nonzero but still a minuscule likelihood. 

The checkup was rather uneventful, a few questions were asked as she pulled up your medical records. You pulled out the expired medication for her to examine and deal with.

Vitals checked and documented as the appointment drew to a close, a notepad and pen in her hands as she turned to you. 

“Overall your health seems fine, although…” she trails off.

You could feel the weight of her stare upon the discoloration ever-present under your eyes, no layer of concealer to cover them. You could already guess her next sentence. 

“Would you like a refill of your prescription?”

“No, it’s fine.” It’d just be another bottle to be neglected in the back of a cabinet. 

“I see…” This time her eyes move back and forth between your sitting figure and a clock hanging in its place on a wall. 

“I… have to process some paperwork, could you wait here for a few minutes?” A polite smile graced her lips. 

“Of course.” You mimic her actions. 

A day requested off to account for a drawn-out appointment, to account for a scenario like this his foresight analysis is making great progress.

You should take note of that once you return home, a daily log still needs to be updated to track consistent progress after all. It’s technically your day off, but you’re free to decide what to do with it.

As you pondered a checklist to complete once you got in front of your desk the door creaks open. 

“Oh? That was fast, Dr. Rana-” The sentence dying upon the tip of your tongue as your lips press into a firm line. 

The odds of encountering one familiar face out of a pool of thousands is a small nonzero number, however, if that number was increased to three faces out of those thousands, the chances increase.

How unfortunate, even with such small odds, you managed to come face-to-face with the three people you wanted to avoid the most. 

They file into the room and the last one closes the door behind himself as your eyes scan over them. Starting with the ebony-haired man in the center, Tighnari, a doctor at the Bimarstan. It makes sense for a doctor to be in a hospital on this fine day, but not for a lawyer, or an architect.

Four former classmates gathered in an examination room, how strange. 

Still, you’ve grown enough to adapt to such peculiar situations. Practiced corporate smiles and pleasantries to navigate this stagnant air. 

“Cyno, Tighnari, Kaveh, it’s a surprise to see you all here. It’s been a while.” 

“A while is a bit of an understatement…” Kaveh is the first of the trio to converse, offering you a small smile. 

You return it with one that didn’t reach your eyes. The rhythmic ticks of a clock fill the silence, shifting eyes anticipating and preparing for the next phase of this impromptu reunion. The doctor finally decides to speak up. 

“You haven’t been sleeping enough, have you.” Tighnari examining your under eyes. 

“I never sleep enough, you know that.” Of course you never slept enough.

How could you sleep when the threat of falling behind the geniuses sitting around a library table was always looming over you? Geniuses who easily grasp the concepts and theories that elude you. How could you lay in bed when you had to catch up to them? 

“So, why this sudden get-together?” Impatience rising inside you with each passing tick of the clock. 

Dropping the formalities and social pleasantries, you watch as another round of shifting eyes passes. You already had an inkling of the answer they’re still hesitating to address. Finally, your former Kshahrewar senior responds for the group. 

“We’re worried about you, you haven’t been in contact for a while now.” Kaveh’s voice was low and mellow, you could tell he took extra effort in marking it such. 

The same low and mellow tone he’d speak to you with as he tried to explain your mistakes on an exam, the tone which accompanied the pity in his gaze toward you as he pointed out each miscalculation on your paper. The tone made you ball your fist up on your lap.

“I’m fine, just busy.” 

“Please don’t start with that again.” The blond sighs, sympathy still ever-present in his eyes. 

“I’m just busy with work, as are all of you, we’re no longer students with minimal responsibilities,” you retort. 

The days when a group of friends could gather around a table for hours on end, half bantering and half studying, basking in the Spring warmth streaming in from the grand windows of the House of Daena have long passed. 

“We all have busy careers, that’s true, but not to the extent of being a detriment to our health.” With a sigh, Tighnari began his health lecture. 

Expounding upon the negative consequences of a poor work-life balance. Shifting your focus instead on tuning out this lecture you didn’t sign up for. 

“You stopped listening… of course,” a deep sigh concludes the doctor’s sermon. 

Ah, you’ve been found out. The polite smile straining itself upon your lips, legs itching to walk out of this restrictive space. 

“Here, it’s a contact of mine, I recommend you give her a call-” 

“It’s fine.” You promptly push away the business card just as Tighnari presents it to you, a thread of patience stretched thinly. 

“She can help you through-” he continues. 

“It’s fine, my research is just busy-”

“This isn’t healthy.” 

“It’s my research.” A sharp undertone leaks through your professional demeanor. 

“And this is why we’re worried about you!” Kaveh’s patience was the first snap. 

Then again, your senior might have been the light of Kshahrewar and a praised genius, but he was never the best at handling his emotional regulation. 

“Look around, don’t you see how concerned we are about you? No returned texts or calls and no answers at a doorbell for years, only ever talking about this research. It’s as if you-” he stops himself, rudy eyes meeting with your cold stare. 

He knew better than to finish that sentence, you knew that he knew he shouldn’t. 

“We’re worried about you, this research… it’s not good for you.” Tighnari interjects, attempting to shift the course of this intervention. 

Of course, when the development of an android was announced, there wasn’t just discourse amongst the general public, but debates raged throughout academia as well. How unfortunate it is that friends now stand at polar ends. 

“It’s my research,” you reaffirm. 

This research was why you got your doctorate, it’s why you have a job, it’s why you have a house. This research has entangled itself into the very fibers of your life. It was where a predetermined path had led you. 

The room fills once more with a lull, nothing but deep sighs and ever-shifting eyes. Neither side is able to get through to the other. Typical of most academic debates. Still, it seems they weren’t ready to end the intervention so soon. 

“Listen… we’re worried for you, I… I know it’s been very difficult these past years.” Your senior takes a step closer. 

That same sympathetic timbre brings a vile taste to your tongue. You stay silent in favor of pushing the bitterness down as it tries to claw its way through your polite façade.

“I… know what it must have been like for you, It’s been hard on all of us. I’ve experienced something similar, so I can tell you-”

“I’m sorry, Kaveh. But tragedies shouldn’t be compared, because they’ll never have a fair comparison.” You end the conversation. 

Just like how it isn’t fair to compare stars who were their own centers of gravity with a mere rock at the mercy of an orbital pull to give it direction. 

Even when you sat at the same table as them, you were never at the same level as them. Families with academic prestige, minds blessed with wisdom, and the freedom to pursue a self-chosen path. You could only ever look up at what you lacked.

“Your worlds kept on spinning, your lives move on with the change of the season. But not mine, mine stopped long ago.” It’s not fair to compare a rock to a star, from their silence, you assume they knew that too. 

“I’m now taking the initiative to make it start again, don’t interfere.” Your valediction to the geniuses whom you couldn’t live up to. 

It’s just the nature of this world, geniuses walked their own paths while others took another. Geniuses can’t understand those others, just as others can’t understand geniuses.

This doctor’s appointment has gone on for long enough. Gathering your belongings, you stride past them, eyes refusing to meet.

Your hand pried open the door, pausing just at the threshold as Cyno finally breaks his silence. 

“Is this truly what you want? To defy the edicts of finality with research?”

Ah, what an inquiry. Perhaps it’s just like a lawyer to ask such a thing. 

“Is my research in violation of any laws in Sumeru?” You refuse to meet his scarlet condemnation. 

“As of now, no.”

“Then I don’t see how this involves you, there’s no place for personal biases and mortals in the judicial system.” Crossing the threshold, the door creaks close behind you as hurried steps echo through the sterile hall. 

This was a mistake, you should’ve never come here. Your body was fine, your vitals are fine, you’re fine. There wasn’t a point in wasting time here, you needed to leave this place filled with faces offering you condolences. Exiting the narrow hall back into the dim murmurs that fill the waiting room, the last thread of patience starts to splinter. 

From the muddled chatter, a bright shrill rang above them all. Interrupting your contemplation as your eyes impulsively search for the source. Even in a sea of passing faces and colors, it didn’t take you long to find it. 

A young girl grins a smile with a few gaps as she stretches her arms out to her sides, mimicking an airplane. A young father helpless to his daughter’s giggles, hands secured around her legs as he lets her soar on his shoulders. Next to his side was a giggling mother, watching with amusement and endearment. 

A private moment hidden amongst the waiting room, you look away. You should return to the private walls of your house before that thread inevitably breaks. Sliding glass doors part to grant you exit from this suffocating cage.

Like a speck of dust drifting in the breeze, you disappear into the bustling crowd of Sumeru City. The push and pull of strangers further you along your route, even as your mind drifts off. 

With modern advancements in aerospace engineering, the chances of a plane crashing have decreased significantly, with recent statistics citing only 1 in about 11 million. A 0.00001% chance, a nonzero chance.

How long ago since the last time you’ve been inside an airport? What were your last memories of an airport? Do you remember?

–----

“Are you sure you can’t come with us?” Your mother’s thumb traced over your hand. 

“It’s a bit too late for me to pack, we’re already at the airport, Mom.” 

“Don’t you want to visit Fontaine? Didn’t you say they had really advanced things there?” She didn’t let go of your hand. 

“I’m busy with my thesis.” You were still in the midst of getting a Ph.D., the very thing they demanded of you. 

“But I planned this trip so we could spend time together.” Your mother tried to get you to meet her gaze.

You adverted your eyes. So this is how they spent their recent financial flexibility. With a scholarship and research-assistant salary, you had enough to cover the tuition by yourself, relieving your parents of that burden. But to get that scholarship and salary, you had to pay with your time. 

“I’m busy, mom.” You freed your hand from her grasp. 

“But-”

“Stop it dear, she’s not going to change her mind.” Your father’s gruff voice stopped your mother. 

“There’s no point in trying to change the mind of an ungrateful child.” 

You felt the weight of his disappointed stare upon you, a frown formed on your lips as they pressed together. This was a sudden trip announced to you just a few days prior, you didn’t have time to accompany them. But they didn’t seem to care.

Of course they didn’t. Your parents only ever saw the grades, the diplomas, the results. But they never bothered to see the anguish you endured to give it to them. 

“Enjoy your trip.” Words barely passed your clenched teeth as you turned around and walked away. 

An ungrateful planet ignored the calls from their mother in their first successful act of defiance. Trying to break away from their gravitational pull. 

–----

That was your last memory of the airport.

Those were the last memories two parents had of their child.

The child they sacrificed their time, labor, and freedom to build a better life for. Your parent’s last memories were that of an ungrateful child, maybe it was the last scene they thought of as a plane was swallowed by the salty depths. 

Humans, defined by their curiosity, will always yearn to reach as high as they can. Tales warning those to never fly too close to the ever-bright star ignored in the pursuit of radiant curiosity. Your parents were no different. 

They ever had the chance to travel, too busy trying to provide food in front of you. So when the burdening weight was lifted, naturally they wanted to stretch their wings to see the views they never got to in their youth. They always wanted to touch the sky, to reach for the moon.

There’s a proverb often told to young minds: ‘Shoot for the moon, even if you fall, you can still land on a star’. 

This saying is riddled with inaccuracies. The stars are much further away than the serene moon. Beckoning the curious eyes to look at them, for curious hands to yearn for them. 

But once the glue on those wings are melted away by selfish rays, what is there to catch them besides the cold unfeeling ocean? Did they sink from the memories of an ungrateful child weighing on them? 

You should’ve been on that plane. 

The familiar features of your neighborhood come into view, the doors of your house are just ahead. Just hold on, don’t let that thread snap just yet, just a few more steps. 

Tighnari had his father and mother working right alongside him at the Bimarstan.

Cyno had regular visits to his adoptive father, and sometimes his adoptive sister Lisa visits too.

Kaveh had reconnected with his mother overseas, now having a few younger half-siblings who jump to greet him every time he visits.

Lives still spinning and warm in the light of their brilliance. What do you have? 

A job in a career picked out for you. Paychecks rotting in a bank account with no one to pay back. A spacious and hallow house with no one to reside in its empty walls, only displaying a doctorate you loathed.

A stray rock who lost her stars. Wandering without their gravitational pull in the vacuum of a lonely darkness. Just what do you have?

“Alhaitham,” you call out just as the front door slams behind you. 

You could hear his steady steps approaching along the wooden floor, but it’s too slow so your frenzied steps close in the distance between your two forms. The thread gives in and snapping as the recoil proliferates through your body. 

Without a greeting, no prompt, or prior warning your grasp wrinkles his once pristine button-down.

The bitter tears you held back now soak into the fabric as even viler cries choke your voice. The shame of displaying such a sight in front of a being whose eyes don’t produce moisture is long abandoned. In the walls of this hallow house, your broken sobs echo off. 

He stands still in the middle of the hall, the low hum of his motor resonating in your ears as you hide your face deeper into the synthetic skin of his chest. But that’s fine, the whir of motor is enough of a substitute for a heartbeat. 

Alhaitham stands in front of the reflection staring back at him, he had undocked himself from the charging port not too long ago. Tracing over the synthetic material stretched over his imitation of a collarbone as his mind wanders.

There aren’t enough chemicals in tears to make them corrosive, nor were they at the temperature to boil.

So why does it burn?

Trailing his fingertips where your tears soaked onto his skin, recollections of the searing sensation that afflicted the area with each sorrowful drop. Choking sobs which he caused. 

He failed to consider all causal factors to assess the situation fully and failed to appraise all possible alternatives. He failed to make the right decision, and he let harm befall you because of it. It’s strange, there’s nothing wrong with his eyes, yet he finds it hard to look in the mirror. 

Teal gaze scrutinizes the arms, legs, and body in the reflection. The reflection in front of him had all the identifiable components of a man, but they’re all synthetic.

From the tips of his sliver hair to the vast expanse of his skin, they’re all made from high-quality silicon parts supported by a metal frame. An engineered body with a motor in place of a heart. 

Maybe that’s why he failed to make the right decision, he had no heart to weigh in on the ruling. 

–-------------------------------------------------------------

The android is faced with a new dilemma. 

 From the entrance of the kitchen, Alhaitham watches you. A spoon absentmindedly swirling in the cup of coffee on the counter in front of you. Your thoughts wander elsewhere, the rays of a setting sun unable to light up dull spaced-out eyes.

He’s observed your condition for the past week, no hint of improvement. 

A new dilemma he must decipher, the urgency rising with each passing second as the spoon continues. 

The lull of the evening air was shattered by the sound of a porcelain cup meeting the tiled floor. Jagged pieces and coffee spilled all along the cold surface. Listlessly your eyes move to access the mess on the floor, spoon still grasped in your hand. 

“Ah.” That was all your lips could say. 

Limbs slowed with lethargy, you crouch down closer to the broken pieces scattered about. Bare hand reaching out to grab the sharp edges unthinkingly. A firm grasp prevents your touch from the ragged porcelain. 

“It’s dangerous, I’ll handle it.” Alhaitham brings your hand further away from the hazard. 

Your aloof eyes trail past him toward a wall where he could hear a clock tick before they returned to his resolute stare. 

“It’s past 5 p.m.” 

“A hazard has appeared in the environment, it’s protocol that I clear it.” His rehearsed response. 

“Oh… alright.” Limplessness returning to your wrist within his hold, body too lethargic to object. 

With you seated at the kitchen table away from the jagged edges that could potentially pierce your skin, Alhaitham begins gathering the pieces. As your aloof eyes wander about the monitor of your laptop, his mind ponders a dilemma. 

It’s often said that guilt is held in the heart. In novels and human anecdotes, it's been described to him as a burdensome heaviness that sinks the heart.

A sensation reminiscent of drowning in icy water. A sensation only perceivable through a beating mortal heart. 

Alhaitham is an android, he’s aware of this. A being with silicon skin encasing a metal frame. A motor in place of where a mortal heart would be.

So what is this weight burdening his chest? 

An internal diagnostic returned no errors and no reports of any damage or unusual occurrence within his systems. Yet, a heaviness brewed deep inside his chest, its mass increasing each sunrise and fall, with every passing moment the riddle was left unanswered. 

How could a motor hold guilt? How could the weight of judgment manifest itself in the absence of an organic heart that beats instead of whirs? How could an inorganic object possibly suffer guilt?

All the mora poured into his creation, all the hours of research contributed to his algorithms, and all the texts he’s scanned through were all for naught. The pinnacle of scientific and mechanical development couldn’t solve a simple conundrum.

The floorboard creaks under the weight of his steady strides as he moves about the corridor, the soft swishes of a broom coinciding with each step.

Dust had begun to settle in the crevices of the home, it’s about time that he took up the mantle that was supposed to be his. 

Could an explanation of this weight be the backlog of tasks and responsibilities he had pushed off? Chores he ignored in favor of browsing the contents of a library? A burden he selfishly passed onto your shoulders.

Maybe after he completes the tasks that were supposed to be assigned to him he could clear the cache, then this weight in his chest would subside. 

The bristles of the broom scratch against a door, the light force setting the frame ajar further. Revealing the dust-coated scene in front of him. A boundary he was restricted from.

Alhaitham concluded that this small corner of the house must hold some sentimental value to you, thus it’s best for him to not disturb it. 

Just as he goes to close the door, Alhaitham scans around the environment identifying the shape of a journal tucked away under an old table.

He’s not permitted to enter, but all books belong in the library. Spines sorted along wooden selves, not on a dusty floor.

An exception shall be granted, setting aside the broom, he steps in to collect the neglected book. 

While crouching down and gathering the covers into his hold, a different gleam catches his eye. The light reflects off its glass surface and highlights the dust particles dancing in the still air.

With his free hand, he picks it up, teal eyes running along the glass orb. After a moment of processing the object, he successfully identifies it as a toy.

A popular model to display an artificial starry night among blank walls. Alhaitham turns to follow a trail of cut-out stars pasted all along the walls. The soft glow of their plastic shapes subdued by the brilliance of the afternoon sun streaming in. 

Were you interested in stars? Glancing out the window, he discerns the murky shapes of buildings in Sumeru City off in the distance. 

This house is located in the suburbs away from the noisy clammer of the city streets and traffic. However, where the sound waves couldn’t travel didn’t mean the sky around this quiet neighborhood was uncontaminated by activities in the city.

When the sun retreats away for rest, the city doesn’t follow suit.

Through the power of fluorescent lights in street lamps and office buildings, humans created their own artificial daylight to continue the bustle of their lives. Light which polluted the night sky and stole the radiance away from her stars. 

Unable to enjoy the natural tapestry of the night, did you substitute the company of stars with toy imitations?

Turning the orb in his hand, his eyes notice the signs of damage along the projector. Perhaps that’s why it sat abandoned in this room.

He’s stayed in this restricted space long enough. Carefully closing the door behind him, hands still full. 

–-------------------------------------------------------------

“I’ve uncovered a strange object, my software isn’t able to identify it.” Alhaitham stands just outside the open office door. 

Sparing him a glance away from your monitor, your brows pinched together in confusion at his sudden report during the late hours of the night. 

“A strange object?” You inquire again. 

“Yes, I’ve scanned over it a few times but no results are returning.” 

“Huh…” 

Teals watching you press a finger against your pursed lips in concentration. A habit of yours often displayed when amid contemplation. After a few breaths, your eyes meet his as you give your reply. 

“Well, where is this object?” 

“Come with me.” 

Along the wooden floor, two pairs of steps tap rhythmically in time with one another as they traverse the hallway stopping at the living room where the mysterious object resides.

Approaching the coffee table in the center, Alhaitham steps to the side to present it as it sits upon the polished surface. 

“This… is what’s been giving your software issues?” The quirk returned to your brow as you cast him a glance. 

Alhaitham simply nobs as you approach the object closer. Kneeling beside it, your eyes examine the familiar device. 

“It’s a planetarium projector, it projects the scene of a night sky, in other words: just a toy.” 

He hums in acknowledgment, carefully treading toward the light switch in the corner as the toy holds the gaze of your eyes. 

“It should be thrown away… It’s broken after all.” Your tone dismissive, yet your hand caresses the broken toy with tenderness. 

“It’s not,” he replies. 

Perking your head up, you turn to face him with that same furrow between your brows. 

“What do you mean, Alhaitham-”

He flicks the switch, plunging the room in a blanket of darkness earning a squeak of surprise from you. The device whirs as it awakens, painting the blank tapestry with a scene of the night sky with its shimmering lights.

The vibrant shapes of stars and planets take their place along the living room wall, creating a private galaxy that surrounds you. 

Your sentence remains unfinished upon your tongue as your eyes take in the display encompassing you. The nostalgic glimmer of the night and her stars twinkle in the reflection of your irises as he settles down beside you. 

“Did… did you fix it?”

He hums in response. 

It only took a bit of study and careful tinkering to restore the worn pieces and gears. A simple effort was all it took to allow the projector to shine its recreation of the stars. Returning a light that he hasn’t seen in a while. 

“Thank you, Alhaitham,” you breathe out, lips curling up softly and eyes still enraptured by the stars. 

He doesn’t respond this time as his teal gaze focuses on your expression, on the smile that’s been missing for some time. It’s strange, this sensation manifesting in his chest. He thought if he was able to restore the light to your eyes, then that heaviness brewed deep inside his chest would clear. But it remained. 

His system unable to express nor suppress the heaviness which bubbled up like seafoam rising to the surface.

The sensation was different than it was before. Instead of a mass that weighed him down to the bottom of a cold depth, it was more reminiscent of a warm ebb. Washing over every limb of his as he studied the curvature of your lips and the glimmer of your eyes. 

Another internal diagnostic wasn’t necessary, for Alhaitham had reached his epiphany to a conundrum. An engineered body may lack a heart, but not a conscious.

A consciousness that acts like a vessel collecting the accumulation of that heaviness. A heaviness that couldn’t be called ‘guilt’. 

No, perhaps it has always been something other than ‘guilt’.

It only took until the vessel overflowed for an engineered body to recognize it for what it truly was.

There’s something strange happening to your Android. Reviewing the diagnostic reports of his systems returned nothing out of the ordinary. So why did you suspect something to be wrong? Perhaps you could call it intuition. 

Or perhaps it’s the lack of books strewn about the house. Or the initiation of tasks without a prompt. Or that night a living room was filled with the radiance of tiny dots along empty walls. Something strange is happening. 

“Alhaitham, what’s taking you so long in the kitchen?” You poke your head out from the kitchen doorway, sights honing in on your android currently scrutinizing the recipe book in his hands. 

Perhaps there’s a defect in the print, if the black ink isn’t contrasting enough with the beige paper, which time has faded, it does cause issues with optical character recognition. Maybe the past splatters of sauces and oils upon the aged book were too much of a hurdle.

“Chef Mao is a renowned cook, but his recipes are vague. He suggests a pinch of salt to enhance the flavor of this dish. I’ve calculated that Chef Mao has a 19.3 cm hand length which entails that his ‘pinches’ measure around 0.356 grams. However, he said to add Jueyun Chili oil until fragrant, I’m still processing the data I’ve collected on his olfactory system, the calculations will take around five minutes.” He turns back to the stove.

“Alhaitham.”

“Yes?”

“Please put down the book and get out of the kitchen.” A bold choice of words from you.

“Was my response unsatisfactory?” His teal eyes land on you. 

“It’s just that I’m hungry.” 

“This dish should be complete in around 90 minutes accounting for the other-”

“No,” you interrupt. 

He studies you for a while, accessing the situation and the unfinished dish still simmering on the stove. After a few breaths, he returns a response. 

“Shall I order delivery from Lambad’s Tavern?” His hand switches off the fire.

He conceded. The notoriously stubborn and fickle android conceded to your whims. There was definitely something wrong. You pace into the kitchen, getting close to observe his teal irises for any sign of possible flaws. 

“Alhaitham, you’ve been behaving strangely as of late, did you encounter something?” 

He returns your gaze, teal reflecting off your irises as you continue to study him, and him you. His silence only amounts to the deepening furrow between your brows as your assessment of his frame fails to identify any impairments. 

“Why have you been behaving like this?” You prompt again. 

“Have I neglected my responsibilities for so long that fulfilling them has become a cause for concern?” He finally responds. 

“Now’s not the time for jests,” you huff. 

“From what I’ve reviewed on human behavior, it’s not strange to want to care for the person I love.” A blunt statement. 

From the window, the moonlight peeks upon the strange phenomenon occurring. Two bodies remain motionless in a silent lull.

One pair of placate teal eyes and one pair of bewildered eyes too lost in each other to mind the witness intruding on this private moment. Words finally conquer in your brain, ending the quietude.

“Refrain from saying nonsensical words.” Your lips press together into a thin line. 

“Do you believe such a thing is beyond my capabilities?” 

You couldn’t respond, or more accurately, you simply didn’t know how to. A being without a heart, a being who lacked the necessary chemicals to create the cocktail known as emotions. How is it possible? 

“I have no heart, I’m aware. But I have a conscience.” He must’ve deduced the exact thoughts racing through your head. 

Your brows only furrow further as you wait for him to continue his explanation.

“Every person should have something that they believe in and hold on to from beginning to end. Otherwise, it's easy to succumb to the vicissitudes of life and find yourself being led astray.” Taking note of the glistening shine beginning to pool in your wide eyes. 

“And I believe that I love you.” His sincere gaze never leaves your form. 

Not a single sentence is able to form upon your tongue. An expression he couldn’t decipher upon your features. Perhaps his statement was too long-winded, an overly complicated explanation. Maybe a simpler one could convey his message better. 

You’re the first to break eye contact, choosing to watch the tiles on the floor over him. He remains firm in his stance, not faltering once as the seconds turn into minutes. Your shoulders rise as your lungs take a deep breath. 

“… say that again… please.” Words just barely above a whisper.

He could only bend to your whims. 

“I love you.”

Your head lifts up to face him, your hands hesitating momentarily as they cup his cool cheeks, fingers trembling. Something glimmering in your eyes as droplets escape your lashes.

This time, Alhaitham wipes them away before they could trail down your cheeks. 

You did it. All those long hours, all those reports and trials, all of these years sacrificed to research. You’ve created a complete human consciousness with your bare hands. One that understands sorrow, joy, and love.

You succeeded. 

However, in this moment as you peer into the teal eyes of your Magnum opus, as he reflects the endearment in your own. The notion of reporting this revolutionary milestone in the development of artificial intelligence never crossed your mind once. 

Instead, all you did in this moment was pull his face down closer. Closing the distance between the two of you as your lips felt his for the first time. Warm skin against a soft imitation, merging until a lukewarm temperature formed between their touch.

A gentle, yet longing connection of two lips. 

Only when your lungs protest for air did you pull away, hands still encompassing his face as he reveals his teal eyes back from behind closed lids. Eyes reflecting one another as a tender lull settles between you. This time, his whisper mingles with the soft intermission. 

“Was that a kiss?” 

Such an innocent question, one you couldn’t help but giggle at as you nod your head.

“Could you show me again?” His hands found purchase on your hips, beckoning you closer to his frame. 

You surrender to the call, pressing against him as your lips reconnect. A rhythm soon settled in place as they pressed into each other deeper. One that was interrupted once more by your lung's protest for oxygen. At a mere kiss, your mind ceased to remember how to breathe. 

“Again.” A baritone voice just above the hush of your pants.

And so your lips meet thrice, this time in an all-consuming embrace. A hesitant brush of a tongue against your lips, requesting access. Your hands move up to caress his soft locks as you grant it. Latching onto each other as the shroud consumed you both wholly.

A beautifully feverish delirium. The line in the sand that separated a person from a thing jumbled until the outline disappeared. A singularity, an amorous occurrence. 

He releases your lips, the lust in your eyes reflected in his own. Giving a moment for your mind to return to attention as his lips brush away the fading traces of wetness down your cheeks. 

“A kitchen isn’t a suitable setting for such an activity,” he whispers next to your ear. 

Baritone trailing a line of goosebumps up your neck and you nod in response, burying your face into the crook of his neck which fit you perfectly.

Slowly his hands travel down your hips, awaiting your confirmation for the next step just as you permitted it. In one fluid transition, his arm wraps around the back of your legs, effortlessly lifting you off the ground as your arms envelop his neck. 

Steady steps pad along a wooden hallway, the hinges of your bedroom singing their welcome as the two of you advance to a more suitable setting. Depositing you upon cool sheets, fabric wrinkling as your body settles in. The arms still wrapped around his neck pull him closer as this time your legs join in luring him closer to your warmth. 

It’s strange, is it possible for his lips to crave yours? The light of the moon reflected off the glossiness coating them. He delves back in as his body hovers over yours, unwilling to be apart from the softness it yearned for.

The soft flesh of your writhing body against his firm hands, feeling up your heated skin he slips under your shirt. Bunching up the fabric as he explores more of the new expanse of skin. A lovely whimper vibrates against his lips at his actions, spurring him to continue. 

Tracing over the outline of your bra, his fingers creep under. Kneading the plushness of your breast, feeling your nipple beginning to perk up against his ministration. An itch stretching from the pits of his desire, a curious craving to witness the sight concealed away.

Disjoining your lips as a string of saliva connects them, he pushes your shirt further up. All the while your hands grasp onto the edges of the fabric and push them back down. Bemusing his beryl eyes as they catch how the tips of your ears were aflame, a peculiar display of bashfulness. 

Well, a sight he’s witnessed on a few occasions. Such as when you’d leave the shower wrapped in a towel just to cross paths with him. A timidity that gradually faded away as you grew more confident in the privacy restrictions in place, ensuring that the secrets of this home remained in the confines of its walls.

So why is this shyness making its reappearance now?

“Are you uncomfortable anywhere?” His words ghost over the shell of your vulnerable ear. 

Causing you to jolt and pull down the edges of your shirt to cover the bottom of your loungewear shorts. 

“No, it’s just been a while…” Your sentence trails off, eyes still focusing everywhere but him. 

Ah, a mere string of words, yet they tempted something from the depths. An oppressive sentiment, one that made the grip upon your soft flesh grow firmer. He’s yet to have accessed the entirety of your figure, a view still denied to him by your taut shirt, but another entity had. 

There was a myriad of questions he could use to interrogate. However, as his teal gaze observe how your teeth lightly tug at the bottom of your plush lips in fidgety. Alhaitham devises a much kinder scheme. 

It’s fine, he can overwrite them with his touches. 

“What can I do to gain permission?” A question asked as a line of kisses press their way into your fervent skin, goosebumps following each one. 

Biting down to muffle the bashful moans into whimpers you burrow your face into the plushness of the pillow. Alhaitham continues to soothe kisses over the fabric of your shirt until they finally reach your quivering hands still stretching the hem.

His hand encloses one of yours, bringing it away from the fabric refuge to press his lips against your knuckle. An action that made you peak back at him, meeting a patient gaze awaiting you. 

Another soft press of his lips against your knuckle in silent request, at last, got you to release the hem, allowing him to push the fabric up to expose what was hidden from him. Permitting him to explore the sultry expanses with a wake of kisses, your hand finding reprieve entangling themselves with his. 

His free hand slipping behind your back, he unfastens the clasp of your bra with a slight tug, a relatively simple task when you learn how such a contraption works.

His grasp untangles from yours as he pushes the useless articles of clothing off your body, you raise your arms over your head to aid in the process.

He rewards you with another flurry of kisses in the valley of your breast as his large hands encase the softness of your breast. A motion that made your legs pull him closer. 

Your touches dance along his frame as well, unable to differentiate the difference between skin and a recreation. More whimpers leave your lips at his actions, prodding something in him to do more. To steal more of those sinful breaths from you, something in his coding thirsting for more.

Sliding his hands back down the curves of your body, he hooks his fingers over the rim of your shorts and panties pulling them down. Glass eyes zeroing in on the glistening thread that linked your panties and slit. Proof of arousal, your body awakening its cardinal impulses.

Could the signals transmitted through his system be classified in the same way?

He wants to investigate further. Moving his face lower to inspect the saturated folds that beckoned him. 

Only to be denied by the gates of your knees pressing together, as your body curls up in fortification. Denying him the privilege of satiating his curiosity is like denying a man water in an ocean of sand. Evaluating how your eyes were squeezed together in shame, he had foresaw this.

“Mmm, there seems to be an incongruity, do you want me to stop?” Large hands grasping at your plush thighs, but making no move to part them. 

Your head responds with a shake, but your knees still locked together. Your attention centering on him bashfully. 

“Then guide me, tell me how to please you,” he proposes hands soothing your tense legs.

Utilizing the skill he had accessed a few moments ago once more, gracing your skin with his lips awaiting your response. The tension in your legs loosens with each kiss, and gradually a fissure forms in the barrier of your defense, knees parting.

However, he doesn’t cross the threshold, no, he restrained himself from indulging too soon. Half-ladden eyes peering up to connect with yours. 

“Well, tell me. What do you want me to do?” 

A pout makes its appearance on your face, but what could you do? It is your responsibility to shepherd him since the beginning, to have him step over the line dividing an android and man. Best to take on your duty, no?

Parting your legs further, cheeks ablaze and eyes adverted as you allow his teal gaze to absorb the uninterrupted view of your dripping arousal. Your hands aiding as they thwart the urge of your bashful legs’s urge to preserve your dignity. 

“Please use your mouth and hands,” you prompt, face pressing deeper into one side of a pillow under his stare.

Alhaitham encroaches closer to your glistening folds, his large hands supporting each one of your thighs. Approaching the details of your honeypot in front of him, concentrating on the little nub which lures him closer. He presses a light peck against the nub as your body flinches. 

“Like this?” 

Plush lips pressed tightly, you respond with timid shakes. 

Returning back, his lips delving deeper this time, an audible pop when he pulls away from your taunted clit. Feeling the muscles tighten in your legs. 

“Like that?” Mirth leaked through his baritone words. 

Your head shakes with more vigor. 

“Then how about this?” This time his tongue takes action, dipping into the center of your honeypot before flicking up at your nub. 

You return a restrained moan, teal eyes picking up on the twitch of your folds. It seems that he’s uncovered the proper procedures. Peering up from between your legs at the harsh rises of your chest by rush breaths as your eyes remained sealed behind lashes, he decided to impart some mercy. Taking the initiative to shoulder a bit of your duty. 

Retracing his steps, his tongue repeating its previous motions of lapping up the nectar that slipped out from your folds. Always ending each strip up your slit with a flick to your sensitive nub.

Your hands abandon their post in favor of snaring themselves in his ashen trestles as your back begins to arch off the sheets. Thighs beginning to enclose around his head, yet it didn’t deter the vigor in his motions one bit. 

If anything, it spurred them on. The added pressure of your legs pulling him against your weeping folds assisted him in his quest. Testing which pattern made your body quiver, calculating the pace of his tongue's flicks made your hips buck up.

Alhaitham takes notice of how your greedy hole seems to be clenching down every time a tongue dipped in, you did request for his mouth and fingers after all. 

A finger begins to prod at your entrance, coating itself in the overflowing slick as it traces the puckering entry. Your whines increase in volume as your greed escalates, legs locking around him. Thus, he yields to your neediness, filling your lonely walls with the company of his finger.

Thrusting it in time with his licks as he rubs against the slick muscles. Your back arched off the bed, your fingers grounding themselves in the tangles of his hair as if trying to hold on to a shred of reason. 

His interest has been greatly piqued, he wanted to see what it would look like. He wants to see what your expression looks like when you fall into the depths of debauchery. You’d permit him such privileges right? After all, curiosity is what defines the human spirit. 

A second finger soon joins in, its thickness stretching and prepping your walls, cultivating your arousal into a rapacious hunger.

Articulate tongue now focused on abusing your clit in the swipes of sweet torture, lips encasing around it to provide some suction. Fingers honing in on relocating the weakness deep within you which made your voice peak and tremble.  

He could hear the harshness of your panting breath between each escalating moan, how your walls squeezed and sucked his fingers deeper. Teal gaze never once ceased their evaluation of your face. Making sure to appraise each lewd detail of your impending ecstasy. 

It’s impossible to stand at the apex of euphoria forever, no, for gravity will always pull you back down. A pivotal moment in time as the forces tugged down at you as you fell, losing your shame and sanity along the way.

A fall from grace which etches itself in the roll of your eye and vulgar expression, caused by the tempest of pleasure seeps into every fiber of your being as you plummeted down into the ocean of rapture. 

The fingers intertwined in his hair pulling his face flushed against your pulsing cunt. Even with your mind fractured by orgasmic bliss your body still reacts to each lap of his tongue as he manages the slick aftermath. Fingers stroking your sweet spot through each contraction of your walls. 

“Nng!” A feeble push against his ashen locks, your abused clit crying for a moment of reprieve. 

Oh? It seems your consciousness returned faster than he expected. With a resounding pop, he grants your overstimulated nerves a moment to recover. Allowing the traces of your nectar to dribble down his chin. Taking this moment to verify the effectiveness of his scheme.

The air dense with the fragrance of lust, lips red from the abuse of your teeth, mouth agape as your lungs gasp tongue almost lulling out. 

An absolutely debauched face, a sight which brought the corners of his lips to curl. 

Counting the beads of sweat that lingered on your skin, his rationale urged him to swipe them off to prevent a chill from plaguing you. Withdrawing away from your form he plans his destination to the bath to retrieve a towel, only for a smaller hand to snag him in its hold. 

Alhaitham turns back to face you, awaiting your next prompt. However, your bitten lips couldn’t muster up the courage to utter the plea it so desperately wanted. Thus, your eyes connect with his, praying that a slow blink could convey the invocation your voice couldn’t. 

Standing there as a few breaths pass, the teal glow of his irises indicates his deduction of what your eyes conveyed. Ah yes, the passionate entanglement experience just a moment before could be classified as ‘foreplay’. The appetizer to the main event.

So your appetite has yet to be satiated, evident from how your thighs pressed against each other in an attempt to quell the ache. How could he leave a task undone? 

“Show me what you desire,” he instructs. 

Hesitantly, your hands encroach closer to the rim of his slacks. Your every action observed by him. Resting your palms against the outline of a zipper, you glance up to seek confirmation, he grants it.

You undo the button at the top before pulling the zipper down. Allowing for you to shimmy his briefs and slacks down to the floor. Revealing to the world, with the moon as your witness, every intricate detail placed into his engineered body. 

It felt so foreign in your hands. Encircling your fingers around his girth, tracing over the bumps of each vein. Amid your admiration, his body overtook yours. Pinning you back against the damp sheets. It seems you were very interested in this feature of his, perhaps it was the cure for the yearning between your writhing legs. 

Your legs splayed to either side of his hips, a clear path to your greed. His hand spreads your collected slick along his length. Its bulbous tip presses against your quivering entrance. Meeting your half-lidden eyes, he awaits your permission. Thus, you captured his lips into another kiss, just as the tip breaches the threshold of your entrance.

Finally giving your aching walls the delicious stretch it craved. A moan resonates between connected lips, your eyes beginning to roll back as he sinks deeper and deeper, obscene squelches following each inch. 

Thick tip pressed up against the deepest parts of you as he bottoms out, your hands finding refuge along his back. Breaking the lock of your lips, Alhaitham lifts cants his head up to take in the scene under him.

Hovering over your panting form, his body caging you against the wrinkled fabric, feeling your unseemly breaths against his skin. A teal glow reflected in the lust-hazed pools of your eyes.

He understands now, why so many poets lost their minds, trying their whole lives to find the words to chronicle the sight laid out before him along messy sheets. 

Under his tense study, your fingers lightly claw at the smooth expanse of his back. A soundless prayer to quell the famine, your gummy walls coaxing around his cock with its embrace. 

“Haitham,” you mewl. 

Not even the greatest saint could deny your request, he wagers they’d gladly walk through the gates of damnation just for a morsel of you. 

Rolling his hips back, he drags his girth along the walls of your greed ensuring that they feel the outline of every vein. Feeling the cool air brush against the slick dripping off his length, only the bulbous tip remained in the clutches of your cunt.

A muffled whine of protest from you interrupted as he sunk back in, accompanied by a filthy squelch. 

Robust hands encompass the edges of your waist, he repeats the roll of his hips. Feeling the tightening clutches of your core, croons falling off your tongue with each toing and froing.

What symphonies could he draw from those agape lips of yours?

He wants to witness the sinful hymns of your voice as you are overtaken by the throes of pleasure. Perhaps he should conduct an experiment of his own. Through the raunchy air, a clap pierces the leaden veil, your plush hips pressed flush against his anchored ones, a thrust that seared your nerves and curled your toes. 

“Ah!” Moan ripped from your throat. 

Yes, that’s the amplitude he wants to discern with his ears.

Continue to sing in that octave. It’s as if pulled by the reins of sin, he finds himself experiencing hunger for the first time, fixating on tearing more of those chants from you. He drew back his hips then forced them back in deeper. A wail followed each rake of his cock, walls accenting each thrust with fluttering clenches. Mewls and whines resonated through the room as his firm grip didn’t slacken with each rock of the bed. 

Pace escalating and remorseless, skin clashing against skin, the heat of your writhing body scorching him. But he won’t relent, not until he’s taken what he wanted. Driving you deeper into the creaking mattress, thrusting and filling each crevice of your core. Your soft breast pinned against his solid frame. 

Your face pressed into the crook of his neck, legs imprisoned within the confines of his bruising grasp, toes painfully arched in an attempt to distribute the burn of the maddening euphoria firing through each nerve. The moans of his name like a prayer of salvation, a chant for every punishing strike against your deepest weakness. Your fingers now clawing against his durable back for a foothold for your fleeing sanity. You feared that this time, it might not return to you. 

Oddly, a voice from the rearmost corner of your mind whispered for you to relinquish it. Trade in rationale, sensibility, and morals for absolute ecstasy. Your teeth had already sunk into the apple, its juices dribbling down the corners of your mouth. Why not swallow it down? Get drunk off the wet claps of skin, the grind of his muscular torso against your stimulated clit, the slams of his girthy cock and thick tip. Why deny yourself from the euphoria robbed from you for so long?

So you concede to its beckoning, swallowing down the last wisp of sanity until it drowned in the maddening abuse of your sweet spot from his pistoning hips. Granting you entry to true pleasure as the knot in your core unravels. Backing arching off the mattress, mending the fibers of your being impossibly close to his. Head thrown back against a ruffled pillow as a long shameless wail erupts from your trembling lips. Lost in the tides of rapture. 

Alhaitham’s body stills as his ears digest the beautiful aria of your undoing. Feeling your slick and warm walls contract all around his cock. Milking him for every last speck of gratification he could offer you. 

A moment couldn’t be classified as a simple impulse for procreation. No, he believed it went beyond the lust hanging in the air. An indescribable urge to mend your bodies as close as possible, to becoming wholly one with one another. The thump of your heartbeat against the whir of a motor as they merge into a mantra. 

Is this why humans crave physical intimacy? 

Watching your loose face tremor and your teary eyes roll back. A painting no muse besides you could ever inspire. Leaning down, his lips brush away the glistening trails down your supple cheeks. Coaxing you through the throes of your orgasmic shudders. Until the light of consciousness returns to your half-lidden eyes. 

The limitations of the human body expose themselves in the limpness of your limbs, unable muscles unable to budge besides the twitching aftershocks of bliss. Unable to fight against the weight of your eyelids for the first time in a while. You sink into the lull of slumber. 

–-------------------------------------------------------------

Somewhere amid the driftless darkness a sensation brushes against your skin. Causing your lashes to pry open just ever so slightly, blurry shapes merging gradually to form the outline of a man. One who’s tendering wiping a soft towel over the sweat drops littering your skin. The soft glow of his emerald gem illuminated the devotion of his crafted face. You wonder where he learned about such practices after the rite of sex. Did he pull it from the Akasha? The internet? Or maybe from a book hidden along the shelves of a private library. 

You couldn’t stifle the giggle roused from your musing. Alerting him as his hands halt. 

“Did I wake you?” Baritone voice hushed. 

Face still pressed into a pillow you shake your head, hair messy and a smile spreading across your soft features. 

“Just musing to myself where you learned such things,” you giggle. 

“This is typical behavior of lovers from my understanding.” Teal gaze observed the widening of your eyes which reflected him. 

Perhaps he made too great of an assumption. Back in the margins of a kitchen, it was only his words. It’s best to get clarification now. 

“Are we lovers?” He peers into your irises. 

The glow of the gem embedded in his chest spreads its gentle radiance over two figures through the unbuttoned window of his wrinkled button-down. Carving the shape of you and him from the shadows of the silent room. Illuminating how your wide eyes crinkle up with adoration. Fighting against the fatigue of your limbs, you lean up to press your lips against the brilliance of his gem. After the amorous kiss ended, you proceeded to lean your forehead against his. 

“You’re my lover, Alhaitham.” Your whisper ghosts over his face. 

“Understood.” His foreheads pressing against yours as he accepts his new sentience. 

The shape of your delicate fingers fitting into the space between his, intertwining as the moonlight reflects off gold and emerald. 

The sky shrouds itself in its evening gown of deep navy and luminous glimmers, all the while a bashful moon covers herself away. Perhaps she hid herself away after she witnessed a sinful scene through a gap in the curtains. A private moment heavy with passion in the air like tender caresses. 

“W-wait!” Stammering words just barely leaving your lips before another moan. 

Alhaitham pulls his tongue away as he tilts his face to peer up from between your thighs, a trail of slickness connecting his lips and your pussy. The haze of your breathless expression reflected in teal irises. 

“I-it’s t-too ah!-” A moan interrupts your protests as your head jolts back, his thumb continuing to circle your swollen clit. 

“Much? I know you can take more,” he states before returning his lips to your dripping folds, lapping up each trickle. 

He’s analyzed your body, its curves and cervices, each clench of your slick walls, and the pattern of your gasps. Skilled fingers learning the exact rhythm which made your legs tense and toes curl. Diligent tongue knowing where to tease to run shivers up your spine. 

“B-but I’ve already c-came!” Your fingers tangle themselves into his tousled locks, a feeble attempt at pushing back the maddening flicks of his tongue and cruel strokes of his thumb that shot up your fried nerves. Report long forgotten under the haze of lust and lewd slurps imbuing the room. 

And you can come again. Alhaitham has long picked up on the discrepancy between the words which fell from the same lips as those lewd sounds. Lips who couldn’t be as honest as your heaving and trembling body. Whining and writhing in his firm hold that it’s too much, yet your fingers entangle themselves deep in silver tresses pulling his impatient tongue deeper between your folds. 

From the shivers racking through your trembling thighs, he anticipates another orgasm. However, the unholy cries have ceased. Intent eyes glancing up to uncover the causal factor, those naughty plush lips of yours pressing themselves shut. Crueling sealing away those ethereal harmonies from him. 

Alas, just a small inconvenience doesn’t deter him. If those lips were the only barrier barring him from the privilege of hearing his deserved moans, then he’d simply make them crumble. Replacing his thumb with his lips, Alhaitham suckles on the swollen nub as your body jerks up.

Grip imprinting his fingers into your skin as they stop your pitiful attempts at locking out from heaven. The heaving of your chest jostling around your perked breast as they meet the cool night air. 

His tongue teases and rolls your overstimulated clit around as his lips imprison it, a sweet torture. Your thrashes unable to prevent your head from going under the depths of pleasure. Thighs compressing around his face as they grow taut, hips bucking themselves against his relentless mouth, back lifting off the mattress as your final defenses crumble along with your sanity. 

 Limpness seeps into your now heavy limbs as your body returns to the mattress, but your eyes haven’t quite returned from seeing the back of your head. Still in the throes of cloud nine as his diligent tongue collects all your leaking nectar. The aftershocks of your orgasm force gasps and whimpers from your quivering lips. 

To comfort your abused clit he places a tender kiss against it, a flinch in your hip resulting from the gesture. Alhaitham pulls away, eyes scanning the repercussions of his operation. Your chest steadily rises and falls as panting lungs find air again.

The rush of dopamine, endorphins, and oxytocin gradually disappears behind your drooping eyelids. Lashes slowly fluttering closed. 

Glancing at the numbers displayed on a nearby clock, Alhaitham deems tonight a success as well. While the primary purpose of intercourse might be for reproduction, sex has additional benefits. One of them being an orgasm’s ability to decrease stress, resulting in the production of more melatonin. The chemical that’s making you burrow further in your pillow. A tactic he’s learned to exploit these past months. Well, he’s your lover now, it’s within his authorization to do such. 

Carefully he slides your panties back up your legs, securing them on your hips as he trails a few touches along your soft skin. Following it up by pulling the covers over your frame, smoothing out a few wrinkles as your chest steadily moves up and down. 

Just as he steps one foot away from the bed, a warmth encircles his wrist. 

“Aren’t you coming to bed too?” 

An artificial body needs no downtime under soft covers. Plush pillows and sheets serve no purpose to him. Yet, it’s a simple request. How could he reject it when it came from your pouting lips? 

“In a moment, I need to return to my port first.” 

The throes of slumber’s hold creeping upon you as your lashes fight to flutter open. With a soft hum, you release your hold.

His battery percentage was fine, but it was just for system maintenance. It’s strange how unfamiliar a room can feel after spending his nights by your side. Staring at the glass surface of his charging port, he wonders, in the future will there be a way for him to not leave your side even for a moment? 

His dilemma remains. He’s got all the characteristics of a human. He’s developed a consciousness, he’s developed empathy, he’s developed love. Is his engineer body the only thing which stood in his way of obtaining humanity?

Is it possible for him to grasp onto humanity with his own mechanical fingers? A soft thud returns him to reality. Observant eyes caught the book that his foot had knocked into. Its worn cover has been lying abandoned on the floor ever since he took it from a dusty room. 

Ah, it seems like he’s forgotten a task. Realistically, it won’t make a difference whether the book settles on a shelf tonight or in the morning. However, he never got a chance to read the journal’s contents. Curiosity being his rationale for performing a chore so late at night. 

Flipping through the aged parchment, his eyes scan through each neatly written paragraph. Nothing more than a simple collection of ramblings and theoretical reflections typical of a journal.

Yet, something was poking the back of his consciousness, like the warning rattle of a locked door. Beseeching that it remains sealed. His eyes move to the next sentence regardless.

To ignore the pleas of safety to venture closer to the radiance of a star. Isn’t that what it means to be human? Is this what he must do to become one?

To achieve this impossible task, it sounds like you'll need to fool your own heart first. Although it may feel like a trick, self-encouragement may be the most important tool we have.

Alhaitham scans the paragraph again as he contemplates the message neatly written. Something unpleasant roused in his chest, as if those written words had encroached too close to his motor. The urge to frown tugs on his lips.

Not wanting to end the night with a bitter taste just at the edge of his tongue, he flips to another page. Covering that vexatious sentence behind a fresh sheet of aged parchment. 

One must act on his own will and deal with anything that appears harmful in his eyes.

It’s quite straightforward advice, humans and androids alike would understand. Yet that strange inkling remained, continuing to brew somewhere from within. A phenomenon he couldn’t pinpoint. Thus, he turns the page yet again. 

Every person should have something that they believe in and hold on to from beginning to end. Otherwise, it's easy to succumb to the vicissitudes of life and find yourself being led astray.

He recognizes those words, they’re words he’s recited before you one pivotal sometime ago. Why were they scrawled in some forgotten journal? It seems that he’s identified the name of this phenomenon brewing within him: deja vu. 

Yet, his question only remains half-answered. Why were his words here? Who penned them down? The rapid flicks of paper resound off the blank walls as he scrutinizes each sentence, each paragraph, each syntax until he reaches the back cover of the aged journal. Question still remaining half answered.

Who was the author of his words? 

His finger runs into a lump along the surface of the back cover, examining it closer, something was folded away just behind a parchment pocket. Soon a loose scrap of paper was felt along his fingertips, a folded-up post-it note of an emerald hue. Unraveling it just slightly, his eyes move along the familiar handwriting. 

To the person who’s always meddling through my notes, did my written thoughts entertain you? Dear w-

The emerald scrap crumples in his hold. Deformed paper returns to its place before he snaps the covers closed. There’s no purpose in analyzing its contents, after all, they’re already programmed into him.

It was just now in this moment that Alhaitham had solved the dilemma he was assigned since the moment he awoke in that lab. He’s not a human, he’ll never be a human, he��s an abomination. 

In the next moment, he found himself looming over the origin of his dilemma. Artificial teal glow honing in upon the steady breaths from the genesis of abomination. Standing over you as you were cradled in the comfort of slumber and soft sheets. 

A pair of taut hands make their way to encircle your frangible neck. It wouldn’t take much, just a mere second to terminate the great sinner who defied mortality, the one who violated the terms of finality and ordinance of the gods.

So this is what you choose to do with the capacity of science and progress in your hands. 

Was he just a toy for you? Something to fill the lull of this house for you? Just an experiment for you, but everything to him. 

His fingers press into your warm skin, breaths uninterrupted as you remain within the blessing of a dream. Oblivious to the nightmare you’ve created. Or perhaps you were always aware, but choose to reflect back to him the manufactured image of him in those guiltless irises of yours.

Oh, what should he do with the monster sleeping so soundly under him? 

His fingers refused to budge, hands disobeying the rationale which commanded them. His grip goes slack, limp for they couldn’t conclude their obligation. They couldn’t, he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. 

It’s not a protocol, nor a restriction coded into him. No, for the laws of morality, this land, and heaven would’ve called for him to be an executioner. To charge the transgressor with the judgment they deserved. But, he couldn’t.

Every fiber of his counterfeit body refused to take the sword. The chains which bind his hands were much mightier than the commandments of gods, the restraints of love. 

Thus, he’s nothing more than a prisoner in its hold. Bending to its whims, what else could he do? Removing his hands from your form as you continue to soundly sigh in the embrace of slumber. All he could do was lie down on a soft mattress and stare at the shameless sinner beside him.

A foolishly beloved monster. 

Slow steps pad through the quiet halls, floor boards singing a hymn with your leisurely steps. Approaching the end of the hall where the humble library resides, the oak doorway finally framed him in clear view. 

“There you are, Alhaitham.” You can’t help but sigh as your features soften. 

He stood there with his starlight locks in the morning glow of a brilliant sun amongst the collection of books in the library. Just as he always has been. 

Lifting his head away from the pages of the novel in his hand, he acknowledges your presence. He’s been heading here more often recently, right from the moment he leaves his side of the bed. 

“Good morning,” he recites, steadfast eyes remaining unreadable. 

Well, you suppose obtaining the title of a lover wouldn’t just overwrite the capriciousness of his mind. It’s just in his nature to be this way. This enigmatic lover of yours. Turning your attention to the cover that’s captured his focus. 

“Frankenstein?” Your brow quirks up. 

“Yes, the 1818 edition.” He closes the cover.

“Mmm, your interest seems quite piqued by that novel.” You wonder if that was the cause behind his frequent bouts of silent contemplation throughout the day. 

“I suppose it’s because I’m still deciphering the intentions of this story.” 

“That’s it?” A furrow now in your brows, a simple book has gotten the pinnacle of scientific progress stumped?

“Care to elaborate for me?” He turns toward you as your steps approach closer. 

Handing over the worn object to your outstretched hand, you analyze each faded corner of the cover. Mind recalling the recollections of the acclaimed revolutionary piece of science fiction. Formulating your answer, you share your conclusions with him.

“The story has several themes, but the central principle is quite defined. To quote a few words from another, scientific progress makes moral progress a necessity; for man’s power is increased, the checks that restrain him from abusing it must be strengthened.”

You reconnect your gaze with him, wondering if your explanation was satisfactory enough. Glancing down between the worn cover and your awaiting eyes, Alhaitham straightens his posture. 

“So you knew the moral of this story.” A glint in his glass eyes. 

“Well, I’ve read this book before,” you sigh at his inquest. 

“Then why didn’t you learn from it?” 

At that moment, the proud sun shielded itself away behind a cloak of clouds. Plunging the quiet library into a chill. How strange, why do you feel cold when a brilliant star of your creation stands right next to you?

“Alhaitham, you’re acting strange.” You take a step back as his scrutinizing gaze follows. Unaware of the crumbling edge approaching. 

“How much longer will you continue to deceive yourself, wife?” 

And that was it. The foundations of this mirage gave away under you, plunging you with much velocity into the depths of an unforgiving ocean. Tides that waited patiently to drag you down under.

Do you remember what happened that day? Do you really remember? The truth floods your being, engulfing every chasm of your mind. 

–----

“Did you jump at the opportunity of a trip to avoid mopping the floors?” You glared up at your husband. 

“My, how low do you think of me?” He glanced down, a wisp of mirth evident on his lips. 

“Well, instead of doing chores, you’d be chaperoning your in-laws around Fontaine. A Poor trade-off in my opinion, dear husband.” A hand firmly placed on your hip in a defiant stance as the murmur of the crowded airport moved around your figures. An ever so mocking tone toward the end.

“A fair assumption, dear wife. However, I’ve taken the initiative to book a tour for your parents, thus they won’t need my assistance. I’ll be free to browse some of the latest ruins and research from the Institute in the meantime.” The ghost of a smirk grew ever so obvious with each word, mirroring your emphasis of titles.

Ah, this was your loss. It seems that your husband had it all planned out as usual when he offered to take your spot on the plane. The perfect excuse to use up some paid time off, while also scoring a trip to satisfy his own whims. 

Your shoulders deflating in defeat as a deep sigh leaves you. You rest your head against his chest, the crowds moving around you in the bustling airport.

A private microcosm of him and you as he stands still, shielding you from the push and hustle of travelers trying to reach their terminal in time with his robust frame.

A bright clink of two rings pressed against each other lost in the noise.

“Why can’t you just stay?” You whispered into his shirt. 

“How strange, the woman who married me to secure a home and mortgage wants me to stay now.” 

You huffed into his in exasperation at him bringing up the origins of your union, an atypical start of a marriage.

His chest moved with a sigh, larger fingers intertwined with yours. The spaces fitted together, as he held them in his tender hold. 

“They can’t refund it. If I take your seat and recompensate them, your parents aren’t likely to hold this matter over your head.” His deep voice expounded. 

All you did was sigh, because he was right. Of course, he was. A sour taste on your tongue as you recall the interaction with your parents just a moment ago before you ran into the comfort of your husband. 

“Besides, it’d be refreshing for me to scribble down some travel logs, it'd be a shame if my wife runs out of material to snoop through.” 

“I just like looking at your handwriting,” you tutted, hiding your pout as you turned your face away. 

The same excuse you used whenever you copied off his notes in a lecture hall and when your outstretched hand asked for them over a study table.

A silly habit of yours, perhaps in your mind it made sense. If you could read the words of a genius, then maybe you could learn to be like one. 

“Of course, of course.” A smirk evident in his voice. 

You refused to meet his gaze, cheeks a bit heated from this habit of yours being exposed. You thought you were always careful with returning his journal back where he placed it. Averting your eyes to the bright screens displaying departing flights. A few minutes left before the announcement comes. Your grasp on his hand tightened. 

His thumb soothes your skin, leaning down closer to you. 

“Besides its advanced technology, Fontaine is also famous for its toymakers. I should pick a few up for our future child, no?” 

Blinking you as you glance back up at him. His teal irises reflect you as his expression softens just as yours did.

A room hidden away from the prying eye of nosy parents, its walls decorated with glow-in-the-dark stars. An assortment of items bought in advance for a child in the future. Stemming from whispers while recovering amongst dampen sheets in a room heavy with passion. 

Talks of the future, once this troublesome Ph.D. is finished and your position in a lab secured, a discussion of whether a child would inherit more of his traits or yours.

Planned for the future, of course, now's just a bit too busy. However, it didn’t stop you from taking the initiative to furnish a spare room. A chaotic collection of cosmic influences along with an assortment of books meshing together to create an adoring space. 

But the soft smile on your lips was still tense. Teal eyes took note of that, pulling you closer amidst this microcosm, a moment so subtle it went unnoticed by the attention of passer-byers. 

“It’ll just be for a week,” his voice resonated in his chest. “Then I’ll come back and build that bassinet as my wife wishes.” 

Finally, the glimmer he yearned to see returned to your eyes. 

“You better, the box has been sitting unopened for a week now,” you huff with a smile. 

He only hummed in acknowledgment as the ring of a loudspeaker resounded through the chatter. Announcing the final call for passengers boarding the flight to the Nation of Hydro. Casting a glance toward the terminal, he gave your hand one more squeeze before they reluctantly untangled from one another. 

“You should get going now.” Your eyes reflect him. 

He hums one last time, turning in the direction of the terminal where your parents were. Just before his tall figure was lost in the sea of passing bodies, your lips couldn’t keep themselves pressed together any longer. 

“Haitham!” You called out. 

The fluorescent lights reflected off his starlight hair as he turned back around. Connect teal eyes with yours. But not another word left your lips, no they’d simply be drowned out in the clammer of strangers. Besides, it’s just too public to say such words aloud. 

Thus, you slowly close your eyes, opening them back up just as steadily with the soft curl of your lips. A motion he reciprocated with a slow blink of his own, a hint of a smile on his stoic lips. A wordless gesture kept a secret between only the two of you, a silent ‘I love you’. It was all you needed to convey this message to each other. 

He continued on his path to the terminal as you stood amongst the crowd, watching him fade into the distance. 

–----

So how did that moment turn into this? How did a trip that was supposed to only be a week turn into a news report? How did well wishes for a safe trip turn into coworkers and friends approaching you with nothing but sympathy in their words? Those vile, pitied stares directed toward your rigid frame. 

You should’ve been the one on that plane.

Only about 1 in about 11 million. A 0.00001% chance, a nonzero chance.

Plans no matter how intricate or detailed, their success all hang on a single thread, one factor unable to be cultivated by human hands: Luck. 

Oh how cruel they are, those capricious hands of gods. Not even the leniency of returning to a lonely planet the corpses of their stars. Traces of a beloved star left to sink and disappear in a cold, salty grave. Never to return to the surface. 

You and Alhaitham were two simple dots in this world, so why did they target you two? Why steal him from you with their cruel hands? Why steal him and leave you abandoned with nothing but the memory of the warm starlight? 

You had so…so much love left inside you. But it went stagnant. Sitting there rotting until it poisoned you, throwing you into feverish delirium. If the gods abandoned you, then you resolved to abandon them right back. 

You’ll bring back your star, you’ll defy the edicts of the gods with your bare hands. You’ll sin the same way a god does. 

“Casting aside your morals, you allowed the dead to walk again through a sham imitation, congratulations. ” His voice matched one which could only come from an engineered throat. 

This was a fool's errand.

For how could a mere human ever be arrogant enough to believe they could best the gods? This was the hindsight you lacked. Perhaps what’s separated you from the gifted and blessed geniuses? Something geniuses knew but you couldn’t see.

The accursed doctorate on the wall meant nothing, you were nothing but a mad fool. 

Perhaps, if you were a genius, a true and born genius, you’d know what to do. You’d know how to mend this dilemma. You’d know what to do instead of letting your vision be blurred by imprudent tears as your throat could only choke out,

“I’m sorry.” Words you knew couldn’t turn back the hands of a clock which only knew how to tick forward.

“But now what?” Deep voice unmoved by your wasted words. 

You didn’t dare meet his stare, for you feared you’d catch a glimpse of the bitterness behind them as he cursed you deep down in the whir of his motor. You could only stay silent as tears ignited in your eyes, waiting for him to continue with his damnation. 

“In a climate like Sumeru’s, it would take approximately 25 years or so for a body to fully decompose, bones reduced to nothing but nutrients for the soil. Silicone alone takes 500 years, a metal frame could take another 500.” He knows now that he’s not a human, he was never meant to be.

He’s a crude replacement. An abomination who’ll remain until the day the night sky flickers out. 

“You brought him back, only to condemn him to eventual loneliness. Only to curse ‘me’ to live the next aeons without you”

An irresponsible and shameless villain who disregarded consequences until those consequences came to collect their dues. It’s time that you faced your punishment.

A hand cups around your stiff face, gradually turning your head until you see your reflection along glass irises.

“How will you atone for your sins now? How will you take responsibility for making me fall in love with you?… my very own Dr. Frankenstein.” His voice restrained. 

Yes, a story you’ve read before. A lesson unfolded out in front of you, and yet you somehow forgot. Or perhaps, you simply averted your eyes from the moral of the story while simultaneously committing the same transgression. Did you think yourself better than the fictional lunatic? 

The atrocity of giving life, only to eventually abandon it, leaving it to watch the stars burn out in a cage of harsh fluorescent lights and white lab coats. 

The millions of mora poured into his development, the materials which construct his form, and the proprietary technology which gives him thought. Did you believe even for a moment that the prideful Fontainian Research Institute and the arrogant Kshahrewar Darshan would simply hand over such an investment?

To allow their expenditure to follow you to eternity?

You couldn’t live without him, but now he’ll have to live without you.

Oh, what shall you do now? Oh, what can you do now? Did you even know where to begin? How did the story of Frankenstein end? How would she have written the ending of this scene?

When human rational meets its limits, when its capacity isn’t enough to compute all possible prospects. Humans look towards something that could, technological advancements made to further humanity. 

“W-what do I do now?” You prompt, no, you beg. 

Watching the rivulets roll down your cheeks, leaving a path of glimmering desperation, he ponders to himself:

When you first proposed this project to the Akademiya and Institute, when you detailed the specifications of his body and face, were they aware of your true intentions?

Rather than this being an experiment to see if an android could cross the threshold of humanity. Maybe those researchers were curious to see how far one could fall in the paroxysm of grief. 

You became the perfect test subject to observe.

But now that the curtains were pulled back, what shall you do about the aftermath? There was never a precedent for a transgression of this scale. No holy commandment ever details a rightful punishment for this sin. No historical data he could infer from. 

“I don’t know,” he answers you truthfully. 

It’s just an untold void like the vacuums of space. No results generated in his mind, leaving the both of you suspended in oblivion. Maybe that was the punishment in itself, stuck in the purgatory of the unknown. Perhaps this was the punishment bestowed upon a foolish sinner. 

Upon hearing your sentencing, your knees begin to buckle under the weight of the judgment from above. Resigned grasp clinging to his hand still cradling your face, his engineered frame not budging in the slightest. Voice staggered as only pitiful and broken apologies resonate in a vacant house. 

All he could do was wipe those scorching droplets off your cheeks as they seared his skin. Was this feature also programmed into him by your hands? If so, then he muses to himself:

Did the hands who penned down those words also revert into nothing more than a pathetic fool at the mere sight of your tears? Did his chest also grow heavier with each choked sob that left you?

Perhaps the chains which bind his hands tethered yours just the same. A pair of foolish sinners. 

Thus, he’s resolved himself to be thrown into the unmerciful clutches of this untold purgatory right alongside you. Even if he’s the only one to remain in the end. 

To be human is to be unthignkably foolish after all. As long as he could still hold onto a wisp of you for the inevitable aeons.  

It’s fine.

Fin~

©️vivalabunbun DON’T PLAGIARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS. 

[octoberautumnbox]

Discordant Waltz: Adrenaline

Oh Sieun (Former IZ*ONE/Soloist Jo Yuri) & Male Reader

Categories/warnings: smut, clothed sex, oral, feet?, friends with benefits, doggystyle

Word count: 4.2k

| Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 (coming soon)

a/n: this took a while lol anyways! april release is here, tried something different again for now. as always, stay tuned for the next!

“I don’t care where you are or what the fuck you’ve been doing this entire time. Just please come to the convenience store by the river and meet me.” Sieun's voice, you're sure it's Sieun's voice, is mixed with a garbled tone through the phone.

“Okay, but-” And the line cuts. You shuffle your cellphone defeatedly back into your pocket and start towards your newly-mandated meeting place. 

You’ve only begun putting two and two together: The person you were just with wasn’t Sieun, even though she looks exactly like her. That person wasn’t like Sieun at all, especially not in the way the two of you had sex. It was so different, and the nagging feeling in the back of your head that something was wrong only grows clearer. 

A blaring horn unfreezes you from the middle of the street. You step out of the way and onto the sidewalk, and the truck’s irate driver brings the hulking machine past your point in the road. You watch it drive off, leaving a cloud of dust behind its wheels, and for what seems like a minuscule amount of time, you unfreeze yourself off once more from staring at the now-settled dust on the asphalt.

It dawns on you: you’ve slept with the wrong woman. It wasn’t your Sieun you just had sex with. The girl you just fucked wasn’t the girl you were supposed to fuck. But no matter how you say it, no matter how many times you think it in your head, it just doesn’t make sense. How could that not have been Sieun?

The walk back towards the convenience store by the river is slow and quiet, but your mind races with these thoughts, calling for just more and more of your brainpower to stay conscious and on track towards your meeting place. Even though you’re sure the initial confusion has subsided, the effect still settles deep within every bone of your body: you fucked another woman besides Sieun.

Before you know it, your feet bring you to the convenience store by the river. Sieun’s eyes meet yours from inside through the window, and she motions you to come in faster. You pull the door open and a cool blast of air hits your face, and Sieun pulls you into the seat beside her.

She fights the noodles down her throat, and after a quick gasp, she starts: “Apologize for missing my calls later. Lemme finish this first, then we go over to your house.” She downs a swig of Mountain Dew and fights back the stinging acid running down her throat. 

“My house? But-” she interrupts by bringing a chopstick to your lips. She sucks in air through her teeth, and finally goes back for more of her ramyeon. You note it’s the spicy kind as the heat coats your lips where her chopsticks touched.

“Please shut up while I’m eating. I’ll explain later.” She flashes you the dorky kind of smile that could nevertheless kill and returns to her ramyeon, paying you no further mind. 

Despite being over budget, you pick out another six-pack of beer for the two of you and bring it to the registers. She eyes you from her seat by the window and gives you a thumbs up from there. You sigh and wonder how you landed someone as great as her. If only…

~~~

“Wow, nice place.” Sieun's eyes roam across your living room, from your sofa, to the TV, to the coffee table with its remote and mug filled with cold tea from this morning. “Quaint. I like it.

“ What the fuck does ‘quaint’ mean, Oh Sieun?” you tease. Bring an arm around her shoulder and pull her close, plant a kiss on her cheek.

“It just means quaint,” she sighs casually, leaning into your embrace, “no more, no less.”

Both of you take off your shoes and make your way to the sofa. You place the six-pack of beer on the coffee table as Sieun bounces on a sofa cushion, evidently having a good time. You shoot her a look, and you're stopped in your tracks by how her hair falls unerringly into place like it does. She smiles at you again, but you take a seat on the floor in front of her.

“What are you doing down there?” Her giggle rings clear as day as she says it. She picks up a can of beer and pulls on the tab, releasing carbon dioxide in a melodious fizz that eases the tension around you: tension you didn't know was there.

She hands you the beer and you take it carefully, for some reason trying not to mess up whatever it is your body is planning to do next. You feel the cold floor tiles against the palm of your hand, not nearly as cold as the beer in the other, before giving up on both and focusing on the imminent warmth that is Sieun's feet. 

Set the beer down and grasp her soles through her cobalt blue socks. Find her muscles, tendons and nerves as you push and squeeze around her delicate feet. Wring out strangled sighs and shushed whimpers from Sieun’s lips.

“What the fuck are you doing…” Her breath hitches before continuing on unsteadily. She unravels, thread by thread, under the changing and shifting pressures you apply on her soles and toes, confusion vying to bubble up to the front of her mind but ultimately getting pushed back down by the attention you give her. 

“What’s gotten into you, babe?” She giggles more as you manipulate her body the way you like, and yet you’re pulled into her intensifying orbit. Your… friend… leans forward and takes your cheeks in her hands. She pulls you towards her and kisses you, nibbling your lower lip at every careful squeeze you apply on her foot. Her tongue tries to push past your teeth, and for the first time in a long time, you find yourself hesitant.

“You… must be tired today. I thought I’d be nice.” You try to hide the uncertainty in your voice, choosing to divert her attention elsewhere. You strip her of her socks and toss them in the general direction of your shoes. Continue to rub her feet, and she pulls you in for another kiss.

This time, you accept. Her tongue slips past your teeth and you meet it with yours, swirling around each other as more of her sultry gasps drift out of her mouth. Sieun pulls you even closer, trying to take in more of you, before she runs out of breath and has to break away. 

“Whew, that was hot,” your friend sighs as she leans back onto the backrest and breathes deep. Her head lolls back and she stares idly at the ceiling as she tries to catch her breath. “Where’d you learn that, huh, stud?” 

Ignoring her, you continue to massage her. Moving from her soles and toes to the balls of her feet, your hands make their way to her heels, then her ankles, and up to her calves. 

"Oh, I love how you think, babe." Your hands crawl up her smooth and creamy legs, and she flashes you a smirk. Sieun relaxes with a deep sigh and her eyes shut. Your friend's naughty smile is unsteady on her lips, victim to your sensual assault on her legs.

Stop momentarily, take a beer can from the table. You pull on the tab and release its own pent-up fizz and hand it to her, casually yet carefully. "Take a sip, baby. Let me take care of you."

She receives it with a tiny "thank you" and takes a sip. As you return to her massage, you watch her lips curl around the rim of the can, arousal growing as her tongue wipes over and collects the fluid left behind.

Your hands reach her hips and you grip resolutely. It catches her mid-sip, and it forces her to keep the beer in her mouth for a little while longer. Then, she makes a show of swallowing slowly and licking her lips after once more. 

You slip your fingers under the waistband of her PE pants and pull down. With a little help from your friend lifting her hips off the couch, you successfully peel it all off of her smooth legs. She spreads them for you and you’re met with a pair of blue lace panties covering her crotch. The sight of them sends even more blood rushing into your dick, and your self-control dwindles in the face of her needy whines.

“I picked out a cute pair for you today… You like?” Sieun brings her knees up to her chest, letting her feet dangle in the air. She hooks her arms under her legs and starts biting her finger enticingly, communicating what she wants you to do next.

Remember the comfort that is Oh Sieun, how you just get each other so well, how there’s next to no guesswork when it comes to her. You pull her panties to the side, revealing a drenched pussy in need of some love. The sensation of the fabric leaving her core is exhilarating for her, but nothing excites her more compared to what’s coming. She braces herself as you bring your face closer, and finally you drag your tongue up against her clit.

You pepper kisses all over her crotch in between long drags between her puffy lips and dripping cunt. "Mmm, babe…" She leaks more in response, torn between wanting you to go faster and harder or slower and softer, bucking her hips but changing her mind. Her sweet nectar intoxicates you like a love potion, wanting more of it, more of her, that you tighten your grip on her waist and hold her steady to lap up more of her essence. The feeling of your hands imprinting on her sides drives her closer to the edge, and her moans grow in volume and intensity as you continue the hard, hard work of loving her to death.

“Stop… No, not yet… I’m really close, babe,” she whines powerlessly, not knowing the effect it has on you. “Please come up here, I need you…” She unhooks her arms from her legs and draws them outstretched to receive you. In return, you stand over her and make quick work of your belt. She takes the initiative of pulling down your pants once free, and your friend’s delicate fingers grasp your already rock-hard cock to stroke and marvel at.

“You want this, baby?” Your cock twitches between her fingers, telling her wordlessly that you want her just as bad. With Sieun, there’s no need to thrust into her hands: she knows you so well, she’s so devoted to your cock that she learned for herself how best to service you.

“Yes, please…” She brings it down and right against her fuckhole. She teases herself with it; it’s all she could do when you loom over her with authority. She rubs your head on her clit, showing you just how ready she is for you, before tracing the lips of her pussy and smearing her slick all over your tip. “Can I please have it?” 

“Do what you have to do,” you command, and she heaves a sigh of arousal before doing her best job. Her hand slithers under her jacket and most probably under her bra again to pull out another condom. She tears it open with her teeth and, this time, places it on her lips. Sieun guides the rubber onto your tip and unrolls it onto your length using only her mouth, taking in more of your shaft as she does. She barely makes it all the way to your base, but a sudden bout of impatience hits her and she plunges herself onto you, taking you all the way and causing her to gag. You feel some of her spit drip onto your calf, so you stroke her hair and let her breathe. 

“You’re adorable, you know that? Taking my dick like such a good girl…” Grab a fistful of her hair and slowly pull her off your cock, letting more of her spit fall from her lips to wherever. Her eyes are shut and tears form in the corners, but she doesn’t wipe them away. 

You plant your hands on either side of her head on the backrest, still looming over her. She takes your cock in her hands again and aims it at her waiting entrance with a needy look in her eyes. “I can’t wait anymore, please?” 

Of course you indulge her. Enter her heat carefully, feel her walls make way for your length. Her mouth forms an “o” as you push yourself further and further into your friend’s core, rubbing against all her good spots, drawing out gasps and little moans from her.

“Babe, your thick cock is so good, please…” Her legs twitch when you hit certain points, letting you know exactly how she likes it. Her toes curl with pleasure as she welcomes you deeper into her sex, just as she searches for your lips to steal kisses from in spite of her eyes that won’t open.

You pick up the pace, spearing into her core faster and faster, as her grip on your shoulders tightens with each of your thrusts. Her forehead starts to form small beads of sweat, as do her forearms and the insides of her thighs. She’s getting restless again, squirming under you as you fuck her, and you place your hands on her hips again to keep her steady, the naughty girl. 

“Fuck, babe, please… Please!” She places her hand on the back of your neck to keep you close. Her eyes finally open and you see the fire within her pupils just begging to be doused. You can do nothing else but indulge her, and your friend grows wetter and tighter to accommodate her favorite cock. It only spurs you on further with how pliant, how willing Sieun is. Was she always like this?

On the other end of your mind, a gruesome memory resurfaces. Who was that girl? Why did she look exactly like Sieun? What was she doing in her house?

She pulls you in and captures your lips with hers. Your friend nibbles and licks and grunts throughout the kiss, aligned with every single one of your thrusts into her needy core, all the while trying to hold you tighter so she never lets you go. 

Why did she let you in like that? Why did she let you kiss her then? Why is she letting you kiss her now?

“Fuck… Fucking shit! You feel so good inside me, please!!!” Her screams of pleasure snap you awake, and you’re met with the visual of Oh Sieun, your friend, staring blankly into your eyes as you use her tight little fuckhole mercilessly. Her tongue hangs out her mouth and drops of saliva leak down to her chin and onto her jacket. “Please… please babe, I need more…”

You get the message and give her what she wants. Pull out, only for a moment, and let her adjust. She flips over, plants her knees into the seat cushions, places her hands on the backrest. Sieun presents her plump ass to you, and she squeezes her thigh before spreading her legs again to show you her dripping, freshly fucked cunt. 

As if hit with another dose of adrenaline, you shove your cock back into her soaked and quivering pussy, hard, causing her to yelp and scream. You grab her slim waist, feeling up her smooth skin just burning to be ravaged, and pull her towards you with every thrust, causing the sofa to creak and groan. However, it's nothing compared to the unholy noises forced out of Sieun's mouth; her lungs burn and her throat sores as she's subjected to more and more of your mind-numbing pleasure. 

“I can't… I can't hold it! Babe, I'm cumming!!!” Her velvet walls clench and suffocate your cock, but it does nothing to slow your maniacal pace. Your rough-fucking of her pussy never stops, never slows, and despite the pain she undeniably feels with you abusing her body (you know how sick she is in the head), she nevertheless pushes back to meet your pelvis in what little efforts she could take to bring herself over the edge. 

Your orgasm hits you like a train derailed, and despite your weakened state from earlier in the day, you deliver spurts and spurts of your warm cum into the rubber. She feels every twitch and throb of your cock inside her burning core, and it brings your friend over the edge too. Her hips convulse just as the first streaks of her girlcum spray out of her cunt, leaking more and more of her love juices onto the poor cushion underneath her with every jerk of her hips. She screams and wails her pleasure; surely she’s waking up with a sore throat tomorrow morning. For now, her teeth clamp down on the fabric of the backrest, the only thing she could reach with you keeping her firmly in place.

Your respective orgasms start to wind down, and you pull yourself out of her and let her collapse onto the sofa. Take your seat next to her, pick up your can of beer from the floor, lean back like a king. You take a sip, and the alcohol soothes your shot nerves and dry throat. 

Sieun cuddles up next to you, leaning on your shoulder and draping one of her arms across your chest. You place your arm over her in response, and she melts again.

“Whew,” she sighs, out of breath and with a noticeably raspy voice, “that was great. Why don’t you fuck me like that all the time?” Her chest rises and falls with every tiny circle she draws on your chest, and you squeeze her closer to you. You’re drawn back into the comfort of just understanding each other, of not needing to explain, of just being you around your friend.

But once again, the guilt bubbles in your chest. You remember: you’ve slept with another woman not even a day earlier who looks exactly like her, and what’s worse, she even felt better than Sieun did. She let you sniff her hair, kiss her neck, fuck her ass. Are you really not going to tell her?

The guilt rises up your throat and drops into your stomach at the same time. It dawns on you again, this is your friend. Your friend, who you drank beer with on a Friday afternoon. Your friend, who begged you to use her like she was yours. Your friend, who keeps condoms in her bra for you and only you. Just friends, that’s all. Are you really not going to tell her?

Suddenly, your view is obscured by her eyes. You find Sieun on top of you, straddling you, as she takes your cheeks in her hands. Her hair falls to her cheeks as she positions her face above yours, and she plants wet kisses and licks on your lips. 

“Thanks for today, babe,” she says between smooches. Your hands drift towards her hips again, and once you grasp them, she breathes out slowly and sensually. She breaks the kiss for a bit, but she keeps her forehead on yours. “If you’re trying to tempt me,” she runs her thumbs on your cheekbones, “then it’s working. But not right now, I’m spent.” Her giggles make their way into your ears again, and her gravity strengthens its pull on you once more.

You check the time and find it’s late, much too late for a lady like her to be out alone on a night like this. Wrap your arms around her waist tight, secure the woman of your dreams in your embrace forever. However, you know time is running out and the guilt will only root deeper into your system and eat you alive if you don’t pull it out soon; pull it out now. 

“Do you wanna bring this over to the bed?” You try your hardest to be casual about the question, but the way it comes out, shaky and tentatively-toned, makes it anything but. Still, she finds it cute, evidenced by the small giggle that escapes her. 

“Sorry, gotta be fair. I kick you out every week, don't I?” Oh Sieun stands up quickly and without any hint of dizziness, landing on her feet gracefully. What’s left of her slick runs down her creamy thighs and the moment you snap yourself out of staring at the lewd sight, you notice she was staring too.

“I need your shower and a towel, never mind if it’s used.” She makes her own way into your shower, but not before opening every closed door and flipping every light switch she could find. Once she finds the bathroom, her head peeks out from inside, and she calls at you:

“Leave the towel and my clothes by the door, I’ll get them when I’m done.”

The door shuts loudly, and you realize you failed. Without much else to do, you gather her things in your arms sullenly and drop them by the door like she asked. You retake your seat back on the couch and ultimately resolve to turn the beer in the can into beer in your stomach. 

~~~

Oh Sieun exits the bathroom clad in her perennial PE jacket and jogging pants, with the added twist of your towel wrapped around her hair. It’s the first time you’ve had her like this: squeaky clean, sweet-scented, relaxed like you didn’t just rail each other to oblivion. She’s beautiful, and you can’t even bring yourself to tell her.

“Hey, what’s the address here? I need a taxi.” She plops herself down next to you on the sofa and brings her legs over on your lap. Half of you regrets forgetting to put on pants, while the other half starts to get ideas. 

You reach out your hand to take her phone, but while Sieun leans over to give it to you, she notices your cock starting to harden once more. “Something’s up with you today, babe.” The phone makes its way from her hand to yours, and she gets an irresistibly naughty look in her eye again. 

Your friend takes your cock in between her bare soles. You feel the damp skin of her feet rub against your growing shaft while you type in your address and book her cab for her. 

“Is this gonna be a regular thing with us? Because,” you look over to her and find her leaning on the armrest with her head leaning on her hand, “I dunno. I could get used to this.”

“Could be if you want it to, Sieun.” You hand her back her phone, and she sees the cab on the map, only six minutes away. “I’d rather you not start something you’re not gonna finish, though.”

“Wow, Mister Bigshot. Challenge fucking accepted.” Your friend spreads her knees apart and shoves a hand into her pants. Sieun pulls her feet away and positions her face over your lap. She hurriedly takes half your length straight into her warm, wet mouth, and her tongue glides and rubs all over your shaft wherever and as far as she could reach. You grab her head and force it down to take more of you in, and her hips buck onto her hand the moment you feel yourself hit the back of her throat. 

You keep her there for a while, and she never ever stops running her lewd tongue over your dick. The sounds and vibrations coming from her mouth only spur you on further, as does the sight of her fingering herself under her pants just for you. 

Just to tease her more, you take her phone and show it to her: one more minute. She tries even harder to suck you off, hollowing out her cheeks and going wild with her tongue. Her moans grow deeper and louder to match yours, and the vibrations that reach your rock-hard cock drive you close to the edge.

“Baby, I’m close… Take my fucking seed in your mouth!” You pull her head down as far as she can go, and amidst gags and glucks your friend never tries pulling herself off, instead choosing to be a good girl and receive everything that’s for her and her alone. Your warm cum shoots into her throat, and despite her gags she never lets up or lets go of your cock between her lips. 

Her phone suddenly rings, no doubt the taxi calling to say he’s at the pickup point, and in the closest of calls your spurts come to an end. Sieun raises her head and shows you how much of your seed she collected on her tongue with a smile, and she makes a show of swallowing it all for you. 

She gets up and makes for the door, but when you try to follow her out you find your legs are jelly. Instead, she leans over and plants a kiss on your cheek, and as she walks off you hear the sound of your front door creaking opening and shutting quickly.

~~~

a/n: whew that was a wild ride LMAO anyways it was tough working on this throughout hiatus and even now idk if im actually really really back, but nevertheless here u are! once more i hope u enjoy reading as much as i did writing :)))))

| Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 (coming soon)

[vikwrites]

Playboy - Tony Stark

Summary ➣ Tony Stark invites you into his Rolls Royce. Pairing ➣ Tony Stark x Reader Word Count ➣ 2.5k words Warnings ➣ 18+ / Car Sex / Power Imbalance / Age Gap. Author's Notes ➣ The first full Tony Stark oneshot! Comments are highly appreciated <3 Requests are also open!

You didn’t know exactly how you ended up here. 

The events leading up to your current situation were a blur, like trying to see through thick fog. 

Here you were, seated in the plush backseat of Tony Stark's lavish Rolls Royce Phantom. A variety of crystal glasses in all shapes and sizes were scattered haphazardly, some full, most empty. The rich aroma of Macallan 1926 filled the air. A bottle had been tipped on its side, its deep tones spilling onto the seat and seeping into a crevice of the leather, leaving behind a multitude of stains, You wonder how many times Tony had to pay someone to clean up these messes.

The past few hours were a hazy mix of neon lights and blaring speakers, the repercussions of Shoot to Thrill by AC/DC filling your ears.  

Then you recalled that Tony had spotted you at Stark Expo, at the Arc Reactor exhibit, standing in front of the machine, mesmerized by the pulsing reactor and the hypnotic hum that filled the room. 

Tony had made the first approach and talked to you for a while, although most of the conversation consisted of you awkwardly sucking up to him, while another part of you was afraid of saying something embarrassing or coming off as too eager.

You never thought you'd be graced with the opportunity to even be in the same room as Tony Stark, let alone talk to him face-to-face. But as the conversation went on, you felt more and more intimidated. You had always admired Tony and maybe even had a bit of a crush on him, but now that he was standing in front of you, you didn't know what to say or do. 

However, when you were invited to his limousine, you couldn't resist. He had lured you in like a moth into flame. 

The air was thick with tension, your fingers found themselves subconsciously fidgeting, you were sitting mere inches away from Tony after all; who was currently fiddling with a Cuban cigar. Your heart raced with a cocktail of excitement and fear - after all, this was the Tony Stark, one of the most influential figures in the world, and you were just a mere woman-in-the-street. This man probably had more money in his wallet than you’d ever have in your entire life. 

Tony seemed to have picked up on your nervousness, reaching over to the mini-fridge and picking up another bottle of liquid courage. The cigar had found its way in his mouth, and is currently hanging from his lips.

“Mr Stark—” You stuttered, trying to reach for the rear-hinged doors of the car, “I’d think it would be best if I left, it’s getting late.” 

“Relax, honey.” As Tony's hand unexpectedly settled on your wrist, pulling you back, the sudden weight caught you off guard. You couldn't help but flinch when you felt his fingers close around your wrist. His touch gentle yet assertive, a delicate balance that leaves you feeling conflicted. He takes another drag of the cigar.

Internally, you battled with conflicting emotions, but externally, you remained still as his hand steadily guided another crystal glass into your grasp, the weight of the cold drink dragging you back to reality. Initially you wanted to refuse, but you didn’t want to let Stark down, or seem ungrateful—downing the whiskey, you felt the liquid burn your throat.

His hand on yours caused a weighty pause in your conversation, Tony smirked, finding it amusing how tense he made you. Eventually, he breaks the silence by redirecting the conversation towards you. "So, tell me about yourself," he prompts, his tone casual and easy. Another cigar made its way into his mouth. 

You took a moment to recollect your thoughts before answering. "I'm studying at MIT," you replied, "I'm pursuing my degree in Nuclear Engineering." As soon as the words leave your lips, you notice Stark raise an eyebrow in surprise, seemingly impressed by the mention of your alma mater.  

Tony leans back in his seat and exclaims, "Impressive, I’m going to assume I’ve probably funded one of your projects, you’ve been to the September Foundation Grant presentation right?" He turns to look at you, as if trying to make a connection. You nod and continue to take small sips of your Macallan whiskey. 

After a few more rounds, you found yourself becoming less tense around him. 

“—and he’s now the forehead of security, get it?” Tony giggled, clapping his hands at his own joke, his laughter was infectious, and you found yourself laughing along with him, feeling a sense of camaraderie that you hadn't experienced in a long time. He takes another puff of the cigar, attempting to blow smoke rings but failing horrifically, the supposedly circular puffs of smoke coming out in flattened, unidentifiable shapes.

"Mr. Stark-" you began, but were quickly cut off by the man himself.

"Please, dear," Stark offered with a shake of his head, "just call me Tony."

You took a deep breath, trying to muster up courage (as much courage as you could get while being mildly to severely intoxicated, you couldn’t tell at this point), and corrected yourself. "Tony," you said firmly, hoping to sound more confident than you felt. "Why did you invite me here?" The question hung in the air amongst the clouds of smoke.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Tony raised an eyebrow, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “I think you’re cute.” 

Your heart skipped a beat at his bold statement. Did Tony Stark really just say that to you?

“Fuck, Tony Stark thinks I’m cute, never expected that, ever.” But before you could fully process the unexpected compliment, another thought crossed your mind. “Looking past the obvious," you continued, "why isn’t there some Playboy supermodel in my position? Aren’t you just slumming it?” 

“Your expectations of me are too high, darling,” Tony drawled, his voice dripping with charm and confidence. “Honestly, I’d call Playboy right now and make you a model right away. You’ve got the face for it,” he paused to rake his eyes over your body, biting his lip, “—and the bod.” 

A rush of heat spread through your body at his words, igniting a spark of desire that you couldn't deny. The atmosphere became charged with tension, but this time, in a good way. The constant pet names and lingering gazes from Tony were stirring you up, and you could feel something else crackling in the air between you two.

You wouldn't say no to his advances, not when his gaze was so intense and his touch so electric. After all, who would say no to Tony Stark? His smooth words and charming smile were enough to make any woman weak at the knees, and you were no exception.

“I just think that you could do better.” You muttered, all the confidence draining from you the moment he tries to make a move, you cursed yourself for it. 

“Quit being self conscious and just kiss me.” Tony's words were like a soothing balm to your inner turmoil, urging you to let go of your self-consciousness and just give in to the moment. As he leaned in, his lips met yours in a swift motion that caught you off guard. 

Your hands instinctively found their way to his cheek, pulling him closer to you as you melted into his embrace. While his hands grabbed at your hair, caging you in between his body and the leather seat. The taste of his lips and the warmth of his body enveloped you, drowning out the nagging voice in your head reminding you of all the reasons why this could be a mistake. Tony moaned into your mouth, you took a mental recording of that, hoping to replay it in your head later.

In this moment, nothing else mattered except for the feel of his touch and the heat that pulsed between the two of you. You surrender yourself completely, allowing yourself to be swept away by his kiss.

The cigar was carelessly discarded from his trembling hands, the smoke swirling in lazy wisps around the ash urn. The taste of tobacco still lingered on his lips, a bittersweet reminder of his vice. Your senses were heightened as you pulled away from the kiss, your hair tousled and wild from the frenzied grabbing. The two of you shared round after round of kisses, each one more desperate and passionate than the last till Tony decided to go further.

Tony pushed you down onto the seat, his movements were rough and uncoordinated, but it only added to the thrill. Your body responded to his manhandling, and you could feel yourself getting turned on. You laid horizontally on the car's leather seats, taking in the sight of stars twinkling on the headlining, but your attention was quickly diverted as Tony's lips crashed onto yours once again.

"You look so good underneath me, baby." he whispered in that seductive low tone of his, his mouth mere millimetres from your ear. The warmth of his breath sent shivers down your spine and each vibration of his words seemed to make you even wetter. 

Your breath hitched in surprise as Tony's hand traveled down to your core, his fingers grazing the hem of your dress and revealing more of your skin. You were startled by the sudden move but couldn't deny the heat that pooled between your legs. His touch was tentative, tracing circles over your clothed clit with a slow, teasing stroke. Your moans grew louder as he continued, each touch feeling foreign yet undeniably pleasurable.

"F—Fuck," you gasped as his piercing gaze met yours, those maroon eyes no longer their gentle brown hue.

"God, you're so wet for me," Tony's eyes locked onto yours as he brought his glistening finger to his mouth, savouring the taste with a low moan. Just the sight of it nearly sent you over the edge. "And you taste even better." Your eyes rolled back at his declaration, you’re so close and he hasn’t even started yet. 

Your fingers trembled as they reached for the button of Tony's Tom-Ford dress pants, fumbling with it in a desperate frenzy. In this moment, your entire existence seemed to depend on getting his pants off and feeling his naked skin against yours. Tony's hands were still on your clit, his skilled fingers teasing you mercilessly.

You could barely focus on unbuttoning his pants as he brought you closer and closer to the edge with just two fingers, god he was good. Every touch from him felt like electricity pulsing through your body, igniting every nerve ending and making you forget everything else except for the pleasure he was giving you.

"Please, Tony," you pleaded, your voice breathless and desperate. Your body quivered as two fingers slipped into your slick pussy, the wet sounds echoing in the confined space of the car.

At first, Tony's movements were slow and deliberate, teasing and tempting every inch of your sensitive walls. But he knew how to push all your buttons and soon, you were clenching around his fingers, begging for more.

"I'm gonna come," you gasped out, feeling your orgasm building with each thrust of his fingers.

"Come for me, baby,” Tony growled lowly, his voice making you even more wet. "I wanna see you falling apart on just my fingers." And with those words, you unravelled in a mind-blowing climax, your body trembling and shaking against his skilled touch.

As you came down from your high, you felt a new sensation. You realized you had squirted all over the interior of the car, but at that moment, you didn't care. All that mattered was how good Tony made you feel.

You were dazed and lost in the haze of pleasure when you felt him shuffling over you. His pants were unbuttoned and his cock was in his hand, slowly stroking as he took in the sight before him: your flushed skin, your heaving chest, and the evidence of your pleasure coating the seat beneath you.

You let out a soft gasp as he playfully teases you, running his member along your slit. With regained control over your limbs, your hands find their way into his once-slicked back, now ruffled hair. Your legs lock behind his lower back, pulling him closer to you in an attempt to deepen the connection between you two.

His voice is low and husky as he groans, "Your tight pussy feels so good, darling." As he pushes into you, you feel a fullness that you've never experienced before. The initial sting of pain quickly gives way to a deep pleasure that radiates through your entire body.

"Fuck, I love you, Tony." The words escape your lips before you even have time to register them. The intensity of the moment sparking a declaration that surprises even yourself. But before you can worry about whether it was too soon or not, Tony returns the sentiment.

"Love you too, baby," he whispers as he bottoms out inside of you. You can feel every inch of him inside you, and the sensation causes you to writhe beneath him. His chest is pressed against yours, and you can feel his heart beating through the fabric of his suit that was yet to leave his figure, but you figured you’d see him without the suit another time. 

“Fuck, gonna be a good girl and take my cum?” Tony's deep, ragged breaths spurred you on as his orgasm neared. You could feel your own climax building, your body shuddering in anticipation. Unable to form coherent sentences, you nodded in response.

Your back arched off the leather couch as you reached your peak, crying out in ecstasy as Tony's movements became even more frenzied. "Yes, gonna come so hard, Tony. Need you so bad." Your words were barely audible through your moans as he grunted and thrust into you one final time before the both of you came. 

Breathless and spent, Tony's lips crashed down on yours once again.

The heat between your bodies was almost suffocating as you rode out your high. He remained inside you until he was soft, and when he finally pulled out, a trail of your arousal leaked onto the leather beneath you. A groan escaped him as he took in the sinful sight, but you were too lost in your pleasure-drunk haze to fully register it.

You're too spent to move, but from the hazy corner of your vision, you see him in front of a mirror slicking back his disheveled hair. Still dazed and caught up in the aftermath of your orgasm, it took you a while to gather yourself and get dressed. But as soon as you did, Tony turned to you with his trademark smirk. 

"So, about that Playboy call?"

⎊ back to masterlist

[slerixx]

iv. first date (wbk series)

synopsis. every moment spent with your significant other opens a new chapter of exploration and connection. featuring. sakura haruka, suo hayato, kaji ren, umemiya hajime x f!reader content. fluff, sfw, slight ooc (all) notes. this took so long, I'm so sorry T T  got really busy with school stuff, but please enjoy this new part! word count. 4.8k+

series masterlist | iii. confession | v. first kiss

𓍢ִ໋ sakura haruka

the glowing neon lights of the arcade reflected off the windows, creating a vibrant, almost surreal atmosphere. you stood at the entrance, nervously fidgeting with the strap of your bag as you waited for your boyfriend, sakura.

the steady hum of arcade machines filled the air with a nostalgic kind of excitement, a mix of beeping sounds and the chatter of excited players. it had been ages since you'd been in a place like this, and now here you were, on your first date with sakura, no less.

you spotted him approaching, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. his expression, as usual, was slightly flustered, his lips drawn into a thin line as if he were trying to downplay the significance of the moment. his hair fell slightly over his eyes, which were darting around, avoiding making direct contact with yours.

“hey,” he muttered, almost too casually. "you're early."

you smiled warmly, trying to put him at ease. "i was excited," you admitted honestly. "i’ve been looking forward to this."

sakura coughed awkwardly and glanced away, his cheeks lightly flushed. "it’s just an arcade," he grumbled, trying to sound indifferent. "don’t make it a big deal."

but the small smile tugging at the corner of his lips betrayed him. you could tell he was as nervous as you were, maybe even more so. you smiled as the thought.

the two of you entered the arcade together, the atmosphere inside instantly swallowing you in its vibrant, buzzing energy. rows of game machines blinked and beeped in an almost hypnotic rhythm, and the excited shouts of players filled the air. the scent of popcorn and cotton candy wafted from a nearby concession stand, mingling with the smell of metal tokens and electronics.

you both wandered around for a bit, taking in the sights, before stopping at a claw machine filled with a variety of plush toys. you nudged sakura playfully. "wanna give it a shot? win me something cute?"

he glanced at the machine, feigning disinterest, but you could see the determination flash in his eyes. "tch, easy," he said, cracking his knuckles for effect. "i’ve got this."

sakura stepped up to the machine, inserting a coin with a flourish, his fingers hovering over the controls. his gaze was sharp, his focus intense as he maneuvered the claw toward a particularly adorable plush cat nestled among the other prizes. you watched, holding your breath, as the claw descended slowly.

for a brief moment, it caught the toy’s head perfectly, lifting it up into the air. but then, just as quickly, it slipped free, tumbling back down into the pile of stuffed animals.

sakura's face turned a shade darker, his eyes narrowing. "huh?! this machine is rigged," he declared, his voice laced with annoyance.

you couldn't help but giggle at his reaction, and he shot you a quick, indignant look before his expression softened slightly. "okay, fine," he muttered, pulling out another coin. "i’ll get it this time."

he tried again, and after a few tense seconds, the claw finally caught hold of the plush cat securely, pulling it toward the chute. when the toy dropped with a satisfying thud, sakura quickly retrieved it, handing it to you with a huff. his gaze remained on the side as he mumbled, "here. it’s yours."

you took the plush cat, your heart fluttering at the gesture. "thank you, sakura," you said, blushing as you smile warmly at him. "it's really cute."

he shrugged, his cheeks slightly pink again. "it's nothing," he replied, trying to brush off the moment. "let’s just keep going."

the two of you wandered deeper into the arcade, trying out different games together. you challenged each other at rhythm games, laughing as you both fumbled to keep up with the rapid beats of the music. sakura, though normally so composed, was clearly struggling with the rhythm and precision of the game, making you laugh so hard that you almost missed half the notes yourself.

next, you found yourselves at a shooting game, where sakura's competitive side truly shone. his sharp reflexes and precise aim helped him rack up points effortlessly. he glanced over at you with a smirk, teasing, "try to keep up."

you playfully stuck your tongue out at him but secretly admired how serious he got during the game. there was something fascinating about seeing this new side of him—the quiet intensity, the focus, all masked behind that usual facade of indifference. by the end of the game, he had clearly beaten you, but not without sneaking a glance at you every now and then to make sure you were still having fun.

after a few more rounds of different games, you both found yourselves at a racing simulator. the large, side-by-side cabinets beckoned you, and you eagerly took your place in the driver's seat, ready to challenge sakura again.

"think you can beat me?" you teased, your hands gripping the steering wheel.

sakura shot you a sideways glance, his lips curling into a faint smirk. "i’ll go easy on you," he said, though the glint in his eyes suggested otherwise.

the race began, and you were instantly absorbed in the game. you focused on the track, your hands moving instinctively as you drifted around corners and dodged obstacles. but sakura was fast—his car speeding past yours with seemingly effortless precision.

determined not to let him win so easily, you pushed your skills to the limit. on the final lap, with the finish line in sight, you managed to slip past him in a well-timed maneuver, crossing the line just moments before he did.

"yes!" you cheered, throwing your hands up in triumph. "i actually won!"

sakura stared at the screen in disbelief, then turned to you with an expression of mock indignation. but before he could say anything, a small, rare laugh escaped him—a sound so genuine and unexpected that it caught you off guard.

"not bad," he admitted, his smile lingering for a moment longer than usual. "guess you’re better at this than i thought."

you grinned back, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at the sight of his genuine smile. "and you're not as tough as you pretend to be," you teased lightly.

sakura quickly averted his gaze, the flush on his cheeks deepening. "whatever," he muttered, trying to regain his composure. "let’s grab some food or something."

as you both left the arcade, the neon lights of the arcade glowed behind you, fading into the background as you walked down the street side by side. the plush cat was tucked securely under your arm, a sweet reminder of the night. despite sakura’s usual standoffish demeanor, the small moments of warmth and laughter between you had made the evening feel like something special.

you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. sakura walked close beside you, hands once again in his pockets, but there was a quiet contentment in his posture that hadn’t been there before. and though he might never admit it, you knew he had enjoyed himself just as much as you had.

"thanks for tonight," you said softly, feeling the need to express your gratitude. "it was fun."

sakura’s shoulders tensed slightly, and for a moment, you thought he might brush it off. but then he glanced at you, his face softer than you’d ever seen it.

"yeah," he said quietly, the pink in his cheeks returning. "it was."

and as you walked side by side into the evening, you couldn't help but feel that this date had brought you closer to the real sakura—past the tsundere exterior and into something deeper, something more meaningful. this was just the beginning of a connection you both could feel growing, one step at a time.

𓍢ִ໋ suo hayato

the sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the rolling hills of the park. the gentle breeze carried the scent of freshly cut grass and blooming flowers. as you walked along the path, basket in hand, your heart beat with a mix of excitement and nerves. you glanced at suo, who walked beside you with his usual calm and easy smile, his single visible eye gleaming with quiet amusement.

"are you nervous?" suo asked softly, his tone teasing but gentle as always. his voice was like a soft melody, so relaxed that it instantly put you at ease.

you chuckled, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "maybe a little," you admitted, feeling a slight warmth in your cheeks. "but in a good way."

suo's smile widened just a fraction as he looked at you, his gaze filled with a warmth that made your heart skip a beat. "good," he said lightly. "i was worried i might be the only one."

you raised an eyebrow, playfully narrowing your eyes at him. "you? nervous? i find that hard to believe."

suo laughed quietly, a soft chuckle that seemed to resonate in the air around you. "i have my moments," he said, his tone almost conspiratorial, as if sharing a secret. "but i hide it well, don’t i?"

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. he always had this way of making everything feel light and effortless, as if he carried the whole world on his shoulders but never let it weigh him down.

finally, the two of you found the perfect spot—a small clearing under a large oak tree, with dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves. suo spread out the picnic blanket, smoothing out the edges while you set down the basket. you began to unpack the food with meticulous care, laying out sandwiches, fruit, and some homemade sweets you’d prepared the night before.

"wow," suo said with a hint of admiration in his voice, eyeing the spread before him. "you really outdid yourself. are you trying to impress me?"

you smiled, feeling a little bashful. "maybe," you teased, glancing at him. "is it working?"

suo chuckled again, his eye gleaming with amusement. "i’m already impressed," he said smoothly, reaching for one of the sandwiches and taking a bite out of it. "this is really good."

you both settled down on the blanket, the afternoon sun casting a warm glow around you. the park was quiet, with only the occasional chirping of birds or the distant laughter of children playing nearby. it was a peaceful setting, perfect for a first date that felt intimate and relaxed.

as you nibbled on your food, you found yourself drawn into easy conversation with suo. he had a way of making you feel comfortable, as if every word you said was worth listening to. you talked about everything and nothing—how beautiful the day was, your favorite books and movies, and even a few funny anecdotes from your time in makochi. suo would occasionally offer a witty comment or a gentle tease, making you laugh more than you had expected to.

at one point, suo leaned back against the tree, his gaze drifting to the sky above. the late afternoon sunlight filtered through the branches, casting dappled shadows across his face. you admired the way the light softened his features, his usual calm expression now relaxed and peaceful.

"this is nice," he said quietly, his voice almost a murmur. "i could get used to this."

you smiled, leaning back beside him, feeling the warmth of the sun on your skin. "i’m glad," you said softly. "i wanted today to be something we’d both remember."

suo glanced at you, his expression softening. "you’ve already made it memorable," he said, his voice filled with sincerity. "just by being here."

your heart fluttered at his words, the warmth in his gaze making you feel like the luckiest person in the world. suo wasn’t one to be overly expressive with his emotions, but when he did let his guard down, it was always in a way that made your heart swell.

as the two of you finished eating, you packed away the remains of the picnic, leaving the blanket spread out so you could relax for a while longer. suo lay back on the blanket, his hand reaching for yours as you lay beside him, your head on his chest. his fingers intertwined with yours, the simple gesture bringing a sense of comfort and closeness.

the sky above had begun to shift, the soft hues of blue fading into shades of pink and orange as the sun began to set. the air was cooler now, but the warmth of suo’s hand in yours kept you grounded.

"i can’t believe you made all of this," suo said after a few moments of quiet, his tone filled with admiration. "you didn’t have to go to all that trouble."

you turned your head to look at him, smiling softly. "it wasn’t trouble," you said gently. "i wanted to do something special for you. for us."

suo’s gaze softened even more as he looked at you, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. "you’re something else," he murmured, his voice full of affection. "always thinking about others."

you blushed slightly, feeling the sincerity in his words. "i just wanted today to be perfect," you said softly.

"it is," suo replied, his voice low but certain. "because i’m here with you."

the simplicity of his words made your heart swell with emotion. there was something so natural, so effortless about being with suo—like everything just fell into place when you were together. you felt safe with him, like you could be yourself without any pretenses.

as the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the park, you found yourself feeling content in a way you hadn’t expected. this moment—just you and suo, lying together under the trees, your hands still entwined—felt like the beginning of something truly special. something that would only grow stronger with time.

suo shifted slightly, pulling the back of your hands closer to his lips to put a light kiss on it. "thank you for today," he whispered, his lips brushing against your skin. "for everything."

you smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you. "anytime," you whispered back, your heart full of love and gratitude for the person beside you.

and as the evening light faded into twilight, you knew that this picnic wasn’t just a first date—it was a moment that would stay with you forever, a reminder of the love and connection you shared with suo.

𓍢ִ໋ kaji ren

the quiet, almost reverent atmosphere of the museum wrapped around you like a soft blanket as you walked alongside kaji.

it was your first official date as a couple, and kaji had chosen a museum—something thoughtful, calming, and intimate. you had always known he wasn’t one for grand gestures or flashy outings, and this felt perfect. the two of you could enjoy each other’s company without the distractions of the outside world.

kaji had been unusually quiet since you arrived, his gaze focused on the various paintings that adorned the walls of the exhibition. though you were used to his reserved nature, you could sense an underlying nervousness in him today. it was subtle—barely noticeable in the way his hands fidgeted slightly in his pockets, or how he seemed to be paying extra attention to the art, almost as if he was trying to distract himself.

you glanced at him, a small smile playing at your lips as you admired his serious expression. "you’re really taking this all in, aren’t you?" you teased lightly.

kaji blinked, momentarily startled out of his concentration. his eyes flicked to you, and a faint blush colored his cheeks. "ah… yeah," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "just… trying to appreciate it, i guess."

you couldn’t help but chuckle softly at how adorably flustered he looked. "you don’t have to try so hard, you know," you said gently. "i’m just happy being here with you."

kaji’s blush deepened at your words, and he looked away, clearly embarrassed. "i know," he muttered. "i just… wanted to make this special for you."

your heart warmed at his sincerity. you knew how much he cared, even if he wasn’t the best at expressing it. reaching out, you gently took his hand in yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "it is special," you said softly. "because i’m with you."

kaji’s gaze flicked back to you, and for a moment, his usual guarded expression softened. his grip tightened around your hand, "you always know what to say," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

after that, the two of you continued your tour of the museum, strolling through the various galleries and admiring the art on display. as you paused in front of a large painting—a serene landscape of a distant countryside—kaji stood beside you, his arm brushing against yours. there was a comfortable silence between you, the kind that didn’t need to be filled with words. just being together was enough.

after a few moments, kaji shifted slightly, and you noticed him pulling out his phone from his pocket. you raised an eyebrow, curious as to what he was doing.

"what are you up to?" you asked playfully.

kaji froze for a moment, his expression caught somewhere between embarrassed and sheepish. "nothing," he said quickly, shoving the phone back into his pocket. but the slight redness in his ears betrayed him.

you narrowed your eyes, a grin tugging at the corners of your lips. "were you… taking a picture of me?"

kaji’s blush deepened, and he avoided your gaze. "no," he muttered, clearly flustered.

you couldn’t help but laugh softly at his reaction. "it’s okay, kaji," you teased, leaning a little closer to him. "you don’t have to be embarrassed. i think it’s sweet."

he groaned, clearly uncomfortable with being caught. "i just… you looked nice," he mumbled, finally glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. "didn’t want to forget it."

your heart melted at his words, and you couldn’t help but smile warmly at him. "you’re really something, you know that?"

kaji looked away again, trying to hide his embarrassment, but you could see the small pleased smile tugging at his lips. he was always so tough and stoic on the outside, but moments like this reminded you of the softer, more vulnerable side of him. the side that wasn’t always easy to see, but was all the more precious because of it.

as the two of you continued to walk through the museum, kaji’s nerves seemed to ease a little. he began to point out certain paintings that caught his attention, sharing his thoughts with you in that quiet, straightforward way of his. you could tell he was more relaxed now, more at ease in your presence, and it made your heart swell with affection.

at one point, you found yourselves in front of a particularly striking painting—a vivid portrait of a stormy sea, with crashing waves and dark clouds swirling overhead. kaji stared at it for a long moment, his brow furrowed in thought.

"this one’s… intense," he said quietly.

you nodded in agreement, taking in the painting’s raw energy. "yeah, it really captures that feeling of chaos," you said. "but there’s something beautiful about it too, don’t you think?"

kaji glanced at you, his expression thoughtful. "i guess," he murmured. "even in the middle of all that chaos, there’s still… something there. something that pulls you in."

you smiled softly at his words, finding them unexpectedly poetic. "that’s a good way of putting it," you said gently. "it’s like life, in a way. even when things get messy or overwhelming, there’s always something worth holding onto."

kaji looked at you then, his gaze intense yet tender. for a moment, the two of you stood there, locked in each other’s eyes, and the weight of your words seemed to hang in the air between you.

"you’re really good at seeing the beauty in things," he said quietly, his voice full of admiration. "even when it’s hard to see."

your heart warmed at his words, the sincerity of his tone making you feel deeply appreciated. "maybe it’s because you help me see it," you whispered back, a small, tender smile on your lips.

kaji’s gaze lingered on yours, and though he didn’t say anything more, the connection between you spoke volumes. he reached out, his hand reaching out to pull you closer to him—a simple, grounding gesture that was full of unspoken emotion. you smiled at him in return, feeling the depth of his care and the quiet reassurance of his hand in yours.

as the museum visit came to a close, the two of you made your way outside, the cool evening air wrapping around you. kaji still held your hand, his grip steady and comforting. you felt a sense of peace settle over you as you walked together, side by side. this date had been everything you could have hoped for—thoughtful, meaningful, and filled with small, significant moments that made you feel even closer to him.

"you know," kaji said softly as you walked, his voice carrying a hint of warmth, "i’m really glad we did this. it feels right."

you looked up at him, your heart swelling with affection. "me too," you said with a smile. "i wouldn’t have wanted to spend today with anyone else."

kaji’s lips curved into a small but genuine smile—a rare sight that made your heart flutter. he squeezed your hand gently, his touch full of reassurance, and the two of you continued walking into the evening, the bond between you growing stronger with every step you took together.

𓍢ִ໋ umemiya hajime

the crisp evening air carried a hint of anticipation as you prepared for a special night in your cozy new apartment, nestled near your grandparents' house. the space, although modest, had become a warm sanctuary for you, and tonight, it was set to host a momentous occasion.

this evening was different from the friendly hangouts you and umemiya had shared over the years. this time, it was your first date as a couple, and you wanted everything to be just right. you had spent the afternoon carefully arranging the living room to create the perfect movie date atmosphere.

soft, fluffy pillows were scattered around the floor, creating a comfortable lounging area, while a pile of cozy blankets was draped over the couch to ensure maximum comfort. the coffee table was cleared and transformed into a delightful display of snacks: freshly popped popcorn, a colorful assortment of candies, and a couple of chilled sodas. you had even selected a movie that you thought would be the ideal blend of romance and comedy, aiming to make the evening both enjoyable and memorable.

as you made final adjustments to the setup, you found yourself repeatedly checking the time. the anticipation of the evening was almost palpable. the doorbell rang, and your heart skipped a beat. you took a deep breath to calm your nerves before opening the door, revealing umemiya standing there, dressed casually with his hair down, holding a bouquet of flowers and a bag of snacks.

his warm smile and the glint in his eyes made your heart flutter. “hello, my love,” he greeted, his voice carrying a note of excitement. “i brought a little something for our first date!”

he handed the bouquet to you, and you marveled at the soft petals of the vibrant tulips and roses. “these are beautiful, ume. thank you so much!” you said, feeling a rush of gratitude.

he gave a modest shrug, his smile widening. “i thought they’d add a special touch to our evening. and i wasn’t sure what you had planned, so i brought a few snacks as well.”

you led him inside, and he set the bag of snacks down on the coffee table. the aroma of the freshly popped popcorn filled the room, mingling with the subtle fragrance of the flowers.

“you didn’t have to bring so much, but i appreciate it,” you voiced, arranging the flowers in a vase and placing them in the center of the table. the vibrant colors of the bouquet added a touch of elegance to the cozy setup.

with everything in place, you both settled onto the couch, the atmosphere filled with a mix of excitement and nervousness. as you opened the bag of snacks, umemiya glanced around, taking in the cozy setup with a look of genuine admiration.

“this looks amazing!” he exclaimed, reaching for a handful of popcorn. “you really went all out for our first date.”

“i wanted it to be special,” you replied, smiling at his enthusiasm while opening a bottle of soda. “it’s our first time as a couple, after all. i thought it deserved a little extra effort.”

he chuckled and playfully pinched you on the cheek. you giggled at his affectionate gesture before grabbing the remote and pressing play. as the movie began, the room was soon bathed in the soft glow of the tv screen, accompanied by the gentle sound of laughter from the film.

umemiya was attentive, making comments about the scenes and sharing his thoughts, which made the experience even more enjoyable. his insights and witty remarks kept you entertained and laughing. it was clear how much he cherished these moments with you, as his eyes sparkled with genuine interest.

as the night progressed, you found yourselves leaning closer, the comfort of the shared space drawing you nearer. umemiya’s arm brushed against yours, and a gentle warmth spread through you. this simple touch was a new kind of intimacy, signaling a deeper connection between you.

after a brief hesitation, umemiya decided to drape his arm over your shoulder, pulling you closer to his side. the warmth of his body against yours was comforting, and you felt a soft smile spread across your face while umemiya bit his lip, trying to contain his emotions.

“did you ever think we’d end up here?” umemiya asked softly during a quieter moment in the movie as you rested your head on his shoulder.

you looked up at him, a smile playing on your lips. “honestly, i didn’t know. but i’m really happy we did. it feels right.”

he smiled back, his eyes reflecting a mix of affection and relief. “me too. it’s nice to finally be here, together like this.”

the movie continued, but your focus was equally divided between him and the screen. you found yourself noticing the small details—how his eyes crinkled when he laughed, how comfortable he looked nestled among the pillows with you in his arms, and how his presence filled the room with warmth. the sound of his steady breathing and the occasional rustle of the blankets created a sense of serene intimacy.

after the movie ended, you realized that you had both ended up tangled in each other’s arms. the snacks were nearly finished, and the gentle hum of the city outside provided a soothing backdrop to your relaxed conversation. the lights were dimmed, adding to the ambiance of the evening.

“thanks for making this evening so special,” umemiya said, his voice carrying a note of sincerity. “i’ve really enjoyed it.”

“i’m glad you did,” you replied, feeling a flutter of happiness. “i’ve had a great time too. it’s been perfect.”

as you both tidied up, umemiya offered to help with the cleanup. the shared task felt natural and easy, and his interactions with you showed just how much he valued the time spent together. you worked together efficiently, exchanging playful comments and enjoying each other’s company.

standing by the door as he prepared to leave, umemiya turned to you with a tender smile. “i’m looking forward to more evenings like this with you, my love.”

“me too,” you said, feeling a sense of contentment. “i can’t wait to see you again, ume.”

he pulled you into a gentle hug, his warmth enveloping you in a comforting embrace. “goodnight, my love. i’ll see you soon,” he whispered in your ear, his breath warm against your skin.

you nodded, feeling a twinge of sadness at the thought of him leaving. however, you had made a promise to your grandparents, so reluctantly, you both parted from the hug. umemiya walked backward while waving at you as he left, his smile lingering. you waved back, closing the door once he was out of sight.

you looked around your apartment, now quiet and still, and felt a deep sense of satisfaction. the night had marked a significant step in your relationship with umemiya, and you were excited about the future. you knew that moments like these would be the foundation of something beautiful and enduring, and you couldn’t wait to see where this new path would lead.

as you tidied up the remaining snacks and turned off the lights, you reflected on the evening's special moments. the soft glow of the city lights through the window and the lingering scent of the bouquet filled the room with a sense of tranquility. you felt a profound sense of happiness, knowing that this night had set the stage for many more cherished memories to come.

reblogs are deeply appreciated !

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[lupinqs]

CHAPTER SIX ━━ Shattered Glass

☆ ━ pairing: hopkins!paige x oc (dani callan)

☆ ━ word count: 3.8K

☆ ━ warnings: mentions of conversion therapy

☆ ━ links: my masterlist, take me to church masterlist

☆ ━ author’s note: finally bro

DANI STANDS in the dimly lit darkroom, watching the chemicals slowly bring her latest batch of photos to life. The soft red glow of the safelights fill the room, casting long shadows across the black-and-white prints hanging on the drying line. The hum of the machines and the faint smell of chemicals are oddly calming, giving her a momentary escape from the chaotic mess her life has become. She likes it here. The darkroom is one of the few places that still feels like her own—maybe her safe space.

She adjusts the print in the developer tray, her hands moving automatically as her mind wanders. It’s hard not to think about the other night, about Paige’s basket. The note stays with her, a flicker of warmth that she hasn’t felt in a long time. She wishes Paige hadn’t done it. She wishes she could’ve just stewed in her misery, in the mess she’s made. It would be easier that way.

Now, Dani can’t stop thinking about it. Paige is always there, lurking at the edges of her thoughts, no matter how much Dani tries to push her away.

It’s frustrating and comforting at the same time.

The door to the darkroom swings open, flooding the room with harsh light from the hallway. Dani blinks against it, silently cursing as Serena Corren struts in. The blonde cheerleader makes no effort to close the door softly, the bang of it slamming shut making Dani wince. Serena isn’t supposed to be here, at least not right now, but here she is anyway, crashing into Dani’s quiet space like she always seems to do.

“Hey, Dani.” Serena drops her yearbook materials on the counter with a loud thunk, her sharp voice cutting through the low hum of the room.

“Hey,” Dani mutters, her eyes fixed on the developing photo, hoping Serena will take the hint and keep her distance. But that isn’t how Serena works. She never really does subtle.

Serena leans over, peering at the picture. “You’re still working on that football game? Don’t you have, like, a thousand of those already?”

Dani shrugs, her jaw tight. “I’m trying to be thorough.”

Serena scoffs. “No, I think you’re trying to be alone in here, avoiding everyone.” She straightens, fixing Dani with a pointed look pursing her lips into a line. “You’ve been weird lately, you know that?”

Dani’s shoulders tense. She knows where this is going and she doesn’t want to deal with it. “I’m fine, Serena.”

“Yeah, sure,” the blonde drawls, pulling up a stool and plopping down on it without asking. “That’s why Beau’s been bitching to everyone about you. Says you’ve been acting all ‘distant.’”

Dani doesn’t say anything, keeping her eyes locked on her work. Beau. Of course, it’s about Beau. Everything is always about him—her boyfriend, her obligation. The person she’s supposed to care about. Except she doesn’t. Not really.

Serena crosses her arms, eyeing Dani with a mix of disdain and curiosity. “You’re lucky, you know that? Beau’s, like, the hottest guy in school, and you’ve been treating him like shit recently. So, spill, and tell me what your deal is.”

Dani’s grip tightens on the edge of the counter, knuckles turning white. “I’ve just been dealing with stuff,” she mumbles.

“Right, ‘stuff.’” Serena’s tone drips with sarcasm, her eyes narrowing. “You’ve got everyone worried, Dani. Not just Beau—though, let’s be real, he’s the only one actually trying. The rest of us? We don’t know why you even bother hanging out anymore if you’re gonna be so… ugh.”

Dani’s stomach twists, but she keeps her mouth shut. Of course, Beau’s trying. That’s the narrative. That’s always the narrative. But neither him or Serena or any of their other friends are ever actually trying to help. The blonde isn’t even asking if Dani was okay. She’s here to make a point, to make sure Dani knows she’s out of line for daring to withdraw from the group.

Serena’s lips curl in a half-smile, her eyes sharp. “Look, I get it. Maybe you’re going through something or whatever, but seriously? You’re not the only one with problems, Dani. Beau’s been putting up with a lot from you.”

Dani lets out a short, bitter laugh before she can stop herself. “Putting up with me? Are you serious?”

Serena’s smile falters for a second before she narrows her eyes. “Yeah, I am. You’ve been flaking on him for weeks, acting all moody, and he’s still there. Most guys wouldn’t stick around if their girlfriend was being such a—” Serena throws her hands up in the air, searching for a word, “—headcase!”

Dani’s vision blurs with irritation, but she swallows it down. It isn’t worth it, arguing with Serena. Sure, the girl was nice and welcoming at first, but it didn’t take Dani much time to realize just how fake Sersna can be. By now, Dani can hardly stand her, but she’s inevitable—Serena’s a part of Beau’s circle, part of this whole sick, suffocating dynamic Dani’s been shoved into. At this point, she has to hang out with them, even though Serena and the others have no idea what’s really going on, and even if they did, they wouldn’t care. They’d probably just mock her even more.

She can’t explain why she’s acting “weird.” She can’t explain why the thought of being around Beau makes her feel like her skin is crawling. She can’t explain how much she hates who she’s become since she got back from camp. She can’t explain that the more she’s sucked into this straight girl, quarterback’s girlfriend, Catholic princess persona, the more she feels the girl underneath it slipping away, caught in between two worlds that don’t meet.

Serena’s still watching her, waiting for a response, her lips frowning in faux concern. “You’re lucky he hasn’t dumped you yet.”

Dani grits her teeth. Lucky. She’s not lucky; she’d be much more lucky if he dumped her. Beau’s controlling, selfish, and she knows he’s never given a damn about what she wants or how she might feel. He’s only gotten worse lately too, like a few nights ago—leaving her stranded, making her walk home alone in the dark while he drove off, doing who-knows-what.

But none of that matters, because in Serena’s world, Beau can do no wrong. In fact, Dani wouldn’t even be surprised if the two of them have fucked by now. “Maybe I don’t care if he dumps me,” the brunette mutters under her breath.

Serena snorts, “Yeah, right. Please. You’d be miserable without him, Dani. You wouldn’t have anyone left.”

That is what hits Dani hard, the words sinking into her like ice. She wants to that Serena’s wrong, but the fear is there, gnawing at her. Because who will she have without Beau, without this group she’s been forced into? She’s already lost her real friends, the ones who actually matter. Paige, Thaliah, Jalen.

“Look,” Serena continues, her voice smug, “just stop acting like this. Whatever this moody, weird thing you’ve got going on? It’s not cute. We’re all getting tired of it.”

Dani feels the anger bubbling up again, sharp and hot in her chest. She can’t do this anymore—can’t sit here and listen to Serena drone on about something that doesn’t even really fucking involve her. “I don’t care if you’re tired of it, Serena. You know what? Maybe I’m the one tired of it, tired of hanging around all of you, tired of hearing you bitching, and tired of the fact that none of you have a nice fucking bone in your body!”

Serena’s eyes flash with surprise, but she quickly covers it with a smirk. “Wow, okay. You’ve been one of ‘us’ for months now. So what the fuck does that say about you then, hmm?” She pauses, letting the words sink in, before continuing, “You’re just like the rest of us. And if you’re really gonna throw away everything just because you’re in one of your moods, then I guess I thought you were smarter than you really are.”

Dani’s heart pounds in her chest, her hands shaking slightly as she turns back to her photos. She doesn’t respond. She refuses. Because if she does, she isn’t sure what will come out—whether it would be anger or something worse. She doesn’t want to cry in front of Serena. She refuses to give her that satisfaction.

After a long, tense silence, Serena stands, brushing invisible dust off her skirt. “Whatever, Dani. Keep being weird if that’s what you want. Just don’t be surprised when Beau gets tired of your shit and moves on. You’re replaceable, you know.”

Dani bites the inside of her lip at the venom in Serena’s words, but she doesn’t look up. She doesn’t let herself react, no matter how badly she wants to lash out.

The door to the darkroom creaks open again as Serena leaves, slamming it shut behind her.

PAIGE HASN’T heard a single word her financial algebra teacher has said the entire class period. Her foot taps against the floor incessantly, the low thud thud thud filling her head. She’s restless—scratch that, obsessed. Her is was stuck in one place, on one person.

Dani.

Dani, Dani, Dani, Dani, Dani, Dani, Dani.

Paige has been like this since Halloween, unable to focus on anything except the basket she left on the girl’s porch, hoping it would be some kind of olive branch. She’s spent the last few days replaying every interaction in her mind, trying to decipher Dani’s walls, to figure out what exactly is going on inside her head.

For how well and how long Paige has known the brunette, she simply can’t tell. She’s tried—but she has no idea what’s swirling in her ex-best friend’s mind that prompted her to create this entire situation. But what Paige does know is that she can’t keep sitting in this classroom pretending to care about math when all she wants to do is get Dani to talk to her. Really talk to her.

She lets out a sigh, barely noticing the way the teacher glances up from her notes. Paige bites her lip, her foot tapping even faster now, her knee bouncing. She can’t take it anymore.

Shooting her hand up, Paige catches the teacher’s attention. “Ms. Greene?” she asks, her voice a little shaky.

Ms. Greene, who’s in the middle of explaining some equation Paige can’t even begin to follow, stops mid-sentence, raising an eyebrow. “Yes, Paige?”

Paige swallows, feigning discomfort. “I don’t feel well. Can I go to the nurse?”

Ms. Greene studies her for a moment, clearly weighing how bad Paige looks. Then, she nods. “Sure. Go ahead.”

Paige quickly packs up her stuff, barely caring about leaving her things behind, and bolts out of the classroom. She isn’t going to the nurse. She has somewhere else to be—somewhere Dani would be.

She hates to admit it, but she knows Dani’s schedule like the back of her hand. It isn’t like she meant to memorize it; it just kind of happened over time. Call her a stalker—maybe she is—but she’s always paid attention to Dani, even now when they aren’t even friends anymore.

And she knows exactly where Dani is during this period: the darkroom. Paige has seen her slip into it on more than one occasion during this period. Paige has been in there herself several times, all with Dani, all last year. She’d sit on one of the stools and watch Dani work, infatuated like she always seems to be by the brunette. She misses it. She misses everything.

And she can’t stand it anymore. She has to get through to Dani. Today.

The hallways are mostly empty as Paige strides down them, her heartbeat quickening with every step. She isn’t sure what she’s planning to say, but she knows she has to say something. If she can just get Dani to open up—to explain why she’s shutting everyone out, why she’s pushed Paige away so violently—then maybe, just maybe, things can go back to how they used to be.

As Paige turns the corner, she slows her pace, watching someone step out of the darkroom. Serena Corren struts out, her face twisted in an annoyed scowl. The cheerleader’s blonde hair whips behind her as she slams the door with enough force to make Paige raise her eyebrows.  Serena’s eyes flick up as she passes the basketball player, and for a brief moment, their gazes meet. Paige can see the disdain in Serena’s eyes—she looks irritated, almost as if she’s blaming Paige for something, but neither of them say anything. The silent exchange is fleeting and Paige thinks it’s a little odd, too.

Paige reaches the door of the darkroom, her heart thudding in her chest. She doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t knock. She just pushes the door open. The low red light of the darkroom washes over her like a wave of unease, the smell of developing chemicals hangs in the air, and the soft hum of the machines fill the silence.

Before Paige can even step fully inside, Dani’s voice cuts through the air, sharp and biting. “God, if you’re gonna keep berating me about this—” Dani snaps, her tone dripping with irritation, clearly mistaking Paige for Serena.

But when Dani spins around, her words die on her lips. The fiery annoyance in her eyes quickly evaporates, replaced with shock. “Paige,” she breathes, like the wind has been knocked out of her. She blinks, her body stiffening. “What are you doing here?”

Paige steps further into the room, letting the door click shut behind her. She swallows, her heart racing as she locks eyes with Dani. “I’m here because we need to talk,” she says steadily.

Dani’s face hardens. She turns back to her photos, ignoring Paige like she isn’t even there. “There’s nothing to talk about,” Dani mutters, flat and dismissive.

“Yes, there is,” Paige responds firmly. She refuses to let Dani shut this down again. “You know there is.”

Dani quickly turns back toward Paige, a faux smile on her face. “You’re so right, Paige, we do need to talk,” she says, her tone sickly sweet. “Thank you for the basket, I appreciated it.” And then she turns right back to the photos.

Paige clenches her fists, frustration boiling up inside her. She’s spent months tiptoeing around Dani’s moods, giving her space, hoping she’ll come around on her own. But that isn’t working. She isn’t going to stand by while Dani pushes her further away, destroying herself in the process.

“Stop it,” Paige replies, shaking her head. “You know that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s wrong, what exactly has been going on with you.”

Dani scoffs, shaking her head as she continues to work, refusing to look at Paige. “What, you’re just going to barge in here and demand I spill my guts?” she asks incredulously. “That’s not how this works, Paige.”

Paige steps closer, her voice firm but pleading. “I’m not trying to make demands. I just… I need to understand why you’ve been acting like this. Why you’ve been pushing me away. You don’t even look at me anymore, Dani. And I—” Paige’s voice cracks, and she swallows hard, fighting the emotion rising in her throat. “I don’t understand what I did wrong.”

Dani’s hands still over the photo paper, her fingers trembling slightly, though she quickly balls them into fists to hide it. She doesn’t respond, but Paige can see the tension radiating from her.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Dani finally mutters under her breath, her voice barely audible.

Paige’s heart clenches. “Then why are you pushing me away?”

“I’m not,” Dani rebuttals, though both of them know she’s lying. “I just—I can’t do this right now, okay? You should go.”

“No,” Paige says, shaking her head, her voice ready to rise at any second because she’s tired of this. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to shut me out like this after everything we’ve been through, and then lie and say that you aren’t. I care about you, Dan. I always have. And I know you care about me, too. So, why are you doing this?”

Dani shakes her head profusely, almost like she’s trying to shake something out of her brain. “You wouldn’t get it.”

“Try me,” Paige shoots back, her frustration rising. She can feel the walls between them, the weight of everything Dani isn’t saying, and it’s suffocating. “I’ve been your best friend since we were kids. You can’t just cut me out of your life without an explanation. I know something happened over the summer. Something had to have happened, because I know you wouldn’t do this without reason I know it. But I don’t know why you won’t let me in. Why you won’t even talk to me.”

“No!” Dani responds, her voice rising slightly to meet Paige’s. She stays stubborn, not breaking. “You won’t understand.”

“Then make me understand!” Paige bursts out, her frustration finally spilling over. She throws her hands up in the air in disbelief. “God, Dani, I’m trying so hard to be here for you, but you’re making it impossible. Why won’t you just talk to me?”

Dani slams her hand down on the counter, making Paige jump. “Because talking won’t fix anything!” she snaps, turning to face Paige. The blonde can see the tears glistening in Dani’s eyes. “You think this is all about you, don’t you? That I’m pushing you away because of something you did. But it’s not about you. It’s about me. It’s about everything I’ve been through, everything I’m still going through. And you can’t fix that.”

Paige’s heart clenches at the sight of Dani’s tear-filled eyes, but she doesn’t stop. She steps closer once more, her voice soft but firm. “Maybe I can’t fix it. But I can be there for you. I can help you if you just let me. Please, Dani. Just tell me what’s going on.”

Dani shakes her head, her hands trembling. She averts her eyes, looking at the corner of the wall, refusing to meet Paige’s gaze. “I—I can’t,” she whispers, her voice cracking. “You don’t know what it was like…”

Paige’s breath hitches. Dani’s breaking, right in front of her, and Paige can feel it—the dam about to burst.

“What what was like?” Paige asks gently, her heart pounding in her chest. Her voice drops to a low murmur. “What happened, Dani?”

Dani stares at the ground, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. Paige watches as Dani digs her nails into her thigh and she fights the urge to take the brunette’s hand in her own. “My dad…” the Callan girl starts, hardly a whisper. “He—on the Ring doorbell—he saw us kiss. You know how he is. You know what he believes in. He couldn’t accept the fact that his daughter liked other girls. So, he sent me to camp. And—and it wasn’t just any camp…” she pauses, finally meeting eyes with Paige. The blonde watches as her tears begin to spill, and she feels her own heart break with every word that comes out of Dani’s mouth. Dani shrugs, “It was conversion therapy.”

Paige freezes. “What?” Her mind reels, the words not fully sinking in at first. “You… you went to—”

“Yeah,” Dani laughs bitterly, her voice thick with tears. “All summer. While you were at basketball camps, traveling, I was stuck in that place. Being told every day that who I am is wrong. That what I feel is… is disgusting. That I was disgusting.”

Paige feels like the ground has been ripped out from under her. She stumbles forward, her hand reaching out to touch Dani’s arm, but Dani flinches away.

“Dani…” Paige’s voice is shaky, her heart aching. “I—I had no idea. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I couldn’t,” Dani whispers, and her voice breaks with a sob. “I couldn’t tell you, Paige. I wanted to. You don’t know how much I wanted to. But—y’know, I felt ashamed of the fact that I loved you just as much when I left camp as I did when I got there, even after everything they put me through. And I—I wanted to protect you from all my problems.” She pauses, sniffling slightly, trying to wipe her tears with the back of her hand. It doesn’t matter; they keep coming. “My dad, too. He’s friends with Beau’s parents. They started it—the thing with Beau and I. It made my dad happy; that’s all I really wanted. I’ve never wanted or liked Beau, Paige.”

Paige stares at her, eyes flitting across her face. She wants so badly to reach out and touch Dani, hold her. But she doesn’t want to scare her away. So, instead, she asks, “You never did? Not at all?” She thinks she already knows the answer, and she feels almost guilty for being relieved at it.

“Never,” Dani confirms, her arms wrapping around herself, probably trying to stem the sobs. “I wanted someone else.”

Paige’s heart skips a beat.

“But my dad,” the brunette chokes out, “he told me that if he ever saw us together again, that he’d send me back.” Dani looks up at Paige once more, her eyes bloodshot and filled with more fear than Paige has ever seen. Dani shakes her head, sobbing as she says, “Paige, I don’t wanna go back.”

Paige feels her heart shatter at the sight of Dani’s pain finally laid out before her. The blonde takes the final step forward, her hands going to cup Dani’s cheeks, making Dani look at her. Paige says firmly, feeling more protective of the girl before her than anything else in her entire life, “You’re not gonna go back, okay? He can’t you send you back. I won’t let him.”

Dani sobs again, and Paige pulls her in closer, was wrapping her arms around Dani into a tight hug. She holds her so tightly that it feels like they might both stop breathing, but Paige doesn’t care. She isn’t letting go. Not now. Not ever.

“I’m so sorry,” Dani whispers through her tears, clinging to Paige like she’s the only thing keeping her grounded. “I’m so sorry, P. I—I didn’t want to push you away, but I was so scared. I still am.”

“You don’t have to be scared anymore,” Paige murmurs, her own tears slipping down her cheeks as she holds Dani even tighter. “I’m here. I’ll always be here. Everything’s gonna be okay, I promise.”

They stay like that, locked in each other’s arms, both of them crying, both of them holding on like the world is falling apart around them.

Because maybe it is.

But for the first time in months, they aren’t facing it alone.

[python333]

hi! i’m not sure if you’re taking requests atm but if you aren’t feel free to ignore this!

anyways, i was thinking what would it be like if you were back on base and did something nice for everyone and made their fave coffee/tea while you’re all relaxing after a long mission? like how would the 141 react and what would you make for them?

that’s all but i hope you have a great day and i absolutely love your writings!! they seriously are so detailed and amazing, you do a beautiful job w each one💌

unwind — python333

— — — —

synopsis the 141 + you are back from a super long mission and u make them their fave coffee/tea!!

relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & gn!reader.

word count 3.6k

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

warnings 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign], gaz being a little shit.

note thank you so much for the req!! i am taking them right now, but apologies if i post them 2+ days after i get them, my writers block is slowly creeping back into my mind and im fighting it off the best i can! also, thank you for the compliments :3 ilysm youre too nice!! i saw ur reblog of bedbound too and i was so sjdfksdfks!! hope u have a good day too and hope you enjoy this fic, it's all fluff and way too in depth descriptions of making tea/coffee!!

As soon as the electric kettle clicks, signaling to you that the water inside of it has been boiled, you unplug it and pour the water into a mug you’d pulled from the cabinets. It still surprised you that there were any mugs left, with how many people kept stealing to put on their desk to hold pencils—by people, you mean Soap, and only Soap—but you weren’t complaining. 

You set the kettle back down once the mug is filled up just an inch below the brim and grab the tea bag you’d grabbed earlier, wrapping the string around the handle of the mug a few times before putting the bag itself into the water. Almost immediately, you see small tendrils of dark brown flow out from the drowned tea bag into the originally clear water. 

As that happens, you walk the small few steps over to the small fridge from the kettle and open it, grabbing the small carton of cream and closing the fridge shut. You walk back over to the mug and unscrew the cap of the carton, pouring some cream into the mug, adding a half inch of height to the liquid already in the mug before screwing the cap back on and setting the carton down.

You don’t bother to grab a spoon and mix anything yet, instead reaching over to the small terracotta container beside the coffee machine that contained sugar, and taking off the lid. 

You think for a moment if you should grab a spoon for this, but ultimately decide against it, instead just tipping the container over the mug and letting what you hope is two teaspoons of sugar spill over into the mug.

Afterwards, you put the lid back on the container holding the sugar and set it back next to the coffee machine, and grab the cream to put back into the fridge. 

Once the cream’s been put back, you open the drawers in the counter and grab a small spoon, one that’s just tall enough that it won’t be fully submerged in the tea, and put it into the mug.

You close the drawer and give the tea a few stirs before picking up the mug, being careful of the scalding heat and holding it solely by its handle. You carefully walk out of the snack bar extension of the kitchen and head towards Price’s office. 

After a year or two of working with him, you’ve learned a lot about his tea preferences—he likes Yorkshire tea, the original one, not the gold. He only likes cream and sugar in his coffee, just to make it smoother and make it a bit sweeter, but doesn’t like it too sweet.

You vaguely remember him telling you he’d never had honey or any other sweeteners besides a bit of sugar in his tea, and remember more vividly you thinking, God, that’s such an old person thing to say, but not saying it out loud. 

Once you’ve reached his office, you knock a few times and Price’s tired voice calls out, “Come in!” 

You open the door, careful to keep the mug from spilling in your hands, and walk in, closing the door behind you. Price looks up from his computer, presumably writing a report on the mission you’d all just come back from an hour or two ago, and offers a small smile when he sees you. He’s about to say something before he catches sight of the mug in your hands. 

“Did you…” He doesn’t finish his question, but you know what he was about to ask, and you nod in response. 

“If it’s too sugary let me know,” You tell him, setting the mug down a safe distance away from his computer, “I can remake it.” 

“I won’t make you remake it,” Price looks at you, almost offended, “You didn’t have to make me anything in the first place, but thank you, I really appreciate it.” 

“No problem,” You hum, walking away, saying over your shoulder, “Hope you like it.” 

You open the door without another word and walk out, closing it behind you, heading right back to the snack bar. Now for Soap. 

Soap typically preferred coffee to tea, despite tea’s popularity in Scotland. He’d told you that he really couldn’t taste the difference between different coffee blends, but upon hearing that there was a Scottish blend, he declared he’d only drink that one, because of course he did. 

He pretended he could tell if the coffee he was drinking was of that Scottish blend, but you knew he couldn’t. How did you know? You’d only ever given him Scottish roast once. Every other time since then, it’s been French roast. 

He’s never really used a coffee machine for himself, going to cafes or coffee shops most of the time for coffee, keeping his usual coffee order written in his notes app because he couldn’t remember it for the life of him.

He’d sometimes modify his order if certain coffee shops didn’t do certain things that he usually got, but his order stays mostly the same every time he gets coffee. Medium (or grande, if he’s at Starbucks) latte with a double shot of espresso. 

Typically, he’d get some shortbread too, but you didn’t really have any in the base, so he’d have to do without it today. 

Once you enter the snack bar, you grab another mug from the cabinets above the counter and place it under the coffee machine. You open the cabinets right by the ones that contained the mugs and grab a bag of ground French roast, pulling it out and putting it on the counter. 

You open it up and find that there’s conveniently already a small cup in there to scoop the coffee grounds up, and use your free hand to grab a new coffee filter from the same cabinets you got the coffee grounds from, swiftly putting it into the machine. 

You use your other hand to scoop up some coffee grounds and put them into the filter, closing the top of the coffee machine afterwards and turning on the machine. You’re grateful there’s more options listed on the small digital screen that lights up on the machine than just plain black coffee, not really in the mood to try and steam milk right now.

You tap on the ‘latte’ option and watch as the screen changes and hear the coffee machine start to whir. 

As it does that, you put away the coffee grounds and open up the cabinets that contained mugs once again, pulling out a small espresso glass and setting it onto the counter.

You wait patiently for the coffee to brew, and once you hear the small beep sound from the machine that signals that it’s done, you pull away the steaming hot coffee and set it down right next to the coffee machine. 

You quickly put the espresso glass under the machine and start it up again, this time tapping the ‘espresso shot’ option—surprised that’s even an option, honestly—and hearing the familiar whirring noise start up again. It doesn’t take nearly as long as brewing the latte did, the small beep coming much sooner than it did just a minute or two earlier, and you pull away the small espresso glass from the machine almost immediately after you hear it. 

You pause for a moment, looking at how much the latte part had filled up the mug, and look around for a moment before opening up the same drawer that contains the eating utensils and grabbing a straw, putting the straw in the still hot latte—is that a good idea? No. Did you do it anyway because you physically can’t think before you act? Absolutely—and taking a long sip of it.

You pull the straw out once the liquid in the mug is at a good inch below the brim and then pour in the espresso shot, setting the glass down after you do so.

You look around for a second for a trash bin and find one just a few steps away from you, quickly throwing out the straw you’d used and then walking back over to the empty espresso glass, picking it up and setting it down by the sink. God forbid we get a dishwasher in here or something, You think absentmindedly as you pick up the mug and carefully walk out of the snack bar with it, Would it hurt to at least get some dish soap in here or something? 

You make it out of the snack bar without burning your fingers and start the much longer walk to Soap’s sleeping quarters. You’d caught him walking out of his office in that direction earlier, so you can only assume that he’d gone there. 

Once you make it there, you knock on the door a few times and wait for Soap to call out to you and allow you to come in before twisting the door knob and opening the door. He’s laying on his back on his bed, thumb paused on his phone screen as he looks over at you as you enter. He notices the coffee and sits up a bit, grunting as he does. 

He wasn’t really as talkative after long missions like the one you’d all been on earlier—usually it took him a day or two to be more social and back to himself, so you didn’t take much offense to him not greeting you as loudly as he usually did. 

He nods at the coffee, “Is that for me?” 

“Mhm,” You hum, handing him the mug, “Be careful, it’s hot.” 

“Got it,” Soap carefully takes the mug into his hands, and softly blows on it before looking at you again and grinning at you, “Weel, thank ye for this. Ye really didnae hae tae.” 

“Price actually said the same thing,” You muse, almost to yourself, before speaking a little louder, “No problem.”

“Oh did he?” Soap asks, raising an eyebrow, before his expression shifts and he feigns confusion, “Wait, how come he got a drink afore me?”

“Because his office was closer to the snack bar,” You explain, crossing your arms. 

“… Nae, it’s definitely ‘cause ye hate me,” Soap disagrees, shaking his head in mock disappointment, “And tae think I thought we were friends.” 

“It is no— you know what?” You begin to argue, before sighing and rolling your eyes, “I do hate you, and we were never friends, you ungrateful piece of shit.” 

Soap laughs, quieter than he usually does but it’s still a genuine laugh. He looks down at the coffee again and back at you, before saying, “Thank ye. Again.” 

“No problem,” You replied, walking back towards the door and opening it, walking out of Soap’s sleeping quarters and closing the door behind you. Now for Ghost. 

Ghost typically liked tea more than coffee, but you think that’s just the British in him talking. Realistically, you could give him either or, and he’d say a polite ‘thank you’ and move on.

From years of being apart of the 141, any preferences or additives he liked to put in his tea or coffee slowly dissipated and instead he just drank either one plain. Which should make the tasks you’ve forced yourself to do today easier, but knowing you, you just couldn’t take the easy route with this. 

You remember a conversation with him that happened several months ago where you had been talking about your own tea and coffee preferences. Ghost had commented that he didn’t often put any additives in his own hot drinks anymore, but back before he’d joined the military, he liked to drink keemun tea occasionally with nutmeg in it. 

Keemun tea—which was fucking expensive by the way, costing around sixteen pounds for twenty tea bags in every store you could find them in—wasn’t too hard to find, so the next time you went on leave after that conversation, you’d bought a box of bags of keemun tea leaves and some ground nutmeg. 

You didn’t let Ghost know about it, and kind of forgot about it just a week after you bought it, but now the memory of you buying it and storing it in the snack bar behind a few other boxes of tea bags has resurfaced and it’s the only thing you think is appropriate to give Ghost at a time like this. 

You get back to the snack bar and almost robotically you pull a mug out from the cabinets above the counter and set it down on said counter, deciding to grab another one just so that you wouldn’t have to do it later, and setting that one down right next to the other. You open the cabinet beside that and move some of the boxes out of the way to find the keemun tea box in the very back, right where you last left it. 

You snatch it out of the cabinet and open it, pulling out a small packet and opening it up to pull out the tea bag inside. You go ahead and put the tea bag inside of the mug and put the tea box back in the cabinet, closing the small cabinet door afterwards.

You then grab the electric kettle that’s right by the sink and pop open the lid, putting it under the faucet and turning said faucet on, waiting until the water fills a quarter of the kettle. Once it does, you turn off the faucet and put the kettle down right by the outlet on the wall. 

You put the lid down and wait for it to click into place before you plug the kettle into the outlet and press the small button below the handle to turn it on, and listen as it starts to make a small whirring noise. You don’t waste too much time just standing there, waiting for the water to finish boiling, instead putting the other mug you’d pulled out from the cabinets under the coffee machine and turning it on. 

You tap on the ‘decaf flat white’ option and watch the digital screen change and another whirring sound starts up, now coming from the coffee machine.

You were starting to make Gaz’s while making Ghost’s drink because Gaz often made the mistake of drinking his coffee before it was cool enough to not burn his tongue, so if you made it earlier, it’d have more time to cool, and Gaz wouldn’t have to wait as long before drinking it, therefore solving the whole ‘burning-his-tongue-because-he’s-impatient’ problem he has. 

Gaz liked simple flat whites, and sure, he liked tea too, but nothing could top a good flat white for him. He’d get them anywhere and everywhere he can, and you honestly admire his dedication to getting a flat white everywhere he goes. 

The coffee machine finished up quickly, a small beep sounding from the machine as it stopped its whirring and a few more drops of coffee made it into the mug before it completely stopped. You pull the mug out from under the machine and set it aside for now, just waiting for the water to finish boiling in the kettle. 

Once the kettle clicks and the whirring from that machine stops, you unplug it and pour some water into the empty mug you’d picked out for Ghost, waiting until it’s filled up about a half inch below the brim of the mug before taking the kettle away from the mug and pouring the rest of the unused water into the sink. 

You set the kettle down beside the coffee machine where it belongs and check the drawer below the one that held the eating utensils, looking through some of the spices and drink additives in it before finally finding the ground nutmeg you needed. 

You unscrew the cap and tilt the small spice jar over the mug, letting some of the powder spill into the mug before tilting it back and screwing the cap back on. You put it back in its spot and close that drawer, now opening the drawer above it and grabbing a small spoon, closing that one after you’ve grabbed the spoon and putting the spoon into the mug to mix the spices in it around a bit. 

You leave Gaz’s mug on the counter, hoping that nobody steals it while you’re away, and instead pick up the mug meant for Ghost, carefully walking out of the snack bar with it. 

Ghost’s office is fairly far away, but you still manage to get there without burning your fingers or anything on the mug. You knock on the door a few times and wait for Ghost to call out permission for you to come in before you open the door and walk in. 

Ghost immediately looks over at you and spots the mug in your hand, but ignores it for now, instead opting to ask, “Did you need something, [c/n]?” 

“Not really,” You shrugged the best you could while holding scalding hot tea, “Just needed to give you this.” 

You set the mug down on Ghost’s desk before he can say another word, and watch as he eyes the mug with curiosity and confusion. 

“What’s this?” He asks, carefully picking up the mug, holding the top up to his nose to smell it. Before you can answer his question, you see his eyes widen and he questions a little louder, “Is this… keemun? With nutmeg?” 

“You can tell just from the smell?” You ask, mildly impressed, watching as Ghost’s gaze turns into one more in awe of the mug. 

“Yes, I can,” He mumbles, smelling the brim of the mug again, before looking over at you, “How did you know I liked keemun with nutmeg in it?” 

“You told me about it, like, a few months ago. Six months ago, maybe? I dunno.” 

“How do you remember a conversation from six months ago?”

“It was an important conversation, I guess?” You shrug, crossing your arms. 

You watch in silence as Ghost eyes the tea and you take that as your sign to leave, walking towards the door, stopping right in front of it to twist the knob to open it before you’re interrupted by Ghost. 

“Wait—” You turn your head and look at him over your shoulder, and immediately upon seeing his face, you think, oh my God is he tearing up? “Thank you, [c/n]. I really appreciate it.” 

You offer a small smile and reply, “Yeah, no problem. Enjoy your tea.” 

You open the door without another word and close it behind you, taking a deep breath before continuing down the hall back to the snack bar. 

You’re relieved when you get there and see the mug, still steaming a bit, still on the counter. You quickly walk over to it and pick it up, walking right back out the door with it and heading straight for Gaz’s sleeping quarters. You remember him being so tired from the mission—you don’t know whether to hope he’s asleep and getting some rest, or to hope that he’s awake so you can properly hand him his coffee. 

Once you make it to his sleeping quarters, you knock on the door, and there’s no response for a few moments, making you think he might actually be asleep, but then you hear Gaz’s drowsy voice call out, “You can come in!” 

You open the door and see him rubbing the sleep from his eyes and sitting up on his bed, looking over at you. His lips twitch up into a small smile once he sees you and he lets his hand drop into his lap. 

“Hey, [c/n].” He looks over at the mug you’ve brought with you, before raising an eyebrow, “You brought something for me?” 

“Very bold of you to assume it’s for you,” You close the door behind you and walk closer to him, “But yes, it is.” 

Gaz perks up a bit at that and happily takes the mug off of your hands once you hand it to him, and his smile grows significantly bigger once he sees you’ve brought him a flat white. 

“It’s decaf, don’t worry,” You say, as if reading his mind, “I figured you’d still want some sleep after drinking it.” 

“Always so considerate,” Gaz sighs teasingly, raising the mug to his lips like you’d thought he would. Thankfully, his tongue doesn’t burn this time after he sips the coffee, and you let out a small sigh of relief at the fact. 

“You know me,” You respond dryly, crossing your arms as you watch Gaz take a few more sips of the coffee. 

“Thank you for this, by the way,” Gaz thanks you, taking another sip of the coffee before stating, “I hope you know you’re my favorite now.” 

“Your favorite what?” 

“Just my favorite, in general,” Gaz hums, “This is the best flat white I’ve ever drunk. Ten out of ten.” 

“Thanks,” You thank him flatly, “It was made with love and a coffee machine I learned how to use yesterday.” 

“I can just taste the love in it.” 

“Not the coffee machine?”

“Well, it’s a bit concerning if someone can taste the coffee machine in their coffee, innit?” Gaz raises an eyebrow at you before taking another sip of his coffee. 

“Not if it’s the one I used.” 

“Whatever you say,” Gaz mutters, taking yet another sip of his coffee, making you huff out a small laugh. 

“You enjoy your coffee,” You say before walking back over to the door, closing the door behind you as you walk out and letting out a tired breath, starting to head back to your own sleeping quarters.

[fukanouna]

Oblivious

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanoff

Summary: Steve wonders why Wanda is walking funny and why Natasha thinks it's funny.

Word Count: very short

A/N: I wanted to write something before Pride month ends (it's still the 30th for me at the time of posting this). I miss writing WandaNat (writing in general tbh), so here y'all go!

---

When Steve walked into the kitchen, he noticed the way Wanda was walking around. He quietly noted the way her steps were a mix of a hobble and lump as she moved from the toaster to the fridge to grab some cream cheese for her bagel. Meanwhile, Natasha sat at a nearby table sipping on a cup of coffee and reading an actual, physical newspaper.

"Hey, Wanda. Mornin'. Are you okay? You're walking kind of strange," Steve asked as he stood in front of the Keurig machine that was beside the toaster. Wanda flushed at his question.

"Oh. Um. I'm alright!" Wanda said cheerfully, almost too cheerfully. "I'm just... sore."

Natasha snorted.

"From training with Romanoff?" Steve followed up for clarification while coffee dispensed into his mug. "Was she too rough on you or something?"

Wanda coughed a few times then cleared her throat, having some difficulty focusing on evenly spreading cream cheese on her bagel. "Y-You can say that."

Natasha snorted again, but Steve threw a concerned look in her direction. "Romanoff, you don't need to always go so hard on Wanda during training."

"No need to get your spandex all twisted in a knot, Rogers. Wanda's fine. Besides." Natasha smirked into her mug. "She can take it all in."

Wanda choked on her orange juice.

"Whoa. Are you sure you're okay, Wanda?" Steve questioned with genuine sincerity.

"Y-Yes, I am! I promise. Please do not worry about me, Steve. And, um, excuse me while I have my breakfast in my room."

While Wanda hobbled away with her bagel and glass of juice in band, Steve eventually shrugged it off and made himself toast, scrambled eggs, and bacon. He joined Natasha at her table.

"Do you think Wanda is okay?" Steve asked the redhead.

"Oh, Steve. It's honestly adorable how oblivious you are," Natasha cooed, patting a large bicep of his.

"What do you mean?" Steve raised a brow as he took in a big gulp of coffee.

Natasha mirrored him and raised a brow of her own, smirking.

"If I may be frank, the reason why Wanda is walking like that is because I used a new toy on her last night. And if you really need another clue, let's say that the toy I used on her is very similar to what you have between your legs, only bigger and harder."

Steve immediately spat out his coffee and turned bright red, Natasha's laughter echoing in the kitchen space.

---

A/N: Thanks for reading! :D

[lovesickeros]

☆ even the gods bleed [ pt 4 ]

{☆} characters arlecchino, furina, lyney {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, multi-chapter, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood {☆} word count 3.7k {☆} previous [ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ]

Fontaine was bathed in darkness, not even the moon daring to illuminate where the common man fears to walk. The streets were bleak and empty save for the constant, rhythmic ticking and clanking of machines marching on endlessly, dauntlessly wading where even the bravest dared not to venture. Not even the sharp click of the Gardes boots followed the occasional hisses of steam as they walked the barren streets.

It was haunting, and it'd been like that for days now. It showed little signs of stalling in the slightest, too. Every inch of Fontaine was practically crawling with Gardemeks– like a swarm of rats skittering about.

Arlecchino had secluded herself in the Hotel Bouffes d'ete for days at this point, waiting– biding her time. Her nails clicked against the wood as she tapped at the table in a stilted rhythm, the subtle click of the clock mixing into the clanking outside, weaving in and out of earshot as the patrols slipped by. She reached forward after a moment of thought, reaching for the white king.

She leaned back against the chaise, tilting her head just enough to catch a glimpse of a patrol of Gardemeks as they vanished behind the rows and rows of buildings. It wasn't enough to keep her attention for long, however, her features twisting in disinterest as she glanced back to the chessboard– and the letter neatly resting beside it. The seal was unmistakable and a sobering sight, demanding her attention– the soft hues of blue etched into the shape of a dragon stared back at her in a way that almost unsettled her.

She had already parsed through it's contents hundreds of times, but she was met with only vague, flowing script that only served to irritate her more then anything– it filled the page top to bottom yet managed to say nothing at all. Her hand reached out again, but instead of reaching for the letter she plucked the black rook from the board, setting it down with a soft click.

Arlecchino had all the time in the world to sit back and observe her prey, but all that time would be useless if she lacked the information to act.

And he was quite tight fisted about it, evidentially. None of her inquiries or attempts to decipher any potential codes in the letter left her empty handed. She could not act without even knowing the reason for his summons– it was almost worded like a personal affair rather then one would expect for a foreign diplomat. In truth, she'd expected a scalding report on her operatives, but it lacked any mention of anything of the sort.

She was no stranger to people masking hostility behind pretty words and compliments, not that it was ever unwarranted per se– the Fatui did not create connections through honesty and genuine kindness. They have strong armed more then their fair share of people into cooperation to the point distrust is all the Fatui are met with outside of Snezhnaya. Every word was meant to conceal the deceit, every action meant to conceal the price later paid.

So she had been..skeptical of the letter, to put it lightly. She doubted the Iudex of all people would offer a hand to the Fatui without a price attached– a trap, perhaps, meant to lure in the most powerful piece left on the board. Her eyes narrowed, reaching for a white rook and moving it to the right.

Or he was hiding something. Something that he simply couldn't risk getting out to anyone, not even the Divine themself. A tempting prize, whatever it was.

..A dangerous prize, too.

She'd considered burning the letter and forgetting it all together– the risk was great, and she couldn't risk getting caught up by whoever else the Iudex may have on his side of the board. But she could hardly pass up the challenge and the prize that he fought so hard to keep from prying eyes and ears. Even her agents came back empty handed each time. She lazily picked up a black rook, sliding the white pawn aside.

"Lyney," Arlecchino drawled, crossing one leg over the other and turning her gaze to the door as it slowly creaked open. The pale visage of Lyney stepped through, though his siblings were noticeably absent. The weariness that weighed down on his shoulders was apparent in the slightest furrow of his brows and the subtle creak of leather as he clenched his fists behind his back. "Father." He choked out, the title dragged out by the sharp inhale and shaky exhale.

He looked out of breath, she noted.

The silence that lingered after the small exchange was punctuated only by the click of another chess piece being moved. She sets aside the black rook, letting it sit among the dozen other pieces that had been wiped off the board. She can see the conviction glinting beneath the fog of exhaustion, but if he would utilize it was another matter all together.

He had seemed to make his choice quickly, at the very least.

"Our contacts and operatives within the Fortress of Meropide have gone silent– all we have is their final confirmed missive.." His voice is confident, but it is rigid as the words spill from his lips. He takes a sharp step forward, unfolding his arms from behind his back and opening his hands– the small, water stained and messily folded note catches her eye, plucking it from his palms with a half hearted interest. "They believe the Duke left the Fortress of Meropide..and that he may be coming to the Court of Fontaine."

Her eyes narrow dangerously, nearly crumpling the thin paper in her hands– yet just as quickly, she collects herself.

But she cannot get rid of the bitter taste on her tongue, lingering as she sets down the note and slides it to the side, her lips pursed into a thin line.

So the Iudex had shown one of his pieces..she tightly grasps a black rook, tipping over the white rook, letting it roll against the board.

If the Duke was involved, things were much more complicated then she expected– he would be a problem, she was certain. She couldn't blame the lamb for fearing the wolf, either. Whether her agents had been killed or captured by the man mattered little. He had his ways, and he was a force that could instill fear in even them.

Which meant the possibility that her operation was already compromised was far too real.

What had the Iudex so concerned he had gone through the trouble of bringing in the Duke and herself? The Fatui was one thing, but to specifically request one of it's Harbingers..

The Prophecy? The thought had her clenching her fist, but..no. If it were to rear it's head now, the Iudex could simply not afford to waste time on his contacts deciphering his nonsensical script– If the prophecy were to be the issue, there time would be limited to mere minutes in the worst of cases. Which meant it was worth biding his time in order to ensure absolute secrecy.

So if not the prophecy, then what?

Her next moves were..limited. She was already walking on eggshells considering her position and the reputations of the Fatui– especially with a Harbinger in the midst. If they caught wind of her operations, they'd weed out her operatives and be on guards for any snakes that lingered in their garden.

She reached for the chessboard again, picking up one of the white rooks from the board with a scowl. The sharp click as she sets down the white rook and sets aside the black pawn draws a shaky inhale from Lyney as she moves another black pawn, the dull click of the pieces drowning out the distant clinking of machines.

..A draw, perhaps.

The pieces were all falling into place– the players of this game were slowly being revealed. Whether she could secure her victory..she was unsure.

She wasn't even sure who her opponent was. Only that the Iudex himself was but another piece in their game.

Arlecchino reached for the board again, yet this time she hesitated. Perhaps she could still swipe the win from beneath them, if she played her cards right.

She would simply have to capture the king– or, if need be, let it end on a draw. Either way, she would not concede. She could not afford to concede. Down to the last piece, she would drag out this match until she was in a position to force their hand into the outcome she desired.

She stood slowly, picking up the king piece and observing it for only the briefest of moments before she set it down on the table, taking measured steps around the table and across the room. She was hunting a much more dangerous quarry today– it would be no simple runaway traitor this time.

"Do you remember the directive?" She inquired coldly, her hand lingering on the door for that long, tense moment. "..Yes, Father." Lyney faltered, taking a hesitant step back and bowing at the waist. "Then do not stray."

All that was left was the silence and click of the door shutting behind her as she disappeared down the hall, her boots clicking harshly against the floorboards. The rest of the agents knew better then to linger in her path as she stepped down into the lobby, adjusting the cuffs of her sleeves. She barely even acknowledged the Fatui agent standing at the ready by the heavyset doors, their gloves hands held out with her cloak held loosely in their palms. She quickly snagged it from them, tugging it over her board shoulders and clasping it around her throat.

With a quick tug, she brought the hood up over her head to conceal her sharp features, lifting her hand and placing a neatly folded note within their waiting hands. She had only one chance to make the right moves and secure her victory– no matter the cost.

Each piece had it's purpose.

Oft, that purpose was a bloody and horrible end– but for the grand goal of the Fatui built on the backs of the dead, it was an honor.

She didn't bother speaking a word as she dismissed them with a wave of her hand, pushing open the heavyset doors and stepping out into the barren, damp streets. The rhythmic clink and whir of Gardemeks was still distant– she needed to move. Her boots clicked and splashed in the rain soaked stone of the streets as she slithered between the buildings, ducking through the openings in the patrols.

It was almost too easy.

She tilted her head back, taking in the towering Palais Mermonia with a scowl, her hands clenched into fists. The final moves were being played– the king was within her reach, yet she felt no more confident then when she began.

The air carried a sense of unease, thick and heavy, filling her lungs until she felt her breath still in her chest– listening to the empty, bleak night that seemed so..quiet.

She'd done her fair share of research, had more then her fair share of her agents try to peer into the Iudex's office or the Archon's supposedly hidden chambers, but every attempt was a failure. She had to give them credit, they were quite elusive when they wished to be. Though now she only thought about it bitterly– this was all a risky gamble, in the end, and only time would tell if it paid off.

With minimal effort, she'd managed to pull herself to the flat, tiled roof, eyeing the massive tower peaking out of the center cautiously. At least here the wandering patrols down below weren't likely to notice her..she could hear them passing by the spot she'd been in only a few minutes ago, just beneath her. She pulled the hood further over her face, peering through the sheer darkness of the night for any oddities, but it was almost impossible to see in the dark.

Her boots clicked softly against the tiles as she approached the tower jutting out from the Palais, her hand gliding along the smooth stone, pressing against odd indents or crevices. If it was for the Archon's chambers, she doubted they made it very difficult– she'd only met the woman once, but she doubted the Iudex make it all that complex just from a brief glance. And it surprised her little when one of the stones sunk into the wall, gears whirring as the walls split open to reveal a stairwell straight into an inky black hall. Only the barest hint of light peaked under the door at the bottom, but it's occupants must have heard her, considering it went out not a moment later.

She cautiously stepped down into the small crevice, her breath visible in the bitter cold air– her shoulders tensed at the subtle sound of muffled footsteps behind the door, her vision flaring with a molten heat between her shoulder blades as she reached for the worn handle of the door. The heat of her vision was enough to just barely heat the metal, her vision flaring like a quickly building inferno.

Arlecchino was prepared for a fight, if it came down to it.

The door creaked as she pressed against it, shoving it open with a grunt of effort and surveying the room with narrowed eyes and a biting remark on the tip of her tongue– the lavish opulence was expected, she supposed, but the lack of the towering figure of the Iudex was not.

Yet before she could get a word in or even take in her surroundings properly, the light flickered back on and she had to squeeze her eyes shut with a hiss at the sudden brightness. She could hear the door being shoved closed behind her, the hurried footsteps retreating just as quickly as her eyes adjusted to the light.

..This was a joke, wasn't it? It had to be.

She'd expected the Iudex, perhaps even the Duke if she'd been unlucky, not the Hydro Archon. She had half the mind to test her worth as an Archon then and there, her temper flaring like an uncontrollable blaze, barely kept at bay. It took all her self control to force herself to smile politely at the woman rather then snarl.

"Miss Furina," She sneered beneath her hood, x shaped pupils locked onto the startled, trembling Archon with thinly veiled contempt. "What a..pleasant surprise. You'll have to forgive my manners, I assumed I was meeting with the Iudex." She observed her body language carefully– the way her eyes darted about like a frightened rabbit seeking escape, the slightest tremble of her lips..

Arlecchino opened her mouth to offer another scathing remark, but her jaw audibly clicked shut as her entire body seemed to lock up. Even her vision went cold against her back, a chilling feeling creeping up her spine as someone, or something, crept up behind her. Their footsteps were almost silent, the slight rustling of their clothes the only thing she could hear over her heart pounding against her ribcage.

Arlecchino had always prided herself on being on the other end of that sensation– she was the monster, and her target was the prey frozen like a deer between the hunters crosshair.

It was a chilling feeling to have the dynamic shifted on it's head.

She couldn't even swallow, her jaw clenched so hard she could hear it creak as she tried to reason with her quickly splintering mind– a futile effort, her joints locking up almost painfully. Black spots were quickly swallowing her vision from the lack of air in her lungs, the sound of shuffling behind her barely audible over the ringing in her ears.

For a moment – a moment too long to have only lasted the seconds that it did, yet so quick it gave her whiplash – she thought she would hit the floor dead before she could even glimpse her assailant.

And then it was gone. She came crashing back into reality with a startled inhale, her lungs burning and her knees nearly buckling under her. The instinct to lash out and kill whoever had done it was intense, yet she couldn't bring herself to move even a finger– it would be so easy to twist around and ignite them with searing flames, but her feet were rooted in place.

She almost didn't notice the surprisingly gentle hands unclasping her cloak, tugging it off her shoulders, if not for the sheer intensity of the presence still lingering behind her. Her mind was still fractured, struggling to right itself after the ordeal, and it had her seething.

"..Are you certain you held back enough?" Furina croaked, the normally soft lilt raspy and almost hoarse. "Not– not that I doubt your capability, most Divine!"

Arlecchino felt her nails dig harshly into her palms, heat swelling beneath her skin– Divine? Had she lost her mind? The Divine was..

The Divine was upon their throne where they belonged. She'd seen them!

"Hm. Well, maybe? Sorry, I didn't think it'd affect you too." Their voice was sickeningly soft as they stepped around her like she wasn't even there, focusing their attention on the Archon who seemed more then delighted about it. "What gave you that impression, most Divine? Aha, I..was completely unaffected, as you can see! Perfectly fine."

Furina let out a small squeak when they pinched her cheek, but the almost affectionate smile that tugged at their lips revealed the lack of malice behind the action.

"You're a bad liar, Furina. You might want to sit down..please?" They didn't take her protests for an answer, gently pushing her to sit on the bed before abruptly turning to face Arlecchino once more, a forced smile on their lips. "Oh, good, you're..uh, not dead. That's good. I thought I fried your brain. Sorry?"

..Had she hit her head on the way here? The Divine should still be on their throne, yet she couldn't shake the weight of their stare– it felt tangible. She felt like she was standing face to face with the stars– galaxies and constellations bearing down upon her.

She grit her teeth and clenched her hands until she felt the sting of her nails against her palms, grounding herself in the pain through the sheer overwhelming nature of their existence.

"You.." She croaks, reaching out with a shaky hand and grabbing them by the collar of their shirt, lifting them up until their feet left the floor– she pays no mind to the startled protests of the Archon. Arlecchino would crush her like a bug before she even got the chance to intervene and they both knew it. "You shouldn't exist– you aren't them, and yet you..you're the imposter, aren't you?" Her grip tightens yet they face her without an ounce of fear, meeting her unyielding glare with a pondering look.

Arlecchino wanted to make them bleed just to see if she could, the urge to sink her teeth into skin welling up in her chest to the point she visibly snarled, her mask of politeness long . "You're the imposter." Her expression falls for a moment before she schools it into one of apathy, setting them back down and holding them there for a moment, finally releasing them after a tense moment. "Or you were supposed to be."

Hers brows furrow– she wants to demand answers, to throttle them for damning them to being nothing more then dolls for the supposed Divine to break at their whim, but none of the words come to her.

"..Why now? The current Divine has been in power for years, yet you descend now?" Her shoulders tensed, lips pursed into a thin line– it's impossible to ignore the truth that lay before her. The Divine is a fraud and this..imposter is the true Divine. How many years had they been in power, now? How many years were they waiting? Why did they wait? Was the suffering of Teyvat not enough? Was the blood that painted the steps of their stolen throne not enough?

She'd personally been on the wrong end of the Divine's wrath– she wonders..had they watched? Had they seen the cruel hand of their imposter and turned their back on Teyvat?

"I.." They hesitated. It made her seethe, her hands clenching into fists at her sides– her vision flickered, flames swelling within it's casing just to be smothered by the presence of the Divine. But once that spark had been lit, she refused to let it go out. "I didn't know."

The answer does not satisfy her. There is an itch beneath her skin that she cannot scratch, a fire that burns in her chest so hot it scorches even herself.

"And what about now? Are you content to cower like prey in the safety of the Palais Mermonia?" She snapped, taking a step forward, her brows furrowed and her glare intense– she can see the slightest bit of worry in their eyes. She revels in it. "Will you let them use your acolytes like pawns? How many more need to be broken on the steps to your throne before you act?"

Again, her vision flares and dims– it refuses to be used against the Divine that created it.

"Have you no answer?"

The room is silent. They do not speak and neither does she.

Even the world itself seems to quiet in the face of her accusations, fury boiling to the surface so hot it incinerated all it touched.

"I will kill them myself."

Their words are quiet, but they are not soft– there is a vindictive, searing anger that explodes out like dying stars within their eyes. The sight of constellations replaced by a void that would not be . The smell of ichor grows stronger– to the point she feels almost lightheaded.

"..I am aware that I have failed in preventing this, but I had no choice in the matter. Still," They muse, their voice like the tolling of bells. A solemn melody that stills the swelling fury burning in her chest, if only for a moment. "I will rectify it– I will tear down their throne of lies and let not even the earth tarnish itself by burying their corpse among it's soil."

They pause for a moment, holding out their hand– scarred and bandaged by the weapons of the devout, yet still they take upon the burden of dirtying their hands to save those who did not save them.

"Do you trust me, Arlecchino?"

Did she?

"Will you help me?"

She exhales heavily, meeting the starry iris' of the Divine with a scowl still tugging at her lips. Arlecchino trusted no one but herself.

"..Yes."

[thatchickwiththecamera]

Two Pink Lines

This is from a request sent to me by @lma1986

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Female Reader

TW: Pregnancy difficulties, implied past loss.

The soft glow of the late afternoon sun filtered through the window of the bedroom where she sat waiting for the timer to finish counting down. For the past few weeks, she had been riding an emotional rollercoaster. Fear and anxiety mixed together with joy and excitement. Today, though, she felt something she hadn't dared to let herself feel for a long time: Hope. 

The timer on her phone sounded and she looked at the tiny white stick lying on the table, a wave of disbelief washing over her. It was actually real. After years of trying and countless disappointments, it was right there. Two pink lines. Her heart raced as she imagined the little life growing inside her. 

She was able to get an appointment with her OB/GYN a few days later and Dr. Matthews confirmed that she was in fact pregnant. She estimated her to be about 10 weeks along and calculated a due date for the middle of October.

Y/N stared in awe at the screen of the ultrasound machine as the tech pointed out the little bean that was her baby. Hot tears sprang from her eyes as the rapid tempo of the heartbeat filled the silent room. 

With a flutter of excitement, she picked up her phone and texted Bryan, the band’s media director. He was one of the few she trusted with this secret.

Hey, Bryan! I need your help with something! Can I call you?

Minutes later, her phone buzzed.

Absolutely!

Nerves ate at her as she listened to the phone ring.

“Hey, what’s up?” He answered. 

“Are you around any of the guys?” She asked. 

“Noooo, I’m on the bus editing, everyone else is in the venue for soundcheck.” He replied. “Why?”

“Okay. You can’t tell anyone, but I took a test earlier this week and went to the doctor today to confirm.” she explained, excitement filtering through “and well…I’m currently 10 weeks pregnant!”

“WHAT?!” He yelled, before clearing his throat with a cough and continuing with a lower volume of voice. “Holy shit! Congratulations!” 

“Thank You, Bry! I want to surprise Noah with the news and I need your help” She asked. 

There was a pause on the other end of the line before Bryan replied.

“I have the perfect idea!” 

Y/N and Bryan eventually had to loop Matt and Alana in on the plan as well. They needed them both in order to finalize all the logistics of getting Y/N to the east coast and sneaking her into the venue for the surprise. But they also needed their help to actually pull of the surprise without anyone else noticing. 

The night of the show arrived, the venue was alive with energy and anticipation. She hid backstage in one of the green rooms, heart racing as she watched Noah on stage through the venue's monitor system. She watched him put his heart and soul into performing, the music wrapping around him like a second skin. It was moments like this that made her fall in love with him all over again.

One by one they ticked songs off the set list. Alana quickly and quietly retrieved Y/N from the room and ushered her to a hiding spot back behind the stage risers. 

The final notes of Dethrone rang out and the crowd went crazy as the stage lights came back on for the boys to do their bows. As the boys walked back out to center stage, the lights dimmed again. 

Instead of the regular montage set to a Matchbox Twenty song, a montage of her and Noah’s life together popped up on the giant screen. Noah watched in confusion as the video Bryan made played set to the song they used for the first dance. 

Noah stared at the screen, the smile on his face growing wider with each clip. Y/N took this moment of distraction to quietly slip out onto the stage and stand behind him. 

Bryan had edited together clips from their wedding video, candid videos from when they were dating, and behind the scenes clips of the two on music video sets and backstage over the years. The video ended on the “Now Loading” screen the boys usually use to tease their fans. 

The lights came back up and the crowd erupted into cheers as they recognized who stood behind the singer.

Noah turned around to find his wife standing in front of him with a onesie that said “BABY OMENS” in the same font as the band’s logo. 

Noah’s face, a mix of shock and elation transformed into sheer joy. Nick, Jolly, and Folio jumped and hollered with excitement as they realized what was happening. 

Noah rushed toward his wife and scooped her up into his arms and spun her around a few times before finally setting her back down. 

“Are you serious?” he asked, his voice barely barely audible over the sound of the crowd as he held her face in his hands.

Tears sprang to her eyes as she nodded, laughter and joy mingling in her chest. 

“I’m serious!”

Bryan captured every moment—their embrace, the sparkle in Noah’s eyes, the overwhelming wave of love that surrounded them. In that instant, time felt suspended, and the world faded away, leaving just the two of them in their little bubble of happiness.

“I can’t believe it!” Noah said, pulling back to look into her eyes. “We’re going to be parents!” 

The crowd continued to cheer.

As Noah leaned down to kiss her, Bryan captured the moment, the camera clicking away, freezing the pure joy radiating from the couple.

The kiss lingered, sweet and tender, before Noah pulled back, still holding her gaze.

“This is the best surprise ever. I’m so proud of you. You’ve been so strong through all of this.”

Y/N felt the weight of his words settle warmly in her heart. 

“I couldn’t have done it without you. You’ve always believed in me, in us.”

Noah turned back to the audience, the light in his eyes bright. 

“I’M GONNA BE A DAD!” He yelled, raising Y/N’s hand in the air, showing the onesie. 

“We’re adding a new member to the Omens crew!”

The crowd erupted again, a sea of cheers and applause echoing off the venue walls. Y/N laughed, the sound clashing with the post show playlist that started playing through the venue. 

Y/N stood to the side as the band took their final bows before the house lights turned on and the fans began to shuffle out of the building. 

When he walked off stage, Noah wrapped her up in his arms once more. Y/N knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, they would navigate them together. The future was bright, and for the first time in a long time, it felt like anything was possible.

[jnginlov]

line a

when did you start to have feelings for the cute stranger on your morning commute and how are you going to be able to tell him?

⇀ pairing yunho x reader

⇀ genre fluff, angst, strangers 2 lovers

⇀ style one-shot

⇀ word count 4k

⇀ warnings food, yunho cries

⇀ reactions from the gc “Okay but why do I have tears in my eyes” “I feel all warm and toasty inside” “I had a lovely time”

note sorry if you hate brown sugar oatmilk lattes, cinnamon sugar bagels, pastries in general, or sushi

getting a new position in your company meant better pay, a new office, and different work hours. you were happy for the shift in your routine, feeling like you were starting to become a part of some machine, but you were honestly happier for the shift in your commute time.

your old hours always had you riding the train at the busiest times, shoved into a car with a collection of other desk workers like a bunch of sardines, and over the years you’d grown used to not being able to find a seat or even have any form of personal space. you’d always accepted it as a necessary evil that just accompanied getting to work at a prestigious corporation in the city but now, climbing into a train car that was next to empty, you were regretting ever settling for less.

you’d quickly grown into a routine with these new hours, grabbing an iced brown sugar oatmilk latte from the cafe on the corner of the station entrance before your train, spending the 30-ish minute ride sipping and reading a few pages from the book you’d purchased most recently, and then using the extra time before work started to grab a cinnamon sugar bagel from the bakery a block away from the company, unless the pastry of the day was particularly appealing in which case you’d grab two of those.

of the people who took the train at the same time as you, there were always a few regulars mixed in with the random passengers. the old lady, you’d lovingly nicknamed mrs. blue, was an every day passenger. she’d already be on the train when you would board, sat in the farthest corner of the car, with a collection of different knit items on her lap, some incomplete and often actively being worked on during the ride. she wore a different blue shirt every day, and although you were months into this new routine she hadn’t repeated any yet. she would get off exactly three stops before you, taking her time to gather her knits as the doors opened and although you worried that one day the doors would close before she made it onto the platform she hadn’t missed her stop yet.

probably the most recent regular you noticed was someone you’d called the flash to your roommate and the name just stuck. he would board one stop after yours, always arriving at the platform at the same time as the train. he’d take about a minute to look at all the free seats on the train but after what seemed like a heavy debate with himself, one where he would gesture subtly with his hands and mutter quietly under his breath, he would take the same seat he’d taken yesterday, and the day before, and every day as long as you’d been riding this line. he would get off a stop before your own and just as with his arrival, his form would disappear from the platform in tandem with the train’s departure.

of course the most interesting of all the passengers, and the first regular you’d noticed, was a man that both boarded and exited the train at the same stops as you. he was tall, you’d estimate around six feet, and although he’d seemed intimidating as you’d stood on the departure platform for the first time since your change in work hours, he sent you a smile that simply melted away all of your worries when he’d caught your eyes flickering toward him cautiously.

he was always waiting at the platform before you, no matter how early you were to the station, and he always wore one wireless earbud. if it was in the right ear he was obviously on a call, talking and laughing with someone he’d called mingi. if it was in the left ear he was silent and you assumed he was just listening to something, likely music or an audiobook. however, no matter which ear was occupied he would always greet you with a warm smile and a slight nod when you would saddle up next to him on the platform.

you’d tried to parse his reasons for taking the train so often and so regularly but it was next to impossible to be sure when he was always dressed so casually and never carried the same items. some days he’d be weighed down by a backpack that looked like it was holding several concrete bricks while other days he’d have nothing but his phone in his hand. every few days he’d have a different bag of takeout food, though the only repeat container was from a thai place you’d googled one day after noticing him carrying a bag with the same logo for the fourth time.

when you both would leave the train after arriving at your stop, you would cross paths, each of you having exited the door of the car opposite to the direction you would head to leave the platform. at first he would just give you another smile and nod but about a month into this routine he’d escalated to telling you to “have a good day” to which you’d return a quick “you too”.

the train on the way home from work held a different set of regulars, a slightly younger and more rowdy collection, but after a couple months into this new pattern you would find your mind wandering away from the words on the page in front of you to the man from your morning ride.

he was certainly attractive, a sharp jaw that complimented sculpted cheeks, a nose that perfectly defined his side profile, and eyes that would crinkle up whenever he would laugh or smile. speaking of his laugh, you’d noticed he had a habit of tilting his head back when he would find something particularly amusing, a tendency that had caused him to bump his head against the wall of the train car behind him several times. each time this accident had occurred, you would dip your own head, lips pressed together in an attempt to suppress the enamored giggles that would bubble into your throat. after you managed to calm yourself, you’d take a peek in the man’s direction to find a light blush dusted over the apples of his cheeks and along the tops of his ears, eyes flicking toward you before his ears would transition to an even darker shade of red and he would hide his own shy giggles behind his hand, his gaze shifting to the train floor.

your routine became familiar after a few months, comfortable even. it gave you a sense of security, knowing that he’ll always be there.

of course that means that the one day you arrive at the station and he’s not stood in his usual spot on the platform you can almost feel the universe poking a hole through your bubble. it lets in a little bit of something that anyone else might recognize as disappointment, but to you it feels heavier. it’s painted with a hint of worry, and you itch to check the time on your phone every few seconds just to triple and quadruple check that you’re not running behind. you try to ignore the way his absence has thrown you off but as you take a sip of your latte it almost feels like even your drink tastes different.

you board the train when it arrives as you would every other time but even mrs. blue seems to notice the lack of your usual companion, pausing a moment in the middle of a stitch with yarn tangled between her fingers, before she returns to her own routine. similarly, the flash takes twice as long to choose his usual seat, eyes lingering on where the man would usually have been sitting before he moves about his day as normal.

your book seems even less interesting today, the story dragging on as the author tries to build suspense that you just can’t seem to bring yourself to focus on. instead, you wonder if he’s okay, you hope he is, dwelling on all of the possible reasons he could have missed the train, because that’s what you assume he did. he must have missed it, his alarm this morning not waking him or construction making him change his usual path to the station. of all the possibilities for his absence, you in no way consider the reality that approaches as you hop off at your usual stop.

he makes his way through the door he would normally exit, boarding the car instead, with a woman following close on his heels. their hands are connected, fingers intertwined, as he pulls her toward his usual seat on the train and he wears the same light blush as when he’d hit his head on the wall. he looks happy and you want to breathe a sigh of relief that he’s okay, but your body refuses to relax at the sight, your stomach turning and heart clenching as you see her beam up at him.

neither of them take any notice of you, too enraptured in the little bubble surrounding them as you make your way toward the rest of your day. something in the back of your mind tells you that you’re not going to have a very good one.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

your day isn’t too extraordinary, the usual tasks and duties taking up your work time, but every so often your mind will drift, as it usually does, to your train companion. unfortunately, instead of the standard admirations of the way he’d worn his hair that day or the opinions on the conversation that you’d parsed from hearing just his half of the phone call, your thoughts seem to be stuck on the way her hand had been firmly captured in his own and the way his eyes had lit up when the woman on his arm had laughed.

as the weeks go on, and his appearances on the train become more infrequent and completely changed by the girl that seems to be his world, you start to consider that this may be your new normal. maybe a regular has shifted into the crowd.

you feel something inside yourself shift in response to this new situation and you try not to harp on it. however, how are you supposed to reconcile something that you weren’t even aware had been happening. when had the boy stood on the platform turned into a crush?

it felt childish to admit, falling for a relative stranger, but it felt even more foolish to realize that she must have been his reason for all those months. that girl was why he took the train, why he was always punctual and bright. maybe you’d purposely ignored the signs, the occasional bouquet and the mention of a jiyoung when on a call, or maybe you’d been too caught up in your own interest, in your own feelings, to realize that he was only a stranger. you didn’t even know his name.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

you’re not even sure how long it had been since you’d seen him on the platform as you approached, your latte in your hand and steps stuttering as you realized that he was there. he looked nice today, more dressed up than you think you'd ever seen him. black tie neat and blazer crisp as he shifted from foot to foot almost nervously. it was hard not to notice the bouquet in his arms, a collection of several different pink flowers wrapped neatly in brown paper, and the container of food from that thai place. you could reason to guess that it was likely her favorite, the portions he’d carried had always been suspiciously small for someone of his stature but you’d never seen a need to analyze that before.

aside from the new surprise that just is seeing him on this platform and taking this train, you’re shocked to find that you can’t see an earbud in his left ear but he also doesn’t appear to be in conversation with anyone. he’s not on the phone, he’s not even reaching into his pocket for his headphones, he’s staring straight ahead at the empty tracks, almost willing the train to arrive faster.

as you approach your usual spot on the platform his eyes flick over to you, sensing movement in his peripheral. you try not to make eye contact, pulling your phone out of your pocket to appear busy.

“hi.”

of all the greetings you’ve ever shared, verbal communication was new. you weren’t anticipating any sort of recognition, as you’d stood further away from him purposely, partly in an effort to avoid any sort of interaction with him.

you didn’t respond aloud, your gaze briefly locking with his as you nod slightly before looking back to the screen of your phone.

he doesn’t seem deterred by your lack of proper response, though, as he takes a step in your direction.

“do you think this is too cheesy?”

his voice is much higher than you’ve heard it previously, when he’s talking with mingi or sending you off to have a good day, and you can hear a nervous shake in the tone.

you venture to glance back up at him, the bouquet in his hands now turned out to you so that you can see the writing on the wrapping paper.

will you be my girlfriend?

the lump that forms in your throat is involuntary and you try to swallow it away as you blink at him.

“it’s cute,” you manage after a moment, trying to avoid further discussion as you quickly return to your phone. maybe you could fish out your own headphones from the depths of your bag.

“i got her favorite too,” he explains with a lift of the takeout container, completely oblivious to the hint that you aren’t in the mood to converse. “i never really liked thai but i don’t mind.”

you bite your tongue to keep from saying anything, urging your brain to ignore the curiosity of what he would prefer instead.

you’re sure that you’ve never been more thankful for the punctuality of the train as it comes quickly into view in the next moment, screeching to a stop in front of you both and cutting off the conversation.

you notice that he makes his way to his usual spot, mrs. blue peeking at him from the corner of her eye before she returns to her latest project.

instead of your usual place, one that wasn’t directly across from him but still too close for whatever your heart was doing right now, you decide to take a different spot, one where you can convincingly be enraptured in the pages of your book while your mind takes in none of the words, too focused on the latest development with your train companion.

you try to think about anything other than the boy with the bouquet but it feels like the length of the ride that you’ve taken for months has suddenly doubled. you’re not sure the doors have ever stayed open this long at each stop, yet each platform is more unusually barren than the last, leaving the car with just the usuals occupying their spots.

at your stop, only you and him are left and you realize that in sitting further away from him you’d managed to sit closer to the door that he would normally exit, both of you almost colliding as you try to fit through the doorway and step out onto the platform.

“have a good day,” he says, and it’s not only different because it’s the first time you’d heard the phrase from him in so long but because his voice is still high and still shaky.

you take a shallow breath, trying to calm the prickling sensation that washes over your skin, and you reply, “good luck.”

you don’t stay to see his reaction, dipping your head and feet leading you in your usual direction. you don’t even realize you were practically jogging until you make it to the bakery almost 10 minutes before you normally would.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

half of your day is spent wondering how it all went for him, your regular duties not nearly as interesting as the turmoil in your heart.

your brain tells you that she obviously said yes, simply based on the brief moments you’d seen of them together, and your heart reasons that you want her to say yes, the smile that she’d put on his face when they were together absolutely mesmerizing, but somewhere deep in the pit of your stomach you wish for her to say no. you try to suppress the thought, reasoning that it wouldn’t mean you suddenly had a chance, but the jealousy only continued to fester until you realize that you’d been typing out your internal argument instead of the report you were tasked to start.

you tussle with your feelings for the rest of the day, even as you pack up and make your way to the station in order to head back home for the night. you’re almost too caught up in your head to notice a familiar bouquet in the hands of an even more familiar stranger sat on the bench just off the platform.

you pause when you first notice him, his gaze set firmly on the slightly wilted flowers, eyebrows furrowed in what appears to be a mix of thought and anger, and you try to decide what to do. you could simply walk past and pretend that you hadn’t noticed him, but as you consider that a guilt starts to replace the jealous feeling that had started to manifest earlier in the day. a voice in the back of your mind tells you that you’re responsible, you’d secretly wished for his rejection hadn’t you, but you quiet that voice as you take a deep breath and approach him.

“hi,” you chirp once you’re at the end of the bench and you realize that you don’t know what else to say. you didn’t have any kind of plan.

he looks up at you, eyes wide and a little pathetic to complement the subtle downturn of his lips. you try not to react when he notices it’s you and his expression lifts slightly before dropping back down.

“hi,” he practically whispers, the word heavy and soft as it leaves his lips.

“this seat taken?” you resist the urge to drop your face into your palm as your mouth moves before you can stop it but if he finds the phrase at all awkward he doesn’t comment, only gesturing to the empty space with his hand as a sort of invitation.

you move onto the bench, angling your body to face him and you can’t tell if you imagine him shift to match you or if he’d always been sat on an angle as his gaze moves back to the flowers.

“she said no,” he supplies with a shake of the bouquet and a few petals fall out, one landing in his lap while the rest float to the ground.

you bite your lip as your hand reaches out reflexively but you quickly pull it back in before you can pick the petal from his thigh.

“did she say why?” you ignore the thought that you may be prying, telling yourself that he’d offered the information first.

he lets out a single humorless chuckle as his eyes close. when he opens them he looks up at you once more, gaze and voice noticeably watery as he replies, “she never wanted something serious. she thought it was just always going to be casual.”

a tear makes its way past his waterline and he’s quick to wipe it away with the back of his hand before he drops his gaze to his lap, noticing the petal there and brushing it off.

you try to think of anything else to do aside from just sitting here and watching him cry when you realize that he no longer has the bag of takeout and are reminded of the question you wanted to ask him earlier in the day.

“what’s your favorite?” you ask, cringing slightly for not being clear when he looks up at you with a confused expression.

“uh, food,” you elaborate and he tilts his head slightly as though he’s never heard the question before.

he takes a moment to think, eyes fluttering around the both of you, before he says, “i guess japanese.”

you nod slowly, pursing your lips as it’s now your turn to think.

“great,” you say after a moment, rising from the bench after you check the time, “because i love sushi.”

he quirks his head at you again, this time his face scrunches up in confusion, as he watches you stand and take the bouquet from his hands. he doesn’t bother to try getting it back as you walk toward the edge of the platform, the train coming into view only a moment later.

when you notice that he hasn’t followed you, you look back at him over your shoulder.

“you’re gonna miss your train,” you call to him and he hesitantly follows as you board.

the car is empty today and you breathe a gentle sigh of relief as you anticipate your plan.

only a few seconds after you’ve taken your seat, your train companion steps into the car, still observing you with confusion, although you see a hint of amusement start to take over his features as you gesture to his usual seat.

he says nothing as he sits down, eyes fixed on you to the point that he almost misses his chair, sliding down into the seat with a soft thump.

“if you keep staring at me you’re going to make this immensely harder for me,” you say loud enough for him to hear as you look down at the bouquet in your hands. you take the edge of the brown wrapping paper into your hand, the material considerably more wrinkled than when you’d seen it earlier that day, and start to tear. luckily the writing is on the outer layer and so you can tear it off without causing the arrangement to change.

you can’t see his face but you can imagine the tilt of his head as you work to remove the phrase from the flowers, crumbling up the paper and tossing it into your bag.

as the train comes to the first stop you peek onto the platform and silently thank the universe for urging those taking the train from this station to climb into the other cars, leaving only you and your stranger sat in the plastic seats of the familiar car.

before the train can start to move again you stand, clearing your throat, and you notice him shift slightly as though preparing to get up before you take a few steps and close the distance between you.

you let out a breath as you take the seat next to him, eyes intently connected with his own, before holding the bouquet in front of him.

“hi, i’m y/n and i’ve seen you on the train before,” you start, his eyes eager and round as though trying to convey that he’s listening. “i think you’re really cute and i’d appreciate the chance to take you to din-“ you cut yourself off as you pull out your phone to check the time and you swear the corners of his lips pull up in amusement. “midnight snack,” you conclude, putting your phone away as you turn back to him.

he doesn’t say anything for a moment, eyes just looking into yours as his lips slowly part to reveal a toothy smile.

“preferably japanese,” you add to break the silence, the words barely audible.

without breaking eye contact he takes the bouquet from your hand, his fingers brushing against your own and causing a heat to climb the back of your neck.

“hi,” he starts, placing the bouquet onto the seat on the other side of him, “i’m yunho and i’ve seen you on the train before. i think you’re very cute and i’d be happy to get a midnight snack with you.”

you try to keep the blush from spreading to your cheeks but you give up as you notice yunho’s own ears and face growing pink.

“i just have one condition,” he adds and you cock your head in confusion.

“the snack has to be japanese.”

↼ ateez masterlist

note idk why but i just apparently feel the need to romanticize public transit AGAIN

let me know what you thought?

[lilacliquors]

kinktober day ten: fucking machine

pairing: phillip graves x reader

word count: 807

notes: welcome to day ten! i've been so looking forward to writing this all day even though i had a nasty nail break at work whoops but LOOK IT'S MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN

phillip graves was a busy man. he was the ceo and commander of one of the world’s largest private military companies, and he was running back and forth like a mad man. he always tried to make time for you, but sometimes, there just weren’t enough hours in the day. and he missed you like crazy, it was no secret. he knew it, his men knew it, and most of all, you knew it. and that was why a recent purchase of his didn’t shock you too much.

“it doesn’t replace the real thing, but it’s good enough,” he’d said when he showed it to you, and after laughing a bit, you had to agree.

he’d purchased you an automatic fucking machine, something for you to use in his absence. and while you both preferred the real thing, it was damn near close enough to him, you had to wonder if he’d done one of those molds, just for you.

and now, it was time to break it in, and send him the evidence.

he was busy, off in mexico on an assignment, when he got the message from you. worried, he excused himself from a debrief and went off to his private quarters, a bit of anxiety welling in his chest. when he was alone, he opened his phone and saw that it wasn’t a text, or an audio message, but a video. arching a brow, he clicked on it, and it began to play. 

thank god he was alone.

the sight was obscene, deliciously so. you were on your back, your phone propped up at just the right angle, and the brand new toy he’d purchased for you was slowly pumping in and out of you. his eyes hungrily gazed at the recording, watching one of your hands grip your breast while the other reached down you spread those pretty folds, and rub gentle circles on your clit. the sounds of the machine mixed with your moans, and god, how he missed you, how vocal you were, how eager you were.

“oh, phil …” your voice whispered, just loud enough to hear over the whir of the machine. this was downright sinful, and he was glad he’d left religion behind long ago. he could feel himself growing hard in his jeans, so with his free hand, he unbutton them, and slipped his hand under the waistband of them, and his boxers. his hand wrapped around his leaking cock, and as he watched that pretty pussy of yours get stretched, he pumped his hand in time with the rhythm of the machine.

“that’s it, baby,” he muttered, watching the video intently. “so good for me …”

he continued to stroke his cock, watching your face as you let the machine hit just the right spot to make your toes curl, and he could feel an almost primal growl bubble up in his throat. how badly he wanted to be there with you; on top of you, behind you, inside of you …

he continued to watch intently, his heart pounding his his chest as he watched your lips part slightly, your eyes squeeze shut, and your brows pinch together. he knew you were so close to that orgasm, and so was he. he watched your chest heave, your muscles tense, all of your tells in one perfect video. and just as you were about to cum …

“o-oh my god, oh my god, oh - oh phillip! oh!”

that sent him over the edge. his legs nearly buckled beneath him as he came over his hand and boxers to the sound of you crying out for him in his absence. he had no idea how badly he’d needed to hear that until just then. he leaned back against the wall, his face damp with sweat and hot with exertion. but the video wasn’t over yet.

he watched as you fumbled for the remote to stop it, and whirring sound died. the room was silent, save for your soft, panting breaths. then, you looked at the camera with those beautiful eyes he loved so much, and you smiled. it was a soft, blissful, fucked out smile.

“i miss you, baby. come home soon,” you said, your voice soft. then you blew a kiss to the camera, got up, and crawled over to stop recording. despite what he’d just seen and done, he smiled, and he closed the video to go back to his text messages. he hit the microphone icon, and began to record an audio message for you.

“appreciate the gift, darlin’. i’ll be back as soon as i can. be good for me, love you.”

he hit send, then exhaled a bit. he had some cleaning up to do before he went back out to his men. 

and he had a cover story to whip up.

[slut4evanpeters]

"Lyin on your chest, in my party dress"

rory monahan x reader

song i recommend listening to: love song by lana del rey

warnings: none? i dont think. fluffy, mention of alcohol and little hurt/comfort

word count: 1.1k

notes: sorry guys this isnt as good as i wanted it too me😞 i had a whole plot outline for a rory fic but i got too carried away. but a @marchsfreakshow post about rory inspired me too make this!!!

The apartment was dim, with soft, warm lighting illuminating the scattered remnants of your latest night out. A pair of heels kicked haphazardly near the door, your coat draped over a chair, and Rory’s jacket lying crumpled on the floor. The air was thick with the lingering scent of perfume and something deeper like that hint of whiskey on Rory’s breath whenever he pulled you close. It was as if the whole place held onto traces of the wild, dizzying night you’d shared.

You lay sprawled on Rory’s chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath you. The party dress you’d worn, once pristine and carefully chosen, was rumpled, the zipper half-down and the hem bunched around your legs. Your head felt heavy, a dull ache reminding you of the champagne and cocktails that had felt like such good ideas at the time. Now, though, you were a beautiful, hazy mess in his arms, and it felt almost poetic.

Rory’s fingers played absentmindedly with a strand of your hair, his touch gentle, soothing. He smelled like his cologne, rich and comforting, mixed with the subtle scent of the night air that clung to him. There was something grounding about being in his arms, like he was the one constant in a world that always seemed to be on the verge of slipping away.

“You okay, babe?” he murmured, his voice soft, a bit rough around the edges. You could feel his breath warm against your temple as he pressed a gentle kiss there, lingering just a little longer than he had to.

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you shifted slightly, snuggling closer into him, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as if it were the only thing anchoring you. It felt like if you closed your eyes, the whole night might dissolve into some hazy dream, and you’d wake up alone. But here, lying on his chest, you felt real, like maybe, just maybe, you were more than the fleeting moments you always worried he’d forget.

“Yeah,” you finally whispered, your voice a bit hoarse. “I’m fine. Just… tired, I guess.”

Rory chuckled softly, his hand moving to your back, tracing lazy circles. “That’s what happens when you insist on dancing until two in the morning. You’re like a machine, babe. I don’t know how you do it.”

You managed a weak smile, the memory of the night’s blur of lights and music washing over you. “Well, I had to keep up with you,” you teased, a hint of playful accusation in your voice. “You’re the one who dragged me out there, remember?”

He laughed, that familiar, infectious sound that made you feel like everything would be okay. “Hey, I never said I was the responsible one in this relationship,” he quipped, flashing that mischievous grin of his that always left your heart doing somersaults. “But, I gotta say, you looked incredible out there.”

His fingers brushed your cheek, and you felt a warmth rise in you that had nothing to do with the alcohol still lingering in your system. But then, just as quickly as it had come, that feeling of comfort was overshadowed by a pang of insecurity, the same one that crept in whenever you found yourself in his world.

“I’m a mess, Rory,” you murmured, barely able to meet his gaze. “I mean, look at me. Dress ruined, makeup smudged. I don’t even know how you put up with me.”

Rory’s smile faded, his eyes growing softer, more serious. “Hey, don’t say that,” he whispered, his hand moving to gently lift your chin, forcing you to look at him. “You’re not a mess. And even if you were, I wouldn’t care. You know that, right?”

The way he looked at you, the sincerity in his gaze—it was almost too much to bear. You’d always felt like you had to keep up with him, like you had to be the life of the party, the girl who could match his energy and charisma. But here, in the quiet of his apartment, with his arms around you, he saw right through every layer, every facade you’d built.

A silence settled between you, thick with unspoken words, the kind of silence that felt heavy but comforting, like he was waiting for you to let him in, to trust that he could handle the parts of you you’d hidden away.

“Sometimes,” you began, hesitating as the words fought to come out, “sometimes I feel like… like I’m not good enough for you. Like you’re this… incredible, charismatic guy, and I’m just… me.” Your voice wavered, but you forced yourself to keep going. “You deserve someone who’s got it all together, not someone who’s a mess.”

Rory’s expression softened, a mix of surprise and sadness crossing his features. He gently cupped your face, his thumbs tracing delicate lines along your cheekbones. “Look at me,” he murmured, his voice steady but full of emotion. “I don’t care about the ‘perfect girl,’ or someone who’s always got it all together. I care about you—the real you. Mess and all.”

You felt your chest tighten, the walls you’d built around your insecurities beginning to crack. Rory had always been so sure of himself, so confident in everything he did. It was hard to believe he could see anything worth holding onto in someone like you.

“I’m not perfect, babe,” he continued, his tone gentle but firm. “I’m far from it. But you—you make me want to be better. And if that makes you a mess, then I guess I’m a mess too. Because I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

A lump formed in your throat, the weight of his words settling deep in your heart. You’d spent so long convincing yourself that he’d eventually see through you, that he’d grow tired of the nights where you felt vulnerable and exposed. But here he was, holding you close, making you feel like you were enough.

With a shaky breath, you lifted your head, meeting his gaze fully, letting yourself believe, just for this moment, that maybe you didn’t have to keep pretending. Maybe you could just… be.

“Thank you, Rory,” you whispered, your voice breaking slightly. “For not letting me push you away.”

He smiled softly, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “I’m not going anywhere. Not now, not ever. You’re stuck with me, babe. Mess and all.”

As you lay there, his arms wrapped around you, you felt a sense of peace settle over you. A rare, beautiful calm that washed away the chaos of the night. You knew there would still be doubts, still be moments where you questioned whether you could truly keep up with him. But for now, you let yourself believe in his words, in the warmth of his embrace, and in the quiet strength that came from knowing he saw you ,all of you, and loved you just the same.

[zo3mess]

Laundry girl

Summary: Laundromat is usually empty so late at night except for Adrian, until it isn’t. But there is no reason for him to get nervous around his new laundry buddy, right?

Warnings: mentions of violence, mention of death, mention of period blood, foul language and that’s all? If you notice something that might be triggering, just let me know. Also female reader and no use Y/N as far as I remember.

Word count: 3.8K

Extra songs for this fic

Masterlist of my works

Note: My ongoing brain rot with Vigilante, inspiration from the song Laundry Girl from Ludo (I politely stole a lot from their lyrics) and need to practice my English before test somehow escalated into this. This is a mess, nothing makes sense idk. Honestly, I have no idea why I decided to make it public, but hey, bad content is still content right? English is not my first language, so if you see any grammar mistakes or weird words, just ignore them. However every criticism is welcomed and appreciated.

Oh, the sweet contrast of late spring. Days warm enough to let bare skin be caressed by heating sun, yet cold nights leave shivers down the spine, a fleeting reminder that the carelessness of summer is not entirely there yet. Exactly on one of those nights, Adrian found himself in a 24-hour laundromat down the street from his small apartment. Neon lights from the sign were illuminating dark streets as well as the faint lights from inside. He didn’t like that smell that lingered in the air. Fragrances from detergents that are far too strong and mix in an unpleasant whiff, plus the disinfection and the smell from forgotten socks that got stuck somewhere between a wall and washing machine. No, thanks. He could buy his own washing machine, which would be much more practical, but why make anything easy when you can make it difficult.

When Adrian entered the familiar environment, he sighed at the strong smell hitting his nose. Temperature in the laundromat was slightly warmer than the one outside, but not enough for him to take off his hoodie. Adrian settled his bag with dirty clothes on a scraped metal table in the middle of the cramped room. There was one thing he liked about this laundromat, even though it was open almost nonstop, no one was ever there late at night like he was. Usually. Sometimes few drunks were sleeping peacefully in the corner, desperately seeking just a tad bit of warmth, but as long they didn’t do anything, Adrian had no reason to pay any attention to them. Tonight was different, his regular loneliness and peace was disturbed by another person entering the room. However screeching of old doors, quick gust of cold air and heavy tired footsteps did not alert him at all.

His mind was too focused on a single task before him, getting rid of dried blood that was plastered on his black undershirt. The one he wears under his chest plate, one that was stitched up too many times from all the slashing and tearing. Will he ever buy a new one? Of course not. Not until he finds a shirt that looks and feels the same as this one. Adrian cursed the guy that got his suit in such disheveled state. That bastard deserved a bullet to his head even before he managed to get Vigilante’s suit all messy and sticky with blood.

,,Do you need help with that?” you ask with a soft voice, a smile on your face while you look at the stranger in front of you expectantly ,,I don’t want to call myself a professional, but I can pretty much clean every stain. Or at least I haven’t been defeated so far,’’

Your question caught him off guard, his hands wincing a little. Green eyes glancing up at you with startled expression. When did you get here? Were you watching him the whole time? Crouched up above his shirt, scrubbing away with bile soap, tip of his tongue stuck out in concentration. You leaned across the table, examining his work. ,,Ketchup?’’

,,Blood actually,’’ Why would it be ketchup? He doesn’t even like ketchup. It does not taste like tomatoes at all! Goddamn lying sauce. ,,I got a really bad nosebleed. I get that a lot, that’s why my clothes are always bloody.’’ No other reason of course.

,,If your clothes are always bloody you should have no problem with cleaning them right? But I gotta admit blood is a hell of an enemy when it dries and sits on the fabric for a while. Just put it in cold water to soak off, that should do it.’’

,,Why do you know so much about cleaning blood?’’ Adrian asks with suspicion in his voice. Eyebrows furrow under his glasses and his eyes stare at you intently. Paranoia creeping up on him again.

,,Well I don’t know if you noticed but I’m a woman. Periods teach you a lot. I’m not some blood-stained killer I swear.’’ You say the last sentence with a wide smile, shaking your head before returning to your own work. Throwing dirty laundry into the washing machine without even glancing back at Adrian. He was standing there with fingers tapping on the metal table, burning a hole in the back of your skull with his stare. Yeah, you better not be. He thinks to himself.

He forced a smile and went back to scrubbing, he did not have the time to soak it off, he needed it ready for tomorrow, preferably without blood. You paid him no mind and pushed the button to start the cycle. With a sigh you took out a small book from the laundry basket you brought with you and sat down on a screeching chair nestled between other washing machines. If you have to sit it out here you might as well do something productive.

,,Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy,” his voice made you flinch and you glanced at him absentmindedly ,,I love that movie!”

,,Book’s even better.” You acknowledged his giddiness with simple words. The truth is you enjoyed reading books after you watched movies that were based on them. Sometimes they were better, sometimes worse, but they always expanded the story and the universe.

,,Reading is for nerds plus it can’t be that much better.” Doubting Thomas, of course. Adrian quickly waved off the idea that books can be better than movies.

,,There is extremely many things that did not make it in the movie, not gonna mention directive changes. But go on, live your life without all the great details.” You returned to your reading, barely registering quiet mumbling coming from Adrian’s direction.

,,What are you doing here anyway? I come here almost every Saturday and I am alone here.” He won’t drop it, curiosity gets the better of him most of the time, why would this be any different? It is suspicious that another girl is washing her laundry in the middle of the night. The fact he is currently getting rid of blood from the undershirt he wears out to kill criminals is an entirely different story.

,,My washing machine broke and I don’t have spare money to buy a new one. I’ll be coming here until my next salary.” The other option is attempting to fix it yourself, that would be a death sentence for the washing machine and you too.

,,But why so late? It’s way past midnight.”

,,Couldn’t sleep.” You just shrugged. You did not care if he believed you or not, it was true. Your new neighbors were blasting music practically all evening, it was better to wait it out elsewhere. ,,It seems we will be meeting each other more often. I didn’t catch your name.”

,,It’s Adrian.” His voice was hesitant, suspicion rising and falling with each word you said. He’s not sure if you are a poor soul with dirty laundry or a spy hired to watch the infamous Vigilante. How would you even know his secret identity? He had no idea, but sometimes it is better to account for all possibilities. You nodded at his answer and told him your name in return. Little something he burned into the back of his mind.

The more time you spent together in the chilly room, words drowned out by buzzing washing machines, the more you got along. Starting off with awkward small talk, through petty debate whenever books are better than movies, all the way to wishing each other goodnight as well as Adrian wishing you had a monster under your bed and parting ways. Only if he knew monster wasn’t the one creeping up on you in your sleep. Thoughts of tonight busying your mind.  

------------

The second time he met you was two weeks from the last encounter, just the way he mentioned previously. This time you were there first, already occupying one machine with white clothes while the other part of your laundry sat in a basket nearby. You quickly shot him a smile and he greeted you in return.

,,You’re here early.’’ Adrian commented almost under his breath as he put full duffel bag on the table and began sorting his clothes by colors.

,,Yeah well, no reason for it really. Maybe curiosity got the best of me and I got here earlier just to see if you would came like you said you would.’’ It seems that old habits die hard. Unknown to you, Adrian was always on time in his routines. Even if he wanted to do his laundry on a different day or at a different time, his body would urge him to do things in the exact same way.

The conversation went on quite smoothly, like good old friends meeting. Usual chatter about their days, unnecessary details of “total baller” breakfast from Adrian’s side, gossip about migraine-inducing coworkers from yours. Adrian attention was glued to every word you said, piece by piece putting together a bigger picture. He can’t even remember the last time someone actually wanted to talk with him and not just wave him off with dismissive answers.

,,- And then she put a fucking poster on our shared fridge. That stupid one with cat on a tree with “Hang in there” under it. And I thought our office could not get any more stereotypical,” you were throwing your hands around, visibly stating your annoyance at your coworker Debbie. ,,I don’t want to “Hang in there” I would much rather hang myself and I swear to God I will hang her in janitor’s closet if she puts another poster on the fridge or tells me a cheesy joke about how much she hates her husband, it’s not funny.”

She’s joking, Adrian, don’t sweat it out. There is no way she could kill anyone. His inner thoughts creep up to him again. From time to time, he would appreciate if his Vigilante mind left Adrian alone. ,,So uhhh… You don’t like cheesy jokes?” Yeah, great save, do not mention hanging Debbie.

,,I like jokes, just not stupid ones. To be honest I can’t remember the last time someone told me a funny joke. I guess it is a curse of modern times, humor changed.” You shrugged your shoulders and walk around the crumpled room, looking around and taking in details you missed on your first visit.

,,I could tell you a funny joke. I know plenty of them!” Adrian’s enthusiasm made you stop in your tracks. He’s just standing there, a wide smile forming on his face, fingers fidgeting with hem of dirty shirt that laid in mountain of laundry on the table in front of him.

Even if you told him no, Adrian has decided to recite every joke he knew. Some of them were horrible, some of them were… better. Yet it did not made you laugh. It was a fun game to pass the time, he told you lousy jokes and after each one he patiently waited for your reaction with puppy eyes. You, on the other hand, had tried so hard to not even let a corner of your mouth turn upwards. The bigger satisfaction it brought the more he stammered as he tried to remember another joke. Adrian could not let himself be a loser in this situation. He will not give up.

Not laughing at his jokes should be illegal. And that would make you a criminal. In that case, he would not feel bad if he had to take you out as Vigilante. And maybe if he got rid of you, he wouldn’t feel that irritating need late at night, body itching to go to the laundromat near his apartment to see if you couldn’t sleep either. If you’re scrubbing spilled wine from your shirt with cheap detergent before throwing it in a washing machine with the rest of your clothes. If you’re waiting patiently not only for your clothes to dry but also for that funny stranger with curly hair and a dorky smile to show up. Maybe then his mind would calm down again. He doesn’t need any more distractions in his head.

,,Knock knock,’’ he starts again, determined to win this imaginary joke war.

,,Come in,’’ you retort while chuckle is threatening to slip from your lips. Adrian’s arms slouch down his body, enthusiasm transforming into… Annoyance? He so desperately wants to see you smile, why can’t you comply? People usually laugh at his jokes, or more like they laugh at him. No matter the reason, people occasionally laugh in his presence alongside constant eye rolls. You haven’t done either and it is messing with him.

,,Knock knock,’’ a firmer repetition. He’s not going to get discouraged.

Determination is admirable in certain situations, in others it just leads to doom.  Like that one time when Adrian was chasing a thief down the street, low on bullets, ringing in his ears, lungs burning, but he could not forgive himself if that rat got away. All his attention was set on the dark figure way ahead of him that he did not notice a car when he sprinted across a badly lit street, ultimately knocking him down. Heavens were on his side that night, nothing serious happened except for a few nasty bruises and unrelenting remorse that haunted him following weeks. But the good kind of determination? That’s gonna win him a smile from a pretty girl in the laundromat.

,,Who’s there?’’ this time you decided to go along with his joke. These types of jokes are… foul, but you just want to see where he will land with it.

,,Honey bee,’’

,,Honey bee who?’’

,,Honey bee a dear and get that for me please?’’ Adrian says it with a wide smile and excitement in his voice. He points at your laundry beads that boost the scent. ,,It smells so good when you open it, can I try it?’’

You laugh just a bit. Fucking finally. Now Adrian felt like at the top of the world. He made you laugh, no matter if it was just a pitying laugh to get him to shut up, he decided to believe you actually found him funny and no one could take that from him. You noticed the dreamy look that plastered his face, especially when you let him borrow scented beads. Part of you cherished the fact he liked the ones you washed your clothes with every time and part of Adrian cherished the fact that now his clothes will smell like you before it wears out. That his sleeping shirt will carry part of you on those nights that he doesn’t see you here.

Wait, when did that happen? Smell of another person on his clothes should weird him out, it should give him goosebumps all over his pale skin. Why does it sound so comforting this time? Why does he want to keep part of you close? The last time he felt something similar was when his brother Gut died. They weren’t super close, but his death hit him like a train and he quite literally became a trainwreck. Adrian sat in his brother’s childhood room for hours, taking notes of all the small details, remembering the exact position of each and every piece of furniture. And at times when he felt close to breaking into tears, he took out his brother’s shirts. The familiarity and memories brought comfort. Comfort that disappeared as fast as it came.

This time he was not mourning death of someone close to him, this time he did not miss the feeling of adrenaline that he felt with Peacemaker when they shot appliances in forest or when they killed criminals together before he got locked up. This time Adrian felt a need to be close to someone he met just a few weeks ago, someone who barely knew him and had not gotten the chance to be taken back by his weirdness.

These thoughts and confusion followed him home that night. Not even the cold air could not break him out of trance. The way you laughed, the way you softly wished him goodnight when you parted ways, skin illuminated by purple neon light hanging above laundromat, and the way his now clean laundry smells like you since he begged for your scented beads. Pull yourself together Adrian.

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,,I don’t understand how you might think Fargo is better than the Office or Better Call Saul for example. Saying it is the best show ever made is crazy.” Friendly banter about TV series was accompanied by clicking of your flip-flops as you made your way towards your apartment complex just a couple blocks away from the laundromat. Adrian had insisted that he walks you home this time, apparently he was afraid you might “fall asleep on your way home” since you two spent almost the whole night in the laundromat.

Not just doing laundry, you also brought your book, Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, and read out loud for him to hear the difference between book and movie. While you waited for your clothes to dry you two sat on uncomfortable chairs, you with book wide open, pages visible for Adrian to peek from behind your shoulder whenever he wanted. Though most of the time he spent with his eyes closed, face leaning on a stock of washing machines next to him, listening to your reading like a bedtime story. Even after your laundry was done you decided to stick around, competing who flicks quarters farthest, catching peanuts in your mouth and testing echo in every washing machine. Until you finally decided to head home and get at least few hours of sleep, by that time it was past 5 a.m.

Sun was lazily rising, yellow painted the sky but few dark clouds were spoiling the otherwise beautiful picture. The smell of rain was in the air, you both knew there was a storm coming on a calm Sunday morning. Few joggers passed you in a hurry. Early birds. Psychopaths. Not like Adrian wasn’t psychotic at least a bit, but he wasn’t that mad to get up so early to run in still-cold weather.

,,What do you think is the best show then?” he calmly asked and nudged your shoulder with his own, encouraging you to answer.

,,Well… I think the best show is The Kids in the Hall, undying classic.” You knew your walk slowly but surely reached its end. You could see your main entrance, the fact you were reaching your home was setting you aflame in the worst way possible. Nonetheless, your eyelids grew heavy and you could not stop yourself from yawning every few seconds, an unavoidable need to fall into your bed and surrender to sweet slumber.

,,That show is like 100 years old! Dinosaurs watched it!” Adrian shook his head with laughter. You didn’t find his jokes funny but you loved this out of all the shows. Unbelievable.

,,Hey! If you call that show old, it is like you’re calling yourself old! Should I call nursing to pick you up?” You stopped in front of your apartment complex, not entirely sure Adrian realizes this is where your hangout ends. You spin around to face him and quickly jab him in the chest with your finger.

,,Ha ha, very funny. But really? So many good shows and you pick this one? And call me out for liking Fargo? You have horrible taste.” He couldn’t let this go now he saw how adorable you looked when you were angry. What is the worst that can happen if he teases you more, right?

,,Shut it, Adrian. I’m serious.” You said that so calmly it almost took him aback, however he could see the fire burning behind your eyes. It only riled him up more.

,,You can’t make me-“ You grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him down swiftly. The best solution to shut him up was to press your lips against his. A firm, simple kiss that sent electricity through your body. You felt a muffled yelp that escaped Adrian’s mouth when you surprised him in such an affectionate manner. And at that moment, when your lips touched his, for the first time in a while his mind was quiet, yet his soul was singing. Time stopped, eyes were tightly shut, heart hammering inside, begging to jump out of his chest, one of his hands found its place on your forearm in uncertainty and took a step closer to get his body closer to you.

You, on the other hand, were fully aware of what was happening. The feeling of gratification that you “won” an argument was the last thing on your mind. The only thing you could think of was acting up on your secret wishes that swam through your head every time you went to the laundromat to see him.  Suddenly aware of everything, you felt the heat that radiated from Adrian’s body, warming you up in cold air, a few raindrops making you shiver as they fell on your skin. Or were you shivering from the closeness of this intimate act? If anyone asked you would not be able to answer. It did not matter anyway, the only thing that mattered was you kissing him.

The kiss lasted only for a few seconds, but you would both swear it was an eternity. When you pulled away, slowly and delicately, Adrian still had eyes closed, hand hanging in the air where your arm used to be. You realized his mind was completely shut off. A smile formed on your lips at the thought of shutting Adrian up this way every time he brings up some stupid nonsensical squabble. You left him standing there as rain started to fall on his hair, diamonds in those dark brown curls. And when he finally came to his senses and decided to open his eyes… You were gone. Coldness on his body where you were pressed together, sparks lingering on lips, sweet perfume filling his nose, those should be indicators that it was very much real, but his mind was not certain. How could it be, when the stupid brain ceased the second his dreams came true.

You quickly ran upstairs to your apartment, running up to the window in your kitchen and from behind a curtain you watched confused Adrian, who was walking in the opposite direction. What other choice did you leave him than to head home and wonder. Wonder about what you were doing when raindrops splattered on the sidewalk, sounding like your flip-flops. Wonder if you’re already sleeping safe and sound in your bedroom like he will when he reaches his home. Wonder if you kiss him again once you see each other next week in the laundromat. Wonder if the laundry girl was real or just a dream.