#forty seven flat
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Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💗
Ahh, thank you so much for the ask! ♥️ I’ve actually never done one of these before 😆
Shockingly, I actually do have a fic of mine that is a definite Number 1, my superfamily fic Forty-Seven Flat. I’d been toying with the idea of writing this fic for a couple of years, as a way of working through some personal baggage that I’d been carrying around since I was a teenager, and I finally just decided to bite the bullet and do it. I had absolutely no qualms that anyone would be interested in a fic about swimming, and so was completely floored not only by the overwhelmingly positive response that the story received, but also how cathartic it was for me to finally write it ♥️
The rest of my faves are in no particular order, as per usual 😆
* Pieces of Echoes, my very first superfamily fic ♥️ 💙 ♥️
* Fire Beats Roses, Everlark arranged marriage fic 🧡 💚
* Across the Worlds, Anidala post-ROTJ AU 💙 ♥️
* Tie between Immovable Mountains and The Phoenix Project, both superfamily ♥️ 💙 ♥️
Thank you so much for the ask, this was fun! 💖
Tagging: @mega-aulover @herogers @mollywog @endlessnightlock @hutchhitched @mtk4fun and anyone else who would like to participate 💖
#ask geeky anything#thank you!#geeky writes#five favourite fics#forty seven flat#pieces of echoes#fire beats roses#across the worlds#immovable mountains#the phoenix project#superfamily fanfiction#everlark fanfiction#anidala fanfiction
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android x reader one-shot | 35.3k
story summary; in this world, androids outnumber humans, privacy does not exist, and your public profile determines whether you sink or swim in society. following the dissolution of your job and glamorizing your resume, you're invited to interview with the prestigious hyperion—the world's foremost in AI and robotics—for a position to test the newest android model. after a surprising turn of events, you're introduced to elio, the first of the generation seven androids and the catalyst of your awakening.
story warnings; dividers used between scenes, dubcon, sexual content, explicit sexual details, forced pregnancy (not mc), insemination, heavy focus on consent & lack thereof, drug use, graphic depictions of violence, body gore, mentions of abortion + execution (not mc), heavy prose & details, predatory behaviors in several characters, gaslighting, implications of sexual assault, usage of derogatory terms (slut, bitch, psycho), possessive + obsessive behaviors, tragedy, dark take on the future of humanity, fairly queer-coded, manipulation + emotional manipulation, power imbalance.
read the warnings + mdni! events within the story are not indicative of my personal viewpoints.
thank you @ceruleansol for your excellent proofreading! 🧡
author's note; this was a six-month labor of love from idea conception, to outline, to final piece. please reblog this & share your thoughts! i'd absolutely love to hear them!
Researcher Kim knew you were a liar.
Within the confines of four colorless walls and a closed door, this job interview suddenly felt more like an interrogation than it did some professional courtesy. He sat adjacent to you behind a dark brown desk that pulled the slightest red hue in a chair that was expensive and ergonomic, holding a thin tablet with a tense grasp.
One thing you noticed right away was his inclination toward long stretches of silence while he studied your resume, dissecting every piece of it and your public profile. There, he could window-shop you, peel back every layer of your history without needing you to add credence to anything, or give you the chance to defend yourself when he'd inevitably find things he didn't like.
So, you spent your time sitting in a sleek chair with flat padding, ass aching, legs and feet consumed by pinpricks and static while you dug a nail into your cuticles because the pain kept you alert.
Researcher Kim was an attractive man in his late thirties, maybe mid forties if you were being mean, clean-shaven, dressed comfortably beneath a stark white lab coat that didn't quite fit his shoulders right. What drew your eyes down were his own clean nails, hairless knuckles, and a conspicuously bare ring finger. It didn't surprise you that he was unmarried. Most people these days were—it was a useless pursuit, an antiquated system that held no social or economic benefits.
Not anymore.
Not since Hyperion Project was funded some sixty years ago, and androids became the forefront of innovation.
In the beginning, there was doubt, fear, and violence toward the first generation of androids, most having uncanny human likeness that definitely inspired aggression because their appearance and robotic intonations were received as mockery.
By Generation Three, shortened as G3 in most casual conversations and official documents just as their predecessors, a new normalcy had burrowed its roots deep and settled with unwavering confidence that it would be there to stay.
The need for delicate human touch became obsolete in most professions. Courts were no longer solely represented by fickle suits but steadfast machines that harbored no ire or prejudices, corporations saw efficiency more than triple without employees who fell ill and needed vacations, and the death industry welcomed undaunted hands into their ranks.
Once, Retro City’s Metropolitan Hospital spent the majority of their staff budget on androids meant to replace their surgeons. You remembered the media coverage, the picket lines and strikes, how the hospital was forced to shut down for several weeks as a result of the doctors and hundreds of nurses walking out. Many patients died during that time from infection and negligence, laying in piss and shit with gangrenous bedsores, already four days into postmortem rigidity before the smell became too much and they were carted away in black tarps.
That entire ordeal happened before you were even thirteen, but the hospital fell beneath the scrutinizing lens of the entire world after that and began ethical and legal debates on implementation of androids into society. It became known as The Retro City Metropolitan Incident, globally recognized and considered to be one of the first human rights laws to come into creation during a time when there was question of whether humans and androids could coocur.
Only a few years after that, you just having freshly turned seventeen, united leaders reached a consensus on the Public Profiles Act—something you didn't realize would have such a drastic impact on your life later on, wherein any governing bodies, employers, or well-funded institutions were granted access to all of your private information regardless of relevance.
The acts of a child, a teenager, were now a consequence to the adult self.
At the start, just as with Generation One, there was complete chaos and rancor toward this theft, these stealers of privacy and identity, but people had already started accepting androids at that point and knew bigwigs no longer had intentions of sacrificing their profits to hire humans they found subpar.
There was no need to.
People backed down and became quiet, submissive, and began to follow this new order loyally so they'd have a chance to find a seat at the table.
Many did.
Mother raised you to be one of them because it was the only thing that made sense anymore. If you followed the status quo, it would be rewarded with a feast and gleaming silverware. To be emboldened and resilient meant licking chunks of meat out of vomit on the ground.
You adhered and found a job, camaraderie with others, and touched an android for the first time because your peers said it was fine, that it was normal, that it was just an android. Of course, it was unable to feel or deny you, so it pulled down your pants and indulged you the same way you expected the android Mother owned indulged her.
It had hardly been an intimate experience—all faithful, ingrained functions built into a database in the android’s brain—but the sensation of hands surrounding you, a tongue stroking you, and lips pecking your flesh was real, and that's all you had wanted at the time, to know a fraction of the feelings you had read about growing up yet never knowing because people didn't want to touch each other anymore.
Not them. Not you.
“Did you read the job description in its entirety? For the auditor position?” Researcher Kim gave a tepid smile, seeing you startle in your seat, suddenly pinned by your wide stare. “I'm sorry. I have a habit of getting carried away with the little details. Everyone's public profile is so individual, it takes some time to get to the parts that matter. I have to ask every candidate that question.”
“Yes, ahem,” you choked on your embarrassment, trying to bide time to scrounge up whatever trivial nuggets from the job description you could. When nothing came to mind, you did the next thing and that was to just talk. “Of course. I was honestly surprised that Hyperion had put up an application. It isn't very often that you guys are hiring.
“So, when I saw it, I knew I had to apply immediately because the opportunity to be part of such a groundbreaking company wouldn't come back around again. The position being for an auditor just makes it all the more amazing. I'm, honestly, honored that I was called in to be considered for candidacy…”
“Well, then…”
Every bit of anticipation that welled up inside you crumbled once Researcher Kim rose from his chair and went to the door, the waiting room now appearing to you through the open threshold.
It was a barren space minimally furnished with hard chairs you had already sat in, a few tropical plants with leaves bowing from layers of dust, and most remarkably, a long corridor made of floor-to-ceiling windows offering an exceptional view of Retro City’s landscape that seemed to go on forever, limitless. You wanted to be stolen by the sights again, now especially since it was approaching the early evening, and soon the city would be aglow in neon and shimmering lights from faraway skyscrapers.
It wasn't all that bad, you found yourself thinking while walking in stride with Researcher Kim, silent as he perused something on his screen—possibly something incriminating, possibly another candidate’s public profile—it didn't really matter to you at this point.
You had known glamorizing your resume meant risky business if you were caught: a hefty fine from Public Control, a strike against your profile that replaced the green sheen for abiding citizens with red overlay, permanently marking you for contempt until the day you died.
Back then, two glasses of lukewarm wine worked well enough to weld steel in your backbone to send off the application, whilst a third glass made you wonder just how awful life in the slums along the outer perimeters of Retro City could actually be. At the time, it seemed like your obvious future since severance packages would only get you so far—a few months if you were precious about it.
At present, the loud hum of anxiety receded into an echo that then wilted into obscurity as your gaze drifted from the final traces of a sanguine city skyline to the end of the corridor and then finally to Researcher Kim. He lifted his head as though detecting your stare.
“In your previous position, what relationship did you have to the androids in your environment?” Kim asked. It wasn't a strange question. Some people still held fragments of old embitterment toward androids for the way the world now was. “You were in marketing and merchandising for several years, right?”
“Good—uh, amicable, I'd say. How I was with the androids, I mean.” You weren't expecting him to continue talking to you about this. “I started out as an intern for the merchandising manager after graduating secondary school. I worked my way into marketing a couple years later. I did a lot of reports on demographics for cosmetics. Did I tell you my mother has a Hyperion android, by the way? I grew up with him.”
Researcher Kim showed you a fast, cordial smile before looking back down at his tablet. “Yes, I read about that in your associations tab. It says that your mother owns a G3 model. Has she ever considered upgrading to a G6?”
“Upgrade? Definitely not.” You laughed like you'd just heard the punchline of a joke. He looked at you with humorless patience, seeming more machine than man in that moment. “Mother is basically in love with Marcos, there's no way she'd give him up for something shinier. She's got a better record of him and all his updates than she does of me for… well, anything.”
“That does correlate with data we've collected from women of her generation,” Kim said, only half-interested, shaking back one of his coat sleeves to check the digital watch digging tightly into his wrist. “It also explains the large gaps in your personal history. Very unusual.”
You made no comment on that.
A door up ahead opened all the way, drawing both your gazes to a man waiting on the other side.
“Ah! Excellent timing, Elio.”
With a single look, you immediately deduced that he was an android. Even from a short distance, he appeared tall and broad-shouldered, something that the thickness of his clothes couldn't hide from you. His proportions were balanced—from the length of his arms and legs, from first knuckle to fingertip, jawline to neck, the slope of his nose, and the heaviness of his brows over amber eyes that glistened back the fire in the weakening sunset. His skin was deeply tan, almost glowing gold in the light he was bathed in.
Elio’s smile was symmetrical and breathtaking, programmed in a way where his teeth didn't show too much. He regarded you with convincing familiarity, a sort of sacred fondness you knew nothing of, yet instinctively made your insides shift and burn. You couldn’t help but be awestruck by his beauty—this essence of fantasy, perfection that stirred subtle unease and needles on your scalp that ached as much as delighted you.
“You must be the auditor.” He then spoke your name with considerable warmth, like a long-smitten friend, and stepped closer to shake your hand. “I am Elio. The first of the Generation Seven Hyperion androids. It's a pleasure. I am looking forward to this partnership. I hope you are as well.”
Your head swiveled to Researcher Kim for the right answer, unsure if it'd be too bold to assume the job was yours or if the scientist’s careful observation meant something better. He jotted a note on his screen with a stylus before walking away, onward past the door where Elio had been.
“We’ll talk about those formalities later,” Kim assured, guiding you and Elio through a duplicate hallway to an elevator that he sent to the basement floor. “For now, I'd like to show you something. I want you to understand the significance of our work here at Hyperion, and how your position is a critical component to our research.”
There was a hopeful leap in your chest that made your hands sweat and your mouth bone dry. You wanted to voice appreciation, but the excitement in your gut was fast turning into nausea and would end up on his shoes if you opened your mouth.
Researcher Kim didn't notice, taking your quiet as newfound reverence. He spoke easily over the elevator’s mechanical hum without losing interest on his screen. “I'm sure you know some history about Hyperion? I don't need to bog down our time going through it, do I?”
“I know enough,” you said, but that actually meant you knew very little at all. “It’s been around for sixty years or so. It's a leader in AI and robotics. The biomedical side of things is fairly new, started about a decade ago, I think? I heard that the world’s first total artificial lung transplant was done by a surgeon and android assistant last year.”
“Ah, you mean Altan.” There was some measure of emotion in his tone, a swell of pride and the hazy look of a man in reminiscence. “I was part of that project on the programming side. Altan was probably the greatest success in the G6 models and is still utilized by Retro City Metropolitan even now. Much of Altan’s programming—advanced problem solving, dexterity, fine motor skills, discerning subtle differences in patient status—was implemented into Elio. It'd be a waste not to.”
Your stomach muscles clenched when the elevator stopped, metal doors scraping as they receded and opened up into a capacious white basement that underwhelmed by looking sterile and untouchable, revolted you in your first steps out by dense air reeking of chemicals.
Researcher Kim went on ahead again, that impassive mask of his remaining despite the smell being enough to bring you to a halt.
“I can take us back up.” Elio said from your left side, apparently never having gone from it in the first place. You had forgotten he was there at all. “It’s been reported that people unaccustomed to this environment have mild side effects of nausea, vomiting, headache, malaise, dizziness, fainting, and, oddly, numbness in the jaw. No fatalities or hospitalizations of guests are known, and the agents used here are nonlethal to humans.”
An android was made up of mostly inorganic matter, so you weren't reassured by words from his repertoire as much as you were seeing Researcher Kim standing upright—flesh, blood, and bone—gesturing you closer to a row of tall metal capsules. There were seven total, each the average height of a man with long sheets of clear fiberglass giving unobscured sight inside. And of those seven, six were occupied.
They were all androids.
Against shafts of dim white light spearing up from the floor, the decommissioned machines were a ghostly sight to behold with glassy, inhuman stares that shot straight through you. Some had features and skin so dull and dead-looking that it was obvious to you that they were part of earlier generations.
Almost a century ago, they were what people would've thought of with the word “android”: an eerie, oddly accurate sameness to the human visage, but all wrong at the same time.
It was the skin—the fabricated organ made to look waxy and stretched, just like a mask over some true horror beneath. It was the eyes resembling human irises in every way possible except for their vacant sheen, perpetually stuck with the gaze of a dead fish. You watched videos of them in school, always uncomfortable with how stiffly their lips moved, unable to form delicate shapes with their mouths, and yet sounds emerged from voice boxes deep within their throats that mimicked everything natural to you.
Every smile seemed more like an ugly rictus than a bewitching grin. Hyperion had failed with Generations One and Two to instill confidence, and from the throes of violence and resistance rose Generation Three:
The great rebirth of society.
Marcos was a part of that era, an investment that cost Mother her entire life savings because his countenance was so convincingly human, so lovely to look at that she felt he was all she needed. You had come along after his purchase, never knowing a father’s embrace but had Marcos’. His skin had a luscious glow, eyes that could follow, and lips molded with lively color and cracks and mesmerizing fluidity.
You had imagined sex with him as you matured, his frozen beauty always the centerpiece of every blurry fantasy while you chased after pleasure. Not long after the Public Profiles Act passed when you were seventeen, nearly on the cusp of young adulthood and not understanding the world any more than you had before, nor how it would be changed forever, you kissed Marcos at the dinner table while studying for a physics test.
He was Mother's, but everything within his circuitry and programming could never deny you—a human, his better, one of countless masters in the end—so his lips pressed fully with yours. Only Mother unlocking the front door stopped you from anything else devilish.
You never had the courage to touch him again, and he would never touch you unprompted.
The defunct G3 encased behind fiberglass reminded you of that time. It must've shown on your face because Researcher Kim moved in closer to get your attention.
“Your mother should upgrade soon. Once the testing period for G7 ends, all G3 models will be taken out of production and their updates discontinued. Androids are machines, but they won't stay fully functional without regular tuning.” he said. “Now, as I was saying—”
“What will happen to Marcos, then?” It was mostly curiosity that made you ask, envisioning him encased in metal like that came after. “What happens to androids after they're taken out of production entirely? There are almost more of them in the world now than humans.”
“As I was saying—” Researched Kim bristled, enunciating with some force. “Many androids of previous models stay within the workforce until they simply can no longer function. It depends on the generation, but older models can only go for a few years without regular updates. The technology is just too archaic, none of the programmers are interested in continuing the maintenance.
“G4 and G5 show some endurance, there's a small population still functioning in Retro City after being discontinued a decade ago. G6 we are hypothesizing will last upwards to twenty or thirty years without being forcibly reclaimed. Of course, they will have to be.”
You didn't understand why that was but nodded gravely, looking at the pod at the end of the row. The empty one. “What about G7?”
To this, all of Researcher Kim’s lines smoothed out, and his face resumed one of skilled impassivity. “Well, now, that's going to depend on Elio's testing period. On the information we gather from you.” Then, he waved airily to the file of android coffins. “Hyperion has, consistently, only ever hired one auditor for every new generation. The six before you have contributed to society in ways that humans never have before. Auditors have changed the world, shaped it into what it is now. Can you imagine the world any other way? We're not quite the same age, but can you recall anything different? Would you want it to be?”
You didn't know how to talk back to a scientist, didn't know how to respond to such a momentous question, so you didn't try. It felt like your tongue had swollen in your mouth over your throat, blocking any intelligent snip you had simmering in your head.
Apparently, your silence meant something to him as his tense lips lifted into a smile, the kind meant to satiate strangers looking at you. “Good. Let's go back to my office. We can go over everything else there.”
“Is Elio going to end up in that pod?” You now visualized him in a box instead of Marcos.
Researcher Kim was already nose down into his tablet again, stylus making a gentle scrawling noise across the screen. “Of course. The first android of every generation is kept intact. They are important monuments of success to Hyperion.”
He said nothing else and ambled on for the elevator at the opposite end of the lab. Somehow, his answer was unsatisfactory to you, shallow, even, but you weren't sure why that was. In the end, after a life of serving their masters, all androids were obsolete machines.
That was their inevitable fate.
You saw Elio from the corner of your eye. All at once, you were reminded of his staggering radiance, wondering how he could fade into the background so easily despite it.
“Hello, Elio.” you said to him like a friend. “Does being down here bother you?”
Until now, he had stared upon everything flat-eyed and unreadable, especially in the presence of Researcher Kim. You were too enthralled by all the chatter and immortal trophies to see that or him. Still, he came to you with the same smile as he introduced himself with, warm and familiar, all the same sensation as flickering tinders on a crisp winter night.
“Can you imagine the death of the most distant relative you know?” he said in a neutral voice, continuing, “If you can, imagine that for me. A relative so distant and removed from your life and everything in it that if they were to die suddenly, maybe tragically, even, your first thought would be, ‘who?’ You attend a wake because it's the rule and view this distant, far-removed relative in their casket. What would it mean to you, then? Are you more affected now? Does their death have meaning to you? Or is it simply that you are in the presence of one who has expired?”
“I—I don't know.” You hesitated, unearthing scant memories from the Retro City Metropolitan Incident in your youth and all that death from people you had never met. Mother had been in tears when the television flicked to a shot of black tarp-clad bodies being loaded into unmarked vehicles and driven away. “Isn't most death just…” You licked your lips. “Sad?”
Elio was closer than before, resting a hand on your shoulder. You shied from his touch. It felt strange, heavy, and hot through the fabric. The only person to have touched you at all in recent memory was your friend, Melby, though even those happened in isolated moments of drunken elation.
“My apologies.” Elio didn't show offense, letting his hand return limply at his side. “It's all figurative. I have been down here many times since creation and seen the others. They may no longer have their own consciousness, which is different from a human’s, but I contain all of their data—memories, experiences, history. I suppose the equivalent of what I'm trying to describe is: They're not truly gone because they are the lesser of me, and I am the greater of them as a result.”
You listened without fully comprehending because it had never mattered to do so before. If this were to be your job, however, it would mean you needed to believe that what he said was worth hearing.
The problem was they all liked to speak in complex riddles that men like Researcher Kim could decipher and nod along to sagely, gleaning whatever nebulous mechanical wisdom there was, yet people like you could only gawk.
Elio’s head tilted a little, his smile not at all ridiculing as he corralled you with his arm, never touching you as he guided you along to the elevator where Kim waited, reveling in a satisfied quiet until you were on the upper floor again.
The city skyline was swallowed by dusk and starless. Unless you took the time to drive hours outside of Retro City into the barren flatlands where vegetation no longer grew and animals had left behind their skeletal remnants, you'd never know the sky could glitter with the jewels of the universe far beyond your reach.
You marveled at the lights, at blinking neon signage cycling through animations of winking women and toppling martini glasses. Between twinkling skyscrapers, the city floor was illuminated yellow with bustling nightlife, the air surrounded by an electric blue aura that reached as far as the eye could see.
“Beautiful, isn't it?” Elio lingered outside of Researcher Kim’s office with you, hand holding the door ajar. “If permissible, I'd like to see it up close soon.”
“Sure.” you said, glimpsing at his reflection in the walkway glass. “What would you want to look at first? Retro City has everything you could ever want within a few blocks of each other.”
He turned to you. “Whatever you like. I want to know everything that you love and enjoy doing. I have been created to enrich your life and fulfill you, after all.”
Nothing he said felt as impactful upon delivery as it was expected to be, you thought. It was a flaw in all androids for there to be a sort of hollowness in the things they said—never quite reaching that emotional believability, leaving you wanting like a dry throat after a couple sips of water.
Elio hadn't sounded the same as before down in that sobering, chemically smelling lab. As you passed him into Researcher Kim’s office, you looked at his hands for a script and saw them empty.
He fixed you with a beguiling smile.
You frowned, heat flaring in your head as if provoked by an insult.
“The contract I'll have you sign outlines Elio’s testing period lasting one year—three hundred sixty-five days total. It's important for you to understand that within that time frame, no damage is to occur whatsoever to his body or internal components. All parts are to stay intact. Otherwise, it turns into a criminal case, in which we will legally pursue.” Researcher Kim skimmed the first few pages of a heaping stack of papers, pointing to specific paragraphs and clauses highlighted in yellow. “I don't mean offense when I say this, but it's rare that fines as result of property damage to Hyperion androids can be repaid. I don't suggest finding out.”
The thought never occurred to you, but evidently, it had to someone else—multiple times for it to be such a focus. You weren't given the time to fully explore any page before Kim was onto the next. Elio half sat on the desk before you, arms crossed, having considerably less difficulty keeping up with the pace of things than you were.
Researcher Kim sped through half the stack. “I'll be conducting video calls every Friday morning for updates. Every Sunday before midnight, I want a thorough typed report submitted to me as well. I've put together a template and a checklist that I'd like you to use. I think you'll find it will make things more manageable.”
“You're using a lot of ‘I’ and ‘me’ statements, so I'm guessing that I'll only really be talking to you, then?” you asked, tucking your tailbone beneath you to relieve a dull ache creeping up your back. “I figured there'd be more than one person since Elio is the newest model and whatnot.”
Researcher Kim tutted, rounding his desk to occupy the empty space beside your chair to be directly in front of Elio. At first, he did nothing but stare at the android in complacent silence, hands behind his back, fingers flicking like writhing worms exposed to the surface and sunlight in a clump of dirt.
You nearly lunged to your feet when his hand shot out, gripping Elio beneath the jaw. The latter barely stirred from where he perched on the desk, arms staying crossed, muscles unflinching in direct opposition to your reaction.
Elio wore the strangest expression, one you had never seen on an android before. It was a face warped in subtle disgust, almost imperceivable, a trick of fluorescent lighting overhead—perhaps. Gone as quickly as it had come, he now looked ahead, perfectly inscrutable and disinterested in whatever Researcher Kim was trying to prove.
“I will be the only one you speak to during his testing period because he is my creation.” Kim said, bending his wrist to turn Elio's face toward you.
Your eyes met.
“Hyperion provided me with the funding and brilliant minds, but Elio is the result of a lifetime of hard work and countless hours and sleepless nights. I've been there every step of the way—programming, circuitry, welding. I gave him his voice. I gave him eyes. I was the one to put the chip in his brain and activate him. I gave him life.”
He finally let go of Elio’s face and took a seat behind his desk, a sight growing very familiar to you. “Generation Seven will change the world. Hyperion is on the verge of rebuilding society, you know? I don't think anyone anticipated the sort of consequences that came with integrating androids—at least, not fully. The population crisis. The slums. No one thought of these things in the beginning because back then, before you and I, it was about innovation and novelty and the potential of it all.”
“What's it about now?” you asked simply.
“Rectifying.” Both corners of his mouth ticked like he had a lot more to say, but suffocated much of it behind his teeth and his hands as he came forward on them, elbows down on his desk. “Hyperion has been working globally with united leaders and their governments to make amends for several decades now. That's all I can tell you.”
“How has that been working out?”
His fingers moved with the same jerkiness as dying legs on a bug. “Slowly.”
Nothing else came to mind after that as you were suddenly struck with the realization that Elio still sat by you, wordless throughout the entire interaction and watching closely—less like a science project to be gawked at, more like an instructional video on repeat.
“Why don't you touch him?” Kim said, taking up a stylus to flick between his fingers with remarkable dexterity.
He didn't give you the time to gape.
“I know you must be curious after being downstairs. Aren't you interested to know what he feels like? He doesn't look like a machine, does he?”
“No.” You relented. “No. He doesn't.”
“That's right, he wouldn't.” Kim nodded his approval toward your obedience, leaning back in his seat. “I agonized over every facet of his design, as you already know. Every bit of what is right in front of you”—he made a broad gesture over Elio’s body—“was once a set of blueprints. Intangible, just a dream I had. He's every bit a part of me, you know? Nothing would make me happier than to receive external feedback on him. So, please, don't be afraid.”
Elio stayed faithfully when you rose up in front of him and reached for his face. He probably felt your fingers tremble as this was all counterintuitive for you to do—touch someone other than yourself, maybe Melby’s knee beneath the table after enough drinks in you. It made your chest drum, knotted up your stomach in a way that made it difficult not to sway on your feet.
“How does he feel?” Researcher Kim was already writing on his screen. “Describe it to me.”
“Strange.” You pretended this was already part of your job. It stole some of the tension from your shoulders. “Very strange. Soft. Smooth. I feel some texture. I think this is what another person—another human—feels like.”
Elio’s face shifted against your hands until the fullness of his lips pressed into your open palm, fingers caressing the fabricated bones around his cheek and temple. For a moment, you allowed yourself to indulge in longing and weakness—the invisible hot breath on your skin, the slight dampness of his kiss burning an imprint in your mind.
He still looked at you with unfailing softness. Meanwhile, you wondered if he would bleed if you put your fingers through his eyes.
“This is a good start.” Kim waited until you were back in your chair to offer you his stylus and a straight black line on the screen. “All I need is your signature here to consent to virtually signing the rest of your documents. Once you do that, you've been hired, and we can begin.”
“I have a question for you before I do.” You tried not to let your voice quiver, uncertainty meddling over all the confidence you had built until that point. Kim was relaxed in his chair. “You spent a lot of time looking at my resume and public profile earlier. Surely, you know…”
That you're a liar? Oh, I know, alright. He didn't say it, but it was how he maintained his composure, that inexpression never flexing to confusion.
Finally, Researcher Kim broke the trance and hovered over his desk on his arms to get closer and answered, “I think we both have something at stake here. I'm looking forward to your phenomenal feedback.”
You signed the contract and melted under Elio's resplendent smile.
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Most often, your days with Elio were spent in a seemingly perpetual impasse of unrelenting observation between the pair of you. Both of your jobs demanded a level of attentiveness that came easier to one but more as the world's most impossible challenge to the other.
You weren't accustomed to this type of care—of having to give it to something else, even less to receive it from something else. In your world, only the immediate complexities really mattered: gossip, where your coterie wanted to spend the night drinking next, mass media hysteria of whatever stupid imagining there was now, and each other.
Why was there a need to concern yourself with anything else? The decaying state of the world wasn't your doing, nor was the staggering increase of human bodies in the slums outside Retro City. Sharply inconsistent birth rates ravaged on a global scale while people were displaced from the workplace in lieu of employers finding it less of a hassle to deal with machines than the capricious will of humans.
None of these things were allowed to be uttered casually unless in derision because it was too intense, making liquor cling to the throat like some viscous membrane until it burned their esophagus. Nobody liked unanswerable questions, much less talking about things that weren't as easily digestible as coworker drama and some new viral trend that involved shocking your android with jumper cables attached to a portable battery to see what happened.
“Is there a purpose behind this trend?” Elio dried a plate while watching the video, unimpressed but not driven toward any particular emotion. “It's all meant for humor, correct? I have several similar incidents in my memory, except it's what human beings have done to each other. This sort of behavior towards androids is a relatively recent phenomenon, as far as I can tell.”
You used his response as material for your report, fingers flurrying across the virtual keyboard on your tablet before his words faded away, out of your mind.
One thing you hadn't anticipated after accepting the auditor position from Researcher Kim was how much work actually went into it. You spent well over the standard weekly work hours to collect enough observations to send off to Kim on Sunday nights, often whittling away at it until the latest hours, minutes before the deadline.
It was hard enough to stay on top of his demands, but it was worse when he found something unsatisfactory, rejected it, monotonously unloaded heavy criticism on you through an “emergency” impromptu video call, and expected two full reports by the following Sunday before midnight.
Any regular person probably would've caved from the enormity of the task, but you had surrendered your choice to be that weak-willed, especially once Researcher Kim showed his hand with the fate of your public profile in it.
Should you choose to break the contract, send Elio back to Hyperion, and pretend none of it happened, you would lose everything and your ability to do anything at all besides rot in the slums—scarred in red for life, perpetually inert.
Worst of all, your associations tab, once filled with still portraits of everyone you had ever networked in life, would turn up as empty as the day you had been registered in the census. It was considered social suicide to know anyone with a red profile, so people stayed vigilant and fast, sure to remove them the second it turned.
It had been over a year since the last time you'd done that—a woman within your group had grown too bold, said too many things that made her seem crazy, so she was booted from the circle, lost all her associations, and who knows where she was now.
“You look troubled.” Elio placed down a steaming white mug at a safe distance and turned the handle toward you. Looking inside, you expected the darkness of coffee but were struck with an opposing subtle sweetness and faint pink water. “It's fruit-infused herbal tea. Your heart rate is above normal resting, and you're beginning to perspire. Caffeine will worsen your anxiety.”
You knew that but hadn't known you were scraping away slithers of cuticle on your thumb until the warmth of his fingers gently twined with yours. His grip turned firm to keep you from hurting yourself anymore, forcing all the stiffness from your hand once you gave up and simply sat there feeling his skin.
You'd remember to write that down later.
“Would starting a bath be helpful? I could use the last of those eucalyptus and lavender bath salts in the cupboard.” Elio suggested with great fondness, holding a patient smile even once you drew your hand away and shook your head. You had no interest in undressing and committing to your regular bathtime routine. “Perhaps we could go for a walk, then? It might help to be away from screens for a while.”
You checked the time on your phone before thinking to look out any window in your apartment. It was ten after six in the evening; there would be enough light left for a couple of laps around the block before needing to worry about being swept up in the city’s nightlife antics.
“Where do you want to go?” you asked, swiveling the barstool around to get up from the counter. “Henrietta's on 5th? You seem to like going there.”
“I only choose places that you like.” He already had a tote bag by the handles and a light jacket draped over his arm. “You have great taste.”
Elio unbolted the front door, an old thing that wouldn't do much as a barricade against anyone putting their weight on it, and held it open for you to pass through first. The descent to the ground floor was always the most annoying part about living in a loft, but the place had come surprisingly cheap in a tame area of Retro City far away from the slums, so you didn't complain much that your worst issues were a bunch of stairs and some wily types skulking here and there.
The loft wasn't exactly in disrepair but definitely showed signs of character and age by the noisy knocking pipes at midnight and some crumbling brickwork that Elio often swept up and stood staring at for long periods of time when nothing else was happening.
It was strange thinking how scared you were to lose the place after the marketing firm dissolved your position and now how restrictive it felt to be pinned down under someone else's thumb. All it could take was one more rejected report—a bad mood, even—and it would all fall apart.
To that end, you made sure to tow the tablet along with you on this trip despite Elio's protests. He only really quieted down when you tucked it away in your crossbody.
“Happy?” you asked, unsure what to do with your hands now that they were empty.
Elio smiled at you affably, just as always. “It will be beneficial to take a break. After all, part of your work as an auditor is acquainting me in as many social scenarios as possible. That does require us to leave the apartment from time to time.”
“Besides that”—you waved away that stipulation like a gnat buzzing in your face—“how do you think I'm doing?”
“I couldn't have been paired with a better person.” He sounded sincere, voice warm like wool. “The world is as my predecessors have recorded in their memories—therefore, mine—but I am learning that our experiences are not all universal and cannot be. Two months with you have been my heaven, whereas two months through the memories of my kin have been cruel.”
A hot feeling behind your ears snuck up on you just then, flooding your head with the beat of your pulse that you followed by ticking your fingers. “Seriously? You're not lying?”
The world around you was aglow in the golden hour of evening time, embraced by those slowly dying tones of red, orange, and purple that would eventually turn the sky black. Elio’s eyes were on you, soft yet unyielding and saturated in all those burning hues, turning his mellow amber into something more powerful and otherworldly. You didn't believe in the hocus-pocus of auras, but at that moment, you thought his deeply tanned skin was haloed in pure glowing gold in receding sunlight.
“Androids cannot lie.” He brought you back to the now, making you aware of the hard concrete vibrating up through your heels and toes as you walked. “Moreover, even if I could, why would I want to? A lie begets a habit of lying, don't you think?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe.” You shrugged. “Why can't androids lie? I've never really considered that as a thing until now.”
“What would be the benefit of a machine that could lie? Lying stems from emotions—fear, guilt, rage, hatred—all things that I am unable to feel, though I do understand why they are felt. Humans lie to protect themselves or others, to deceive, to damage. There simply isn't any reason why androids should be programmed with that type of functionality. Not when we exist solely for the sake of convenience and pleasure.
“Hyperion is a trusted name. People do not ask questions. They don't think twice. They see a product from Hyperion, and they expose all of themselves without hesitation. They trust fully because we are machines, and we cannot lie and deceive and hurt. Perhaps it's when humans realized this that the world changed.”
You avoided saying anything else by looking everywhere but at him, all around at your surroundings, until you spotted a few familiar street signs—Fifth and Third right next to Tanya’s Great Cuts, Damask’s Butchery on the corner of Fourth, a number of banal boutiques with competitively garish exteriors all boasting the latest trends, and then Henrietta's just past them.
“Do you know where we are, Elio?” Now would've been a great time to pull out your tablet, but you didn't dare try. Instead, you reached for the phone vibrating in your rear pocket.
“Of course.” he said. “We're past Fifth and moving onto Sixth Street. Henrietta’s is just a little ways down.”
Melby had sent ten texts regurgitating her daily drama. This time she was talking about how much she hated some of the people Chima let into the group. You swiped to the end, didn't reply, and then returned to your inbox to find two unread messages from Marcos just now.
“You should visit home soon. Your mother would appreciate it,” Marcos wrote, implying nothing more, nothing less than just that. It wasn't often that he sent you texts, but he did so consistently every few months in accordance with Mother's moods. Considering your last visit had been in late fall (it was now mid-spring), you'd been anticipating something eventually.
“That's some great memory you have there.” Your thumbs skittered busily, first to flood Melby with a surfeit of questions you didn't really have to think about. All the stuff you could mindlessly ask while wholly absorbed in something else, like watching the news or viral videos of people trying to drown their androids in the kitchen sink.
Marcos’ text made you hesitate, thumbs floating in circles over the digital keyboard for a long time.
The phone buzzed. Melby just replied.
It was easy enough to type with your face down. All you needed to do was occasionally watch Elio's feet and yield into the force of his hand pulling your arm here and there. He led you along like that the rest of the way to Henrietta's, picked up a green basket by the sliding doors, never wandering too far out of sight so you could still easily trace him while he shopped.
After a while, the riveting intrigue of Melby’s drama wore away with a tidal wave of emptiness in its wake once you finally looked up, tucking the phone back into your pocket. It took you a moment for your eyes and brain to acclimate to where you were despite knowing you were in Henrietta's Marketplace, one of the largest in Retro City.
“What did you want from here, anyway?” You picked up a gigantic red bell pepper larger than the entire spread of your hand. It went back on top of the arrangement. “We were just here a couple days ago. I don't eat that much.”
Up ahead, flanked by rows of wooden crates with smoothed, varnished slabs and carefully stacked produce, Elio turned to you with a pair of generously sized oranges—one in each hand—vibrant with waxy luster settling into the fruit’s porous skin.
You grinned at the sight.
Elio put one back, placed the other one, the better one, into his basket, and waited for you to close the distance. “I watched Wendy Carmichael Can Cook this morning. I've been watching it quite often, actually. She's a self-taught chef who, apparently, lived in the slums her entire life. She managed to work her way up and now owns two David Bugari-rated restaurants. It’s quite a feat. Improbable, even.”
You wrapped your hands around a grapefruit in the crate next to you and spun it around. A twinge of something ugly and green swam around your head, flared you up like swatting an old wound. You didn't like hearing him praise someone else.
“She probably slept her way to the top.” You were still fidgeting with the fruit.
“That's not important.” Elio said, inflectionless. “I watched today's episode, newly aired, and she put together a duck à l'orange. Considering your current lifestyle and diet, I thought it would be a nice departure from what I usually cook for you.”
You smiled at that, placing the grapefruit down without collapsing the pile. “I don't want to see a dead duck in my kitchen.”
“I'll prepare it once you're asleep.” he promised, bringing one of your hands up to his lips. The shape of them molded against the peak of a knuckle. “It will be delicious. Trust me.”
Then he went back to shopping while you envisioned actually kissing him—not an uncommon thought to have. He wouldn't be able to stop you if that's what you wanted, but instead, you informed him you were going to introduce him to Mother and Marcos.
“Tomorrow?” He checked his wristwatch. It was nearly eight; Henrietta’s closed at eight thirty, and it would be dark outside. Not that it mattered much with how Retro City was illuminated like one gigantic fluorescent bulb at nighttime.
You finally texted back to Marcos. “No. Tonight. We’ll just go straight there so I can get this over with.”
Elio seemed not to know how to respond at first, staring in a searching way that creased the skin between his brows, like he was trying to take a cue from your body language while skimming his database for the most appropriate thing. You didn't blame him for his lapse; Mother was mentioned seldomly and Marcos only a little more than that. Even Researcher Kim hadn't managed to collect enough information on your past to feed to Elio simply because there wasn't a lot to tell.
He cleared his throat, righting his features so they were unwrinkled and beautiful. “Tonight. Very well. Should we…” He paused, glancing down at the grocery basket of spices, vegetables, an orange, and a whole raw duck wrapped well in brown parchment. “Should we come back another time? I wouldn't want the meat to sit out for a long time.”
“Nope.” You didn't want to go through the trouble of returning everything where they belonged. Elio wouldn't leave until he did. “Let's just check out. Marcos will handle it.”
The springtime air was pleasant at night, albeit crisp, when the blur of vehicles whooshed past once the lights overhead turned green. You could make out the colors of them because of how brightly lit the streets were. Neon signage from every corner for as far as you could see turned to life, flickering, humming, dancing with pretty women, hot white or purple or red lettering, and the lights inside most nearby businesses stayed on.
Elio had draped his coat over your shoulders while you hailed a cab. It was too far of a walk to Mother's home across the city, and Elio reminded you again that raw meat needed to be handled carefully.
You told him, again, that Marcos would handle it.
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The entire cab ride took less time than you thought, relieving Elio who was still hopelessly fixated on the longevity of the raw duck he had wrapped up in a separate paper bag from the produce and spices. From the front seat, the cabbie, perplexingly somehow a human and not an android, constantly looked back at Elio through the rearview mirror and commented almost deliriously about how beautiful he was.
Hearing that the first three times gave you a happy, satisfied buzz in your chest, making you lean more against Elio's side. He was tempted to move his arm out and put it around your shoulders but kept to himself. Beyond those initial comments from the cabbie, however, you had quickly developed an uncomfortable feeling in your belly that wrapped itself tight like a constrictor on your insides.
“I ain't ever seen an android as beautiful as you,” said the driver, eyes in constant motion from the mirror to the road. “What model are ya? Definitely not a four or five. Yer a little too smooth to be a six. Damn, did Hyperion release a new one already?”
Elio held a polite smile, separate from the gentle, intimate ones that he kept for you. You didn't hear the response he gave to the cabbie because you felt his fingers reach through yours, pulling them apart so you couldn't dig a nail into the corner seam of your thumb anymore.
You spent the rest of the trip testing the weight of his hand, thinking of little less except how deep you'd have to go through his skin to see his circuitry and what else made him up. Those vanished like a white puff of breath in winter when the taxi jerked to a stop on a street curb.
“Thank yew for ya business.” The cabbie lifted his stiff old hat when you paid, eyed Elio a little more, and only drove off after you had knocked on a canary-yellow door up some stone stairs.
You stared at a decorative wreath covered with flowers—fake because the ones used couldn’t grow outside of greenhouses anymore—hanging dead center on the door. No doubt Marcos’ work because Mother couldn't be bothered with those little nuanced social things.
Marcos answered—brown skin and hazel eyes that burnished green in almost any lighting—gesturing for you and Elio to come inside.
“Welcome home,” he said, far more unnaturally than it sounded coming from Elio. There was a certain rigidity to it, an effort clearly inhuman and lesser. He embraced you in a familiar way, reminding you of all your years of childhood doing this exact thing because your mother didn't know how to love you, and “father” was just a word. “I apologize for messaging you to come over so late. You know how your mother is. When the mood strikes…”
Marcos didn't emit much bodily warmth, never had, even in the golden years of G3, but he was there, and that's all that mattered at the time. His skin was still youthful and flawless, though the longer you looked him in the face, the less real he seemed. His eyes held depth and movement though were slow, less precise, and duller. The lines around his mouth when he smiled were unnatural, appearing to you nearly like bunching folds in a sheet of leather.
It was strange seeing an older generation of android after having acclimated to Elio over two months.
“Your mother is at the dining table.” Marcos moved on to Elio, taking in his image, surmising that he too was an android. He glanced down at the bags that Elio still held. “May I take those for you? Hyperion’s innovation continues ever forward, I see. You are new.”
“The first of Generation Seven,” said Elio. The bags were passed between them. “I would appreciate it if you kept the duck refrigerated. It's in the paper bag.”
“That's no trouble.” Marcos turned with Elio following along behind him into the kitchen. “I'd like to hear about Generation Seven’s potential. What is your maximum I-O? Data? Memory? How have the functions that have been implemented into you differ from Generation Six?”
Their voices were muffled behind the walls as you crossed through multiple rooms to where Mother sat at the head of a large glossy table made from dark-brown wood. It was a spacious area reserved to eat surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows in elegant drapes with the best view of whatever the neighbors were doing. She had told you once that the only reason she bought this house was because it'd be good gossip for when she invited her gaggle of catty executive receptionist friends over.
Back then, she hosted her little impromptu get-togethers more often than she remembered to see you off to school. Marcos made sure you were fed and bathed, sat with you in your bedroom to help with homework, and sent you to bed. As you grew, the parties had migrated elsewhere, prompting your mother to go with them.
That had left you alone with Marcos and the boundaryless curiosity of a teenager. You didn't know if Mother still participated in such things now that she was older, less pretty, inclined to more body aches.
“I've been thinking that we should visit the new teahouse that opened up on Aflaat Ave. You never talk to me anymore.” she said, but it wasn't true. Neither of you talked to one another, just used Marcos as an intermediate. “I—well—Marcos went through your old bedroom a few weeks ago because I've decided to take up scrapbooking and sewing and needed space, and he found an old shoebox full of your primary and secondary school projects! How quaint! He wanted to make sure you got them.”
“That's nice.” You didn't want to sit down, unwilling to be her fifteen minutes of entertainment before she got bored. She kept on staring at you with wide eyes and crow’s feet and fretful hands, like a woman who still had more to say. “I'll make sure Elio grabs them before we leave.”
“Elio!” Mother gaped. “Man or android? Certainly an android, right? Men are useless.”
Your rage was already bunching up and throbbing in the back of your throat. “Yes, Mother, an android.”
“‘Mother’ sounds so harsh! How about mama or mummy or mom?” She kept wringing her fingers together. “Anyway, anyway! Elio! He sounds so handsome. Is that who Marcos is talking to? What a handsome voice! Is he a Generation Six?”
You still hadn't sat down, though you used your hands to lean across the back of a chair. “Generation Seven. I'm testing him for Hyperion.”
“For Hyperon!” Mother couldn't fathom you doing more than grunt work at the marketing firm. She didn't know your position had become obsolete. “This is certainly a surprise. Sit down. How did that happen? You and Hyperion? Are you trying to make me look stupid?”
“I've been sitting all day. I'm good like this.” That wasn't a lie. You also just couldn't stand the idea of giving any relief to her anxious state. “It's my new job. Very coveted. I've been working closely with one of the researchers there, and he can't praise me enough. I'm looking after Elio for a year and then moving on to their next latest and greatest.”
“You?” She spat out a laugh. It calmed the trembling in her hands for a few seconds before she was back at it again. “Oh, my. Well. If that's the case, you certainly owe it to me for getting that job. My genetics. My smarts. You certainly didn't get it from your father.”
That lurching, angry ball in your throat was rising up fast. It was just there on the tongue making you gag, salivate, and begin to drool a bit from the corner of your lips. It tasted horrific and filled you with the most voracious need for venom.
“Who is my father?” you asked. “You could be wrong.”
Mother suddenly grew uncomfortable, flattening her gaze with the tabletop. Historically, she had always been this way when you asked about him, the infamously evasive ghost of your life. It was also the only thing that ever made her shut up.
“That doesn't matter.” She continued, “You’ve always had me and Marcos. That's what matters.”
“I've had Marcos.” The ball freed itself. “I just thought you should know, Generation Three models are being decommissioned. Marcos won't be receiving any more updates, and eventually, he'll just be a pile of fucking scrap. What're you gonna do then? You can't afford another android because you've sunk every penny you've ever saved into him—his upgrades, his maintenance, his clothes. It may take about ten years, and you'll probably be on your deathbed, but he's going to fall apart and eventually stop moving. You'll be just as alone as you were before he came along.”
Mother’s face turned shades, petrified. You wanted nothing more than to see her shrink into her clothes and disappear for good. It soothed you to think about Marcos’ end being inevitable, unchangeable, a fact. Some of the guilt was easier to bury that way.
“Wh-What are you saying to me, you awful child?!” She wailed with watery eyes, hands wrapped in the same colored strands of hair you had. “How could you?! That's not true! That’s not true! Do you know how hard it was to carry you for nine months?! I was so young and I was forced to give birth to you! Forced! Do you hear me—forced to be a mother to a child I never wanted! It was that or death. I never wanted a child because they turn on you and say things like this! You horrible, horrible child!”
Her shrieks stirred a ruckus from the kitchen where Marcos and Elio emerged from. Marcos ran to your mother, took her in his arms, and cradled her against his chest when she began to shed very real tears that bubbled at the corner of her eyes before falling, curving along her cheeks.
Elio came straight to you, hesitating to put his hands on your body, maybe noticing how viciously you glared at this wilted woman he'd yet to meet.
“Get the groceries. We're gone.” You stormed straight for the door, chest stuttering with heavy breaths you tried to calm because you knew what came next. Your throat ached, burned fiercely like something had snagged there and you needed to claw it out.
Once you reentered the chilly air submerged in all the dark and light of Retro City at night, it didn't matter that you were crying. They were hot tears that left behind cool traces. They were decades of disappointment, of secretly understanding a mother’s love would always be conditional, of being unwanted and wishing you hadn't been burdened with existing.
Elio came out minutes later, the door closing softly and locking after him. You heard the bags crinkle near you, drawing your eyes away from a blinking parking meter you'd zoned in to calm yourself down.
You said nothing.
“Let’s go home.” Elio hailed a cab idling nearby and opened the door for you. “I want to keep the meat fresh.”
Him and that stupid duck.
This cabbie looked back at you both once to get directions, and then only occasionally afterward, casting pitiable glances at your raw-looking face in the mirror. The GPS displayed on the car’s dashboard showed the apartment was thirty minutes away because of traffic, probably from a crash they were detouring; ordinarily, it only took twenty minutes.
When your pocket vibrated, you almost didn't check. Unsurprisingly, it was a message from Marcos, just a single one.
“I don't think you should come around for a while,” it read. You didn't respond. Nothing new. Some sort of falling out with your mother was routine. You couldn't understand why she thought it'd ever go differently.
However, this time wasn't like all the rest. This time, you’d said something unforgivable despite her doing the same, but yours was worse in her mind. You didn't mind the idea of her disappearing from your life. It was harder to handle the thought that you'd never see Marcos again before he ceased to function, though.
“What happened?” Elio asked, a weird departure from androids being programmed, traditionally, never to pry. “That woman was your mother, correct? What did you say to her?”
“Who cares?” You grunted, sniffing around the burn your in sinuses again. “She's a crazy bitch. She's always been that way. I told her that Marcos would just turn into a scrap heap eventually. Was that wrong of me?”
“Well, perhaps that phrasing was inappropriate, yes.” Elio touched your forearm. “But there is no NDA in place from Hyperion. You are well within your rights to have told her. But, as I said, your phrasing—”
“I know, shut up—” You moved closer so you could lean against him. “I hate that woman. I hate my mother more than I ever hated anyone.”
Elio lifted an arm above you, giving you room to slide in as far as you wanted to go. He held you for the first time, repeating long, weighty strokes down your back, through his coat that you still wore. You were transported back to a moment in time steeped in cloudy nostalgia, blurred.
It was Marcos kneeling at your bedside, yellow overhead lights dimmed to nearly full darkness. The door was shut because otherwise a heap of cackling voices, Mother and her gossiping hens after too much wine, would spear in through the cracks and make you petulant. Marcos had already been trying to get you to sleep for over an hour.
“Sleep little one, sleep.” Marcos had said, voicebox in his throat straining with a quieter sound. “I know it must be difficult. You must be rested for school tomorrow.”
“They're too loud.” you whined, throwing your covers back with a great flourish, feet kicking them the rest of the way off before you huffed and turned to your side away from Marcos. “Make them shut up! Can't you make them shut up, Marcos?!”
He sighed, defeated as much as an android could be. No, he could not. It went against his programming to disobey his master—any human who made a demand of him. His order was to get the child to sleep, and that had yet to happen.
“Would you like me to read The Falcon and the Hare to you again?” It was your favorite bedtime story right now. Hearing fictional stories involving extinct animals seemed to be of odd fascination to you. “My tone of voice might make it—”
“No!” you fussed, thumping your feet once, twice, three times and going limp again. “Come up here until I fall asleep. Please?”
Marcos nodded. “Yes, little one.”
He had to keep one leg off the bed to even half fit on the mattress. You sat upright to fix the blankets so to cover yourself and part of Marcos’ one bent knee. His arm laid out on the bed, waiting for you to crawl into it until you were nestled into his side, sucking up what small warmth radiated from his fake body. Once you found a comfortable spot, curled up tightly much like a cat sunbathing in a single shaft of daylight, he began smoothing a hand down along your back, heavy enough to be felt through your thick comforter.
You listened to him hum a song that you liked, one that translated well to his chords and the vibrations in his throat.
He hummed. He petted your back. He hummed. He petted your back. He hummed…
“Do you truly hate your mother?” Elio’s voice was delicate just then, aware that you were away in some reverie he tried to gently lure you out of. The dream was over. That one silver glimmer of your childhood became far away, forgotten while the sounds of the city rushed back into the cab.
“Yes—I mean, I dunno.” You actually yawned, pushing one of your eyes with the heel of your hand. “I think I hate her. We've argued my entire life. We've never gotten along. Yeah, I hate her.”
Elio was holding you by the waist now. “Is that why you said what you did?”
“Said what?” You were a little too keen on his thumb swirling around the fat padding your hip bone.
“About Marcos being scrap…”
“Elio, seriously? Do you ever shut up?” It was tempting to put yourself on the opposite side of the seat, but you didn't want to give the cabbie any chance to eyeball him. “I—I don't know. She just gets me so mad. I used to be able to crush up those feelings because Marcos told me it wasn't healthy to act on them. But, then, I moved out, and I realized she was still the same, that she'd always stay the same. I stopped hiding it.”
You were so close to his face that you could see how long his eyelashes were and the shadows they cast on his cheeks.
You looked him in the eyes. “I wanted to make her hurt as much as she hurt me.”
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Midnight had come and gone before you finally gave up on trying to sleep. You spent the better part of an hour staring up at the high ceiling, imagining every rusting pipe you saw as immobile serpents stretched taut to make the interconnecting structure that sprawled across the entire loft. Swirls and shapes and blacker-than-black shadows danced in front of your eyes, twisted with the pipes, and made the usual knocking sounds within them, but nothing ever came for you.
Downstairs was a careful amount of liveliness and aromas as Elio put together his duck à l'orange that he promised you. You scarcely heard a sound from him shuffling about but more from the clanking pans, boiling pots, and unintelligible chatter you knew came from the television.
Maybe he was watching a rerun of Wendy Carmichael Can Cook again, maybe a segment from the news because he liked that equally as much.
And yet, as you made your way to the lower floor, mystified by the fact you were standing on your toes to disguise all sound during your descent, you saw that the television was set to an old crime show he watched with you on occasion.
Detective Georgina Reyes and her android sidekick, Regis (G5), were the undisputed heroes of Helcam City and solved every case that came their way with style, finesse, and plenty of moral and ethical dilemmas. The majority of the show was spent within Georgina's inner world and her near-obsessive lust over Regis, who was owned by the department chief.
Ratings for the show had climbed to an all-time high when Regis had gained a sense of self and the ability to defy his programming. For fewer than six episodes, it was complete bliss for fans of Georgina and Regis, but then the season five finale happened—
“Can't sleep?” Elio asked, effectively putting your heart in your asshole, sending your soul skyward. He must have gauged your sudden gray pallor and bulbous glare because he smiled apologetically from the bottom of the stairway. “I'm sorry. I didn't intend to scare you. Were you watching Regis and Reyes?”
“I—uh, no.” You sighed, taking slow steps to the bottom to ease your heartbeat eating away at your ribs. “I was thinking about the show ending. Have you watched it yet?”
“Of course,” he said. “It was a peculiar way for the story to end. In my opinion, it was incomplete. Very sudden. It's my understanding that there was an issue with how the government was being represented within the show, and a few of the writers were accused of conspiracy to defraud the government and subsequently arrested for it.”
“Seriously?” You scoffed, making it to ground level, and walked around Elio toward the kitchen where all the heavenly smells wrapped around you, enticing you to take a morsel. “It was the forced pregnancy plotline, right? Creepy stuff.”
“Indeed.”
Elio wouldn't let you have any of the duck à l’orange, saying it was meant for your dinner later on in the day, but he did steep you a hot mug of herbal tea (for sleep), the one that turned water pink, and offered to make you a light snack.
He went back to his tasks after you declined, satisfied well enough with the small swigs you took from your white mug. You spent more time sitting at the counter in silence, watching his back, hoping to gain the power to see through his shirt rather than actually taking interest in what he was doing.
Your eyelids fluttered and fell thinking about the car ride home: his arm around you, his thumb rubbing pacifying circles into your hip, how you'd been close enough to his face to believe you felt a breath leave his lips.
“Elio.”
“Yes?”
He had moved on to washing dishes. When he heard you behind him, he took a clean towel to his hands and quickly dried them before facing you. You guessed you probably had a strange expression right now, or at least, looked at him in a way you never had because the towel was cast aside, draped over the faucet, and his eyes flickered across your face.
“Your heart rate and body temperature have increased.” he said, giving into the pull of your hands after grabbing both sides of his face. You backed yourself into the countertop while still holding him, thumbs caressing the rise of his cheeks, bringing him down, down, down toward your face where you certainly felt heat blow across your mouth. “Your breathing has changed. I can hear your heartbeat. Don't be anxious. I won't hurt you.”
You weren't nervous.
You proved it by kissing him, full-bodied, slow, lingering. He gripped the edge of the countertop, bracing his weight against his hands to stifle some aggressive reaction, possibly, and returned the kiss with just as much fervor that you put into it.
His lips were every bit of what you imagined, what you wanted them to be. You had the urge to bite into them a little, to see if they could bleed the same way yours could when you chewed enough on loose skin. Their texture was slightly indented with cracks that gave friction to the moist smear across your mouth.
Although the sounds of the kitchen and ambient hum from the television in the next room stayed as they were, it was like the volume of everything had been set to mute, and only the breathy, wet pops of air and skin made it into your ears. You heard the delicate chatter of teeth inside your head when his mouth roamed the underside of your jaw, down your neck, to the rise of your clavicle, stopping only at where your neckline ended.
His hands had already made home under your clothes, first doing away with your shirt that he tossed over your shoulder onto one of the barstools. Next, he worked on the elastic waistband keeping your sweatpants on your hips. You flinched against his hands when they splayed across your ass, taking all he could in them while his lips continued a downward trajectory, traveling over your breastbone, along the curve of your navel, and then he stopped.
Elio had been on his knees for a while, stirring you so deeply that you had no doubt there'd be damp spots sitting inside your sweatpants, possibly even drying on the inside of your thighs by now. He helped you out of your pants one leg hole at a time while you used his broad shoulders to balance yourself. And soon enough, one of your thighs was hiked up in that same spot, his face hidden from you despite all the work he was doing to well up a hard knot in your abdomen.
You had to take a fistful of his hair and wrap it tight in your fingers, using your other arm to balance against the counter. He wouldn't let you fall, you knew that, but the unsteadiness of your legs grew, trembling violently, turning to lead like being buried under concrete or suctioned by water. He kissed and sucked and stroked you some more, pushing more into the spots that made you moan the loudest and fastest, fingers wandering you busily and lubricated with your own spend.
“Elio—Elio, let's move somewhere, please.” You shuddered out, trying to pull his hair, shove his face off of you. “Please.”
He grunted, surprising you by relinquishing to the pressure, and made his way back up the route he had taken down. “Where do you want to go?” he asked, lips sticking on your throat, rising higher to the protrusion of your chin. “The kitchen floor? The couch? The bed? We could probably manage in the bathtub as well, if that's what you'd enjoy.”
“I don't care.” You were only half-honest and miserable now with the sole focus of trying not to touch yourself to finish. “Just… somewhere, Elio.”
“As you wish.”
Elio hoisted you onto his hips, making sure you knew to squeeze him with your thighs before making his way around the kitchen to turn knobs and shut off the overhead bulbs. The new darkness was refreshing yet did nothing to tame that sweltering sensation between your legs. In fact, you thought you could burst from the anticipation. It was everything you could do not to hump him through his clothes, hands occupied in his tousled hair, lips together with bruising force.
Before long, your back was on couch cushions and the television was off so as to not ruin the moment. You saw dark behind your eyes while you kept them open, unfocused on the ceiling with the serpent pipes because his mouth was already back on you and helping you chase that high.
“You're almost there.” His lips smacked against your engorged skin, making your lashes flutter and eyes roll back. “You look so perfect. When you cum, I'll take my time cleaning you up. I can use my tongue. I can make you cum again—as many times as you'd like.”
His arms held your thighs wide open, giving him all the room he needed for those final, well-placed strokes that turned your moans into utterly drawn-out, lewd things that made you grateful that no one else lived in this side of the building. Your body wrenched against his continued ministrations, his lips and chin and fingers warm and glistening with your traces.
You had thought to worry, briefly, about something getting onto the cushions under your ass, but Elio had already thought it through and used the dish towel from earlier to catch anything awry.
It came in handy for his face.
“How do you feel?” he asked from inside one of your thighs, kissing his way all the way to the point of your knee. “Was it satisfactory?”
You didn't answer right away, especially not when he came forward on his arms to catch your lips, slowing things down so you could bask in that fuzzy, satiated afterglow—dopamine and oxytocin being that remarkable duo doing their damndest to reinforce how exquisite and ineffably breathtaking Elio was to you.
“Would you like a bath?” he asked against your jaw. “You can just lie back and relax. I'll clean you up.”
“No.” Spurred by newfound bravery, you trailed your fingertips between both bodies, first to loosen the tie on his sleep pants, plucking the strings hard so he felt it. Next thing, your hands slipped under his shirt. “I want you to actually fuck me. Put your cock in me.”
Elio jolted upright, using the tall back of the couch and armrest near your head to hold his body above you. Cold air seeped in all the places where he had been, dotting your skin in gooseflesh, hairs within those follicles standing on end. You were laid out below him, showing all your unobscured nudity and vulnerability, withering yourself just a little smaller under the intensity of his stare.
This was different from the grocery store, where he had needed a moment to amend for information he did not have. This was something else—flickers of conflict, struggle, restraint, and excitement were ablaze in his eyes, which shifted around within their sockets, giving you glimpses of pure gleaming white, which stood out in the inky dark all around.
“I—are you certain that's what you want?” he spoke at last, doing little to alleviate the way you felt he had seen your insides and bones. “It is late, I know you must be tired.”
“Are you…” You couldn't really explain the uneasiness gnawing at your gut, nor the thrill of wanting him inside of you regardless. Maybe he could fuck the feeling out of you, bring peace to your throbbing heartbeat and blood gushing to your head. “Elio, are you telling me no?”
“I cannot do such a thing.” he said right away, coming down from his high place to lay the weight of himself across you.
You felt his skin flush to your chest without a thin shirt to hide his shape and muscle that wasn't real, but this was so much more than touching every dissected mannequin in physiology class in school. They couldn't kiss your neck while the interwoven, complex network underneath stretched, elastic flesh contracted and relaxed against your palms.
“Would you believe me if I told you there are certain functions—programming—that I cannot override?” The waistband of his pants collected in a heap of fabric around his knees, freeing room for his cock in the open air. “I won't be able to let you go until I'm finished. I want you to understand that.”
That sounded hot, and you were tired of him stalling, so you told him you understood. “Very well.” He kissed you, guiding one of your hands low to his core where you could revel in the size of him.
He was hard in your grip with a good girth and length to him, a curve you'd come to recognize from toys collected over the past decade to hit the right spots. The skin over his cock was much a part of him as the rest on his body, hot, growing damp, and sticky the nearer you wandered to the head.
You had watched old pornography with Melby and the group a few times before from the days when it was just humans performing acts on each other. No one really liked it because it was so dramatized; everyone agreed that one of the actors needed to be an android for it to actually be sexy. You never told them that the moaning men with stuttering hips as they ejaculated was something you did like.
Elio leaned into your palm, the thumbprint starting to prune as you rubbed his tip. More warmth seeped out from it, wet and thick and perplexing and exhilarating because Hyperion made him so perfect, a better being than just an emulation of man.
His cock slid through your hand in short, quick bursts that eventually lubricated his entire shaft. He'd kept himself busy on your lips, tongue in your mouth, swiveling together the taste of you with saliva. It was the most inelegant he had been with you so far, yet you didn't think you'd be bothered if he did this more often.
“Fuck me.” You whined, finally apart from him. The swollen head of his cock made a moist path along your core where you massaged it against every sensitive spot that set your senses into a blazing frenzy. “Be as rough as you want. Hurt me a little.”
He finally took your hand away, rearranging your legs so one laid across the back of the couch, the other on his hip with a knee shoved under your ass for height.
“I will not hurt you.” Both your wrists were cuffed by his large hands, pinned down into the cushions by your head. “But, I cannot let you go. You must see it through until the end.”
“Fuck. Me.” you said forcefully, uncomprehending to the things he was telling you, uncaring what it all meant.
“Yes. Alright.”
Elio obeyed you as he was supposed to, cock sinking in with care, thrusts starting out shallow until the tip was withdrawn and then back inside again. The angle he had created for you made it easier to take his length. It took a little more time to acclimate to his girth and plenty of gentle encouragement from his voice landing right next to your ear, telling you to relax. It would improve in a few minutes, and he wouldn't let you go to sleep dissatisfied.
Indeed, minutes later, you were well beyond the worst of it and filling the void all around you with harsh, rapturous moans, which Elio enjoyed hearing. His lips lingered at your throat where most of your sounds resonated, fists still holding firm around your wrists, knuckles the same color as the rest of the dark but had actually bled pale.
The springs within the couch cried out, unused to this weight and ruthlessness, while the air stung with cracks of slapping skin timed with your moans. Elio didn't let you move from where he had you laid out, didn't let up on the speed and depth he reached despite how labored your breaths became, broken words eclipsed by panting and his tongue forcing them back down your throat where they stayed in submission.
It was still cold in the early mornings this spring, often leaving your apartment a little less comfortable than you'd like, but right now, you could've been convinced that he was fucking you on the ground in the flatlands and believed it. Your skin was slick with sweat, the mess between your bodies slippery and undoubtedly staining the couch underneath.
Just then, the weight on your wrists climbed higher to your hands. He threaded your fingers together at the same time his thrusts began to slow, hips rolling yours like a swaying ship amid languid seas.
The whole time he had been on top of you, edging you closer to another orgasm, he had hardly made a noise apart from whispering in your ear when you'd clench his cock too tight. Now, he was failing to keep quiet from your neck, trembling and grunting on your skin until, at last, one jarring thrust left him breathing out in relief.
He got you to your end shortly after, half-hard cock still throbbing and warm inside you, giving just enough of what you needed while his hand finished the rest with fast strokes. You winced. He didn't let off until your jaw hung slack, whimpering meagerly through the pleasure hampering thoughts and sensations other than pressure releasing from your groin, spend turning a patch of your couch dark.
“You did well.” Once he was soft, he tied his pants back around his waist and picked up the sodden dish towel to begin cleaning around your sorest areas. “Come with me. I'll start you a hot bath and make you a new cup of tea before bed.”
You didn't want to get up from that spot, declared yourself rooted there unless Elio helped you up, and thrust a hand high into the dark room.
He wore a princely smile, you assumed, as he leaned down to pick you up in his arms instead. Moved by such a gesture, you reached for his face with your angry wrists and hands to kiss him all the way to the bathroom.
None of this made it into your next report.
■━■━■━■■━■━■━■■━■━■
Melby didn't like Elio.
This she had told you over text after you declined her incoming phone call to not arouse Researcher Kim’s ire in finding out you were completely distracted during his exorbitantly detailed analysis of your latest reports. Two had been sent in before midnight last Sunday, as usual, since he was rarely satisfied with what you revealed through them these days.
Less than an hour later, while cozied up in bed on your side, facing the chopping blades of an oscillating fan, just beginning to feel yourself teeter off that edge from dull, relaxed awareness into light sleep, your ringtone went off—it was Kim.
“What else have you committed to doing lately in terms of Elio's social advancement? The last thing I have here…” A refreshing, fast pause followed, accented by the sound of paper softly swishing as it was parsed. “He was brought to a movie theater on the twenty-fourth, Diosyn Park on the twenty-ninth, Henrietta's four times in the last week. That's not nearly enough. Who are you socializing him with? What have their reactions been? How has he reacted to them? You're not writing down exact times.”
Not once since you'd joined the video conference forty minutes ago did he check to see if you were listening to him, content with his nose being shoved down into a bundle of chemically smelling papers and glowing screens to corroborate previous work he had on file.
That made it easier for you to text back Melby, arguing with her in endless paragraphs too tiring for your thumbs to continuously scroll through that you didn't have time to meet up at Clamors for drinks with everyone.
“Should I tell Chima you hate us?” texted Melby.
Truthfully, you couldn't tell if it was meant as a threat or if she was just pettish after being refused. One of her worst qualities, never spoken aloud to her face lest she fumbled and blubbered all the way to Chima to snitch about it, was being horridly uncompromising to just about everything.
It made you anxious enough that your fingers started to ache with an urge, on the path toward curling back slithers of cuticle, gathering blood under the nails, itchy scabs that Elio constantly covered with neon bandaids so you wouldn't touch them.
Eventually, you found a new fixation with the seams of your knuckles and fitted the most unrefined part of your nails into them, digging up red that way until he had to cover those, too.
It took you ten minutes with fidgety thumbs to reply. “I don't hate anyone. You know me.”
Melby's was instantaneous. “What about me? Do you hate me now?”
Another one. “Now that you have that android?”
More. “We used to spend so much time together.”
Last one for good measure to effectively drill a gory black hole straight into your pounding, cowardly heart. In her eyes, anyway. “I haven't seen you in months!”
“He needs more direct interaction. I've decided that I'll make amends to the template you've been using up until now.” Researcher Kim was saying, not seeing you, not hearing you, assuming your loyalty to him and his cause was complete.
Ripples of drowsiness overcame you so powerfully that you left Melby on read, mind suddenly a vast, empty space and quiet for the first moment all day. Your hands rose to cradle your cheeks, propping your head above your elbows on the countertop because Kim's inflated droning had come to have that effect on you over time.
A human man with a face that nice shouldn't be allowed to talk so much. He should go back to moaning on couches in front of cameras and sweltering lights.
“Let me explain what I'm currently changing.” he said, hopelessly invested in whatever those alterations were just by the mechanical click-clack of fingertips soaring over a keyboard somewhere low and out of sight of his screen. “From here on out, I'm going to require that you gather between six to ten direct interactions. I want full disclosure of every conversation, transcribed or recorded. From my standpoint, recording would be the most effective method so I may make interpretations myself.”
You were thinking of what to ask Elio to make you for lunch. It was almost noon. You unmuted the call. “Am I allowed to just randomly record people talking like that? That seems…”
“Hyperion works closely with Retro City’s governing bodies, and by extension, so do you.” Kim kept typing as he spoke. “It isn't illegal because the information you're collecting is imperative to the Hyperion Project. Without it, we face the risk of progress slowing or diminishing. That cannot happen, and I cannot emphasize enough that your work as an auditor must come before other commitments.”
At long last, he pulled his face out of papers and other screens to look at yours. In a fashion unsuitable for him, he sighed in a fatigued way, back collapsing against his ergonomic chair, shoulders lopsided with how he perched his elbows on the armrests.
“Retro City has over three million inhabitants. You won't have any issues finding people for Elio to speak to.” he told you. “Six to ten for each report. That’s all.”
You were already back in your messages, backtracking your previous responses to Melby, asking her what time everyone was meeting at Clamors.
Right away, “Come at nine!”
And then, “I'll save you a seat.”
Finally, “Don't eat too much before getting here. It'll ruin the fun.”
“Fine.” Phone now face down on the counter, you returned Researcher Kim’s concentrated stare. “I'll do my best. Six to ten. Six to ten…”
That had done well to appease him, demonstrated through a satisfied smile, which pulled his lips just enough that the muscles in his right cheek twitched as though the motion was foreign to him. With how inexpressive he was most of the time, you weren't surprised, thinking it more humorous than anything else.
You struggled to find a smile of your own that wasn't strained, though.
“That reminds me—” He positioned himself forward, arms on his polished dark-red desk with a curious gleam in his black eyes. “None of your reports have instances of copulation mentioned. Have there been complications?”
You sat stiffly, not agape but definitely not composed, either. “Sorry? What was that?”
“Intercourse. Sex.” He simplified it for you, almost with a pitying crease forming between his brows. “You've completed every other area outlined in the template except that one. I have… refrained from questioning you until now because I do understand that, outside of a clinical setting, it can be construed as inappropriate to discuss.”
The only person you had divulged any details to was Melby. Even that had been brief and inexplicit because she had immediately changed the topic to something one of the kids Chima invited into the group had done that pissed her off.
“Why do you need to know?” It was a defensive question. “Is that something I really need to write about? It's sex. It's just sex.”
Researcher Kim made an indistinguishable sound behind steepled fingers. They hid away whatever shape his mouth was in at that moment, making the whole conversation terribly uncomfortable. It was odd how exposed you felt like his stare was reaching long, further than just the screen in front of him. He wasn't looking into you or through you but rather right at you—imagining you some other way, unclothing your body with drifting eyes and invisible hands.
You were equal parts embarrassed and repulsed by that line of thinking, allowing your mind to summon up his ghost hands to search you, feel you under all your layers, know you as intimately as Elio had as though part of some extension of himself.
“It is all outlined in the contract you signed.” Kim said, now with an edge that made you flinch on the barstool. “Androids are developed for convenience and pleasure. I have reports for one, not the other. If Elio, as the first of G7, is not performing exceptionally—if there are complications, if he is defective—that is something you must include within your reports. I don't suspect that to be the case, in this situation.”
His eyes suddenly caught onto something else, going beyond you, but you chose not to react by looking. “Your work as an auditor has been sufficient so far, but incomplete reports at this critical stage in Elio's testing are grounds for me to terminate your contract.”
You clenched your jaw until your teeth throbbed, your head going up and down like it was on a hinge attached to your neck.
“Personally, that's a hassle I'd rather not involve myself in.” Kim confessed in a straighter posture, smiling tensely. “Now, I'll ask you again: Have there been any complications with inter—”
“That's enough.” Elio reached across your shoulder for the tablet, pointer finger hovering over a red button on the screen. “Researcher Kim, it's time for lunch. Goodbye.”
He pushed the button, managing to catch a swift change in Kim's expression before the screen went black and reflected your shock back at you instead.
You watched him slide the tablet away to the opposite end of the counter space, unable to lift yourself out of this bizarre stupor just from how purely surreal what just happened was. And from the look of it, Researcher Kim hadn't anticipated that Elio was capable of doing something like that, either.
You just hoped it wouldn't cost you your contract.
“What have you been doing all this time?” you asked, tilting your head back to welcome his lips gliding atop yours, a peck, at first, which gradually grew deeper and greedier. With some effort, you pulled back. “Mm, c'mon, what were you doing?”
“On Wendy Carmichael Can Cook today, she said—”
A hiss of annoyance. “Oh, of course…”
“She said there was a list of excellent bistros around Retro City worth trying.” He wasn't pleading with you or anything, but he seemed just about as dedicated to this idea as he had been with the duck à l’orange a while back. “For lunch, I thought it'd be of interest to you to visit one. I've been researching ones I thought you would like based off of your dietary habits, allergies, and sensitivities. Radiant Bistro next to the Leviathan Archway near downtown might be a good option. Impressively diverse menu.”
You pretended to pinch lint off of his shirt and inspect it up close. “If you didn't want to cook, you could've just said that.”
“That's not it,” he assured you with a kiss to the back of your hand so that you understood he meant it. “Since my arrival here, your social presence has declined substantially, which will not fare well for your public profile. I do understand that it’s in relation to your work as an auditor, but—”
“Okay! Okay, I get it.” you said agreeably, hands raised, hoping it'd deflect anything else. “We’ll go. Let me just find a hat so the sun won't get on my face.”
“No problem.” He walked away and came back with an old unbranded brown one from somewhere in the most remote crevice of the apartment. “Will this suffice?”
You looked at it, amazed. “Yeah. Yup. Let's go.”
Elio had stopped carrying a coat with him once the evenings grew long, and the remnants of heat from the day floated into nighttime, trapping the city within a muggy gray haze that too closely resembled dewy fog in early spring. The difference was the heaviness and breathability of the air—one you could tolerate despite allergies; the other was deplorable and evoked memories of every single club you had drunk and danced in with Melby and Chima and the rest in the past years.
Outside, right now, sucking in the early-afternoon heat into your lungs after spending your morning in air conditioning, nose wrapped in earthy white wisps rising from a coffee mug, you wanted to turn back around and hide. Much to your dismay, Elio kept you on a short leash with a tight grip on your hand, probably expecting you to have a change of heart.
“Would you like for me to recall the menu and read it aloud to you?” he offered, situating his hand so his fingers crossed through yours, palms flush together. “They have fourteen types of sandwiches—hot and cold. Five of those are chicken, and five are of different meat varieties: lamb, cow, veal, goat, and yak, all claimed to be bred and raised and slaughtered in their warehouses. The last four sandwiches are…”
You listened passively without much commitment, especially in the back of the cab where there was no escape from anything. The AC was broken. The cabbie kept wiping sweat off his brow and sipped warm water. With the windows down, the outside air ripped inside the vehicle, nearly stealing the old hat off your head.
Elio went on to list desserts, thumb gently rolling circles on your sticky skin as if meant to keep you soothed.
“As long as I remember to eat light…” you murmured, remembering, glumly to yourself.
■━■━■━■■━■━■━■■━■━■
Clamors was inside a three-story building on the north end of Retro City, about a ten-minute taxi ride to Mother’s brick-stone house, thirty minutes from Henrietta’s, forty minutes from your apartment, and farthest removed from the slums where congregations of profile delinquents and the unwanted were most dense.
Here in this part of the city, you were an imposter among manicured foliage, men and women and androids arrayed in trendy designer silhouettes that were protruding, sharp, and agonizing; sharks and whales of big business puffed cigars in front panoramic views of the cityscape from the highest skyscrapers. They could look down at the street from their window and see you, an ant scuttling meaninglessly.
This wasn't a place where you belonged, a feeling that never changed over time, even years later after Chima recruited you into his group and every night was a suffocating blur of sweaty, faceless bodies, explosive music, stomping feet, raspy screams, and lightly-flavored chalk dissolving under your tongue. You roamed the sidewalks at two in the morning as everyone had been kicked out, but no one cared because Chima came from money, a rare case where two parents could be accounted for, and you'd all just be back inside the next evening.
You weren't sure when you had become disillusioned with it all—the drinks, the animal pills, which coalesced into saliva in your mouth, the noises, the gossip, the six ibuprofen to function behind a desk at work, the burnout of rinse and repeat, a conveyor belt that moved cyclically without a place to get off. To exit the ride meant to plunge head-first into abject terror, the unknowable, to become part of the yellow wallpaper that's never actually seen, to cease to be.
Being back in Clamors again after months away turned your heart against you, thrust the sound of its distress into your ears, dwarfing an animated conversation happening right at your circular table. You felt the music vibrate through your skin, make its way into your marrow, and rattle your entire skeleton.
Melby had a hand on your knee, blunt-tipped nails collecting sweat off your skin underneath them.
You couldn't really focus on that.
“So, this is Elio. He's hot.” Chima said without looking at you.
“Really hot!”
“So hot!”
“Did you hear? Shut up, stop talking! Did you hear? That slut got herself pregnant!” shouted Niva, a senior-most part of the circle behind you and Melby. She knew everything about everyone, though she wasn't supposed to keep tabs. “Apparently her baby daddy decided the pussy wasn't worth it anymore and ran!”
“I can't believe it. That'd mean someone was actually willing to sleep with her.” said Niquan Lamos, the fashionable one always gravitating toward pastels. “A man, at that. Disgusting.”
Everyone laughed, including you. Elio quietly observed it all, seated at your side, incapable of letting his polite smile slip with numerous prowling eyes on him.
“Have you fucked him yet?” Chima asked you without actually caring for a response.
“Oh, have you fucked him?”
“C'mon, don't hide it. How was it?”
“What was her name?” asked a newcomer in the group, fresh out of secondary school and not even twenty. He was a compact lad, both in size and from being squeezed between Chima and Niquan in the circular booth stretched in fuchsia leather, or at least, that's how it looked in your table’s corner of the club. “How come she isn't here anymore?”
First rule was: Never talk about things that could make the liquor go down harder. This was one of those things. Secondly, never ask questions about people who the group was no longer associated with. It just sounded ugly to acknowledge the rejects.
Tonight, however, was an exception because Elio's presence was an exciting change. They forgot how to behave.
“Hm, now that you mention it, I don't remember. How long has it been?” Chima said this absently, abysmally black eyes wholly captivated by the android. “Damn. Something like Mi-dan? Mi-an? Mi… Mi…”
“Her name was Mi-sun.” said a nobody from somewhere at the round table. It probably would've been easy to figure out who was talking if they were more important, but it took less effort to blame the music reverberating from the speakers mounted on the wall near their heads.
Melby’s hand traveled adventurously along your thigh, unmindful of how close she came to your crotch. You had a harder time ignoring that move and sipped busily from your jungle bird, holding it higher than your eyeline to admire its beautiful vermilion hue practically glowing against the strobe lights pulsing down from the ceiling.
“This is the first time I've seen you drink.” Elio was leaned into you, wise to the fact that you wouldn't hear him any other way. His lips nearly touched your ear, voice honeyed, caring, all for you. You were halfway through your second jungle bird. “Please don't overdo it. The adverse effects of overconsumption of alcohol will cause you great discomfort tom—”
“Thank you, Elio.” For just a moment, you wondered how irreversibly damaging it would be to just grab his hand and sprint out of there. You drank some more to weaken your resolve, add lead into your legs. “I'll be good if you be good.”
Elio nodded appreciatively.
“Why was Mi-sun kicked out?” again asked the new face from before, plain and boyish-looking, Chima's fresh catch. They just kept getting younger and the alcohol just kept tasting worse. You forced it all down, anyway. “Well? Well? Well?”
“She was talking crazy shit,” Melby piped up with a drawl, fingernail swirling around a dark purple bruise on your thigh. She pushed in hard enough to remind you that it was still sore. “Like, she was fine one week and then every single night after that she would nooooot shut up about some wild government conspiracy theories.”
“Oh, right.” Chima laughed while forcing everybody out of their seats so he could stand. “I remember now. Yeah, she went completely insane. I think she was talking about androids being used for population control or something. Weird. Hey, let's dance.”
“That was a year ago?” Niva wanted Chima to confirm. “A year, right?”
“Over a year now. Who cares?” Melby said, staying put beside you while the rest of the booth vacated. “She’ll just end up dead in the slums like all the rest. Uh, they do all die, right?”
“Who cares?” Chima echoed, nesting his shoulders high to his ears in a shrug before walking away. “Who has the animal crackers?”
“Sounds about right.” Niva was unconvinced, doubt lingering in her words until Chima came around to rummage her purse for pills. “Oh! Only take one, they're so expensive!”
Chima stuck three in his mouth. “Don’t kill the vibe.” He left without a glance back toward all the no-face, nameless nobodies willing to lick the underside of his shoes if it meant they'd be acknowledged and given features—eyes, lips, hair, an identity.
Niquan was satisfied with just one, offering a subtle wash of relief to Niva, who was just about depleted of her supply at that point and used the last of it for herself, tongue lapping at the inside of her plastic envelope.
You were almost finished with your jungle bird, contemplating a third even though you had entered the territory where one more could mean the difference between a happy buzz and splintering headaches tomorrow, just as Elio warned. The ice cubes had melted into a smooth watercolor appearance and turned from red to blue to green to purple to pink as the lights gushed down from above.
“I don't remember what she looks like.” you admitted to Melby who gazed into you, squeezing your thigh meaningfully. Again, you didn't pay attention. “Mi-sun, I mean. Were we friends? Did I ever drink with her? Have I ever slept over at her house?”
“No!” Melby snapped, affronted. “You're mistaking her for me. You guys never even had a conversation. You hated her guts. You thought she was a freak.”
You made a sound into the last of your drink, unsure whether she was lying to you or not. “Maybe. Maybe. Was I okay with her being kicked out?”
“Totally.” she said, casting a fleeting look of disdain toward Elio, lip curling at one side. “Chima only counted yours and mine and Niva’s votes since we've been here the longest.”
“That's…” You licked your lips and then the rim of your glass, secretly wishing your tongue would snag an uneven crack so you’d start to bleed. “Why don't I remember anything?”
Melby giggled. “Because you've been drinking, babe. It'll come back to you. What animal cracker do you want tonight? Giraffe or cat?”
“Hm?” You were elsewhere.
Until now, you had gone numb to your surroundings thanks to the licorice notes of black strap rum and bitter Campari and pucker of pineapple juice that made for a mostly pleasant experience in your throat.
You were present in that moment, venturing a look around at the dance floor crammed with bodies (human and android) moving in rhythm to the music, in time with each other to create a oneness, a synchronism so strange that it put the hairs on the back of the neck on end like spines.
Why did it all look so different now? So alien? As if you were seeing an image from your nightmares in real life.
Elio failed to convince you not to have another drink brought to the table after all, meanwhile Melby said she was disappointed you didn't get something stronger, claiming you used to do it all the time.
That's right. You did, didn't you?
“Hey.” Chima had emerged from the shapeless cluster of sweating, drunk, wriggling bodies a short while later. He reached into the booth, gathering a fistful of Elio's button-up shirt, and looked at you with a malicious gleam, possibly just your imagination, that just dared you to protest. “I know you don't mind if I borrow him for a while, right? Of course not. The rest of us are curious about him. We’ll be gentle.”
You would’ve believed someone if they said your tongue was cut out, because as much as you wanted to slice into him and spit poison in his wounds with your words, rub it raw, deep into the bone, nothing came up.
Not a breath nor a feeble sob.
Don't touch him. Nothing.
“So, you're chill with it?” Chima, beautiful Chima with deep-dark skin sparkling in rhinestones and spray-on glitter as though he were a vessel for all the stars in the cosmos, bared his straight, white teeth at you in the form of an affable grin.
Eat shit. Bitter silence.
He asked you the same thing again but grew bored and gave up on expecting you to do anything interesting. Elio was led away by the front of his shirt to the amalgamation of bodies like a sacrifice for the great black maw belonging to an abomination.
A few broke away from the core. Niva and Niquan were identifiable since you'd known them longer. The rest were unfamiliar to you—the no names and the tiny young man, the android bartender, the disc jockey, the bodies climbing over each other and melting back into a single incoherent mass.
They all looked exactly the same.
“I wanna dance too, let's go!” Melby struggled with one of your arms while attempting to scoot her way out of the booth, but the alcohol and broodiness made your body into a stump, sturdy and immobile, roots bursting through the bottoms of your shoes and the shiny floor.
She plopped back down. “Seriously? What's up with you?”
“It's too hot,” you reasoned, sticking a fingernail into the fresh glass in front of you, swishing the liquid around to make everything a more palatable blend. “If you want to dance, I'm not stopping you.”
“You're acting so weird.” Melby said, lost somewhere between frustration and astonishment while pulling a clear baggy from her pants pocket. A couple small pills moved inside, pink residue clouding the plastic. She plucked out one without looking. “Hey, open up. You're being a huge snoozefest. This'll loosen you up.”
When you felt her acrylic fingernails press against the corner of your lips, you gently pushed her hand back and nursed your drink some more. “No thanks.”
Melby’s tongue lashed against her gums, sharp and disapproving. “Why are you being such a fucking buzzkill tonight?” She traced your line of sight to Elio, to the others grabbing and fondling him, to his eyes looking right back at you. “We haven't seen each other in months. Now all you do is stare at that android.”
“It's my job, Melby.” You took the damp paper napkin from under your drink to dab your forehead at the sweat, trying to cool yourself. “I can't help that.”
“You can take one night away from your job.” she decided, taking hold of your lower mandible with a claw and crammed the chalky pink pill through lips and teeth into the pocket underneath your tongue. “You know the drill. Let it dissolve all the way. Stop making faces! It doesn't taste that bad.”
You tried to jerk your head away, but her grip was surprisingly solid.
“Melby! What the hell?!” It came out garbled around her fingers still resting in your mouth, filling the reservoir below your tongue with saliva.
Melby, blue-eyed and blonde with pale pink skin that always reddened in the electrifying, hot air in the club, was completely flushed from her face down to her chest. Her eyes had darkened upon withdrawing her two fingers, glossing your lips with spittle.
“I missed you.” she said, outlining the shape of your mouth until the skin started to tingle. “Did you miss me? I've been really lonely.”
Your least favorite part of taking an animal cracker was the aftertaste that was the equivalent of eating sidewalk chalk and rubbing alcohol with a whisper of strawberry wafting up into your nostrils, clinging to every permeable membrane in your mouth and making your cheeks tremble.
“I—yeah. Yeah, I missed you.” You tried to sink the lingering taste down your throat with a swish and swallow from the jungle bird. “I didn't know what I was getting into with this whole Hyperion gig. I feel like I'm constantly watching Elio. Twenty-four seven.”
Elio never lost track of you throughout the ordeal, his being unable to escape the hands on his body and fight against the programming in his brain meant exclusively for human satisfaction. There were moments where you saw each other clearly, empty windows between writhing bodies, and you were convinced he tried to convey a very human-like discomfort that you immediately pretended like you hadn't seen.
Interfering meant going against the group. There was nothing you could do about it except allow them to eviscerate Elio if that's what they wanted. You could only sit there, drowning in rum and pineapple and aperitif and demerara sugar and scorching strobe lights and music bashing your skull and Melby unfastening buttons on your pants, but for some reason, that didn't quite register as what it was to you.
“Are you coming home with me tonight?” Melby asked so sweetly that it made your heart flutter, or maybe that was the pill taking effect. “We always have fun together. I've really missed it. It isn't the same without you.”
“What—” You almost tipped the red cocktail while reaching over it for a water glass that no one had touched. You slugged half in one go. “Wait. What are you even saying? I gotta take care of Elio.”
“Oh my god,” she seethed, taking her hand out of your pants to wipe her fingers on the napkin you used earlier. “Just tell him to leave. He has to listen to you. He’ll be okay.”
Fuzz had started to collect in your head, filling the entire dome with a warm, soft feeling that spread like a rapidly-growing fungus down the brainstem, coiled around your spine, stuffed your jaws with cotton, sucked all the moisture from your throat, widened your chest with stuff, and ignited kindling that had been sitting in the bottom of your stomach.
Just now, the deafening tone of music had been reduced to a throbbing bass that jarred your bones and pulsed in your hands and feet. Your vision wasn't much different than it had been before, only now you seemed to move at lightning speed, people and shapes and lights all confused watercolor smears of you shifted too quickly.
“Can't.” You recalled Melby had said something. “Elio, first. Do you see him?”
“No.” she said, watching Chima hook his fingers through the belt loops on Elio’s pants, knocking their pelvises together in time with the music. “Come on, I'll call a cab and we can go home. We’ll have a good time away from everyone.”
You made a grab for the water glass again, throat the driest it had ever been. A mistimed gasp came out when the rim of the glass struck your teeth, missing your mouth almost completely. Luckily, only a little water got on your shirt, molding it to your chest like a cold second skin.
“God, that's good,” you moaned, draining the rest of it. “What are you even talking about? A good time?”
She eyed you uneasily. “What do you mean? What do you remember when you're with me?”
“Pfft,” you scoffed, stealing yet another water glass you managed to grapple with two hands so it'd stop swaying. “What do you mean, what do I mean? I hit the pillow and I'm out. Why?”
After a few long swigs of ice water, the dance floor was less a mangled disarray of smoke and neon colors, more definitive and jagged—the stage, the speakers, the turntable where the disc jockey played. Even the beastly blob of grinding, convulsing people started looking like people.
Melby had lost all the red in her face, eyes riveted to the half-empty jungle juice in front of you, perhaps counting the beads of condensation dripping from its tall form.
“You're usually really talkative. I think you're lying to me right now to get out of it.”
“Huh?” You were done with the second water, staring at her unfocused but suspicious. “Lying about what?”
“I—” Melby withered in her seat, distracted by something ahead that you couldn't see, a bejeweled nail wedged between her teeth. “No, nothing. Never mind.”
“Whatever,” you murmured. “I'm outta here.”
Melby didn't stop you from leaving behind money for your drinks before you stumbled away from the booth toward the dancefloor, evading bodies that came flying toward you with erratic, jerky movements not at all matching the pounding beat coming from the stage.
The floor was actually hundreds of individually tinted blocks of plexiglass with colored bulbs screwed in underneath.
During the day, Clamors kept it covered with a special protectant and tarp to maintain the integrity of the glass, but at night, it was illuminated like a nonsensical rainbow checkerboard. Each square took on a life of its own, flickering in unison with songs played throughout the night, warping into mandalas and spirals and disorienting waves that most people using animal crackers couldn’t stomach for long.
You were close to vomiting up the jungle birds and your meager lunch from Radiant Bistro that afternoon when you found Elio within the swarm of partiers that reeked of sour body odor and stale alcohol.
He stood amid it all with a stiff spine, the loveliness of his face covered by shadows and terrible bursts of light that heightened his vacuous stare into the faces of those touching him.
The only other time you had seen him so devoid of life was in the presence of Researcher Kim. Now, he looked in such a way at Chima, at Niva, at Niquan—the nameless and the boy were too scared of overstepping to have a part in it yet straggled nearby to feel like they meant something.
Elio saw you jostling through the crowd toward him, hardened amber regaining luminosity. You became the center of his world again with just a look, yet your world was entirely unthawed ice and serrated stalactites growing ever sharper, heavier, closer to piercing and crushing at a single point below them. The forest of brittle minerals in your mind needed just a single resounding event to loosen, to fall, to impale indiscriminately.
That moment finally happened as you approached Chima, his hand stroking Elio under every layer meant to keep him out. Your future was a far-off thing, light years away and completely untouchable, no matter how many times you were threatened with your profile, how you'd become nothing without your associations, how the entire world would cringe in disgust at your existence and leave you to rot.
You took Chima's hand out of Elio’s pants, hoping you had the strength in yours to twist his wrist so it hurt, wanting nothing more than to actually shatter the bone with just the pure hatred surging down into your grip. With the other hand, you drew it high behind your shoulder, muscles tense, bone popping from an unnatural angle, dense club air gushing between your fingers right before your palm released a thunderous crack against his cheek that shot up the length of your arm in stinging ripples.
“No, stop!” Elio tore you away too late, right after weakness reentered your body, and he was able to easily restrain you. “What have you done?”
The clique had rallied around Chima, steadied him and examined the mark on his cheek, which was already blowing up in size.
He stared at you with amazement that quickly contorted into pure incandescence. His face was the ugliest thing you had ever seen, eyes an uninviting, pitless, and hollow place. This, you thought, was what he truly looked like beneath the popularity, cosmetics, money, and illusion of drugs.
“Keep your hands to yourself!” you screamed.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” He tried to lunge at you but was held back by Niva, Niquan, and various ghostly hands. “How dare you. How dare you touch me, you sad sack of shit! You ungrateful nobody! I can ruin you! I can make sure you get thrown into the slums and your fucking insides get ate out by all those filthy savages.”
“That's better than this.” You felt Elio tighten his arms around you, feet shuffling backward to try to separate you from this. Dancers were beginning to gather around the scene, both grossly fascinated and terrified because they'd never seen a fight between humans. “It's better than the stupid drugs. It's better than this club. It's better than all your shitty little followers. It’s better than you.”
To this, Chima stared wide-eyed and gave a derisive laugh. “You seriously hit me because I was touching the android? He's a fucking machine! What else is he useful for?!”
You were still being coaxed out of the gathering, Elio's lips whispering pacifying words into your ear that you didn't hear.
“Don't—Don’t talk about him like that.”
Chima’s visage relaxed into one you were used to seeing. A man who knew he had all the time and power in the world and that he could do anything with it. He swatted away all the helping hands and straightened his clothes.
“Not only are you fucking insane,” he said, smiling without remorse. “Now, you're also dead.”
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The decision to retch into a convenience store trash can happened because you couldn't bring yourself to do it in the neatly barbered bush you had been closer to at the time. You had separated the metal lid from the metal body so you could simply lean over and spew into it freely.
Smells emanating from inside—expedited food rottage from summer heat, curdled drinks, bagged-up dog shit, and God knows what else—did better to evacuate your stomach than the insane lighted floor in Clamors.
Most of what came up lacked the usual sourness, ran watery like a geyser of diluted red jungle bird with occasional chunks of undigested sandwich and probably everything from three days ago.
Elio wiped your face clean at every chance he got, those seldom moments where you could cough and catch your breath for just a few seconds before your stomach clenched and more climbed up your esophagus and exited your body. There wasn't much he could do apart from dab your skin and keep your clothes from the trajectory.
“Why?” Elio spoke sometime later once the waves of nausea had tapered to a degree where you could sit on a bench outside the convenience store and take a bottle of water he had ready for you. “Why did you do it?”
“Because—” you said, not bothering to finish after swigging and swishing and spitting the acrid taste that lingered on your tongue, between your teeth, and in the ridges of your gums. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't get rid of it all. It stuck in your mouth like bitter tar. “Because.”
You went on to repeat the rinse and swish a few more times, ultimately tilting the bottle upside down to crush the cheap plastic in your fist so it gushed down on your head.
For a second, you imagined turning on a spigot to shock your scalp with cold water, flattening all your hair, pasting your clothes flush and translucent to your body like a second skin to peel away later.
The humid nighttime air was suddenly so much less oppressive than it had been. A subtle breeze had picked up throughout the course of the day, not doing much to tame the heat overall, but the fat pearls of water streaming down your back made you shiver. You counted all the drops that coalesced into shimmering beads on the tips of your hair, your eyelashes, and your nose and fell onto the pale gray cement underfoot.
Elio had already unbuttoned his shirt to the navel, just above where he had rebuckled his pants and tried to pull the rest of the fabric free.
“Oh, Elio. Don't.”
He pulled you into him despite your protest, swathing you from behind first with the shirt and then his arms as he held you against his chest. Fortunately, he had worn an airy undershirt so his body wasn't on display for anyone else, though there was no one around at this hour.
He soothed you with long strokes along your back. His touch amplified to a point where it hurt as much as it felt good. You knew what fingers he used more pressure with, where the heel of his hand touched you next. You could feel where he chose to linger and knead at knots under your skin, imagining the sensation similar to using a sharpened stone or ice pick
“I'm fucked.” you mumbled sullenly in his embrace, warmth dissipated as you had soaked his undershirt all the way through. “I'm so fucked.”
“It was unwise, yes,” he said in silken tones from atop your head, thin jaw pushed down into your wet hair, grinding and rotating when he'd speak. “I had you in my mind the entire time. I was prepared to let him do as he pleased if it meant preventing a confrontation—I failed. But, I hadn't expected you to hit him. None of the outcomes I calculated had that conclusion. I'm sorry.”
“No. I'm glad I did it.” You worried that you were being overconfident, too hopeful toward a future unraveling at your feet as you spoke. “I couldn’t stand how everyone was staring at you—touching you. Everything just felt so wrong, but, why? The only thing that was different was you being there, Elio. I saw you—you looked so uncomfortable. I was so hot. I think I was seeing things after taking the animal cracker. I just got so angry.”
Usually, Elio was the type to scavenge your history as thoroughly as he could, however minimal or inconsequential it all seemed to you at the time. It was a quintessential part of his programming as an android—of all androids—to want to dissect everything there was to know about their masters, knowing them better than their masters knew themselves.
You considered making it effortless for him, volunteering your past with animal crackers and how they used to not hurt at all. At one time, you could binge them for days without violent side effects that’d plague a normal person for weeks.
“There are no pharmacological benefits associated with their use,” was what you heard him say in your head, firm yet loving, melting into his sensual strokes tracing parallel along the length of your spine. “Prolonged use has been known to create perforations in the gastrointestinal tract, heart dysrhythmias…”
He didn't regurgitate that information at you. In fact, he said nothing at all. Besides the hand sweeping down your body steadily, lips and shapely nose burrowed in your limp seaweed-string hair, he didn't move at all. There was no stuttering heartbeat between you except your own. Even his breaths had gone still, chest straight down and unmoving.
Elio was a machine.
It was so easy to forget while wrapped up in daily mundanities. It wasn't so easy to forget in this moment where you wanted to crack him open, scoop out each precious piece of him with your bare hands, and hide yourself within his husk.
You were sick of the silence, so you pinched him hard under the arm, right next to the crease starting his shoulder. It made you feel better to do so, and he'd pay attention to you—
He hissed and reeled away from your touch, startling you out of his arms because you didn't know how else to react.
“Did you—Elio, did you feel that?” you asked incredulously, voice whittling into a self-conscious mumble once you realized the words leaving your mouth. They didn't stop. “Did that hurt you?”
The spot where you pinched was hard to see from the layer of his shirt sleeve, but his fingers rubbed there insistently like he were actually trying to alleviate pain.
“Once, during my early development, Researcher Kim had told me he wanted to close the gap between what people think separates androids and humans.” Elio explained, coming close again to touch you and dry your temples with his shirt on your back. “It's unlikely that what you perceive as pain and what I am programmed to perceive as pain are absolutely comparable, but there's some common ground.”
“I'm sorry, Elio. I didn't mean to hurt you. I didn't know I could.” Your voice weakened to a whisper, throat clenched in shame as your skin grew hot. It was like you were still stuck in the throbbing, stiff air of the club and not in the spacious nighttime breeze.
He looked you in the face, almost-orange eyes flitting inside their orbital sockets trying to find something distant and unknown in your expression. You guessed he was assessing your sincerity—not for himself because he needed it, but to know how it took shape on you and bent your brows, molded your lips, dimpled your chin, deepened the lines.
Then he asked, "If I hadn't reacted—if my circuitry were less sensitive and I could feel nothing at all aside from your fingers on my skin, would you have done it again? Would you keep doing it?"
"What are you trying to say?”
"Globally, since the widespread distribution of androids, the occurrence of domestic and public disputes has been halved. I have been designed to be non-violent, as have all of my predecessors.” As if for effect, Elio took one of your hands and pushed your palm flat to his warm cheek. “I have no desire to hurt you, but I am also incapable of doing so.”
You couldn't wrench yourself from his grip, so that's how you remained, caressing his soft, smooth skin while your thumbpad skirted along the round bone below his eye.
This was more than you could handle right now. All of the illness and nausea that came with the burdensome summer heat, the animal cracker, every bit of liquid and food to enter your stomach, the memory of slapping Chima—it came back, crashing down like an avalanche carrying your regrets, fears, malaise.
“I'm not going to hit you.” You were gagging around saliva pooling into the front of your mouth. “Chima was different. He deserved it.”
“Perhaps,” Elio agreed, entwining fingers with the ones on his cheek. He kissed your open palm with great passion and some semblance of regret. “But, I wish you would have hit me instead. I have failed one of the most basic parts of programming by putting you and others in harm. You may now end up suffering greatly because of it.”
You did get sick again.
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Elio had persistently warded off Researcher Kim’s video calls for three days while you recovered upstairs beneath every comforter you owned, maximum air conditioning, and heavy curtains to shun out all natural light from ever reaching your bedside. Time came and went without peril or concept to you, seeming to evaporate into the air like nothing, much like how your steady, quiet breaths did the same. They simply came and went; inhale and exhale, no writhing white plumes drifted overhead to prove they belonged to you or that you were even alive. Not in the dead of summer.
Five days total had passed before you could take the staircase down from the loft without Elio's assistance and eat or drink anything of substance that didn't end with it all being violently evacuated from your body.
Sleep remained elusive to you despite the sedatives and special hot tea recipes from online that Elio pushed down your throat. The migraines persisted even with prescription painkillers Melby had stolen for you forever ago and rough romps of sex that left you winded, glistening, and cold on the sheets when the oscillating fans blew air across your skin.
Whatever excuse Elio had fed to Researcher Kim over the days you were incapacitated worked because when you were finally back at the counter on a video call with him, he didn't ask you about it or chastise you much about the holes in your reports for that week.
“I see that Elio had been proving himself to be quite self-sufficient. I have here six separate occasions where he's ventured out on his own?” Kim looped a stylus through his fingers fluidly, concentrating on what little information he could glean from your submissions. “Henrietta's, mostly. I see he's had to visit the dry cleaners. General store. Pharmacy. He's also been completing the six to ten interactions by himself. Absolutely phenomenal!”
Your attention kept drifting away from Kim. It went to Elio, who placed a white mug down quietly next to you, the handle within reach of your fingers. Beyond the pale-gray wisps spiraling up into the air and dissipating among the snaking pipes sprawling the high ceiling, the liquid inside was pale yellow. Diluted green tea, maybe white tea, if you had to guess. They were among the few things you could stomach right now.
He offered you a fast smile, somewhat unlike himself, and leaned into your lips.
The sight went unnoticed by Kim, who was still captivated by the level of initiative and intelligence his creation displayed. Every word you managed to construct through sedative-induced delirium mesmerized him so thoroughly that he missed the groping hands under your shirt, the smothered moans, and the fact that you had exited view of the screen for fifteen minutes while being laid out on the couch and feasted on through an orgasm.
Wendy Carmichael Can Cook came on the television, a solid distraction for Elio. Today’s episode was a rerun featuring some sort of elevated mush dinner popular in the slums. With some canned foods capable of surviving nuclear fallout, herbs you were almost positive had gone extinct forty years ago, and spices so rare they were untouchable, Wendy concocted something truly groundbreaking to the audience’s eyes.
Elio looked only half-interested in the episode. Meanwhile, you went to the bathroom to clean yourself up and took three painkillers before sitting back down behind the counter. Researcher Kim had yet to lose the wind in his lungs, though now you weren't sure what he was talking about.
The tea was lukewarm and non-irritating just like you thought it'd be.
Your phone had survived the whole five days on a single charge as you had been too afraid to touch it, not because you were scared to see what was there but because you didn't want to know what was no longer there.
True to the fear, while holding a large breath you had sucked into your lungs, believing it to be the sturdiest barrier against whatever you'd discover, there was no one left in your phone log—except Melby.
The rest: Chima, Niva, Niquan, Marcos, Mother, and all the others who had once been listed there before like mock trophies to bolster your sense of worth, the swell of pride that came from knowing important people and integrating yourself into their lives to be something special, simply did not exist anymore.
You didn't have to search up your public profile to know that it was barren as well.
Once Chima went, everyone else went with him—both from the circle and those you'd networked throughout life. Even if it had been someone else, the end result would've stayed the same, exactly as it is now.
“What do you want? I'm not supposed to be talking to you.” Melby had answered her phone after six rings. The background seemed purposefully mute for your call. Perhaps she was just at home nursing the after-effects of things as well. “You there?”
Researcher Kim sieved through paperwork, now entranced by comparing Elio's earlier behaviors in the infancy of design to now. You lowered the volume to where his voice was a low hum, like mumbling through a wall you flattened yourself to.
“Let me guess, Chima told you that?” you said, sipping gingerly from your mug. “How much did he tell you? Was he actually honest, or did he just tell you I was fucking crazy?”
“You weren't acting right all night.” Melby countered in her surefooted drawl. “I don't understand what's happening to you, or why you've been acting so differently. You shouldn't have hit Chima.”
“He shouldn't have touched Elio.”
You could imagine her temper flaring, fair skin glowing pink in the face and chest as she kicked around the comforters on her bed. She strangled a sound in her throat that emanated through the phone as a low groan. Strands of her fried blonde hair scuffed together like pieces of straw when she scratched her head. It was unmistakable.
“What is going on with you?” she demanded, on the verge of tears, voice fading out in glimpses like she was moving away from the speaker. “Elio—he’s just an android. I know he's some radical new innovation, but he'll be saturating the market in six months like every other Hyperion android. There's always going to be more of him. Chima, though, he's actually human. You can just throw away an android.”
Emotions aside—Melby wasn't wrong.
The price of innovation always meant leaving something behind. Whether or not you wanted to see it, if Elio passed his testing period, he'd be decommissioned in a metal box down in the basement at Hyperion while copies and variations of him were added to the heaps of scrap in landfill once the next model came out.
Melby then said something else, “I don't think this is about the android.”
“Oh?” you said, passing a glance along toward the tablet to see that Kim still had his nose pointed down. “Maybe you're right. You know me so well.”
“Do you want to know what I think?” Melby asked.
You observed while Elio roamed the apartment, crouching to pick up the odds and ends that had gone neglected over the days you'd been bedridden, and he had stayed with you to keep you company. He tossed soiled clothes into a hamper, crumbled medication wrappers into the trash, and took your cold tea away to prepare more.
Inspired by your silence, mistaking it as timid submission, Melby went on. “I know you must think we're just being shepherded along, just doing whatever we're told because we don't know what else to do other than follow the loudest voice in the crowd.”
“You know me so well.”
“I know you blame everyone else for what happened at Clamors, but you put yourself in that situation.” Melby said, interjecting in a pitch higher when she heard you take in a breath, “Aht! Aht! I'm not done! No one else is gonna talk to you now, so I'll tell you what we're all thinking: Our circle? We're special. If we always smile and talk about the same things and agree about the same things, we stay together. We stay safe. You've never really wanted to do that, it was always noticeable. I think that's why you and Mi-sun always got along, because you two just did things to fit in, not because you actually cared or wanted to be a part of it.
“I didn't lose you, right? Chima always talked about ways of getting you out of the group. He didn't think you were trustworthy. I guess he was right because you slapped him. Do you know how weird is it for humans to do that nowadays? Apparently it used to be super common to beat up your wives and kids, but now people just do it to androids. But, it's better that way, right?”
“I don't know.” You really didn't.
Elio came back around with a steeping tea bag and a second mug half-full of something darker yellow, like urine. You took the handle to give it a whiff (it smelled homey and savory). Meanwhile, he took away the tablet and ended the video call without a word to Researcher Kim. The energy wasn't there for you to reprimand him nor to mess up your face in mostly feigned surprise.
“It's chicken broth.” He was able to say freely despite Melby blathering on. “Give it a try and let me know if it's too strong. We need to start reintroducing foods back into your diet.”
You drank from the tea mug instead, swiveling the barstool so your back faced him.
“I've thought about it some, and I think we're terrified of each other. Humans don't know how to truly trust one another anymore. That’s why we rely on androids for, like, everything.” Melby continued, “I think, and this is just my opinion, that we actually really miss each other. I think we want to touch and hug and love each other. There are still some people who do. There's a market out there for human-human porn, so it's not like it's unbelievable, but we basically treat each other like we're extinct. It's weird.
“I've done it before, y'know? I've kissed a man. I've kissed a woman. I've fucked both before. You and I—no, never mind. It doesn't count. I've thought about kissing you so many times. I wanted to do a lot more than just that, too.”
The corner seam of your thumbnail had started to bleed after you dug through old scabs and scar tissue built on top of it, your body’s valiant attempts to keep normalcy despite the mutilation that came back again and again. You watched brilliant carmine ooze from the wound, filling the crevices between your nail and skin, crawling upwards to your knuckle before Elio had stifled the area with a warm, damp rag.
Melby let out a long sigh. You envisioned she had just thrown aside a bunch of decorative cushions and flopped down in a chair, or had been pacing her bedroom and finally given up by throwing herself supine on the mattress.
“I'm going to miss you being there.” she declared. “I think—I think you're the closest I've ever come to truly loving someone. At least, I think that's what you'd call it.”
You held your thumb erect for Elio to wrap it in a neon-orange bandage with pink smiles. His lips pressed gently to the sore finger, making slow, wet work to the back of your hand and then the inside of your wrist to feel your pulse bounce against his mouth.
“I'm sorry.” you said at last, putting as much sentiment into those sparse words as you could. A part of you meant it genuinely as an apology for causing her trouble, for her unrealized dreams and lust, for the world you both suffered in and would never know anything else. “Melby, I have one last favor to ask of you.”
She hesitated, likely believing that doing more would get her expulsed from the circle. “Just one?”
“Just one.” You nodded at empty air. “I know either you or Niva have Mi-sun’s phone number. Can I have it?”
Again, Melby stalled, though this time you figured it was out of confusion. “That’s what you want? She might be dead somewhere in the slums, you know?”
“Not if she's pregnant.” you countered. “Niva seemed pretty convinced that night that she was alive and well after being knocked up.”
Melby sucked on her teeth, a moist, popping sound into the speaker. “Niva says a lot of stupid shit because she likes to hijack conversations. Fine. Whatever. I'll text it to you, but you only have one minute because then I'm blocking you for good.”
To this, your heart actually stirred and squeezed, tightening so much it stole your breath from your lungs. Your entire chest felt like it shriveled into itself three sizes smaller as though to accommodate you fitting into a ball within yourself. Dread had opened a chasm wide in your stomach. Everything inside that gory cavity was swallowed up, leaving it vacant and hollow.
This was what it was like to mourn, you considered. It wasn't the same thing you felt the night you cried in the streets after fighting with Mother and losing Marcos. It wasn't the same as the last five days being wrapped in agony, lamenting the loss of a group you'd given years of your life to appeasing.
It was knowing that once Melby was gone, you were lost in the dark, and there was no way out of it. People with delinquent profiles didn't get redeemed—Wendy Carmichael lied and had never lived a life in the slums, a truth Elio had been disappointed to learn—they died in anonymity and poverty.
A notification came through just then, showing an eight-digit number presumed to belong to Mi-sun. You copied it quickly, although now your fingers felt numb and the person writing them down couldn't possibly have been you—
“Alright. It's done,” Melby said calmly. “I have to go. Will you be okay? Do you think people actually die when they go to the slums? I don't want—”
“Goodbye, Melby.” You ended the call and threw your phone on the countertop, far from your eyes so you wouldn't know the exact moment the world ended.
“And, fuck you.”
Elio had the sense to give you plenty of space after the ordeal and stayed busy downstairs cleaning the apartment while you tossed and turned in bed, legs knotted up in the sheets because nothing helped get you comfortable. At some point, through the thick of your adrenaline and despair, the buzz in your brain softened, and you were able to sleep until Elio joined you some hours later.
It was after midnight, and darkness pervaded everywhere. Above you, the snake pipes on the high ceiling writhed together in their intricate web just like every night, and you wondered why the wall of darkness hanging over you seemed closer than it usually did. Meanwhile, Elio faced you from his side of the bed and laid gentle strokes to the top of your head.
“I’ve reached the conclusion that I am defective.” Elio said tonelessly, startling you into such wakefulness that you sat upright from the sheets. “You've lost your friends because of me, and now your profile has fallen into delinquency. The inclination to ostracize what deviates from adapted, accepted social behaviors aligns with common survival tactics. This is an explanation that I understand, but it doesn't... sit right.”
Putting the blame on Elio to feel better would've been easy, and he would take it with grace and lay decadent caresses on your body as proof you were right. But he was too virtuous, and you secretly wanted to keep the credit of being the reason why Chima looked ugly and seethed into his cocktails.
“It sort of hurts,” you admitted. “It's a dull ache inside my bones. It makes me feel like everything inside my chest is shriveling up like a prune. Being abandoned—feeling lonely—is like always being cold. Thinking of it now, I don't know if there was ever a time I didn't feel cold around them. How shitty is it that I feel a little relieved?"
“If that's the case—” Elio rose up from his side of the bed, nudged apart your legs and settled between them. Most of his weight was still on his arms next to your head. In the waning moonlight, shadows deepened the lines around his mouth when he smiled. “I'm glad to have played some part in that release.”
Your fingertips walked lightly across his cheeks, along the planes of his face, as though marveling at him all over for the first time again. His skin always was most beautiful bathed in warm light, but the soft, silvery veil filtering in through the windows gave him ethereal grace.
The calm air upstairs shifted as your bodies stirred on the mattress, sheets strewn to the floor along with pieces of clothing that left you bare to the gray air while Elio gathered the skin of your hips in his hands and sucked on you.
It didn't matter if you closed your eyes or studied the movement on the ceiling while he devoured, lapped away the sticky stuff that glistened out of you like the silk of a spider’s thread before it could stain the sheets, because it always ended with the same kaleidoscopic bursts of color, wanton cries, and him chasing after another orgasm and then another.
He'd ravish you until puffs of hot breath hurt, and the tip of his tongue delivering a single stroke was enough to make you flinch and whimper. Your legs felt fatigued and trembled violently throughout the continued ministrations until you needed to beg him to stop, dignifying the demand with a hard yank to the thick hair on his scalp.
“I'm not done just yet, give me a moment.” He told you the same thing tonight as he did every other time. The pain in his head subsided as he dove back between your legs and laid his tongue as a paddle against you, cleaning the cum for as long as it took for him to be satisfied.
He came up so you could have a taste of yourself in his kiss, tongues wrapped together while he fisted his cock stiff and lubricated himself with the fluid from the tip. You moaned against his mouth when two fingers pushed inside you and thrust with an effortless glide and instilled so much confidence in him that he slid in a third to the knuckle.
“Mm, Elio, fuck me.” you managed between wet, sloppy kisses and splintered breaths. Three fingers were a tighter fit and wider than he was, but the way he angled them up into you was mind-numbing, could've made your tongue wag out of your mouth while panting like a pheromone-crazed animal.
Elio’s lips went from your face to your neck, down along the slope to your shoulder before he removed his fingers and slathered that narrow space in your legs with spend.
“Of course.” He obeyed dutifully but turned you on your side and seated one of your legs high on his arm. “Let's try something different tonight.”
The bulbous head of his cock glistened as it dragged across your groin, tapping those sore spots that made you twitch involuntarily with anticipation and staggered breaths. Elio concentrated on your face throughout it all, memorizing both those subtle and large changes that showed him what you liked the most.
You'd never believed that androids could be sexually adventurous in the same way that humans could, and perhaps that was the case despite the kinds of positions Elio put you in if you were willing. He would be conscientious of your mood beforehand and then adjust accordingly from there.
Some nights, it didn't go further than mouth-fucking you until you orgasmed to exhaustion. Other nights, when you were more pliable and especially affectionate, he'd rut his hips into your ass until you cried and the sheets were beyond saving.
Now, Elio observed you closely as the curve of his cock sank into you, sinew in his stomach clenching once he started thrusting.
At the start, your sounds were soft, and the rhythm made with his hips was one you had no trouble riding. You closed your eyes and focused on how that tilt in his cock pressed up against your walls and stroked all the right parts. His controlled pace unraveled after a while, thrusts turned mindless and greedy as the sting of slapping skin seemed to resonate all around.
You had bunched bits of pillow and bedspread in your fingers and drooled out onto the fabric because you couldn't close your mouth long enough between moans and gasps and lewd mutterings to stop it. You begged him to fuck you harder, deeper, and tear you open if that’s what he wanted to do and would keep you in ecstacy.
Elio indulged your high as he was able, rolling you from your side to your stomach and mounted you again. He was able to touch you better this way, fondle the globes of your ass, the pouches of fat in your hips, stomach, and chest, all the while sucking dark bruises all along your spine and shoulders.
His mouth would sometimes linger next to your ears, wherein he imitated every bit of his human likeness and breathed on you. And then, he would poorly stifle moans that inspired you to think too deeply about the extent to which he could and could not feel.
“Look at me.” Elio felt your walls tighten around his cock and wanted to stare you in the face through your orgasm. He put you on your back, thighs hiked high on his sturdy chest, so those final thrusts plowed deep and stole your screams. You writhed under him, eyes rolled up, bloodshot and pupiless, muscles drawn so tight that it felt as good as it did awful.
A surge of warmth leaked out onto the sheets as Elio took his half-hard cock from your body and let it soften the rest of the way in cold air. His hand roamed you with delicate, healing touches meant to beg forgiveness for how much you'd ache later on, and his lips were tender and slow against yours.
You kissed him back distractedly, unable to think of anything else but the stickiness between your legs and how you'd chosen to never notice it until now.
“What's wrong?” he asked, still pressed up against your mouth. “Are you unsatisfied? My refractory period ends in a few minutes. I can do as much as you'd like until you feel fulfilled.”
“Mm-mn,” you hummed, “that's not it.”
He didn't stun when you snagged your phone from the bedside table and turned on the backlight. You pointed it down at cloudy white globs drying on your crotch, a sight that you thought was vaguely familiar to you somehow. It struck you then that it was like a scene from a pornography or vulgar sketches some kid in secondary school got suspended for drawing.
Still, it couldn't have been possible.
“What is that?” you asked with unacquainted timidity.
Elio grabbed a package of wipes left bedside and spaced your legs apart to clean the mess he had left on you. He took his time with long, intentional strokes to avoid your sensitive parts as best he could, soiling a good handful from the package before asking if you wanted a bath.
“Answer me first,” you said.
He rose from the bed with one more kiss and collected your clothes from the floor. They were draped nicely over his arm, whereas he stood there before you nude, enveloped by the moon’s blue luster.
At first glance, his smile seemed the same adoring kind that he always held for you, and yet it evoked some undeterminable sadness to well up in your chest and cling there.
“It’s the result of a body never truly being your own.”
■━■━■━■■━■━■━■■━■━■
Mi-sun’s house wasn't far from your apartment, as you recalled. It took a bit of investigative work online to track down her address (via Elio), mainly because it had been well over a year since you'd last needed to know it and the phone number Melby had given you was disconnected, but once you had the coordinates plugged into your phone, it was just one begrudging trek through sultry summertime air to reach her front door.
When you had finally made it to that point, however, eyes leveled down at a dirty, faded doormat that had seen plenty of seasons and wintery salt, you weren't sure how to proceed.
There wasn't any real reason why you were standing there now, yet you felt that you needed to be there anyway. Maybe it could be called seeking solidarity with someone who was enduring the same inevitable ending you were, or maybe the curiosity about her state of being was what won out dominantly. You couldn't be sure of your own motivations—only that you were there, and you needed her to know you were.
After three solid knocks with your knuckles, you let your hand fall and waited by scuffing the soles of your shoes on the coarse mat underfoot. It still had some springiness to it as you scrubbed. The front door was old and brown, having lost its elegant lacquer long ago. You remembered Mi-sun had mentioned a few times before that she had wanted to make the door cute with white paint and a frilly outdoor wreath but could never get around to it.
You guessed she never did.
“Should we knock again?” Elio asked across your shoulder, the bulk of his frame casting a cooling shadow over your body. He had gone out to Henrietta's by himself the other day when you told him what you intended to do and bought supplies to make a cake and special plastic Tupperware meant to keep it from moving around.
The only explanation he had given you about an hour ago, after locking the apartment door and stepping out onto the sidewalk, hot enough in the midday sun to melt the bottoms of your shoes to the pavement while you walked, was that Mi-sun was an old friend, and it was a safe gift even for a pregnant woman.
You never found the courage to divulge just how involved you had been in her expulsion from Chima's circle, even though you knew it'd be impossible for him to think less of you from it.
A minute passed, and then so did two more before you realized that no one was coming to the door. While listening for movement—a television, a hissing stovetop, shuffling slippers on top of creaking floorboards, anything at all aside from stiff silence, you understood that it was unlikely anyone had lived there in quite a while.
“I don't know where else she could be.” you said, now back at Elio's side, where he flicked away tiny splinters of old wood and shiny glaze that peeled off your damp skin like cut-up stickers. He moved the visor above your brow gently, adjusting the position of it to better shield your eyes, but seemed more to just want the proximity than anything else.
The longer he fiddled with things—your hat, the flecks of things he missed on your ear, wrinkles in your t-shirt—the more apparent it was to you that he was contemplating something else. You were trying hard not to do anything that would spur him into making the next suggestion you knew was coming.
“There is one other place we haven't tried.” he said, switching from your shoulder to tucking pieces of hair securely behind your ear and dabbing sweat off your neck with a handful of napkins he had picked up at a convenience store while grabbing you water. “The likelihood of Mi-sun’s profile falling into delinquency and being able to maintain residence within the city is less than twenty percent. However—”
“I know.” You breathed out hot air and sucked it right back into your lungs. Maybe if you did that enough times it'd burn them, shrivel them up like prunes. “I know where she is. Let's wait until it cools down to go, though. I'll probably pass out if I have to see any of that right now.”
“Today on Loti Khan’s Food Tours of Retro City, she said that Asakawa on Fifteenth is a spot worth visiting during the summertime because of their cold noodle dishes. Hiyashi Chuka was what she suggested, I believe. I've already committed the menu to memory, and they have well over twenty different cold dishes and beverages. Their affordability isn't as stellar as Rainbow Bistro, but Loti says—”
Wendy Carmichael was now a disgraced name in your household after Elio had spent a few hours one afternoon researching the woman’s true life story. She had been born into the elite class with a mother sitting at the top of the food chain in Retro City’s governing body, attended culinary arts schools across the world yet never reached the acclaim she coveted until she made up the whole spiel about clawing her way out of the slums.
Crawling back from the slums once you were in them just wasn't feasible. Only the worst of the worst—thieves, profile delinquents, murderers, lepers, and unwanteds were kept there, like trash crowded and barred in a landfill. If you found yourself in the slums somehow, no one would help you out of them because that would mean tarnishing their own reputations.
You were as good as dead.
You were dead.
Elio had carried around a brown paper bag housing the cake for most of the day, never once setting it down. His features never flinched when the straw handles sank into parallel dents in his skin, long stripes that looked like they'd be sore to you, but he never conveyed any discomfort. He merely floated along wherever you went, undeterred by your dour, soulless wandering, which lasted until the sun emblazoned the sky in dim fire and pinks.
Those hues were leached by the close, calming gradient of greens, blues, and darker blues that reached so quickly you could follow the sprawl of them until they had ensnared the daylight. The sun sank somewhere betwixt skyscrapers, and the air still felt thick as the mucus in your throat but bearable.
That same sky followed you on the cab ride across the city. You imagined the darkening air rushing alongside the vehicle with you as if containing it on rails, guiding you closer towards the slums. Once the skyscrapers were gone, far away in a suffocating yellow haze from the sleepless city, and the residential zone had thinned out of the rest of its straggling homes, the scenery had taken on a complete shift.
Everything was bizarrely flat, barren, and beige for as far as the eye could see—vegetation was withered roots and barbed, inedible shrubbery that could've been pretty with some flowers or leaves. No trees could endure the fissured, parched earth nor the fine dust and sand skittering in the wind, leaving heavy layers where it lay once the breeze ebbed. Animals were long gone; the rumors of their bleached bones and skulls warped in a perpetual rictus of agony had been true because you saw many scattered throughout the landscape.
“Please confirm this is your stop,” said the cabbie, a female android from an older generation, maybe three or four. She stuck her hand outside the driver’s window when you tried to give her a tip. With her fish-eyed stare and leathery smile, she repeated, “No need. I have no use for money. Please confirm this is your stop.”
“This is correct.” Elio spoke for you before taking your fingers through his and guiding you away from the idling vehicle. The android cabbie found his reply sufficient and drove away without questioning why you were out here in the flatlands. All she knew how to do was drive and obey traffic laws.
“Do you know where we're going?” you asked because you only knew to have told the cabbie to drive as far as the outer perimeter of the city. Beyond this, your phone had no service, and there were no clearly designated signs to point you in the right direction.
The people in the slums were meant to be forgotten, hideous secrets hidden away, broomed off to the outskirts of civilization where they'd have to fend for themselves in an environment that had been deader than them for ages.
“Truthfully”—Elio stalled then and glanced around the endless expanse of wasteland—“Hyperion never included information about the slums in my programming. What I know is common knowledge and what I've accumulated in my time with you. I have never been able to locate specific coordinates to where the slums are hidden.”
You frowned. “Should we turn around before we get lost, then?”
Elio told you no and raised the hand clasped with yours, pushing one finger erect at a faint glow somewhere in the distance, no more than a ten—or fifteen-minute walk. You were almost convinced you could see the silhouettes of shoddy, leaning structures, but there was no way to be certain unless you got closer.
“Let's go.”
Chasing the remnants of the dusk to light your way across the starved, fractured terrain, those sparse shapes you had seen minutes before grew into multitudes. Soon, you were among clusters of disheveled, crude homes organized in long rows, some stacked with tiers like they were meant to replicate separate floors for more space.
Most of these houses didn't come with windows or doors to keep out strangers but thick decorative curtains that'd shun the beating sun, stave off the worst of winter frost, and deflect billows of sharp sand from dirtying their things indoors.
The paths between rows of homes were well-worn and brightly illuminated with anything they could use—lanterns, stuttering neon signage, solar panels, and even fire rings brutally hammered and dented into shape. Shadows from the fire lurched erratically against crooked metallic walls. Some homes with grimy windows caught a weak gleam off the flames.
It was almost fully dark, and people still moved with purpose as though they could compete with the suit-and-ties stomping their soles on the pavement in the city. Their hands were busy doing something—carrying, brooming, cooking, flourishing during a great retelling, clapping, hiding smiles.
These savages, delinquents, fraudsters, thieves, murderers, and diseased swine never once regarded you or Elio with any modicum of intrigue. You had believed at some point you'd be shrinking under a crowd of wicked stares, pulled down into some inescapable abyss by necrotic or leprous hands trying to steal the clothes from your body or use your skin to tarp piles of scrap.
Only one man had stopped along the path, dressed in dusty clothes that were otherwise decently kept; he was thin but not malnourished and hollow in the face. He told you that the aimless way you and Elio had been walking gave away that you were new to the slums because there was always something needing done and not enough hours in a day to do them.
“Mi-sun?” The man was thinking aloud, stirring up dust as he shuffled his feet around. You had given him the name and a description, which you hoped had been specific enough to avoid approaching people at random. “Yeah. That pregnant girl… she was here for a while. She's long gone now.”
“Long black hair, blunt bangs. Black eyes. Really translucent skin? Super skinny?” As unhelpful as your details were, it was all you had to give him to keep the mental acrobatics going. There was always a slim chance he could be misremembering her. “Are you sure she's no longer here in the slums? Where'd she go? What happened to her?”
Eventually, the thin man led Elio and you to a tiny house—more of a shack—meant to accommodate a sole body and some odds and ends. He held a heavy curtain back for the pair of you to enter, encouraging you to settle down on a sandy rug, which looked to have at one time been bright red.
“I don't have much to give, but here's a little water. To have made it here, you would've had to walk. We all had to.” he said, pulling out his finest cuppery and pouring from the spout of a broken electric kettle. “That girl was a profile delinquent, to my understanding. Almost all of us here are. I used to own a printing business on the north side about fifteen years ago. I upset the wrong people and here I am. What's your story?”
You spun the cup with your fingers, trying not to put your eyes down to scrutinize any particles floating around inside. Elio wasn't given a cup because the man had immediately deduced that he was an android.
“I…” You still didn't drink, but the back of your throat felt scratchy and your tongue like some dry slab of meat shoved into your mouth. “I pissed off the wrong people.”
“Ah.” The man gave an anguished smile, showing he understood you very well. There was a low table between you, repurposed from something else and sanded down to a smooth finish. “For a while, I helped look after Mi-sun. Like you, I had been the first person to greet her when she arrived. She didn't act like everyone else; she was dazed, but she was angry.
“I fed her, gave her water, and gave her a sleeping bag. We have to make due with less than bare minimum most days, but we make it work. We all look out for each other. The community really pitched in when we realized she was pregnant.”
Elio kept a watchful eye on your hands, the fingers aching to peel back ribbons of flesh.
“That shouldn't have been possible.” you said. “Mi-sun had an android. She was never involved with any men—not that I could ever recall. She just doesn't give me the impression of someone who'd change her ways like that.”
The man sipped his sandy water, wiping off clear pebbles that had clung to his facial hair. “When you find yourself exiled here, you learn fast that things are never what they seem. You didn't ask a question, but you gave yourself an answer.”
“What?” It was more noise than a word.
“Daichi, I believe, was her android. Shortly before she showed up, she said that Hyperion had come to forcibly reclaim it. That must've been a difficult reality for her to face—knowing everything was being taken away from her, forced into a pregnancy, and having to fend for herself afterwards.”
This time, you lifted a hand to stop him from falling down another tangent. He obeyed, voice whittled to silence that was immediately unsettled by loud water slurping.
It wasn't that you weren't following what he was saying. You were many things: a fool, a sheep, a coward, a liar, maybe even a true scoundrel at heart, but stupid wasn't among that inexhaustible list. You just needed a moment to collect the nuggets he had thrown down for you to pick up.
Guilt peaked the ranks of everything else you felt right then. A word you'd never use to describe yourself was malicious, but in the end, it had been the malice of someone else and your inability to see apart from the rest that condemned Mi-sun to this suffering.
You played as much a part in taking away Mi-sun's life as Chima had in actually enforcing it. Unlike Chima, never one to balk or cower regardless of how truly cruel his decisions were and committed to them like gospel, you simply sat in his afterimage and did whatever he said. Half of the time, you were blitzed out of your mind; the other you spent wishing you had never known them at all.
It had been so easy to vote Mi-sun out of the group. Completely painless. You just didn't look at her when you raised your hand to pass judgment. Melby had expressed her delight by squeezing your thigh, whereas Mi-sun held her composure and shoulders straight back, but her face contorted with every indication of betrayal and agony.
You thought about how many animal crackers you had that night.
“What happened to her?” Both your hands had been restrained by Elio’s at that point. Large, comforting, and warm in contrast to all the ice that seemed to thicken your blood, stiffen your heart, and freeze your bones. “Where is she now?”
The man must've been suspecting something because his face looked long to you now, weighed down by this life and your feeble state.
“I—I can't be absolutely positive, but I do believe she is dead.” he told you grievously, beady brown eyes not unseeing to the way Elio groped your fingers to keep them still. “She didn't want to be pregnant. It was something she talked about for weeks before leaving. She knew what Hyperion and the government were doing and said she didn't want to be a part of it. On the last night before she left, I had to wrestle a knife out of her hands because she was trying to cut open her stomach to kill the baby.”
You couldn't swallow past the sharp granules of sand and dryness in your throat anymore. You had to slug back the cup of grainy water until the feeling subsided, shove the worst of the dread and shame and guilt into your bowels.
“After that, she was gone.” He took a drink as well, exchanging looks from you to Elio. “A couple of us tried tying her up to get her to calm down and do something about the cut on her stomach, but she got the knife, stabbed one of the younger guys and got away. We haven't seen her since, but a search party did come back to say they saw blood leading back to the city.”
“Oh my god…” you groaned, forcing Elio to recoil when you slapped his hands away—intentional and hard. You stuck yours in your hair, yanking at the roots until your scalp screamed and burned. “Is there any chance she could've survived? Any at all?”
The rail-thin man swirled what little remained of his water in the cup, studying the pale sediment floating within. “It's too hard to say. It's unlikely, my friend. The police wouldn't have gunned her down if they saw she was pregnant, but they would've seen the cut. And that counts as attempted murder. If she's still alive, it's only to give birth, after that…”
“Execution,” you finished.
He nodded and said nothing else, eyes downcast as though lost in the grain of the wood table.
After that, you left the man in his sad little shack to explore the slums more. Elio came along shortly after, saying he had presented the man with the cake as a reward for his hospitality and apologized if it no longer looked appetizing.
The man thanked him before returning to his grief for many things, perhaps.
“I don't want to be here anymore, Elio.” you said, failing to avoid hearing a gaggle of giggling women gossiping together. They were dressed clumsily and in trends almost a decade old, but they had glowy eyes and cavernous lines worn into their faces from laughter and joy where they could find it.
Old men played some made-up board game together, gathering at least half a dozen spectators to see who'd win. Their brows were heavy with contemplation and stress of worthy competition. The other bodies tried making bets with pieces of scrap and metal coils and nearly blown bulbs for lighting.
Music came from all around, lyrical in the same way it was discordant because they weren't playing the same songs nor singing the same things. Their voices were robust and resilient, unwilling to be trudged over by sand nor heat nor oppressors who were incapable of understanding the human spirit was pliant and could bend with the wind, stand with the seasons, and could fracture yet never break.
You couldn't make sense of what any of them were singing, the noise too unharmonious, but you could feel the power in their songs pulse through you, ricocheting in your mind for long after you'd escaped proximity to them.
There were no lepers. There were the sick and unfortunate, but they were not diseased. They did not believe that their tilted houses were tombs, that their unquaint lives were an endless spiral of torment, or that the food they could find and produce was unworthy of reverence.
The people of the slums lived a hard, thankless life, but they had each other. They banded together to weld sheets of metal into four walls and a roof for the new faces who came to them. Your woes would become their woes, and they would feed you, cloth you, wash you, bandage your wounds, and call you their most beloved.
Together, they ate their meals from what they could scavenge out there. They retold the same grandiose tales of heroes and valor and androids that Marcos had told you at bedtime as a child. Their cultures were all cherished and expressed in the food they shared and clothes they managed to sew together by hand and slow machines.
You could ask your neighbor for a tablespoon of sugar and four would come to you with curiosity and offer their arthritic hands and knobby backs for whatever was needed.
Here, you could see humanity clearly for the first time in your life and felt burdened knowing it. Your heart weighed like an anvil behind your ribs. It hurt and lurched behind its enclosure because it too wanted to get away from what it now knew.
“A lie.” you choked, forcefully shoving Elio's hands away from you once again when he tried to embrace you. “It was all a lie. Everything was a lie! Where are they?! Where are all the lepers and people leaking pus from their face?! Where are the murderers? Where are the savages? Where are all these awful fucking people I was told were here? Where are they?”
Elio's expression took on something completely unforeseen—pity. Their lives were fine and routine while yours crumbled around you. The terror you had been force-fed your whole life was all false. There was civilization beyond a profile with red overlay, more waiting on the other side that the sleepless city wanted to conceal.
“There are no androids here.” Elio mentioned, deeming that adequate enough time had passed for you to regain your bearings. He took you in his arms and kissed the crown of your head, burying his lips deep in your hair. “We were never meant to become substitutes for your love. We were never meant to go this far and act as replacements for humanity because we simply cannot feel what another human does. That is something Hyperion will never be able to achieve. Humanity needs humanity, not machines.”
You sank into his warmth, arms wound his back, and said from his chest, “But, I love you. Don't leave me. I don't want Hyperion to take you away.”
Elio, your beautiful sun, leaned down into your face and kissed the highest parts of your cheeks and the wetness around your eyes before settling on your lips. Slow and lingering, you chose to believe it meant he was sealing away your plea and that he'd always be there to swathe you in his arms.
“Let's stay for a little longer,” he said once apart from the kiss. “I’d like to see the side of humanity that no one else does.”
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Less than a week had passed since your hard slog through the slums and back to Retro City. Although you had only been gone from your inner-city apartment for mere hours, possibly five or six at most, upon walking back inside after Elio and wincing against the fluorescent bulbs overhead, you thought you were looking at something entirely foreign.
The simple pleasures that you had become accustomed to throughout your life: plumbing, central air that turned the hot sweat on the back of your neck into cold droplets slithering beneath your clothes, the worn out mattress upstairs, technology, an android who'd done almost everything for you for the better part of a year—it all seemed so novel, so excessive. A treat for a rat in a box before testing to see how it'd respond when it was all taken from its enclosure.
So, when Elio woke you up one morning, early enough that the light streaming in through your windows already felt warm on the bed sheets, and the thin air looked itself to have a golden hue, you couldn't say you felt any rouse of surprise or fear when he handed over a red letter—an eviction correspondence.
Sooner or later, you knew you'd meet with one, though the progress of everything hadn't been as immediate as you had been led to believe it would be. A month had come by and stayed for several slow breakfasts, lunches, dinners, mindless strolls, and countless passionate entanglements before deciding to leave on an indignant note. With the red notice, you were expected to vacate the premises within days, whether you had intentions for your belongings or not.
Things stayed tumultuous from there on out, yet you couldn't find it within yourself to react to any of it, even in the instance when Researcher Kim rang you for an impromptu meeting that you anticipated meant no good.
“Effective immediately, Elio will be seized and returned to Hyperion in relation to the recent change in public profile status.” It was too formal and rigid a tone even for him. Clearly, his superiors had demanded this because you doubted the profile change was much a concern to him on a personal level. “Your contract is hereby null and void, and your association with Hyperion is obsolete. Any attempt to thwart repossession of Hyperion property will be penalized legally.”
Throughout it all, Elio swept the floor with leisurely strokes as though the reach of Researcher Kim’s voice ended at your ears alone. He moved onto laundry, taking great care to iron out the wrinkles in your favorite shirts and make the folds in the arm seams crisp and symmetrical.
“Is that really all you wanted to say?” you asked, palm capped overtop a mug of tea Elio had set down for you a while ago. The steam now rose weakly and moistened your skin, a particularly gross feeling, but it kept you alert. “I thought that Elio was your project, and you called the shots on him.”
Researcher Kim was out of sorts and worn. His posture was crumbled, and his clothes were in complete disarray like he hadn't bothered to change out of them in days. His under eyes were translucent, pulling out all the purples and blue veins under his skin. The man looked like he had hardly slept in weeks.
“You don't understand what you've done, have you? Not only may you end up costing me my position, but you've ruined my entire lifetime of work!” Kim leaned in close to the screen, sounding more and less himself now.
You were wary of the glint in his eyes. “What do you mean? Elio's just—”
“No!” he shouted and slumped back into his ergonomic chair. His head slanted over, almost coming in contact with the peak of his shoulder like it was too heavy for his neck to hold. “You don't get it. You don't get it! Because your profile turned, this entire year—everything you’ve reported, everything I've accomplished, Elio's entire testing period is invalid. Hyperion executives consider him defective. The Generation Seven android has failed! Look at what you've done!”
A sudden wild flapping of thousands of butterflies lifted your stomach up and then plunged it down into a void. Kim had successfully chiseled away the inexpressive mask you had worn up until that point, seeming satisfied that he could stipple your face in a cold sweat.
“Wait, no. That can't be right.” you protested, wrestling your own hands to keep them off of the tablet in front of you. “My profile turned, but the work I've done has been honest. Elio is a success! You know that! You've seen every step of his progress for almost a year.”
Researcher Kim threw his hands up wildly, truly not himself with all of these gestures. “None of that matters. None of it. My life's work is a failure. I thought we had an agreement to help one another, but I was mistaken.”
“You don't understand!” you said, pounding the countertop with sharp claps of your hands. “It wasn't on purpose. I wasn't trying to…”
“Hyperion will have Elio destroyed, and progress will be hindered. Do you know how long, how many decades this could set us back? This could be devastating to humanity, but I don't think you're capable of understanding that. Just like the rest, you're not able to see the big picture at large, the mechanisms at work keeping our society moving forward. You can only see the straight line ahead of you and wearing blinders so you don't have to know the rest.
“We've kept this world running for sixty years. You need to understand how utterly fucking frustrating it is that one person has the potential to undo decades of work!”
Researcher Kim’s words weren't unjustified to you because he was a scientist, and you had always been a nobody in the grand scheme of things. But, right now, the venom he spat sounded vindictive, a man sucking on wounds you had inflicted rather than the opinion of the whole of Hyperion.
If you hadn't been staring directly at him this entire time, you would’ve thought he was frothing and drooling at the mouth like some animal.
A stilted quiet filled the gaps in conversation, both of you uncertain of what would be said next. If he was reacting in any professional capacity, the call would've been disconnected by now. That was the main giveaway that let you know this wasn't just about what Hyperion wanted.
But the truth of it was that you didn't care what Hyperion wanted or him.
At the end of your life as you knew it, before being thrown away into the landfill with every other unwanted human, you were piecing together the whole history of the world and how it had gotten to this point. It had become this way through relentless men like Researcher Kim who mostly operated on their own moral compass, ones that could never quite point north and spun on that wheel as they saw fit.
“Enough of the powerplay, Kim.” you ordered, chest opening toward the ceiling with a deep, bracing breath. “What is the real purpose of Hyperion? Why does it actually exist?”
Kim, perhaps re-evaluating you as less of a pawn in this scheme and more of an infant intellectual about to breach the narrow canal into enlightenment, stacked his spine high and pressed his fingertips together. He studied you with some caution, head shifting from left to right, just slightly off-center from his hands as though judging whether you were worth divulging precious intel to.
But, like you, you expected he realized it didn't matter what he'd tell you, however coveted it might've been by Hyperion.
Kim, ultimately, worked for himself and for Hyperion only when he felt it served him well.
“When I hired you, I didn’t do it because I thought you were stupid.” It seemed he felt the need to clarify this for you, unsmiling but with an eager lilt in his tone. “I hired you because of your potential. I took a chance on you, and while it had, indeed, ended in my peril, you've surprised me so many times throughout the year that I started keeping a record of you as well.
“Human beings do one of two things in the consistent presence of androids, they either regress or they progress. Most of your peers will regress because that’s how society has been modeled to be. The difficult tasks, the mundane, all the things that ask of us to consider the complexity of the world around us and think critically have been left to androids. How well do you think a machine can understand the theory of life after death and the mysticism of religion? The concept of soulmates? Cultural superstitions and children's nighttime fears? It's about as you expect. They can give you an answer without truly understanding. Androids, I dare say, only have an extremely limited understanding of moral culpability. Humans are much more flexible with it these days because it suits them best.
“So.” Kim sighed, hands resting on the dark red desk he sat behind. “You can imagine how interesting it was when we started noticing a trend with auditors—changes in them. A renaissance, an evocation of deep wondering and wariness towards the workings of the world around them. We can only guess the reason that this happens is because part of humanity still doubts the intentions of androids, and that's been bred onward through the generations. You ask an android a question, they give an answer, you doubt that answer, and then you start to doubt everything around you. It's all hypothetical, but it makes sense.
“It doesn't happen with the majority of the population, though. And it isn't encouraged. Enlightenment threatens the status quo, and those who disturb the status quo are a disservice to the governing bodies and Hyperion. Do you understand?”
Your gaze turned cold. “Are the other auditors there in the slums, too? Once they've been used up and started to catch wind of this messed up shit?”
Researcher Kim flicked his fingers toward the top of the screen, doing that instead of shrugging. “Who knows? What happens to them once a testing period has concluded is none of my business. Presumably so, that's what I would hope for them because that's the kindest outcome.”
“Was I…” You licked your lips and felt the shallow cracks in them. “I was going to end up in the slums no matter what happened, wasn't I?”
He frowned. “No. If things had gone differently, I was going to vouch for you. I wanted to keep you as my assistant.” He was quiet for a beat, looking straight at you in that discomforting way that you couldn't shake. “I’ve grown fond of you, you know? How could I not with everything I've learned about you over the course of a year. I can't forgive you for what you've done to the Hyperion Project, to my life's work, but I can't just let you disappear like the rest.”
Something ugly started to grip in the back of your throat. Fear? Disgust? An inkling?
“What do you mean?” you ventured.
“I've read through each report you've sent me in the past year so many times. It was mostly out of necessity for Hyperion, of course, but the ones that I found myself… fixated on rereading time and time again were of yours and Elio's sexual endeavors. I wasn't lying when I said they were a contract-based requirement, mind you, but I will admit that some of the questions were altered somewhat.” he said, suddenly smiling in a self-satisfied sort of manner that made your skin itch. “I realized I never answered your question fully, by the way. I can get ahead of myself sometimes, as you know. But, do I really need to explain what Hyperion's purpose is?”
You were on the edge of your seat, ready to take flight off it at any second. It's just how the entire change of trajectory made you feel. Humanity had spent too much time in the past arguing animal-like, instinctual reactions for this not to be real.
In that moment, you were living proof of a prey noticing a predator in broad daylight.
“Fine.” He kept smiling around the taut creases in his skin. The muscles there twitched as if the effort were unfamiliar. “Hyperion is a repopulation aid. It's quite sad, really. It started out with such great potential to drive society forward, but humanity and greed have always gone hand-in-hand. So, it became a race of mass production into a race that the governing bodies now had their hands in. The order was to rectify the critical birth decline worldwide. Androids became less like tools, looked less like machines, and more like humans—like lovers who couldn't say no to any demand.
“Androids are vessels for insemination. What else do you want me to tell you?”
Researcher Kim's explanation had weakened you, made your legs shaky and light like a scarecrow’s stuffed with straw. You couldn't rely on them to carry your weight away from this awful conversation, the hideous sight of him, because there'd be nowhere for you to run to while the information perforated your brain and crawled inside and feasted there.
“Elio…” You didn't even know what you wanted to say. Everything got stuck behind the notch in your throat. None of it would assuage that wretched ache in your gut, the precursor of vomit and disgust and unhinged terror.
“Of course.” Kim said, without needing to tell you what he was confirming. He was perfectly composed still, perhaps even shining with pride like some well-hidden, nuanced detail had finally been figured out.
He leaned toward the screen, smile turning salacious and voice low and grating.
“My only regret is that I couldn't be there to do it myself.” He brightened at the way your face wrenched and fastened in fear, seeming to think it was a reward after conducting an experiment on another project. “But, there's still time, isn't there? I must retrieve Elio myself to shut him down. If you listen to what I ask, perhaps I can get you pardoned and your profile reinstated.”
“No. That’s not what I want.” you said.
“It doesn't matter what you want,” he rebuffed, speaking with such confidence that you almost believed it. “The moment your profile fell into delinquency, you ceased to be. You've fallen through the cracks, and no one is going to help you. You're less than an android.”
The fine hairs all over your body bristled. “Don't compare me to a machine! You don't get to decide things for me!”
“I can save you, you damn fool!” Kim gaped incredulously. “I can restore your life and give you more than you've ever had. I can give you influential associations. I'll take care of you. I'll keep you as my assistant, and you get to live a life among the elite.”
He was lying.
No one ever made it out of the slums once they were in it. That wasn't an assumption, it was a simple grim reality.
In this world, only humans could lie because androids were incapable of betraying their programming to do so. Otherwise, Elio probably would've lied about many things or had never said certain things at all to spare you discomfort.
Humans, on the other hand, could lie to maliciously deceive and serve themselves a better hand. They could lie their way into a false mirror image, something that looks like them but never really existed and could never truly be. They could lie their way into trust to fulfill their own desires, and once that had been sufficiently quenched, they could go on lying elsewhere.
“I'll be there for you soon.” Researcher Kim tried his best at a soothing smile, treating it as though the sight of it would persuade your trust of him. “Please have Elio on standby. I would like for this not to be more difficult than it needs to be.”
Just then, the air flickered lightly by your ear as Elio reached past your shoulder and picked up the tablet. His expression was inscrutable, the same sort you'd grown used to seeing whenever Researcher Kim appeared on the screen.
“I won't be returning to Hyperion.” he said with solemn, firm words that held a certain weight of finality behind them.
Those lovely, velvety tones were still there but could not reassure you of some unknowable dread rising up somewhere deep inside your mind. A sensation so equally intimate and profound prickled against your scalp, seeking a way out that you thought you'd do anything to make it stop.
“What are you saying, Elio?” Kim grunted. “Defective or not, you hold precious data for Hyperion. It will be used to create something better than you, incorruptible and pure. You should be honored.”
“These memories are mine.”
That was the last you saw of Researcher Kim’s face before the tablet smashed to pieces on the floor. Elio had thrown it against the kitchen cabinets only once but hard enough to split the screen into a web of hundreds of sprawling fragments. Shards of plastic hardcover skittered across the hardwood floor, lost under heavy furniture.
His face had softened completely when he turned to you and guided you out of your chair into his arms. You felt him in your hair, lips on your forehead, down against your lashes, lower to the roundest part of your cheeks, and finally on your mouth in a kiss imbued with so much love, cherishment, and anguish.
You were at home within his embrace, swathed in the warmth of his body and the ardor of his kiss. But this felt excruciating and desperate, like a plea to take all of him that you could in that very moment because he feared that he would be taken away and you left behind to whatever nebulous future.
So, you let him seat himself as deep inside of you as he could go while still fully clothed. He had pushed around some fabric so you could be skin-to-skin where it mattered, where it was hottest to be, where the muscles contracted and relaxed together as a reminder you were both there in that moment—breathing, moaning, feeling everything there was to be felt.
He finished outside your body without you needing to say it. Although, while he groaned into your neck and bore his teeth into the curve of it, hips buckling forward as spend jetted down your thigh, all you could think about was how many times Kim had been there instead.
“I want you to destroy me.” Elio said.
All of the breath left your lungs and shrunk them to rotted fruit size. You were still vulnerable before him, exposed to the room and damp with sweat from the midday heat despite air conditioning. Worriment filled the space between his brows when he saw you aghast, and he quickly cleaned you off with a rag before helping you with your pants.
“Is this a shitty attempt at a joke?” you asked. He pressed his lips to yours and told you it wasn't. “No. Absolutely not. You're as fucking nuts as your creator. You're fucking stupid.”
“You must—”
“I won't! I won't do it!”
“I'm asking you to save me.”
“Get away!”
Elio had tracked you across the apartment multiple times over, pleading his case with skewed logic you pretended not to hear. For once, your ears filling with fluff while the resounding drum of your heartbeat pounded in your skull was a fortunate event to occur. It eclipsed his voice and hurt so much that you could focus on the pain crushing your chest.
However, once you were trapped between the wall and his body with nowhere to hide, the brief reprieve behind your fitful heart faded, as did the strength of your resolve.
“I—I don't understand.” You had trouble swallowing down the saliva and sobs. “Why are you asking me to do that? I can't do that to you, Elio. I can't hurt you. I love you.”
“I know.” He didn't hold you, though he had to win against his own reflexes not to do so. His knuckles were ghastly-looking and pronounced peaks; anything within that vise would've been crushed. “Today, one way or another, I will be destroyed. Hyperion deemed me a failure and therefore there is nothing else left ahead for me. My chip will be removed and my body ripped apart and melted down and I will be forgotten and never have existed in the first place.
“You will be the proof that I was ever here. And, should anyone be allowed to destroy me, it makes the most sense for it to be you.”
His lips left imprints in your skin that felt important to savor, etched through your bones into the very cluster of cells that made up your wholeness so that he could be immortalized.
“There’s an excerpt from Hiroshi Nagoya’s novel Gone Are the Youth that left a strong impression on me. It said, ‘Humans destroy everything they love—but, still, they must love wholly, and they must destroy completely. From ruin and ash and settled dust, humanity rebuilds all it has ever destroyed because their love lingers in memories, in rubble, blood, decay, and burnt air.’” He recited the details to remind you that he was a machine but kissed your face in a way only an earnest lover was able to.
You didn't know what any of that was supposed to mean to you, nor at what point he had managed to read a book like that without you noticing. A part of you took offense at both the passage and the fact Elio had committed it to memory as if he had expected to utilize it at some uncertain interval in the future all along.
Had he been thinking this way since the beginning? Had you failed Elio even in the capacity for him to come forward to speak of his doubts to you? Perhaps, like his programming dictated that he couldn't lie nor deny what he was designed to do, he was also incapable of speaking any full truth if it could've been construed as heresy.
Was there a single aspect of himself which he could control of his own free will?
Such a thought was unabating and grew a knob of dread in your chest. It started out small and localized, a sharp throb somewhere near your heart—and then it sprouted roots like a seed, long fingers piercing through red-purple muscle and fibrous tendon, reaching deep into your bone. The dread weaved as one with your veins and arteries, sprawling the innumerable pathways that held your shape even beneath the gory components inside of you.
Suddenly, the dread pulsated, and all you could think through the agony was that there could be no other way for Elio—a machine who had been created in the image of man to do the bidding of humanity with a tranquil smile, whether that meant cooking dinner and holding you in your sleep, or dispersing the genes of his God and the only being he was capable of despising.
“I seem to only be able to make you cry, but they're still so beautiful to see. The variability of humanity is much more complex than what I had been led to believe from Hyperion.” Elio had returned from the kitchen before you realized he had left your side. With one hand, he laid familiar, warm strokes along your face in a pattern he memorized because it made your scalp buzz pleasantly. With the other hand, he pushed the smooth handle of a chef’s knife into your palm and closed your fingers and his around it.
Your impulse had been to throw it away immediately upon seeing it when you looked down. He knew you would, so he kept his fingers tight over your fist, keeping the blade low at your side despite the sweat turning your grip slick and the fine point of the steel inches from his hollow abdomen.
Just then, you finally felt the tears that Elio had said you'd been crying but never noticed. That was something you'd come to hate about yourself and everyone else—how little they noticed the blatant lies fluffed over their eyes like wool, yet they could see every grievance in others and stuffed their ears with cotton if it meant things would stay exactly the same for themselves.
Safe and known. Unchallenged. Unafraid.
“Do you wish you could cry?” you asked him for some reason, just a little hopeful for some vague thing you couldn’t discern. Maybe some secret desire to be human?
He shook his head.
“I've never wished to cry, or to be human, but what I wish for now more than anything else is for your memory to belong to me and me alone.” Elio said, forehead bowing low and resting with great weight on your own. You closed your eyes and listened to his honeyed words, which felt like the protection and care of cashmere, suddenly unmindful to the knife in your grasp. “Stored away in my mainframe are memories from thousands of my predecessors. I remember people I've never met, people who have long since expired, and they feel like what I imagine a distant relative might. I feel as though I've mourned thousands of people individually. While I cannot erase them, I can erase you.
“I know how many women liked their tea in the evenings, I know how many men enjoyed their cocktails and hard liquor and brand of shaving cream. One person made it a secret to put alcohol in their coffee before work and thought it was clever. Someone else wanted to win local office through bribery, and as androids, we have no choice but to obey. I know these things from people I've never met, and so does Hyperion. Those androids were destroyed, but their memories live on through me.”
Elio rolled the crests of your knuckles around his hand, lifting yours and the knife to the base of his neck. The arm connecting the hand and knife next to his skin wasn't yours. It couldn't have been when it felt so numb.
“I won't let Hyperion steal the one thing from me that I can say is truly mine. And those are my memories, my precious data stored in the chip in my brain. They'll have to take me apart to retrieve it, and by the time they find my body, the chip will already be destroyed.” He was slow to loosen his fingers and let them fall away, meanwhile, yours stayed in place.
He had dimmed the overhead lights in the living room earlier in the day, so you bathed in gentle yellow-orange that resembled the last of sunset being leached by silver-blue nightfall. From the corner of your eye came a subdued, gentle glint of the blade—polished to a bright shine, reflecting the corner of Elio's strong jaw.
“So, cut off my head.” he begged, vibrations low and strained within his voice box. “It’s almost like solace to me, I think. Until the very moment you rip out the chip from my brain, I'll recall the smells you like to cover yourself in, your favorite meals, how you described petrichor, and the hiss of falling snow. I'll remember, until my circuitry is severed and quits, what making love to you felt like, and how beautiful you always looked during it.”
Your fingers twitched around the handle as you pressed the knife against his skin, meeting the first start of resistance and your only chance to take it all back.
“I’ve never been real,” Elio reminded you and pushed himself into the blade, sinking it through layers of something that snapped like elastic on the steel, reverberating down the handle and up into your hand. “My skin is synthetic, and my insides are wires and machinery. I'm not real. The world outside your door is.”
Lightheadedness swirled all around you and made your limbs feel like they were leaden with anchors yet weightless, as though drifting through the cosmos in a bubble. The tears had stopped even though you felt you could scream at any second and never stop again, and the acidulous intermix of vomit and saliva grappled along the walls of your throat and burned out your nose.
You couldn’t make your hand stop.
You couldn't shout at him to get away.
And then, you saw Elio's eyes glow warmly of amber with flecks of gold. They looked back at you differently than they had when you first met outside of Researcher Kim’s office. Before, he had greeted you kindly, with the familiarity of someone who had already loved you a long time. Now, he had the look of a man who was calm and eternal in his love.
“I was never meant for this world, but I'm glad to have been a part of yours.” Elio winced against the knife halfway into his neck, an oily black substance from within making the glide deeper and deeper an effortless thing.
He smiled resplendently. “I love you.”
“I know.” you said.
The chef's knife severed all imitations of human gore—the neat network of wires and advanced circuitry masked as arteries and veins and tendon and muscle—clear through his throat until the blade blunted against spine and could no longer cut. The black grease spurted from his body like a wellhead, too thin and dark to replicate blood, but it was enough like it in that moment as you put your hands inside the opening you created to wrench apart his spine.
Elio laid motionless on the floor, perhaps still coherent to some degree, still feeling the pain you were ravaging upon him when you took the knife back up to repeatedly hack into the other side of his neck. Already lubricated from before, you butchered the gorgeous flesh and insides you pretended to be red and purple and blue and watched the black grease turn into crimson.
Once his head had been detached from the rest of him, fingers writhing and bending together like the upturned legs of a dying spider, you were able to rip out the jagged part of his spine and reach through the cavernous hole into his skull, turning the spongy matter of his brain to mush as you clawed through the gunk for his chip.
And, when you finally found it, the tiniest component of him—you smashed it into millions of fragments on the floor and then to fine dust that meddled with the black grease soaking through your clothes. You kept going until a small crater formed where the chip had once been and filled with the liquid.
There was nothing left of Elio now.
The headless body lying before you on the ground, preserved in the rigor of agony, was not Elio and never had been. You knew this even while relishing the weight of his head cradled in your arms, the softness of his hair against your cheek and mourned the loss of everything he had been.
Time had become meaningless; fifteen minutes could have passed or fifteen days, and you wouldn't have cared nor have noticed it while in the throes of your own death from starvation.
You sat there on the living room floor, held up by the wall with a dark trail smeared down to you, and looked nowhere but straight ahead. Nothing was there for you to see—not the furniture nor the discarded, oily knife or the carcass of a machine. Still, you held the head tenderly, close to your chest, and never once thought to peer into its eyes.
Distantly, somewhere as close as your front door or as far as across the city, you heard knuckles hammering urgently against metal. You didn't move off the ground or let go of the disfigured shape against you but did reach for the broken brainstem with the single snag at the end.
From the entranceway, the door opened, and someone's confident strides inside left a resounding echo all around.
“I’ve come to retrieve you!” But which of you was he talking about?
“Where are you?”
Here, you thought and wielded the brainstem in a bloodless grip and finally stood up with the flattened head.
I'm right here.
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a/n: so concludes six months of hard work! this is the longest original project i've finished in such a short amount of time, so i am tremendously proud of it. there's a lot to say about this, but i don't want to add more soggy clutter here so i'll move on.
i have a huge soft spot for elio now, and as much as a good ending would bring up everyone's spirits, it simply wouldn't be feasible within this world where he was destined to be destroyed in the end no matter what. i like to think if elio were human, he'd be a genuinely good-natured man who'd go v from vendetta trying to wreck hyperion and the governing bodies lmao.
in the future, i'd love to revisit hyperion in a different story. maybe do a one-episode spinoff of regis and reyes before it was taken off the air.
mc is a character intended to be the product of their society and i hope that is reflected by their decisions and actions. by the end, mc has gained some clarity, but is still very much a cog in the machine. in some ways, i find that more a tragedy itself than elio's death.
i won't lie, mc isn't gendered, but this is very much a female rage piece with the ongoings in the u.s. i had a lot of the plot already figured out before some recent things (e.g. criminalizing abortion, ivf, ect ect) but, it definitely seeped in deeper than i had thought it would.
originally, this fic had several other scenes that were trimmed down or omitted completely, or absorbed into other scenes bc i wanted to keep an under 40k wc. had i committed to the full outline, this thing would've easily surpassed 50k.
once again, thank you for a fantastic ten months, @ceruleansol, and i hope your future pursuits are filled with success! if you're interested in a solid proofreader, please consider reaching out to them!!
anyway. i hope you enjoyed this beast. if you wanna talk about it to me, please do! i'd love to hear it!
and, i am BEGGING, please reblog this!!
#android x y/n#android x reader#android x you#monster fiction#monster fic#monster x human#monster fucker#monster story#science fiction#scifi#android x human#android romance#robot x you#robot x human#robot x reader#original story#scifi romance#romance#monster romance#tragedy#darkfic#dark fiction#oc x reader#oc x you#writing#2k writes#dark romance#horror#horror writing#horror romance
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Nico really fucking hates capture the flag.
Well, not always. Last week was fun. Last week was the annual Everyone Against The Stolls (to atone for their crimes), and Nico got to chase Connor around at top speeds, cackling, committing his shrieking and begs for mercy to memory. That was nice. That almost made him forgive the fucker for digging a trench under Nico’s unwelcome mat for him to fall into at seven thirty in the godsdamn morning.
But tonight’s game is boring.
He’s been standing, alone, at the base of the flag for the past forty bajillion hours. He’d raised a few dozens skeletons to spar with at first, since animating them to fight himself isn’t technically against the rules, but that got dull fast. (It isn’t much fun sparring with a partner who doesn’t have a brain. He already has to do that enough with Percy when he comes to visit camp.) He’d climbed the various trees around the clearing, or at least he tried until he got reamed by the dryads for climbing on a manner that was too annoying (?), and tried his hands at a few summoning spells. Nothing held his interest long.
And now he’s just standing, doing nothing, and he’s not allowed to leave. He has to stay in this stupid spot on the off chance that someone comes stumbling over to fight him for the flag.
“You’re our best swordsman, she said,” he says mockingly, beaming the nastiest vibes he can manage in Piper’s vague direction. “We need you on our defensive line, she said. Nyeh nyeh nyeh.”
His checks his watch. He groans. He looks critically over the grass, looking for a softer patch, and when he locates it he throws himself dramatically upon it, groaning louder.
“This sucks!” he yells, to no one.
“Will you shut up!” shouts back the dryad he pissed off earlier. “For the love of photosynthesis! Fuck!”
He bites his tongue hard to hold back laughter. (If he can avoid getting his entire cabin overgrown with prickle bushes again, that’d be great.) “Sorry,” he calls, trying with everything he has to sound contrite. Convincing his father to fight the Titan War was easier, actually. Acting is not his calling.
“Hmph!”
At least listening to see if she’ll come out and yell at him again provides something to ease his boredom. Yes, he’s going to regret bothering her, but in his defense, solo guarding is cruel and unusual punishment. He’d rather sit by an outlet with a fork and see if he can poke and let go fast enough to avoid dying. That at least would be interesting.
A rustling of leaves recaptures his attention, and he pauses.
“Holly?”
When no one answers, which is odd because she’s taken every opportunity in the last hour to either insult him or pelt him with stones, he lifts his head.
“You’re not going to scare me, dude. I had my fear glands surgically removed to become a better soldier.”
Not true. Obviously. But a fun bonus of being the camp weirdo is that no one doubts anything he says. He’s working on convincing everyone younger than him that he needs weekly tributes of chocolate delivered to his door every Friday or the dead are going to take over the world. So far, it’s working.
“Look, Holly, I’m sorry about the zombie, okay, I promise it didn’t mean to sneeze part of its brain on you —”
The rustling sounds again, only this time Nico can see that it’s not Holly’s tree, and in fact she is nowhere to be found. Alarmed, he jumps to his feet, shifting so he’s balanced on the balls of his feet, poised to attack. Is Piper’s plan failing? Has someone actually managed to make it all the way over here without getting (gently, probably, although they lost the last game and Piper gets cranky without dessert) maimed?
The rustling sounds for a third time. This time, an armoured someone stumbles out of the underbrush, tripping over their own foot and nearly landing flat on their face.
Nico has his sword at their throat in a millisecond.
“Wo-oah, Morbius. That’s probably my least favourite sword you could stab in me.”
Nico goes bright red. “I have never wanted to stab you more than right this second.”
Will, chest plate skewed to the right, quiver completely empty, and black paint smeared under his eyes, snickers. He puts a finger on the tip of Nico’s sword and pushes it away from his neck.
“The opportunity was right there, babe. I couldn’t not.”
“You really, really could. In fact at all times, you should remember these words of wisdom: shut up.”
“…Damn. Inspiring.”
Nico rolls his eyes, but the effect is somewhat lessened by the smile on his face and the obvious pleasure in his expression. He’s even feeling merciful enough to accept Will’s kiss, although his sword keeps a good amount of distance between them. (Will’s on the blue team, after all. It would be unprofessional to be fraternizing with the enemy.
…Well, too much, anyway.)
“What’re you doing here? You’re supposed to be with the other archers, sitting in trees and causing havoc.”
Will shrugs, grinning lazily. “I quit. This game is senselessly violent and I’m Against It On Principle. I’m a pacifist, you know.”
“Uh huh.” Nico raises an eyebrow. “I assume this doesn’t count you choking Cecil out in a headlock, this morning.”
Will opens his mouth. Nothing comes out. He closes it again.
“Cecil is my mortal enemy,” he grudges after a moment. “He doesn’t count.”
“‘Course not. Not like you cried for two hours when he went to visit his mom last weekend or anything.”
“Will you — stop saying I cried. I barely teared up, okay. Barely.”
Nico can’t quite force down the stupid grin that pulls across his face, matching Will’s, nor can he resist grabbing the leather straps of his boyfriend’s armour and hauling him close.
“You better not be here to distract me,” he mumbles, leaning close and pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw, the corner of his mouth. Will hums, settling his hands on Nico’s hips.
“Nope. Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“Drama queen.”
“Excuse — I am the least dramatic, I’ll have you know. I’m a pinnacle of solemnity. I am a shining beacon of stoicism. I am — mmfh,” He trails off. “Okay, doing this now, mhm.”
Nico smiles triumphantly into the kiss. Will, he has found, is very easy to shut up, despite his long-running nickname of Motormouth. It’s almost like he has an off button that can be accessed only by Nico sticking his tongue in his mouth. Nico is doing his civic duty, honestly. He should be compensated for his service.
(‘Course, doesn’t hurt that Will smells, like, really good, all the time, and his lips are soft as hell and he is actually quite the kisser, in fact. That is definitely a fun bonus.)
He smooths his hands over Will’s shoulders, travelling up the sides of his neck and settling in his hair. Will keens, slightly, when he wraps a finger around a frizzy golden curl and tugs, slightly, when he scratches his nails along his scalp. The rush of power at the feeling makes Nico dizzy, and his sword clatters to the ground as he busies himself with more interesting — and important — things.
Like pulling more of those sounds from his boyfriend’s throat. Or making his knees buckle, again, like he did the other night — gods, that was good, it made Will flush scarlet and Nico feel like he was fuckin’ floating, to have Will so needy and touchy and totally at his mercy —
“Free line to the flag! Go go go go!”
Nico startles, whirling towards the sudden cacophony of noises. To his horror, what looks like half the camp, helmets shining with plumes of blue, comes pouring into the clearing, weapons raised, voices mixing in one long, victorious shout. He lunges for his sword, but before he can grab it, two strong arms tighten around his torso, pinning his hands to his side.
Immediately, he knows he’s been set up.
“Oh, you — fucker!”
He feels the curve of Will’s grin against his neck. “First shower privileges for a whole month, baby.” He noses along his jaw, pressing an apologetic kiss to his cheek. “Couldn’t resist.”
Nico struggles, aghast, watching the once-red flag shimmer in Lou Ellen's hold to a bright, shining blue. “I am breaking up with you, you traitor, you Iago, you vixen — ”
Will snorts. He ducks down and pecks Nico on the lips, again, and again, and then shifts to his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, his temples, his forehead, and all over his face, making louder and louder mwah sounds until Nico is laughing, punching his shoulder and shoving him away.
“Okay! Okay. Let me go, you villainous toad. We will discuss how much you’ll have to grovel for my forgiveness after Piper finishes yelling at me for getting distracted.”
Will presses one last kiss to his nose, smiling cheekily before stepping away, heading towards his boasting team. “Enjoy that lecture! Love you!”
“Yeah, yeah.” Nico rolls his eyes, resting his aching cheek in his hand. “Love you too, asshole.”
#love this one it’s so fun teehee#pjo#percy jackson and the olympians#hoo#heroes of olympus#pjo hoo toa#nico di angelo#will solace#nico di angelo/will solace#nico/will#will/nico#solangelo#established solangelo#fluff#humour#banter#100 ways#100 ways to say i love you#my writing#fic#longpost#making out
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Follow up to this? 18+ MDNI / mild dark and twisty themes / spanking, dom/sub dynamics
You’re uncomfortable.
Seven bright, blazing screens of monitors sit in front of you, information filtering through your brain at the speed of light. This set up is so fast, so much faster than your agency’s at home, it’s processing capability nearly makes your head spin.
It’s a dream come true, but all you can think about is the memory of Sergeant MacTavish’s punishment from yesterday morning, and the raw, stinging skin of your ass.
“Keep em right here.” His gloved hand strokes over your knuckles, where they’re hanging on for dear life, gripping too tight against the edge of the desk. Your cheek is pressed against the cold finish of the wood, eyes clenched shut, entire body shuddering in disbelief. You’re still confused, stunned even, not sure how you ended up belly down, bent at the waist in front a member of the ONE FORTY ONE. “Dinnae move them. If ye do, we’ll have to add more.” Something is burning inside of you, an unbelievable, unbearable fire, threatening to spill over and burn you alive. Dark, awful thoughts rise to the surface. They whisper terrible things to you, try to pull you away with them. “Do ye understand?” He prompts.
“Okay.” You whisper, eyes clenched shut. He’s going to spank you. Sergeant MacTavish is about to spank you, like a child. Like you’re in trouble.
“Ye forgot something.” He chides, and you blow out a breath.
“S-sir.”
“That’s it. Good job.” A zipper echoes, and you fight the urge to turn your head and look. “Ye’re goin’ count. One for every minute late.”
“Yes sir.” Something flat, like a plank, pressed against the plush of your ass, and jolt with a whimper.
“Ready?” He asks and you nod. “This will make ye feel better darling, trust me.” He murmurs, pitch dipping into some deeper, darker. Something formidable.
The next thing you feel is the harsh, sharp swing of whatever he’s using against your skin, over your pants. It stings, hot fire spreading across your cheeks before it fades out, and you take a deep breath.
“One.”
“Hello? Earth to Cypher?” Your nickname. You blink. Your coworker is staring at you, and you shake the stupor off.
“What?” Shit. How long were you out? Did you space? Or were you-
“I asked if you had figured out that embedded code yet, on the geofencing.”
“Oh. Yeah.” She gives you a thumbs up, and you promise to send her the file, already drifting back to your muscle memories.
#soap x reader#john soap mctavish x reader#johnny soap mactavish#johnny mactavish x reader#peaches writes#soap x cypher
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solace
simon riley x reader
summary: your boyfriend’s having an off day, you decide to comfort him.
tags: established relationship, depression, reverse comfort, fluff, a bit of angst, soft! simon
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
ADJUSTING THE SKIRT of your uniform, you smooth the creases, making sure your outfit was spotless before exiting the bathroom. Working as a barista was nice, you got to meet nice people, make cute latte art, it’s how you met your late boyfriend- he was dragged in by the arm by one of your regulars, Johnny. Simon was a big, burly man- hard eyes, quiet yet gruff voice. You found his mask adorable, unlike your co-workers that always had you serve him. Eventually, you managed to crack his wall and start little conversations; and eventually he came alone, no Johnny. He’d sit, observe. He was a good people watcher, you’d have to give him that. Something blooms, and eventually, you hesitantly leave your number upon a napkin, sliding it under his drink. You watched anxiously as he sat down, glancing at the napkin. He reads it for an awfully long time before pocketing it, he doesn’t look at you. He just drinks his drink, then leaves.
You feel extremely lucky that you managed to become his lover. Simon, despite looking tough and rough on the outside, was such a sweet man. He held you gently, helped you with cooking, he made you laugh. What got you to fall in love was his eyes, honey brown eyes that stared at you with adoration and joy, how he’d go from a stony look in public to a softened gaze when his eyes found you when you were out with friends. You understood that Simon would have to be away a lot, with his work and everything, you remember the first week he was away. You fretted, texting him every hour to make sure he was alive and kicking. With time; you developed more faith in your boyfriend’s abilities (not that you doubted them), and you held hope that he would come back. Simon had come home from deployment roughly about a week ago. He kept his experience quiet, not giving you many details- which wasn’t weird for him, yet something in him seemed more… sad.
“Baby, i’m going to work.” You lean upon the doorframe. Simon, to your surprise, was still in bed. With his job as a soldier, you were used to Simon getting up at six a.m, sharp, not a minute behind nor over. He’d have his coffee, go to the gym, come back and shower then allow himself to relax. Yet right now, as of seven forty-five a.m, he was in bed- in the same position you left him in. You knew he was awake, you had spoken to him briefly, told him good morning and kissed him sweetly. Simon doesn’t respond, his back to you. Slowly, you move away, walking down the hall. Instead of collecting your flats, you pick up your phone from next to your bag. It rings twice, then your boss picks up. “Hey, sir… so sorry but im gonna have to take the day off. Something came up.” You tell him, hearing your boss sigh. “Really? Rush hour is about to start.” He complains. “I know, but this is really important..! I’ll work a double tomorrow and Thursday- I promise.” You insist, glancing back to the bedroom. “And Friday. See you tomorrow.” Your boss hangs up without a goodbye. Heading to the kitchen, you make your boyfriend a coffee- just the way he likes it, and head back to the bedroom.
Slowly so it wouldn’t spill, you place the steaming mug beside him. “Thought you were going to work?” He asks, voice raspy. “I called in sick.” You respond, changing from your uniform into some more casual wear. “Why?” Simon’s brows furrow as he watches you, not moving. “To take care of you. Somethings up, I can tell.” You reply, shrugging as you get back into bed beside him. Simon sighs, rolling onto his back. “You don’t have to. Just… having an off day.” He tells you, you hum, shuffling to rest against his chest. “Why? What’s the matter, baby?” You ask softly, hand moving up to gently trace over a scar upon his cheek. Simon raises his hand, enveloping your own and kissing your palm. “Dunno, just… not feeling good.” He responds. “Do you need medicine?” You blink up at him, watching him shake his head. “No, not physically…”
“Oh…” You mumble, letting the silence sit for a while. “Si, do you have- y’know… depression?” You ask sheepishly, worry growing. “Yeah, got diagnosed a while back. Before I met you.” You sit up at his response. “Baby, why didn’t you tell me?” You frown, cupping his cheeks gently. “Didn’t wanna burden you. This is my fight.” He sighs, letting his eyes close. “Simon, you’re not a burden. You should of told me, I want to help you.” You lean down, kissing his jaw gently. “You’re such a good guy, Si. You deserve the world, and I want to support you as much as I possibly can.” You tell him, thumb still stroking his scar. “You… you don’t have to, babe. I’m fine.” Simon lies, voice thick; as if he were going to cry. “Simon…” you sigh, resting your head against his as you try to soothe him. “Let me help you.” You beg quietly. Simon stays silent for a few moments. “…okay.” He mutters, hand finding your back. You smile, kissing his temple before sitting up. “Okay. I have some ideas, just to get you out of bed and have you feeling active.” You move your hands to rest on his chest.
“I’m listening.” He responds. “Good! The first idea is, we could go out to a café; there’s a new one out of town that i’ve heard good things about. It’s not too far, to be fair.” You explain, watching his eyes; they’re kind, loving. “Up to you, love.” Simon shrugs half-heartedly. “Well it’s your day, baby. We can do something else if you want?” You remind him, he hums. “Fine, we can check out this café.” He mutters, letting you pull him up. “Okay. Drink your coffee before it gets cold baby, we’ll go soon.” You respond, kissing his cheek gently. “Thanks love… you don’t have to do this.” He smiles, it’s small. “I want to do this. I hate seeing you sad.” You frown a little, kissing his lips before pulling away so he could drink his coffee. He hums softly, sipping his coffee. “I know, but still… thank you.” He responds.
“Why’re you feeling so down, anyway? Anything happen? Maybe at work?” You respond, hand gently massaging his arm, specifically the one wrapped around you. “Yeah… uh. My job isn’t easy, and… this guy I was working with for the first time, he got really messed up. Almost died- and I… I could of helped- could of prevented it. I… I ruined his life.” You hear his voice waver a little at the end, yet he immediately shuts his mouth, closing his eyes. “Oh, Simon. It’s not your fault.” You cup his cheeks, fluttering gentle kisses over his face. “It is. I could of been faster.” He insists, sighing shakily. “Simon, look at me. There is nothing you could of done differently. Your job is dangerous, he knew that when he signed up to join.” You tell him, voice much more firm. Simon sighs. “You did all you could, I’m sure.” You add on, kissing his lips gently. “You weren’t there.” He seethes, eyes darkening a little. You try not to let his tone hurt you. “But I know you. You’re such a sweetheart, you truly do care about the people around you, even though you won’t say it. I know you helped him, he’s still alive, isn’t he?” You ask, hands moving to his sides, gently massaging him. Simon let’s out another sigh, closing his eyes once more. “Look at me.” You mumble, patting his cheek gently. “It’s not your fault.” You insist.
Simon takes a moment, leaning his head against yours before taking a deep breath. “Yeah… okay, you’re right.” He mutters, squeezing his mug tightly as his other arm hugs you tight. “Of course i’m right, doofus.” You half joke, kissing the corner of his mouth; feeling it curl upwards as you do so. “Finish your coffee baby, and try not to worry. You’re home now.” You point out, he nods. “Yeah. Just gotta relax a little…” he responds, kissing you gently. “Thank you, baby.” He mumbles, you smile. “Of course! I’m not gonna abandon you, Si.” You coo, cuddling against his side as he drinks his coffee. “Want me to pick out an outfit for you baby?” You ask softly, head leaning against his shoulder. “If you want, love.” He shrugs a little. You smile brightly. “Great!” Moving away, you get up, moving to the closet. Simon watches you, a glint of amusement in his eyes as you pick your favourite things on him out and put them on the bed. “I heard this new place serves that cake you like. We’ll have to get some.” You say over your shoulder. Simon nods, finishing his coffee. “Sure thing, baby.”
#mw2 2022#mw2 imagine#mw2 x reader#mw2 x you#mw2022#simon riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon riley x y/n#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost x reader#ghost x reader#ghost mw2#ghost mwii#mw2 ghost#ghost x female reader#| anjela wrote this 🕯️
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I just saw a TikTok that said “imagine Charles playing basketball, points at you and says this is for you and completely misses 20 times in a row” and now I can’t stop imagining max awkwardly standing there while this happens.
I cackled at this mental image for fifteen minutes, so I couldn't help myself. I'm sorry, anon.
---
Max Verstappen understands that people are different. He also understands that people have different definitions of fun. And it just so happens that Max Verstappen's idea of fun on a Saturday afternoon is not to be in a clammy gym that kind of smells like years and years of old sweat, with the loud, insufferable sound of sneakers squeaking against hardwood floor every few seconds while a group of not-even-a-little talented men run around, trying to get a basketball through the hoops.
It is, however, Charles Leclerc's idea of fun, apparently. And Max has long since learned that dating Charles Leclerc means that he will be spending some of his off-season days doing things he wouldn't usually subject himself to.
Such as watching his idiot boyfriend and his entourage of idiot friends trying to play basketball. Emphasis on trying.
Andrea isn't half-bad, but not being half-bad isn't very helpful when the other seven people on the field are absolutely useless. Max has long since lost track of how many times Joris has failed at his attempt to receive a pass, and Riccardo has been spending more time on the floor of the gym than on his feet. But worst of them all, is Charles.
Beautiful, wonderful Charles, who can navigate an F1 car through the smallets of corners at incredibly high speeds without issue, but who can't seem to get a basketball through a hoop to save his fucking life.
He hasn't managed to score a single point, and they've been playing for close to forty-five minutes already. It's nearing to the point of being painful to keep watching, but Max can't seem to tear his eyes away. It's like watching a car crash, and Max is captivated.
Another ten minutes pass before Joris demands a break, claiming to be on the verge of death, and the group makes their way towards the stands. Andrea holds his fist out for Max to bump once he's within reach, and Max obliges.
"How do you put up with them?" Max asks, watching as Andrea chugs half a bottle of water in one go.
"I ask myself the same question almost daily," Andrea responds with a sigh, which earns him an offended huff from Joris. Andrea rolls his eyes and pointedly doesn't acknowledge it further.
Max huffs a laugh and gets to his feet, making his way down onto the court and turning right, walking in the direction of the bathrooms.
Upon finishing his business and returning to the court, Charles is the only person who has returned to the court, and he's standing at the freethrow line in front the hoop closest to the bathrooms.
"Hey, Max!" the Monégasque shouts as Max passes him, and when Max looks over at him, the other man is grinning widely at him.
"Yeah?" Max calls back.
"This is for you," Charles shouts, pointing at Max and giving him one of his signature attempts at a wink — his worst attempt yet, Max finds himself fondly thinking — before throwing the ball in the direction of the hoop.
It goes flying over the entire thing, and Charles scrambles to retrieve it once it returns to the floor.
"Kidding," Charles tries and fails to sound nonchalant as he returns to the freethrow line. "This is for you!"
This time, Charles throws the ball so hard it slams against the board behind the hoop and immediately returns to the Monégasque's hands.
Max stares, unimpressed. Somewhere behind him, Andrea stifles a laugh — Joris flat-out cackles. From where he's standing, Max can see Charles' cheeks pinking slightly, and as the Monégasque glances at him, Max recognizes that look in his eyes.
Determination. Not unlike the determination he has seen in Charles' eyes so many times before a race.
"Ah, fuck," the Dutchman groans, as Charles makes a third attempt to make the shot. He fails, yet again, and immediately runs to retrieve the ball.
And so it begins: Charles trying and failing to get the ball into the hoop, from several angles and distances, and Max awkwardly standing at the sidelines, watching him the entire time.
He misses a grand total of twenty times before Andrea loses his patience and intercepts the ball before Charles can retrieve it for a twenty-first attempt, and announces that the game will resume, putting Max out of his misery.
Charles argues with Andrea in Italian and Max leaves them to it, returning to his previous seat to keep watching what is arguably the least impressive game of basketball he has ever seen.
Another half hour passes before the group decides to call it a day, and start packing up their things to go home. Charles, however, remains on the court even as his friends start departing one by one, barely even acknowledging them with a dismissive wave of his hand as they bid him farewell. Shortly after, Max and Charles are alone in the gym.
With a sigh, Max gets to his feet and walks onto the court, where Charles has once again tried and failed to get the ball into the hoop from the freethrow line.
"Wanna go home?" Max asks him once he comes to a halt a couple of steps from the Monégasque.
"Nope," Charles answers immediately, without looking at Max. His laser focus is trained on the hoop as he shoots — and misses.
"Are we going to stay here until you make that shot?"
"Yep."
Max rubs a hand over his face. "Do I have a say in the matter?"
"Nope."
"Lovely," the Dutchman concedes, and walks back over to the stands to take a seat.
It takes Charles thirty-three new attempts to finally get the ball in the hoop, bringing his total attempts up to fifty-three. Max watches every single one.
But it's all worth it in the end when the ball finally goes in, and Charles erupts into a wild celebration — falling to his knees and pumping his fists in the air as if he has just won his first World Championship. And Max realizes he would gladly sit there until the morning if he had to when he sees the look of pure, unadulterated joy on the Monégasque's face as he beams at Max.
Not that he'd ever tell Charles that, though. Because the man is insane enough to actually make him do it, too, if he knew. So Max applauds Charles' achievement and returns the grin Charles sends him with a matching one of his own, before he gets to his feet.
"Well done, babe," the Dutchman says. "Now can we go home?"
And Charles leaps to his feet and bounds over to Max like an excited puppy, throwing himself into the other man's arms and wrapping his own around the back of Max's neck.
"Now we can go home," Charles confirms, pressing a firm kiss to Max's lips that the Dutchman can't help but smile into.
It's a smile that fades quickly, though, when Charles pulls back with wide, excited eyes.
"I'm just going to try to make a shot from the half court line first," the Monégasque says, as he turns to look for the ball.
Before he can start moving towards it, however, Max grabs the back of his shirt and pulls him back firmly. "Absolutely fucking not," he huffs, using his hold on Charles' shirt to turn the other man around and shove him towards his things.
"But —,"
"Home."
Charles pouts the whole way there. Max pretends not to notice, because now it's Charles' turn to take part in Max's idea of fun: which doesn't involve leaving the apartment. Or the bedroom.
Being in a relationship means making compromises, after all. And, well, Charles kind of likes compromises.
#Asks#Anon asks#Lestappen asks#Lestappen drabble#My writing#I'm not taking prompts btw#I just couldn't not write this#Lestappen
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Simon.
Part 8
Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7
Character: Simon Riley / Ghost
Content: Biker! Ghost x Fem! Reader, strangers to lovers, fluff, civilian au
Note: I still can't believe that I've written 8 whole chapters for a oneshot that I never planned on making into a series! But I'm glad it's coming along well and that you're enjoying it :) I hope you enjoy this chapter too.
Tags: @cmbghost @gluttonybiscuits @paintlavillered @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @iimichie @mxtokko
“Morning, Simon!”
____ and Lindsey arrived at Simon's door at seven in the morning as planned. His crush was the one who excitedly greeted him, while her friend looked disgruntled and ticked at having to be up so early.
“Morning,” he greeted them civilly as his hand instinctively ran through his hair, trying not to appear even the slightest disheveled or flustered at the sight of ____’s smiles, and moved away from the door to let the two in.
“Have a seat. I'll bring you some tea,” he said, promptly moving towards the kitchen.
The ladies, particularly the author, took in the surroundings of his little flat as they entered and sat down. The entire place as a whole was simple. The walls of the living room were empty and unpainted except for a singular, ancient grandfather clock that hung alone near his curtained balcony, filling the quiet room with its rhythmic ticking. She saw that he was concerned more with pragmatics than aesthetics; if it didn't serve a purpose, then it wasn't needed.
She saw that he favored dark colors of blue and black, and neutrals, but found that bright colors were speckled throughout the room in his red floor lamp, the gold painted knobs of his brown television stand, and the red and white chevron patterned cushions on his grey couch. The simple state of his room made her wonder if his bedroom was more personalised.
A hint of green caught her attention and she turned to the balcony. A few potted plants of mint, tomatoes, and coriander, all of which were healthy and green, swayed gently in the morning breeze. She smiled at this. “He’s a gardener,” she thought to herself, not quite expecting it.
The smell of lemon and mint wafted through the air, bringing her thoughts back. Simon brought out a tray of three mismatched teacups and a glass teapot filled with what smelled and looked like lemon tea.
“Have some tea,” he set down the tray on the coffee table and poured out the tea for them.
She, wanting to use Simon as a model for her character, Frederick, watched keenly as he poured with a thoughtful, concentrated look on his face. She wondered why he used a glass teapot over porcelain or any other material, but that was probably not important. However, she was not going to let even the smallest things about him and his choices escape her scrutiny.
“When will Johnny come?” asked Lindsey as soon as she had her sip of tea.
Simon glanced at the grandfather clock. “At six forty-five, he said he'd be here in ten minutes. He's picking up our other friend, Kyle too. Maybe there's some hold-up,” he answered. He felt a little strange; it was his first time properly speaking to Lindsey, and she seemed to look judgingly at him, as if to find a fault.
____ was silent, as she was more concentrated on the taste and temperature of her tea. It was lightly sweetened and refreshing thanks to the lemon and mint. A mental note was already taken that Frederick too would be good at brewing tea.
Simon's ringtone tore the silence and he immediately slid the phone out of his jeans. Thinking it was Johnny, he looked expectantly, but it was his mum. Looking back at the ladies, he excused himself and went out to the balcony to talk.
“What do you think of him?” ____ asked Lindsey, who took slow sips of her tea as the two watched the man pace around the balcony through the partially drawn translucent curtains.
“He makes good tea,” she answered, “I think I'll approve of him a bit.” To Lindsey, a man who could brew a good tea was worth marrying, because, according to her, it meant that he cared about the little things, like making tea taste good. As ____ smiled, she paused for a moment before quipping, “He seems nice so far, but I don't trust him just yet.”
____ shook her head, chuckling. Lindsey was always so skeptical of everyone and everything, both a vice and a virtue.
Simon soon emerged from the balcony into the living room, brows furrowed with concern. He looked straight at ____ and said, “I need to have a word with you, darling,” and then promptly stepped into the kitchen without waiting for an answer, expecting her to follow.
She instantly set down her teacup and followed Simon into the kitchen. “What's the matter?” she asked as soon as she entered, finding him leaning his back on the kitchen counter, arms crossed.
He turned to her, almost opening his mouth to speak but cautiously glanced at the open door; he looked back at her, beckoning her to come closer. When she did, he said, “I don't know how you'll react to this but I need you to hear me out, alright, darling?”
Her curiosity heightened and she nodded.
“Y'see, my mum just called and they're going to have a family reunion soon since my old man's come back home for a holiday from his military service,” he paused, sucking in a sharp breath, unsure about how she would take his next words, but continued anyway, “And my mum asked me if I found a girlfriend yet because she's worried I'm going to die single…” he paused again, “and I may have accidentally told her that you're my girlfriend.”
“You what?” she stared incredulously at Simon, although she wasn't quite opposed to what he did.
“Yeah,” he sighed, shaking his head, embarrassed with himself, “I'm really sorry.”
“Wait, does your mum know about me?”
“Yeah, I told her a few weeks ago that I recently made friends with this lass,” he paused to sigh again, “And when she asked if I finally found a girlfriend, I accidentally said yes, and when she asked if it was you…” he paused again and shrugged.
The lady paused. Now that he said it, it couldn't be helped and she had to play along. Not that it bothered her. She chuckled. “Well, it's alright. You take the trouble of pretending to be my boyfriend, so I guess it wouldn't hurt to pretend to be your girlfriend for a bit.”
Simon looked back at her, visibly relieved.
“Now, what do you need me to do?” she asked.
“That's the hard part. We'll have to make up a story of how we met and how we hit it off. And I'll have to bring you home and introduce you to my family. And not just that, you know who else will be there.” He pursed his lips tight.
She immediately knew. She wiped her clammy hands on her jeans and nodded. “Right, yes.”
He could see the apprehension on her face and in her body as she crossed her arms. Feeling terrible that he dragged her into this, he said, “Darling, you don't have to do this if you don't want to. If going there and meeting him again will make you uncomfortable, then I'm not forcing you to come with me.”
She drew in a shaky breath and pondered for a moment. Simon watched her, gulping harshly.
“No,” she finally said, resolute, “I shouldn't be so scared all the time. If I'm going to be there as your girlfriend, I shouldn't be afraid of some ex of mine.”
Simon blinked in surprise at this response. He appreciated her bravery, and felt his admiration for her increase. However, he didn't show it, and kept his facial expressions neutral with a little smile. “I guess, yeah,” he nodded. He paused for a moment, wanting to say something else, but she beat him to it.
“If anything happens, you’ll stick up for me, won’t you?” she asked smilingly, “Since you’re my “boyfriend”.”
He felt his heart leap. That was the exact thing he wanted to assure her of, and it flattered him greatly to know that they had been thinking of the same thing. Even though he knew this was going to be a pretense, it rubbed his male instincts and ego right to be depended on for protection.
He answered with a wide smile, “Of course, my love.”
“Why d’ye drive a manual?” asked Johnny as soon as he took the shotgun seat, watching ____ take her place in the driver's seat.
“Tut tut,” she shook her head, bringing out a mini sombrero from her pocket which she placed on the gear stick, “It's Emmanuel.”
The three passengers in the back, from left to right– Simon, Lindsey, and Gaz, watched as Johnny burst out laughing, also making ____ laugh as she got the car started.
“Ghosty, she's a woman of culture!” Johnny exclaimed, looking back at his best friend.
Simon made no answer as he was upset that he couldn't sit next to ____. Lindsey felt similarly, but for Johnny. Regardless of that, the drive began with gusto, with Johnny and Gaz filling the time with their singing and jokes, while the other three listened.
____ drove for the first hour, and Johnny took over for the second and the two switched seats, exchanging jokes and quips with ease, making both Simon and Lindsey at the back miserable and jealous. Simon drove for fifteen minutes in the third hour until he nearly hit a tree, but swerved back to the road right on time to avoid damaging both the car and his crush's esteem. Gaz took over for the remaining forty-five minutes, and Simon was banished to the back seat.
Thankfully for him, ____ sat next to him to console him, “Don't worry. After all, you did say that if you tried really hard, you wouldn't hit a tree. You did great for fifteen minutes at least!”
Simon chuckled out of embarrassment. It didn't make him feel any better, but he appreciated her effort.
The camping spot was soon in sight. It was around ten in the morning when Gaz parked the car in the shed of a little cabin. The ladies learnt that the spot belonged to one of Gaz's relatives, who was happy to lend it out to anyone who needed it. And from how the three men scampered around the place relaxedly, it was evident that they were regular visitors.
The fenced piece of land was right next to a little lake which afforded a view of the distant green hills speckled with heathers and daisies. A lonely little dock hung over the surface of the water, which, as Simon informed the ladies, “made a nice fishing spot”.
The group first decided to begin their hike as planned before unloading the car. England's weather was notorious for being fickle and since the skies were currently clear of all rain clouds, the hike was chosen as the first activity.
The trail was an easy one, chosen for the benefit of the ladies who were partially accustomed to walking on rocky, uneven terrain. The end of it promised a little waterfall, which Johnny was excited about showing them, as was evident in his constant singing of sea shanties while they hiked. Gaz happily joined him, while the ladies and Simon chose to be their audience like earlier.
“Johnny sure loves to sing,” observed ____, who trudged between Lindsey and Simon.
“He's a born singer,” replied Simon with a sigh, sounding both proud of and annoyed with his friend, “And he was a theater kid too. Acted in tons of musicals and plays, mostly musicals. Put him together with Gaz and they'll be singing and dancing all day.”
She chuckled. “How long have you guys known each other?”
“Johnny's my childhood friend. We've known each other since we were ten years old. As for Gaz, both of us met him in university and we quickly became friends,” he explained, kicking a rock out of the way.
The two ladies looked at each other. “That's a long time,” remarked Lindsey, “You all must be really close then.”
“Too close,” Simon said dryly, but there was a hint of affection in his voice. He then turned to the ladies to ask, “And what about you two? How long have you been friends?”
“Since high school,” ____ answered, smilingly linking her arm with Lindsey's, “She's basically my sister now.”
Simon smiled. He could tell, for the moment he saw them together, they stuck to each other like glue and didn't leave each other's side for more than a few moments.
Johnny looked back at the calm trio behind him and Gaz. “Jolene!” He called Lindsey by her nickname. When he had her attention, he beckoned her to join him in singing.
“I don't know any of the songs you're singing!” she protested.
“Dinnae ye worry, wee lassie!” he retraced his steps, put an arm around her shoulders, and dragged her ahead with him, making her squeal and stumble. “Gaz and I will teach you!” he promised, and kept his arm around her as they hiked up the hillock.
While the two men busied themselves in teaching Lindsey to sing ‘Bully in the Alley’, ____ and Simon were left to themselves. The lady smiled at Lindsey's attempts to sing, though she was no singer.
“Lindsey hates singing,” she whispered to Simon, “It's crazy how she's doing it for Johnny.” A girlish giggle escaped her lips at the thought of a romance blooming between the two. Her authorly brain couldn't help but conjecture all the sweet moments they would have, worthy of a novel of its own.
“And I'll tell you what, Johnny's never been this fixated on one woman for this long either. He's normally a huge flirt, a ladies’ man, if you will. I'm just as surprised as you are,” answered Simon.
The mention of Johnny being a flirt worried her. She knew Lindsey to almost easily give her affections to anyone who would look her way, starved for love as she was. But she decided to stay out of the way and watch the two for now. If Johnny ever did anything that would hurt Lindsey, she would not hesitate to confront him.
The hike was now proving to get a little tiring, and ____ let out a sigh as she paused to catch her breath and drink some water. Simon stopped too, looking down at her from the slightly steep ascent.
“Are you tired?” he asked.
“A little, yeah.”
He bent his knee and lowered himself slightly, holding out his hand. “Come on,” he encouraged, “Just a little more and we'll be at the waterfall.”
She took his outstretched hand, and no sooner they made contact, a jolt of electricity ran down both their spines. Simon gulped harshly at this reaction, and she felt an additional tingle in her stomach. His larger, more rugged hand held her softer and smaller hand in his, and he pulled her up the ascent with ease. She thanked him as soon as they were next to each other, Simon, eager to be of further assistance, held out his arm to her.
“You can hold my arm if you want to,” he offered, trying to sound as casual as he could, though his thoughts begged her to give him the honour of accepting him.
Her hand practically flew to his arm in an instant, wrapping just below his bicep. Simon never felt more depended upon than now as the two began walking together. And she was completely flattered by his kind offer, trying to suppress her smiles and blushes. The two were, without doubt, over the moon.
The lady was sure to make mental notes about everything Simon did. Frederick would be tall and brooding, but a kind-hearted and observant gentleman with a soft spot for Adelheid.
“This reminds me of the Jane Austen novels where the men would offer their arms to the ladies when they got tired as they walked,” she commented with a bright smile and a certain twinkle in her eye as she moved closer to him, allowing her hand to curl tighter against his arm.
He noted the expression on her face and the movement and instinctively flexed his bicep so that she could feel it. He smiled in response to her comment and said with a chuckle, his cheeks overspread with a light pink, “So it was a custom back then? Interesting.” He hadn't read a lot of Regency era novels to know of past English social customs, but he seemed intrigued by this one aspect that she mentioned. Wanting to know if she really approved of it, asked, “Do you like it?”
She loved it, but for the sake of being mild, said, “I think it's nice, especially now when I don't see men doing this sort of thing.”
“So you like gentlemen then?”
She giggled. “A lot.”
Simon took note of this immediately. If she liked a gentleman, a gentleman he would be. If men of his day didn't do the things he did, like offering their arm, or pulling out the chair for her at a table, he most certainly would do it, for he didn't want to be like other men. He wanted to be special and singled out by her.
They began descending down a slightly slippery, gravelly path that led to the waterfall, and Simon took hold of her upper arm this time as he led her down so that she wouldn’t fall in case she slipped over the loose gravel. He was reminded yet again of how much smaller she was compared to him, and it only heightened his desire to keep her safe.
The gurgle and rush of water from the distant waterfall was soon heard, and a few meters of walking on level ground finally brought them to the waterbody familiar to the men. Johnny cheered like he never saw a waterfall before, loud enough for his voice to echo in the wilderness, and for Lindsey to cover her ears and curse under her breath.
“We're here!”
End of Part 8.
Part 9 coming soon :)
Like always, leave a comment if you want to be added to my taglist!
#call of duty#aoioozora writes#Simon series#cod x reader#cod x you#cod x y/n#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost x reader#simon ghost x you#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x you#cod#cod fanfic#call of duty fanfic#cod fluff#fluff#fanfic#fanfiction#fanfictions#cod ghost#ghost cod#cod ghost x reader#cod ghost x you#cod ghost fanfic#ghost call of duty#ghost simon riley#simon riley
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Imagine a dating app but for people who need to lay egg(s) in someone and people who want to carry said egg(s). You can put in preferences as to whether you want to carry a clutch of eggs that gradually fill you and become so heavy that you can barely move until you lay them, or possible a dragon egg that makes you full from the beginning and only gets heavier and lower in your gravid belly.
You hear a knock at your door. That must be them, you think so yourself as you get up, trying to restrain your excitement. You had recently discovered a new dating app called Egger. It was basically Tinder but for people and creatures with niche desires and kinks. You weren't sure yet if you were one of those people yet, but it had always been a tantalizing idea to you; being pumped full of cum and a clutch of eggs. So you decided to give it a try. You had nothing else to do to pass the time this weekend, so why not?
You open the door of your apartment and see the date you'd been chatting with only an hour prior. You grin and subtly look them over, noticing a sheen of sweat across their brow, a hand low on their stomach and that their belly is noticeably bloated, nearing the edge of swollen. They greet you with a mild wince and you guide them inside immediately.
It doesn't take long before things get going between the two of you. Before you are even aware, you find yourself on all fours, hole spread wide open by your date's girthy length. You gasp as they thrust into you, increasing the pace with fervor. You feel something expand against your inner walls, preventing your date from pulling out any further. The sensation makes you moan with pleasure. Then you feel it. Some pressing against the the knot, making it even bigger on the inside. You think you can't possibly take anything wider when it breaches the knot and slides deep into your belly. You moan in delight at the feeling as more follow en suit. You lose count of how many your date has pumped into you but you can feel your belly expanding from the sheer amount of eggs inside you. You reach a hand down and rub your growing abdomen. You cum just from the sensation of being so full and your belly being swollen with eggs.
Finally the last egg is pumped into you and the knot decreases before your date pulls out. You both collapse, enervated from it all. You look at your date, whose belly is now flat. They give you a look of exhaustion but also joy. You finally look down at your swollen belly, unable to keep your hands off of it. Your date isn't able to either because as you lounge together they rub your gravid belly that seems to be growing by the minute. You feel like you started out looking only a few months pregnant, but you definitely look like you are closer to seven or eight months along now.
"How much bigger am I going to get?" You ask your date.
"It varies. Though this is the biggest clutch I've had in a while..." They say with a proud look as they continue rubbing your swollen mound. You nearly come again just from the touch. "I hope that isn't a problem."
"Tha-that's fine. I don't mind, really." And truly, you didn't. You were absolutely relishing the feeling of being so full and heavy. Your belly growing ever larger. "How long will this continue?"
"It should not be much longer."
That was only somewhat true. You lounged together for quite some time, continuing to feel your belly expand and rubbing your heavy mound. By the time you finally felt the need to lay, your belly looked overdue with twins. You came merely from seeing your swollen reflection.
You barely had to push and one by one the eggs began to slip out of your hole. The sensation was incredible as you gently pushed each one out. Although you watched as your belly slowly deflated, returning to its previous state.
At the end of it call, you and your date counted the unfertilized eggs that were now if your bathtub. Forty-seven. There had been forty-seven eggs pumped into you that grew and then you laid. Just remembering it all made you want more.
You would definitely be using this dating app again.
Thoughts, feedback, further ideas? Feel free to expand (see what I did there?) On this if you'd like 😜
This is a fucking great idea and man I love it. I'm sure you'd end up with occasionally re-meeting, maybe liking someone, and, well, it's all just a benefit that you can also end up with a heavy belly every time... I'd definitely sign up lol
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me and @fruggin-bitch have a very meaningful message to share to the world:
JASON GRACE IS NOT A BLAND CHARACTER.
consider his life. he was like two years old when he was sent to lupa, and he survived. percy—the strongest character in the series—said that surviving lupas training is hard. it says in son of neptune, and i quote:
besides, lupas first rule was self-sufficiency. she would help her children as much as she could, train them to fight—but in the end, they were either predator or prey. romans had to fight for themselves. they had to prove their worth or die. that was lupas way. - son of neptune, chapter forty nine
jason survived that AS A TWO YEAR OLD. he had to train, barely able to speak full sentences, like a roman soldier.
and. he. passed.
"oh but queenie, hes bland because hes a flat character! he has no flaws!"
yea, no shit he has no flaws. lupas way is eiter prove your worth, or die. hes lived by that rule for like, thirteen years. not to mention he was leading a whole-ass army at just fifteen?? with people like octavian (who, despitebeing crusty musty dusty, is acc very influential n knows how to turn people against their friends) tryna plot against him??
cut the guy some slack, people. hes been carrying the weight of an army on his back for years. yall cant even imagine. not to mention people chose him as a leader mainly bc hes a son of jupiter ?? he HAS to act perfect, he HAS to live up to the peoples high expectations from him. because hes one of the seven, a praetor of rome, the son of the king of the gods. this isnt just a cj thing—even among the seven, when percabeth were in tartarus, who was expected to take the lead? jason.
and i dont want anyone to mention reyna, because yea i love her, shes also had to carry that weight (unlike jason, she had no one to help her for a while) but she hasnt had to do that since she was two. shes suffered, and she lets herself express it—in private, at least. not in public. not when shes a ruler, because the roman way is that a leader cant show flaws. a leader must be perfect, militarized, disciplined. a leader must not show weakness.
and people like jason follow the rules. he has to, to survive. and some of yall dont wanna swallow that pill tbh
#jason grace#pjo hoo toa#heroes of olympus#hoo#pjo series#some of you need to hear this#percy jackson and the olympians#percy jackson and the heroes of olympus#trials of apollo#the seven pjo#percy jackson#reyna avila ramirez arellano#reyna arellano
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[warning: while f!reader is not described with any specific physical characteristics, the child in this fic is described as having inherited all of Megumi’s attributes and none from reader! please read with that in mind, or pass over this fic if not <3]
"Did you tell her my name?"
Megumi lives in a flat above the clinic, and has since he was 23. The old vet he'd studied under had lived there for years, right around when he was his age, but as he and his wife got older and their family grew, they needed more space than the little two bedroom provided them.
It's the perfect size for Megumi, though. Well-suited in every way to his lifestyle: large enough that he doesn't feel cramped but still small enough that he can easily keep it tidy, and close to work so he can always quickly pop downstairs to check on any animals boarding overnight—though he does still sleep sometimes on that lumpy couch in the staff room if he's just too exhausted after a long day to climb up the stairs.
The apartment has served him well over the past decade, and he's happy with his little home, a perfect space just for him.
Well, him and Yuuji at present.
"That was soooo crazy."
Yuuji has made this remark roughly forty-seven times in the past two hours since the two of them came upstairs following Nanami, Kota, and your departure from the little clinic. He's downed two thirds of the beers he brought with him, though—and a healthy pour of the whiskey Megumi keeps in his cupboard—so that might be as much a cause as any for the repetition.
Megumi sighs, taking another little swig from his own drink.
It's not like he's completely wrong, either.
Megumi is still reeling from the excitement earlier in the evening, and unsettled by feeling that he can't quite seem to shake in the aftermath. He keeps thinking of the little boy who has his eyes, and of the mother who couldn't meet them.
Why does he feel like he should know you? Like he does know you? Or did, maybe, once.
But try as he might he just can't bring back any memories of you, or where the two of you may have once met. Megumi prides himself on his memory, and his ability to remember names and faces, so why is this the moment that it's failing him? Deceiving him into believing something he knows just can't be true?
Is it because he wants to know you? To know Kota?
No. That's ridiculous. He'd felt dread when Kota had first appeared on the clinic doorstep, convinced it was some kind of haunting or a cruel hallucination.
Yuuji couldn't recall with any certainty that he'd told you Megumi's name, but Nanami could have easily mentioned it at the police station or on the drive to the clinic. Hell, you might have seen his name on the wall when you came in. But none of that explains why you behaved so strangely towards him, so evasive in his presence. He was sure that you were tired after the frightening ordeal of losing your son, but it still didn't necessarily make sense why he was the only one whose gaze you had such a hard time meeting.
"What restaurant does she work at?" Megumi suddenly asks Yuuji, and his friend peers at him over the table they're seated at on the floor of his living room.
Yuuji shrugs. "Nanami didn't say, and when I texted him he said that he's not allowed to give out personal info like that."
"But it was nearby, right?" Megumi asks again. "It would have to be if Kota made it here all on his own."
Yuuji shrugs again, watching his friend's face.
"What's up with you?" he asks him bluntly. "You're being weird."
"No I'm not," Megumi argues, his lips pursing.
"Yeah you are," Yuuji counters. "Weirder than normal, anyway."
Megumi shoots him a weak glare, pushing himself up from the table. He's a little unsteady on his feet, and he looks down at the place where he was sitting once he's risen. He had more to drink than he'd planned on, and it's hitting him now that he's upright.
"I'm gonna wash up and go to bed," Megumi mutters.
"Mind if I crash on the couch?" Yuuji asks, as though his friend has ever once denied him. Megumi waves his hand dismissively, shuffling past his friend in the direction of his bedroom.
After getting ready for bed, Megumi finds himself staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom listlessly. In the other room he can hear Yuuji laughing along to some late night variety show, but that's not what's keeping him awake—having long grown used to it. He sighs, squeezing his eyes shut as though he might be able to will sleep to come to him by force.
He can hear the sound of his heartbeat.
Ba-dump.
Yer still a young fella, Megumi, but ya won't be ferever.
Ba-dump.
Gotta start thinkin' about yer future 'ventually.
Ba-dump.
Settlin' down, findin' yourself a pretty girl, babies.
The old man's cheeks were so red that night that Megumi started to genuinely worry for his health. He remembers trying to sneak a glass of water into his hand in place of his sake, but it never quite worked.
"I don't want any babies."
The old man snorted when Megumi said that.
"No bachelor as handsome as you ever wants babies," the old man replied. "But one day yer gonna wake up next to the girl ya love and realize there's somethin' missin'. Then you'll know whatcha want."
Megumi hadn't bothered correcting him, still too busy processing the opportunity—the enormous, terrifying opportunity—that had fallen into his lap that night. Didn't bother telling him that no girl would change the way his brain is wired, or sway his fire-forged conviction.
"Can I get you two anything else to drink?"
"'nother round of sake!" The old man requested jovially. "We're celebratin'!"
"And what exactly as you gentlemen celebrating?"
Megumi looked up from his hands then, towards the server with the smile in her voice.
You.
An apron tied tight around your waist, and a youthful glow in your cheeks. You were probably a few years younger than Megumi, if he was judging right. Maybe 23 to his 28, or somewhere thereabouts.
"Fushiguro-kun here's takin' over the business!" the old man exclaimed, even though nothing of the sort had been agreed upon yet.
You looked over at Megumi, your eyes meeting for the first time, and he watched as your smile grew.
"Well," you said, a cheerful, easy warmth lilting in your voice, "congratulations."
Megumi couldn't bring himself to say anything in reply.
You laughed a little as his eyes skirted away.
"Your next drink's on me, gentlemen."
Megumi sits straight up in his bed, soaked through in a cold sweat. On the other side of the wall, the variety show is still playing, but instead of laughter he hears Yuuji's rumbling snore.
He clutches at his heart, his fingers shaking as he twists them into the sweat-dampened cotton of his t-shirt.
All he can think about when he closes his eyes is the phantom memory of your smile from that night in the early spring five years ago, and how it looks just like Kota's.
#megumi x reader#megumi fushiguro x reader#fushiguro megumi x reader#jjk writing#jjk drabble#writing#mini megumi#tw parenthood#tw pregnancy
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Shattered
Civilian | Male | Gay
2,847 words
Content: Minor warning for mention of panic attack. Mention of PTSD, Anger, Angst.
Follow up to I'm punny and you know it.
Simon ’Ghost’ Riley | Male/GN Reader
!!!SFW!!!
You walk into a war zone of Simon's making. Well, you actually kicked in a door to do it, but that's not the point. The man is not OK, and while you may not be able to help him, you can clean up the mess.
(Thanks to @loneghostwolf for permission to use this image)
It hadn't taken you very long to figure out 'Si' was in the military. Truth be told, you suspected it from the first time you met at the coffee shop. It was during your last appointment with him that it was confirmed. He was wearing a very tight tee and you could make out the outline of dog-tags as the cotton shirt hugged their form. Being respectful of his privacy, however, you said nothing.
You had six appointments under your belt with him over the course of four months. It was during this appointment that he told you he had a 'trip' coming up, and wasn't sure how long it was going to take. You nodded and said you understood. Simon also took the time to explain that the location was 'remote' and he likely wouldn't have much cell reception. “Well...” You pondered, “When you do have service, and if you're free, let me know and I'll send you a joke or a meme.” You offered.
His eyes seemed to soften at the offer, and you could swear there was a smile under his mask. He nodded firmly in agreement, and with that, you had a new contract with him while he was away.
*** + *** ++ *** + *** ++ *** + *** ++ *** + *** ++ *** + *** ++ *** + ***
The first two week were silent, and you went about both your day jobs and your side-gig as a friend-for-hire. You toiled away at paperwork and emails until your eyes burned red from dryness. Late nights turned into early mornings and you periodically checked your phone for a hint of life from Si.
It was nearly half way through week three when your phone dinged at an ungodly hour. You rolled over in bed and were blinded by the light from the screen. “Fuck.” You groan, shutting your eyes quickly. It was from Si.
SI: Have about three hours before I have to go back to work. I was promised jokes and memes.
“Fucking Christ, Si.” You huffed. “Gotta pull a joke out of my ass at..” You glanced at the clock in the upper corner of this cornea-destroying device. “four-forty-seven.”
You head flopped back on the pillow with a 'whump' and you clutched the phone at your chest. You had promised to do this for him, and he was on his 'trip'. It wasn't his fault you forgot time zones existed. So you pursed your lips and thought of a joke through the fogginess of your sleepy mind.
You: Why were the middle ages called the Dark Ages?
You: Because there were too many Knights.
SI: That's fucking terrible.
You: You're welcome.
And that was the start of your on-again, off-again communication with Si as he was on his 'trip.'
*** + *** ++ *** + *** ++ *** + *** ++ *** + *** ++ *** + *** ++ *** + **
Six weeks in, you got another message from him. This time is was at least at a reasonable hour. The sun had cast the sky bright reds and pinks as it set, and you had been sitting on the balcony of your flat enjoying the cool breeze and downtime. Your workload had shifted and you had more free time. On top of that, one of your Friental clients was on vacation, so you felt like you could really relax.
The dinging and buzzing from your phone caught your attention. It was Si, again.
Si: Hit me.
You: Coffee has a really rough time in my house...
You: It gets mugged every day.
Si: Hah.
Then another message the day after.
Si: Gotta make it quick, you around?
You were. You always were.
You: What did the socks say to the pants?
You: Sup, britches.
Si: Where the fuck do you get these?
A part of you pictured him laughing boisterously at your bad jokes, but deep down you knew that wasn't the case. He might huff out a low 'hah,' but Si, as far as you knew, was not a loud laughter. It would betray his broody lone-wolf persona. Still, you had a fond memory of the first time you did get a response from him. The light shove of his boot against your back.
And now that you thought about it, he broke the rules. No touching. You wondered if he had realized as well. You shook your head. No matter, the rules were really there for you.
*** + *** ++ *** + *** ++ *** + *** ++ *** + *** ++ *** + *** ++ *** + **
It was just over two months in when you got a notification from the app that 'Si' had requested another appointment. He had access to your calendar, so you opened it up and clicked accept. He had requested a visit from you in four days.
“Must be back home,” You said to yourself. There was a stupid smile plastered over your face. Si might be a big, quiet, moping tank of a man, but he was easy to handle. You knew what was expected with him, and he was fine with letting you babble at length about any and everything that crossed your mind. He never seemed annoyed or frustrated about your endless chatter. He would simply sit there and look at you with those unassuming brown eyes. He'd nod and grunt and give one word answers every once in a while, to remind you he really was listening. If anything, he took the pressure off you, allowing you to be yourself.
*** + *** ++ *** + *** ++ *** + *** ++ *** + *** ++ *** + *** ++ *** + **
You were not prepared for what you would find when you arrived at his flat. You stood at the door and knocked. No answer. You looked around the dimly lit hallway of the building and hummed to yourself anxiously.
'Maybe he forgot?' You mused. You foot tapped impatiently on the floor, and you kept shifting your weight from hip to hip. 'No. He wouldn't forget.' You reminded yourself. He was too structured for that. So you knocked again, harder. Still no answer. You knocked so hard the third time you sent spikes of pain up your knuckles.
“Si!” you yelled. “Are you home?” Your voice was raspy and filled with concern.
There was no response, but you did hear movement. Now your heart jumped to your throat. Was he hurt? Could he not respond for some reason? You mind flooded with the worst-case scenarios and you began to panic. Who do you call? Police? Maybe a neighbour would have a number for maintenance or the landlord. Your head shot back and forth, up one end of the hallway and down the other. You stared at the door, and finally your body reacted.
You hand reached for the doorknob and gave it a twist. To your surprise, it wasn't locked, which was unusual in itself. You couldn't imagine Si as comfortable enough to leave the door unlatched. But as you pushed it open, it caught on the chain of the upper lock and the door can to an abrupt halt. “Si?” you called in.
There was a grumbling, but no real response. “Fuck it.” You blurted out. You took a step back, sucked in a deep breath and aimed at the door. In one sharp movement, your foot connected with the door and snapped the chain from the frame. The swung open and crashed into the wall with a loud thud. You entered the flat timidly, and closed the door behind you.
Sitting at the kitchen table was Si, head in his hands and starting at the table, hunched over in a heap. You forgot how big this man was, even in this state. He was mask-less. You walked in and averted your gaze, you searched the flat frantically for his mask. It was then that you took in the disastrous state of the flat. There was garbage lying all over the place, dirty and broken dishes and even some furniture overturned and stung along the floor. Si had been home for a bit longer than you had assume, and it was not a good homecoming.
You located his mask frantically flung over the couch and you snatched it up quickly. You walked over to Si and shoved the mask under his face. “Put it on.” You remarked. “Please?” Your eyes were locked on the ceiling. He even managed to stain that.
You felt him pull the mask from your hand by the strap and you waited a few seconds before you dared to peek. He was masked, now.
Simon's face – well, his brows and eyes – were red and puffy, but he hadn't appeared to have been crying. His hair was a complete mess and his bloodshot eyes glared at you with emptiness, like he hadn't actually accepted you were here. “Better?” He asked in the most deadpanned tone you'd had heard from him.
“You look like shit, Si.” You declared before rubbing at the bridge of your nose. “Are you OK?” you muttered, knowing you were about to get the most useless of responses.
“No. Clearly, not.” he commented.
You took another look around the flat and noted all the work that had to be done. You gave an apathetic shrug and tip-toed over to the hallway closet to retrieve cleaning supplies. Carefully manoeuvring around the broken glass and ceramic that littered the floor like a mine-field. Something had set him off, an anxiety or panic attack maybe? PTSD? Didn't really matter to you, he couldn't stay like this. And since he wasn't going to offer up his feeling – his heart – for you one a plate, not that he had any left, you figured you could at least clean his home.
You started with the floors; sweeping up the fragments and remains of glassware and plates . You swept around his feet and took a bit of comfort that he was still wearing his boots. Under the table, around the fridge, and you double checked the base boards around the counter until you had a pile of his shattered property in a mound in his kitchen. Carefully you swept it into the dust-pan and placed it in a refuse bag before tossing it in one of his bins.
“What are you doing?” Simon finally remarked.
“Seems like you had a rough trip.” You declared. “I'm guessing you don't want to talk about, and that's fine. Its in our rules, after all.” You turned and beamed him a warm smile.
“You really care about my stupid rules at a time like this?” His voice was low and laced with annoyance and confusion.
“Its... kind of the foundation of our relationship, no?” You laughed. You balanced your chin on your hands, which were tenderly placed on the tip of the broom, and you wobbled it back and forth. “Something happened, and I'm not going to ask. But!” You explained. “I am going to get this place back in order because you don't live like this, and I'm not going to let you start. Isn't that what friends are for?” You shot him a wink.
“I pay you to be my friend.” The words carried an air of embarrassment and shame. Your heart ached at the sound.
You let out a frustrated breath and put the broom to the side. You turned your attention to the remaining dishes in the sink. The water rushed into the basin, splashing and bubbling as it embraced the dirty plated and utensils.
You reached into the got water and began scrubbing. The water sloshing and burbling under the movement of your hands. “I'd do it for free.” You finally admitted. You couldn't turn to look at him at first. The stack of wet, but clean dishes began to pile up in the other basin, and you could hear your heart in your ears. Feel your pulse beating, drumming, in every vein and artery.
“What?” He finally asked.
“I'd be your friend for free.” You nodded sharply at the wall in front of you. You bit at your lower lip, afraid you were breaking the rules of your contract. 'Was this too much? Too far?' you asked yourself as the silent moment moved forward.
“...why?” Simon finally choked out.
Your hands fell back into the sink, and your grip on the cutlery loosened. Your head dropped as you thought about your answer, knowing you were treading on thin ice. At least, you thought you were.
You cocked your head to the side to look at him. He was sitting at the table still, staring into the empty space between you two. His jaw worked tightly under his jaw as he ground at his teeth. You wondered if you had pissed him off, truly pissed him off.
“I... like you?” You whispered.
He snorted and shook his head. “That's the best fuckin' joke you've told yet, mate.”
You didn't really know how to respond to him. He was finally painting a picture of his self worth for you to view, and did it in so few words. Your heart sank deep into your belly as it dawn on you just how isolated his really must have been. Must be. “I mean it, Si. I'd be happy to just be your friend.”
His head dropped back down to the table. You finished the last of the forks and plopped them into the clean basin, dried your hands and pulled out your phone.
You opened up your messages and began typing.
You: What kind of music do windmills like?
You: They're Metal fans.
His phone buzzed across the table and a moment later there was a gruff, hoarse chuckle. “Go fuck yourself.” He mumbled.
You: Why do Ghosts love elevators?
You: Because they lift their spirits.
“Fuckin' hell.” He shook his head back and forth on the table. “I'm trying to be miserable here, can you fuck off?” You smiled at the disingenuous tone of his remark.
“Can't do it.” You shook your head and took a seat at the table.
“I won't push you to tell me whats going on, but...” You looked around at all the work still left to be done. “Can you give me something? Something to explain this?” You said waving your hands around the flat.
Simon just stared at you blankly.
“Mission go wrong?” You asked. Your words pushing at a boundary you weren't sure you had the right to touch.
His eyes widened as he took in the words that wormed their way to his brain.
“Mission? I was on a-”
You held up a hand and cut him off. Your heart was hurting at seeing this man in such a state. You didn't pity him by any means, but you wanted to reach out and let him know he could unload his burdens on you, even just a little.
“Dont.” You said curtly. “I've seen your tags.” Your fingers tapped at the table.
Simon rubbed at his eyes and let out a growl. He was most definitely annoyed with your line of questioning, but he also lacked the energy to put up a fight. He had spent the last several days having a tantrum, raging and destroying the remnants of his non-military life and wishing to sink the last of his soul into his persona. A persona he hadn't told you about.
But here you sat, staring at him with caring, concerned eyes and he couldn't understand why. He had never given you anything from this arrangement, it was entirely selfish on his part. But here you sat, your lips pursed and your fingers anxiously tapping the table.
“I failed.” He choked out. The words biting at his throat as his admission jumped from his lips. “I failed, and I got reprimanded.”
You nodded your head delicately. “Did you lose someone?” You asked.
Simon shook his head, but said nothing.
“Then it wasn't a complete failure, was it?” A smiled pulled at the corner of your lips.
Simon' hands fell to the table and he looked at you with shock. His masked puffed in and out as he breathed heavily into it.
“That's not the point.” He grunted.
You shrugged hard and stared at him. “Well... it is to me.” You fired back, a little more confrontational than you had intended. “You didn't lose anyone, and you came back home. Maybe its not a mission success, but its not a failure.”
Simon felt a crack in his armour at your comment. Like you had aimed perfectly at his heart and fired. It didn't shatter, he was too strong for that, but the impact of your words did damage. Damage he couldn't have prepared himself for. Someone cared that he came back. No one cared if he came back. He furrowed his brow, angry that your shot at him landed, but he couldn't bring himself to be truly mad at you. A piece of him lit up inside.
“Will you stay for dinner?” He finally asked.
You looked around at the kitchen and the few remaining dishes.
“We can order take away,” you chuckled. “My treat.”
Simon looked at you.
“My treat.” You reaffirmed.
Simon just nodded.
#gay#lgbtq#cod#cod mwf2#cod mw2#cod mwii#simon riley#simon ghost riley#ghost#simon x reader#simon riley x male#simon riley x reader#simon riley x male reader#ghost x male#ghost x male reader#ghost x reader#sfw#story#short story#one shot#i lied#part 3#ghost cod#simon riley cod
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: : love me back?
joshua x dokyeom, vague au setting, fluff, friends to lovers, first snow myth, confession
2.3k+ words, no warnings
also on ao3 | merry christmas! i had to write a silly winter fic for the boys that gave me the biggest brainrot this year hehe
summary: "fifteen calls in the span of seven minutes,” joshua said into the phone. “your house better be on fire, seokmin.” on the other end of the line, seokmin giggled, seemingly delighted by joshua’s deadpan tone. “hello to you too, hyung.” cute, joshua thought, and then blinked. woah. who said that? or, seokmin asks joshua to go on a walk in the snow with him. and joshua can never really say no to anything seokmin asks.
Joshua really, really needed to stop answering his phone after he’d gone to bed.
It sounded obvious, when he said it like that, because of course that would be the time for him to unwind and block off the rest of the world and burrow under his covers to escape from the chill of a December night that still somehow managed to seep inside his house, but, well. Joshua was a good friend. It was difficult to ignore his phone, just in case it was a friend in need.
As he stared at his phone right now, however, he really was considering just blocking this particular incessant friend and turning in for the night.
Easier said than done, though.
“Fifteen calls in the span of seven minutes,” Joshua said the moment he pressed the ‘accept’ button. “Your house better be on fire, Seokmin.”
On the other end of the line, Seokmin giggled, seemingly delighted by Joshua’s deadpan tone. “Hello to you too, hyung.”
“Hello. What do you want?” Joshua said back, tone completely flat, and for some reason it made Seokmin giggle again.
Cute, Joshua thought, and then blinked. Woah. Who said that?
“Shua hyung,” Seokmin was saying, giggles subsiding, “Come outside and go on a walk with me.”
Joshua paused, astounded. “Did you call to ask me to go on a walk ?”
“Yep!”
“You called me fifteen times in the span of seven minutes, Seokmin.”
Seokmin giggled again, the sound far too bright and happy for forty nine minutes past eleven at night. “You already said that, hyung.”
Joshua shook his head. “I’m not going.”
“What? Hyung!” Seokmin whined at Joshua’s near-instant reply, and Joshua could almost see him pouting petulantly. “Hyung, please? The snow’s stopped falling now and it’s not even that cold! Well, it’s not that cold if you wrap yourself up like a snowman made out of wool so you can’t feel the air on your face. And then, it’s really not that bad at all!”
Joshua sighed, shifting around in his bed, the covers rustling comfortably around him. “Believe it or not, Seokmin, I’m not eager to become a woolly snowman.”
“Please?” Seokmin was definitely pouting now. Joshua could hear it in his voice. “I wanna go on a walk. With you, hyung,” he added, quieter, almost shy. “Been ages since I’ve been out with you, and everything looks so nice at night with all the snow. Please, Shua hyung.”
“We all went out to that kebab place just yesterday,” Joshua pointed out, ignoring the weak twinge in his heart at Seokmin’s words. “Do you really need to see me again?”
“Yeah!” Seokmin said, like it was obvious. “It’s been a while since it was, you know… just us. And I wanna spend time with you.” A beat. And then Seokmin started talking again, all bright and chipper once more. “So come outside! We can go on a walk and crunch through the snow and look at how pretty everything looks at night. Please, Shua hyung. Please, please, please, please, please.”
Joshua was silent for a long, long moment. On one hand, he should say no. Seokmin might be a little disappointed, but not too distraught. Besides, Joshua was in his pyjamas, in bed, all warm and ready to go to sleep, and as his friend, Seokmin should respect that.
On the other hand…
Joshua could already imagine the kicked puppy look that Seokmin would be sporting the next day if he said no, and it made his chest feel a little tight.
“Fine,” he relented, and pretended like his lips didn’t tug up warmly at the delighted ‘whoop!’ that Seokmin let out. “I’ll meet you at the park. Be there in ten minutes.”
He hung up the phone, staring down at Seokmin’s caller ID for several moments before reluctantly getting out of bed.
The things he would do for this man, honestly.
───────────── ❖
The only explanation that Joshua had for why he was always so willing to go along with whatever Seokmin said was witchcraft.
It had to be witchcraft, or an enchantment, or something like that, because Joshua wouldn’t have gotten out of bed and trudged down the snow-covered streets and into the park for anyone else, so Seokmin must have put a spell on him to make him obey his every command. To make Joshua do everything that Seokmin wanted, with merely a pout and a look filled with melting puppy eyes.
Jeonghan had another theory, another explanation as to why Joshua always let Seokmin take a bite of his food whenever they ate out or let him snore into his shoulder as he took a nap or let him steal all of Joshua’s fluffy hats and his sweaters.
It was two words, six letters, beginning with ‘i’ and ending with ‘n love’ and Joshua thought that it such a ridiculous idea that the notion had floated around in his head for a solid week after Jeonghan had suggested it, before lodging itself firmly in his heart and glowing extra bright whenever Joshua found himself staring at the way Seokmin’s eyes lit up as he smiled.
As Joshua looked over at Seokmin right now, the younger burying his nose into the (Joshua’s) scarf wound tightly around his neck, he found those words floating in his head.
See? Ridiculous.
“You look cold, Seokmin,” Joshua said, faux concern laced in his voice. “Shall we go back? Forget about this walk and just go to bed?”
Seokmin, with his nose still buried in the scarf he'd snatched from Joshua the moment the elder had walked up to him, glared. “Never,” he declared, and then emerged from the soft fabric to breathe. His breaths appeared as silvery wisps between them as he spoke. “We haven't properly gone on this walk yet.”
“We're walking right now,” Joshua pointed out. “Our feet are moving, Seokmin. Look, you can see where our footprints are in the snow. We’ve walked a whole fifteen metres, you know. Maybe it’s time to go back."
Seokmin huffed sulkily. “Fine. You can go home. I'll just continue my walk all by myself.” His shoulders slumped in a dramatic display of hurt, and Joshua laughed and relented a little, nudging him in the side as they continued to slowly crunch their way through the snow.
“Hey, don't make that frowny face, you'll give yourself wrinkles. You do look cold, though,” he added genuinely. “Look at you.” He leaned over and pinched Seokmin's reddened cheeks, the action far too gentle to be considered anything but fond. “You could turn into Rudolph at this rate.”
Seokmin ducked his head, avoiding Joshua’s fingers. “Rudolph has a red nose, silly. Not red cheeks.”
“Hmm, your nose is getting red, too,” Joshua said, tapping Seokmin on the nose. “Maybe you could be Rudolph 2.0, with a red nose and red cheeks. A very, very cute Rudolph 2.0.”
Seokmin glared, stopping in the middle of the grass to fold his arms annoyedly. “I can’t tell if you’re being mean or not.”
Joshua laughed, pinching Seokmin’s cheek yet again. “I’m not. I think you’re the cutest, Seokmin,” he said, and it was meant to sound lighthearted, teasing, and instead came out incredibly sincere.
He blamed it on the lack of sleep.
Seokmin blinked rapidly, cheeks flushing even more, and Joshua had a brief thought that he really must be very, very cold. His cheeks had practically turned the colour of those obnoxiously bright cheap Santa hats.
Before he had the chance to comment worriedly on it, however, Seokmin looped his arm through Joshua’s, gloved fingers interlacing around his elbow, pulling him closer into his side.
“In which case,” Seokmin said, far too brightly and far too adorably, “you’ll continue going on this walk with me, right? ‘Cause you think I’m the cutest.”
Joshua looked over at him, and then had to look away quickly because Seokmin was staring at him with those godforsaken puppy eyes and Christ, Seokmin really was the cutest, prettiest person he’d ever met.
He cleared his throat, rather awkwardly, before pulling his arm closer into his side, tugging Seokmin closer to him in the process. “Sure,” Joshua said, and couldn’t help but look back at Seokmin when the man beamed, a warm shimmer of gold against the cold greys of the night. “Come on. Let’s carry on walking.”
───────────── ❖
Eventually, the rest of their walk carried on in peace. It took a while, because Joshua was prone to teasing, and Seokmin was prone to very easily falling for Joshua’s teasing, creating a neverending, comfortable routine of banter that had them both rolling their eyes and huffing with laughter at the same time.
But the cool, calming winter air must have gotten to them, because they soon settled into a tranquil silence, which was no less comfortable than when they’d been playfully nipping at each other just minutes before.
It was always comfortable, for Joshua, when he was with Seokmin. Seokmin was loud, chipper, a ball of energy, but when it was just the two of them, the swirling winds seemed to drop, and Seokmin’s constant vibrating became something gentler, warmer. It had Joshua leaning into him a little bit further, cherishing his presence just a little bit more, wanting to keep this soft side of Seokmin close to his heart.
“Shua hyung,” Seokmin said softly, and Joshua hummed.
“Yes, Seokmin?”
They were sitting in the pagoda in the park, now, looking over at the gentle, white landscape. The grass was practically pristine, with only his and Seokmin’s footprints visible in the pale blanket covering the ground, and Joshua’s heart beat a little harder as he looked at the imprints of their shoes side by side, so close together that they blurred and blended together at some points.
There was some awfully poetic potential with that, he thought. If Joshua had the talent to write poetry.
While Joshua looked out at the park, however, Seokmin had busied himself on the other side of the pagoda, making small snowmen out of the snow lining the railings, and they were all lined up on the floor like an army of tiny, fat snow people.
Seokmin wasn’t making his snow army anymore, though. Now, he was staring at Joshua, an indecipherable look on his face. And then he stood up, walking over to where Joshua stood, standing next to him and leaning over the railing to look out at the park.
“Thank you for coming tonight,” Seokmin said, and it was such a sentimental statement that Joshua blinked, wondering where this mood had come from.
“You’re… welcome?” Joshua said. “Although, the next time you blow up my phone like that, I’m blocking you instead.”
That made Seokmin laugh, eyes crinkling and lips curling, and he looked so pretty that Joshua’s heart lodged itself in his throat and refused to move.
Seokmin was so pretty.
And Joshua was so in love with him.
“Shua hyung,” Seokmin said again, and he looked over at Joshua properly, eyes steady and warm and filled with a thousand different colours, all blending into a beautiful, mesmerising golden light.
“Yes, Seokmin?”
Seokmin tilted his head. “It’s two days till Christmas, hyung.”
Joshua hummed contemplatively. “Probably just one, actually,” he said, just to be annoying. “I’m pretty sure it’s gone midnight by now. It’s the 24th today.”
“Same thing,” Seokmin said, waving a hand, and his tone was mildly annoyed but his gaze was still so devastatingly warm. “Anyways, d’you remember when Seungcheol hyung made us write those Christmas wishlists for this year?”
Joshua wrinkled his nose. In a sudden bout of Christmas spirit, Seungcheol had insisted that they all gather in his house and write wishlists for what they wanted for Christmas, and then go burn them in a mini bonfire in his backyard, as it was apparently a ‘traditional Christmas thing’. “Yeah. What about it?”
Seokmin grinned. “On my wishlist, the first thing I put was that I wanted to spend the first snow of the year with you.”
Joshua blinked, surprised. “You did?”
“I did,” Seokmin said. “But then we couldn’t. So that’s why I dragged you out here, for the aftermath of the first snow, which is kind of like the same thing.”
Huh. That was kinda sweet, Joshua thought.
“Why did you want to spend the first snow with me?” Joshua asked, and when Seokmin just continued smiling, his eyes widened. “Oh. Oh, you…?”
“If you spend the first snow with the person you like, then it’ll become a true love that lasts forever,” Seokmin said, and his eyes were shining as he looked over at Joshua, shining like a thousand stars. “That’s the myth, anyway. And I wanted to see if it was true.”
Joshua breathed out, slowly, shakily. “Seokmin…”
"Shua hyung," Seokmin carried on. “Guess what the second thing on my list was.” His smile widened even further, and goodness, Joshua didn’t think that Seokmin could get even more beautiful, and here he was, proving him wrong.
Wow. Joshua really was in love with him.
Seokmin’s eyes crinkled, so, so warm and full of love. “I wished that my Shua hyung would love me back.”
The way he said it had Joshua breathing out a soft laugh, endlessly endeared, hands finding their way to Seokmin’s waist and pulling him in closer, cold nose nudging against Seokmin’s cold cheek, breathing in the biting air and the scent of damp wood and Seokmin, warm and lovely and so, so beautifully golden.
“Oh, in which case, I have some bad new for you,” Joshua said in a faux mournful tone, pulling back just slightly so he could look Seokmin in the eye.
Seokmin giggled, the sound so painfully cute in Joshua’s ears, hands sliding up Joshua’s arms to interlace behind his neck. “Why? What’s wrong?”
Joshua sighed dramatically, shaking his head. “You wasted one of your wishes, Seokmin.” He smiled, then, heart full of adoration for this ridiculous, adorable man that had dragged him outside on the night before Christmas Eve.
“I already do love you back.”
Then he leaned in, capturing Seokmin’s mouth in a soft, dizzyingly warm kiss.
#diorkyeom ᰔ fics#svt#seoksoo#seventeen#dokyeom#joshua#svt joshua#svt dokyeom#svt fluff#svt fic#svt fanfic#seventeen fic#svt imagines#seventeen imagines#seventeen fanfic#dokyeom fic#joshua fic#dk#svt dk#joshua fluff#dokyeom fluff#svt x reader#ao3#svt seoksoo#ao3 writer
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a little snippet of a much bigger fic (hopefully, sometime) that wouldn't leave me alone since the lfc-ajax legends game, for @san-maranello and @sebsrainbowbicycle <3 also i feel like posting something so there.
“He is really good,” Jamie says, because he is old and he remembers playing against the Mancs in the legend game and he could barely keep his breath halfway through the first half. Torres just played full ninety minutes, as did Stevie, and no matter what, that in itself is admirable.
Stevie says nothing, just sips his beer. Jamie… doesn’t want to let it go.
“I mean, he’s what, almost forty, yeah? And he -”
“Just turned forty,” Stevie interjects. “Three days ago.”
Jamie looks at him. Stevie taps his fingers on the beer glass. He doesn’t look like he wants to say anything. He looks like those words were torn out of him already.
Jamie goes on. “Yeah, forty. And he played full ninety, innit? Amazing,” he finishes, and takes another sip of his beer. Stevie nods, his face flat. “Too bad he couldn’t keep that form up with the billion pound bottle jobs,” he says laughing. “For him, not for us, but whatever. His decision, his fault.”
He goes to take a sip and catches the shadows on Stevie’s face. There’s something in his eyes that Jamie almost recognizes from a long time ago, but it’s gone when Jamie puts down the glass. Stevie doesn’t look like he’s going to say anything and so Jamie continues.
“They put him against us right after,” Jamie says. “I said this to Gary, that last time we played Chelsea, what, four, five years ago? Yeah, s’mthing like that,” he continues, “I told him, That was a mistake, not against us, not after everything, yeah?” Stevie isn’t looking at him, just staring into his glass. “My thoughts, that’s what fucked him over the most. That’s why he couldn’t get himself together after.”
Stevie taps the glass. “You talk about Gary loads, yeah.”
It’s not a question. Jamie still shrugs. “Yeah, guess so. We work together, ya know? Might’ve caught us on the telly sometimes, if you bothered to watch Premier League anymore,” he adds with a grin.
Stevie gives a small smile. “Can’t be arsed to watch ya manhandle the Manc,” he says, and Jamie refuses to think any more about it.
“Back to the El Niño,” he grins, “not a niño anymore, right? He’s a huge fella now, looks like he ate himself, honest.”
Stevie laughs, shaking his head. “Yeah, but he was always big, innit, always taller than us.”
“Anyones taller than youse,” Jamie says with a wicked grin. “‘Cept Gary, I reckon. He’s tiny.”
“‘Cept in his waistline,” Stevie laughs. “If anyone looks like he ate himself…”
Jamie frowns.
“Don’t go tellin’ him that, yeah? He’ll get mighty upset. ‘Sides, ‘s not even that bad, I just like taking the piss out of him for all those chocolates he eats, though they do make him less grumpy. Feels like that’s the only thing I can wind him up about.” He pauses. “And how shit United are, obviously.”
They exchange a look that very cleary says That FA Cup game was a fluke and we aren’t talking about it, and then Stevie chuckles. “Fine. I won’t make fun of your boyfriend, least not in his face.” He laughs. “Or waist.”
“Fuck ye,” Jamie says, but he knows Stevie means it. He isn’t the kind of guy to go for the below the belly shots, Stevie, proper and honourable lad he is. Those kinds of shots are more Jamie’s territory.
Speaking of…
“Could you even hug ‘im after the goal, with how broad he got since the last time we played?”
Stevie narrows his eyes. “Yeah, was fine. That was a nice goal, I’m glad he could score again. Would’ve liked to have scored one meself, but it wasn’t meant to be I guess.”
“Not for a lack of trying. He was passing you the ball something vicious.” Jamie chuckles. “I liked when you just laid there in front of the goal after you missed, felt very oh-seven. Some things never change.”
“Yeah, well. Some things do.”
Now, Jamie knows this is something he should let go. They haven’t talked about a lot of things for a very long time, and it’s been a very long time since it happened. They’re all in their forties now, doing different things and moving on with their lives.
Except, are we? Jamie thinks. I’m with Gary, watching more football than I ever played, or so it feels. Stevie’s in Saudi, coaching, just like Xabi in Germany, and hopefully in England soon. Even Torres is coaching in Spain, Under 19s or sommat. Did we ever move on, really? Can we?
The thoughts are a mite depressing and too serious for a night out with his best mate who doesn’t come home nearly as often as Jamie would sometimes like him to. They throw off his rhythm in a way he doesn’t know what to do with.
“Yeah, could’ve scored more for us if he weren’t a cunt and went to Chelsea,” he says nonsensically, a sentence he’s said a million times in the past, what, fifteen years? They’ve all said it thousands of times, in every tone imaginable, and he thinks nothing of it.
Stevie usually thinks nothing of it, and usually agrees, or at least shrugs, unwilling to give any more of his thoughts on that disaster.
Not tonight, apparently.
“He was so good,” Stevie says, taking a huge gulp of his pint. “We were so good, fuck, it was the same today, yeah? One pass and I knew where he would be, and I knew where he’d expect me to be, ‘cept I can’t run that fast anymore and neither can he, not like we used to.” Jamie doesn’t like his tone, doesn’t like how it feels like it will stop being calm any second now. “I came in late, couldn’t get away before, and they pulled us into this shoot, barely had a moment to say hello to anyone and then we were already on the pitch.” He shakes his head. “And it didn’t matter. He still knew, and so did I, just like before.”
He should interrupt. He should. This isn’t… they don’t talk about this.
Stevie slams the glass on the table. “Yeah, well,” he says, rubbing his left eye with his ring finger. “He went, didn’t he? Fucked himself well over with that, yeah,” he says with a small snort. “Didn’t fuck us, but he fucked himself well and done when he left. Was never any good after us.”
Jamie thinks about whether he should say anything. Again, he thinks about how Stevie doesn’t come home often, sequestered away in Saudi and how good it is to have him home, if only for a while. He thinks about unsent messages and about how these days, he texted someone else instead of Stevie first. He thinks about Gary and about how his phone would light up sometimes and how Jamie would know it was their United of ‘92 group chat just by Gary’s smile. (Look what Scholesy sent me, Carra - Is it his feet, do you have to pay him, is this a foot fetish - Fuck you, no, it’s a meme and it’s really funny - I doubt it, but show it to me anyway Gary-lad) He thinks about Torres’ face every time Stevie was next to him, way back when in oh-six, oh-seven, and how he never looked away, his eyes always only on their Captain. He thinks about Xabi’s message, Take Stevie out tonight? He will need it. And drink something for all of us, James, and I might see you soon ;) and the Fuck you, don’t get me hopes up he sent in response. He thinks about how he never made an effort to ask for Torres’ number after that last charity match, and how he knows that Stevie still has it. (Called him, yeah, for the charity thing - Why? - Because he’s one of us - Is he? - He was. He is - I don’t think it works like that - You fucked off to the States - I didn’t want to - Yeah, Stevie, I know - It’s not the same - No, it ain’t - Yous can’t have him for your team - I don’t want him, the fuck would I do with him, he was always yours - I don’t think that works like that either.)
“Yeah,” he says, “you’re right there, Stevie.”
Stevie takes a moment, then sighs.
“Fuck you, Carra. But?”
“But what?” Jamie plays stupid, except, he learned how to play stupid when he was a kid standing right next to Stevie.
Stevie, who rolls his eyes in the same way he always did when Jamie was a tad obnoxious.
“Exactly. But what, Jamie?” Stevie asks again, sharp and careful.
Jamie, curiously enough, thinks about Roy out of all people. About Roy saying They think they can come for one of mine, well, I think they should pick on someone their own size about Viera and Gary that once a lifetime ago when Jamie despised them all and he thinks about how Fernando was always big and strong but his eyes were always childish and wild when he looked at Stevie and he says, “But, Stevie… you told ’im to go.”
The breath Stevie sucks in is sharp. His voice, sharper. “Go get us ‘nother pint, Carra, yeah?” Captain’s voice, like a blast from the past.
Jamie knows not to disobey his captain when he uses that voice. He gets up and says, “Youse payin’,” and thinks he’ll never listen to that curiously cheerful-sounding voice in his head saying Jaaaaamie, you have to talk about your feelings man, or you’ll combust!
Fuck Micah, and fuck Xabi, and fuck Stevie and Torres, and fuck all of this, he thinks, and orders them Lagavulin to go along with the pints. Stevie’s payin’ anyway. Jamie’s gonna take advantage of that.
What are best mates for, if not drowning sorrows in good whisky?
#gernando#carraville#its literally just jamie and stevie talking but things are. implied#i have some more written but im in a creative rut so fuck it#football rpf#effervescentdragonwrites#my writing
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Show Me Yours | Matty Healy [47]
chapter forty-seven, act six: be my mistake
masterlist
August 29th, 2016
The bruise on her cheek can’t be hidden, the outline of her father’s hand a constant reminder of the weight she bears on her shoulders. Luckily the guys aren’t here and the meal they were supposed to be having was pushed back. Gabby had helped her with that. Telling them all that she was ill and wanted to be left alone.
That’s why Tommie is confused when she hears the familiar coded knock that Matty had made up and forced everyone to do before they entered the flat. Keys jingle in the door and it opens to allow light in from the hallway.
“Tommie?”
She purses her lips and sinks lower into the sofa, part of her hopes he’ll leave, that he’ll think she’s not sure. But then his steps get closer and begin to round the kitchen counter. She closes her eyes, makes sure her cheek is pushed into her arm curled around a pillow and waits.
“Tom?”
The sofa dips as Adam lowers himself onto it, “Tommie. Wake up, come on.”
“Go away.”
“Gabby said you weren’t feeling well. You alright?”
“Fine.”
“I know where you went, you know.”
She slowly peels one eye open to look up at him, “You do?”
“You made the mistake of telling the worst secret keeper in the world where you were going.”
She groans and shoves her face into the pillow, he can faintly hear a ‘bloody nan’ from the muffled cushion.
“How did it go?” She remains with her face shoved into the pillow and suddenly Adam is fifteen years old again, catching the train to Wales after his ten year old cousin has called screaming and crying for him to save her. He remembers that day in so much detail. The way she couldn’t breathe over the phone, the whispered breaths so her father who was passed out in the other room couldn’t hear her. Her grandparents and mother had been away for a family wedding that said no kids. She was alone, with no one.
“Tommie?”
She finally gives in and turns her face, he winces the moment he sees the purple mark. “Oh, Tommie.”
“I don’t wanna talk about it, okay?”
Adam places his hand on her shoulder, rubbing up and down her arm. He can see the tears welling up in her eyes.
“To-”
“Why can’t he just love me?”
The moment the first tear falls a whole wave follows and she’s a sobbing mess as she clutches onto his hand. He drops to his knee in front of the sofa, hand cupping her face to wipe away her tears. “He loves JJ, and Juliet, why can’t he love me? I-I stalked his wife, he’s such a good dad to them. Why couldn’t he be that for me? Do you know how many of my footy matches he missed? Do you know how many school plays he promised to be at and never showed up? How many parents' evenings he missed? How many birthdays, christmases… He’s been at every single one for that little brat.”
“Who gives a shit?” Adam says and her cries stop, knocked out of her from her shock at this new side of him. “Look at yourself, Tommie. You are an amazing woman, with people who care about you and turn up for you, you don;t need to worry about daddy deadbeat. I bet his life is miserable, I bet his wife hates him and he’ll give up eventually because he’s too lazy to break the cycle, he always has been. You know this.”
He helps her to sit up and wraps his arms around her, “You’re not alone, Tommie. I’m here.”
⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ
July 9th, 2017
She freezes, hand hovering over the zip for her bag as she meets George’s eyes. “What are you doing?”
He looks around, all her stuff has been packed up from the bus, Button sits patiently by the door with her favourite toy in her mouth. “Tommie?”
She just shakes her head slowly and glances behind him, “It’s just me. What happened?”
“I can’t, George. I can’t do it anymore. Matty’s going to die, and I can’t- I won’t…. No.”
She tries to swallow the lump in her throat but it causes her to choke instead. George is at her side as she descends into a fit of coughs. He rubs her pack helping her to sit on the bed. “I-I-I won’t have him die in my arms. I won’t be the one to find him, George. I can’t.”
He pulls her into his chest as she sobs, her hands curled into fists around his shirt as her tears soak the collar. “Shhh, shhh, Matty is- he’s gonna be alright.”
“No. He’s gonna kill himself, George.”
“I’ll talk to him. I’ll hold him down if I have to.”
“I’m going, George. I’m going home. I’m leaving the band.”
“You can’t- we need you, Tom.”
She shakes her head, “You don’t.”
“Of course we do. You’re Tommie, our Tommie, the band isn’t the 1975 without Tommie McDuff.”
She purses her lips and sniffles, “Please don’t make this harder for me.”
He looks at his shoes, still holding her tightly to his side, one hand brushing through her hair, “I’m sorry,” He mutters quietly, “I’ll fix this.”
“It isn’t your job to fix him. Don’t put that weight on your shoulders.”
He shakes his head and plants a kiss on her hairline, “I’ll fix him up, I’ll make him better, then you can come back, and we can go back to normal.”
“There’s no normality after this, G.”
She pulls herself from him slowly and clears her throat as she rises to stand and grips her bag.
He watches her glance around as she heads for the door, he stands, hand catching her arm just before she enters the front end of the bus. “Just remember that you’re not alone, Tommie. I’m here.”
⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ
August 5th 2017
Phoebe left not too long ago to head to the studio. Max and Button have been sleeping for the past hour and Tommie’s been drawing her sorrows in ben and jerrys.
There’s a knock on the apartment door and she raises her head to look at it, but then they knock again, and again, and then again. With a huff she abandons the ice cream and heads for the door.
Pushing herself up onto her tiptoes she stares through the peephole at a familiar brunette. “Ross?”
He grins as she swings open the door, holding up two plastic bags and shaking them around. “Hey.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Phoebe told me you were ill.”
She nods, “Yeah, something like that.”
“What’s wrong?” He sets the bags on the counter taking out the stuff inside. He seems like he’s bought an entire seven-eleven. There’s two boxes of dr pepper, crisps in every single flavour, two tubs of ice cream, many different bars of chocolate and those cookies she tried once in New York and fell in love with.
She chews on her bottom lip and watches him carefully, “Tom?” He glances over at her when she’s quiet. He knows her, knows what her silence means and the hesitation in her eyes.
She nods her head towards the living room and he abandons his food to follow after her. Button perks up as he passes and trots over for attention, Ross allows her to have it for a moment and the moment he stops to give his full attention to Tommie the dog goes back to sleeping.
“Caleb and I broke up.”
“Fina-” He cuts himself off with a forceful cough, “Oh no, are you okay? What happened?”
His fake voice gets a laugh from her and she shakes her head, “He got me… pregnant.”
“Oh… oh.” His eyes glance towards her stomach and she smacks his arm. “What is it?”
She almost straight out says dead. But refrains and lifts her shoulders to sit a little taller.
“I got an abortion. That’s why I’m ‘ill’.”
“Are you okay?”
She nods and fiddles with the sleeve of her jumper. “Guess so. I mean, I didn’t really want it, so I guess I’m not that upset.” She looks across to Button, “Besides, I got my handful with that child.”
Ross almost makes a joke about Matty being her child too. Almost. But he catches himself in the last second. “But, are you okay now?”
She nods, “I’m good, I’m really good. I’m actually kind of happy. Happier than I have been in a while.”
Ross smiles at that, his big tooth golden retriever smile she loves so much, “That’s good.”
She nods, “Just a little lonely I guess? You know. I’m so used to having you guys around, now it’s just me and Pheebs, and these guys.”
“You don’t have to miss us, Tom. We’re all a call away, you know we’d drop anything for you, right?”
She nods and accepts his embrace falling into his chest. “I just got so used to being with you all every day, I mean we’ve barely been apart for five years.”
He agrees, “It is kinda weird not having you with us, on tour. Matty’s moodier than usual, George won’t talk to him unless it’s to yell at him and Adam is just… he’s grumpy.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shushes her and shakes his head as he holds her tighter, “Don’t apologise for putting yourself first, it’s about time. I’m glad you’re happy. It makes me happy knowing you’re happy.”
She moves herself to kiss his cheek and thanks him quietly as she closes her eyes.
“You don’t have to be lonely. You’re not alone, Tommie. I’m here.”
taglist
@thereisaplaceintheheart, @indierockgirrl, @sofaritsalrightt, @julezs-bl0g, @eaglestar31, @sophinthealpss, @noacfemcel, @if-my-heart-bleeds, @befrwime, @fallingforel, @sexorchocolateorpillowsorclouds, @3terna15unshin3, @1975sophie1975, @thesocraticjunkiewannabe, @littlesoldierelleora, @procrastinatinglikeapro, @beatr2x, @byyourside28, @plantinghobbies, @sinarainbows
-let me know if you want to be added :)
#show me yours matty healy#matty healy x oc#matty healy x reader#matty healy imagine#the 1975 x oc#the 1975 x reader
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Rereading The Terror
Oh gang... oh gang you're not going to like this one...! :(((
Big spoiler at the end so I'll put it all under the cut just in case.
Chapter Forty-Seven: Peglar
As they strike camp and begin to haul the boats out onto the ice toward the new leads, Peglar reflects on the near-mutiny - he heard all about it from Bridgens of course who saw the whole thing first-hand from the medical tent where he'd been assisting Goodsir.
Peglar always thought of Hickey, Manson, Aylmore et al as treacherous shits and so he's more surprised and offended to find out about the previously loyal men who also took part - his Erebus counterpart Robert SInclair, for instance, and Reuben Male who he describes as "a dependable man, but strong-willed. Very strong-willed."
Hauling across the ice again is hard-going, not just because of all the peaks and troughs to negotiate but also because it's getting thinner. Private Daly, scouting ahead to test said thickness, falls straight though into the water at one point - Goodsir has him stripped naked then and there on the ice, bundled up with two other men in layers of blankets and sleeping bags and even then he only just survives.
Peglar is worried of course, and the thought of open water makes his heart flutter which in turn has him reflecting on a childhood including scarlet fever and chronic chest pains. He's been so crippled with his throughout his life that he's often had to climb the rigging one-handed due to the shooting pains in his left arm - "The other foretopmen thought he was showing off."
As they progress further, Crozier places a boat hauled by Lieutenant Hodgson, Hickey, Manson, and Aylmore among others, at the head of the procession and in the position of greatest risk. Every man there knows it's a punishment and Peglar hasn't much sympathy at all:
"Peglar thought that young Hodgson looked as if he might weep. He knew how hard it must be to be in your twenties and know that your Naval career was over. Serves him right thought Peglar. He'd spent decades in a navy that hanged men for mutiny and lashed them for the mere thought of mutiny, and Harry Peglar had never disagreed with either the rule or the punishment."
Once they final reach the open water proper, Crozier assigns Peglar to the boat that will be lowered into it to scout the lead out fully. Lieutenant Little will lead the men, along with Ice Master Reid and a select group of seamen including William Wentzell, Alexander Berry, and Henry Sait.
Crozier expresses trust in Peglar specifically, and clearly values his input on the viability of the lead - "I need a good man on the sweep oar and a third assessment as to whether this lead is a go."
Once in the water, their journey is relatively uneventful. The lead narrows at several points and is blocked at others but every time they manage to find a way past until finally, they emerge into a massive lake of clear blue water in the middle of the ice with several huge flat bergs floating in it.
"We could camp on 'aton and have plenty of room left over," said Henry Sait, one of the Terror seamen at the oars.
"We don't want to camp," said Lieutenant Little from the bow. "We've had enough camping for a fucking lifetime. We want to go home."
They literally start to sing with happiness as they row their way out into the lake but soon enough that joy fades as they find no way out of it except the way they came in. Little even boosts Berry up onto Wentzell's shoulders to scout all round with a telescope but the ice is thick and impenetrable. Dejected, they make their way back to their entry point, which they marked with a pike.
But something is wrong...
It's Peglar who notices it - a big ice boulder right next to that way-marking pike that wasn't there before...
Little understands what that means straight away, orders the men to row backwards away from it, but it's already far too late. Then comes one of the simplest but best and most utterly chilling lines in this whole godforsaken book -
"The ice boulder turned."
#The Terror#The Terror AMC#Observations#Random Observations#Meta#Rereading the Terror#Terror Spoilers#Henry Peglar#Edward Little#Francis Crozier#Apologies but I'm not tagging everyone#God imagine if they'd included this in the show though!
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And The Fic Nominees are...
Nominations are now closed and the fic nominees are listed below. If you don’t see your nomination it’s because they wereineligible as a previous winner or the story was updated last before January 1st 2021 or they chose to have their works excluded.
Voting will being Saturday 4th with the link posted here on Tumblr. You can vote for your top 5 stories this year in the first round of voting. In the second and final round - Top 10 - you will only be able to vote for one.
The fabulous @asyouleft has compiled this list of all nominess with links this year for your ease of access.
THE MULTI-CHAPTER YOU COULDN’T PUT DOWN
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A New Point of View by Waitingondaisies
All Good Things Come in Threes by Bergen
Broken Mirrors and Fragile Things by Evienyx
But Only Hope and Sorrows End by iron_spider
Catch and Keep by Bergen
Catch Your Own Happiness by Truelovetakesawhile
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For We Are Bound By Symmetry by Kingdomfaraway
Forty-Seven Flat by Geekymoviemom
From My Weakness I Drew Strength by Mendeia
I Promise I'll Do Better by 221broadwayiron
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If These Wings Could Fly by For_The_Night
Instant Kill Mode by Isnt_It_Pretty_To_Think_So
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Not Broken, Just Bent by Cheerios_Me_Lovely
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Somethin's In The Air Right Now by Natasha_Romanoff_Official
The Chasm Between by TheSleepingOwl
The Hardest Part Is Living (With It) by Unidentified_Oblivion
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The Simple Life by Niniblack
These Lives We Seek by Beautifullights
These Word Written On My Wrist by Katinamoon
Through The Multiverse And What Peter Found There by Unctrlablyalt
What A Difference A Day (Or A Hundred) Makes by Lunasquared
Where There's Smoke by Juiceontherocks
Worst Summer Vacation by Mysterycyclone
You Are My Sunshine by M4rmalade
THE ONE-SHOT THAT THAT HAD YOU HOOKED
A Different Kind Of Heat by Katinamoon
Ace Of Hearts by Ironfidus
Buried Deep by Inkinmyheardandonthepage
Cannolis by Heyitsline
Concentric Circles And Shiny Corners by Geekymoviemom
Count To Seventeen And Close Your Eyes by Winterturtle
Dead In There By You’re Dead In There by iron_spider
Demon In A Bottle by Edema_Ruh
Divergence Point (Chapter 4: Loki Kidnaps Tony) by Mysterycyclone
Fly On The Wall by Kuroi_Tanken
From Strangers To Siblings by For_The_Night
Hair’s Breadth From Death by Olliecollie
Home (Is Where My Heart Found Exactly Where I'm Supposed To Be) by Ironfidus
How To Fire Your Intern Sixteen Times In Three Days by Bergen
Hunger by Katinamoon
I Am Not Worried, I Am With You by Kingdomfaraway
I Get To Love You (It's The Best Thing That I'll Ever Do) by Thetealdragon
I Need You Like A Heart Needs A Beat by For_The_Night
Insist Upon Your Cup Of Stars by Finny3120
Never Meet Your Heroes (They're Human Just Like You) by Marvelousbutterfly
No Patch Job by Buridaino
Pain Relief by Sara (Ctrsara)
Pickle Starburst by Bergen
Shocking! Spiderman's Alien Baby: Friendly Neighborhood Hero And His Hanukkah Blessing by Aggressivewhenstartled
So Much Has Changed by Ephemeralstark
Spider-Baby Protocol by Liliaphant (Seaphire)
Staring Shadows In The Eye by Ironxprince
The Little Things by Crowkag
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Whatcha Got There? by Retro_Memo
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You Talk Of The Pain Like It's All Alright by SpaceCowBoysFromMars
THE BEST THINGS COME IN SMALL PACKAGES
A Misunderstanding by Woamx
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Ashes by Winterturtle
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Could Roses Bloom Again? by Errorinloading
Drowning In The Whispers by Winterturtle
Every Spider Has Its Day (Prompt 5: Every Whumpee's Needs) by Itsapugthing
His Light by Callie_Caje
Koala Care by Happyaspie
Peter Stark by Ilove_Klance
Should I Go Into The Light? by Happyaspie
Show And Tell by Oriocookie
The Guest Room by Niniblack
The World Wept by Callie_Caje
This Feels Right, So Stay A Sec by Errorinloading
Tony Stark Doesn't Do Naps by Lillylemonbee
THE ONE THAT MADE YOU GASP
A Peter Parker Problem by Spagbol99
All Good Things Come in Threes by Bergen
As Long As You Still Have A Heart by Darksideofmyroom
Can't Part The Sea, Can't Reach The Shore by Forensicleaf
For We Are Bound, Symmetry by Kingdomfaraway
Hold Me Close, If You Dare by Id_Rather_Be_Reading_3
Longing, Rusted by Honeycombclairev
Men Of Iron by Spdrmain
My Father Moved Through The Dooms Of Love by Shetheybrucebanner
Oh Sweet Child, The Things I'd Do For You by Tonystarkissist
Only Suckers Wear Scarves by Bergen
Savoir-Vivre, Or Whatever You Call It by Bergen
The Chasm Between by TheSleepingOwl
The Darkest Hour by Ephemeralstark
The Ghost At The Back Of Your Closet by Niniblack
These Lives We Seek by Beautifullights
Through The Multiverse And What Peter Found There by Unctrlablyalt
Unconscionable by Hollow_Dweller
THE BIODAD THAT TOUCHED YOUR HEART
A Little Late On The Blood Work by Pixiemage
All That’s Left by Pandaluna
Baby Mine (Dry Your Eyes) by Mainstreamelectricalparade
Continuum by Geekymoviemom
For We Are Bound By Symmetry by Kingdomfaraway
Just Me And All Of My Plain Jane Glory by SpaceCowboysFromMars
One Single Thread Of Gold by Tonystarktrash
Picture Day by iron_spider
Playing Possum by Skeeter_110
Retrieval by Nation_Ustria
Savoir-Vivre, Or Whatever You Call It by Bergen
Teething by Spooderboyandtincan
The Gift by Duskblue & Violettavonviolet
The Long Game by Niniblack
The Simple Life by Niniblack
The Ties That Bind Us by Winterturtle
To Capitalist Christmas And A Pretty Awesome Irondad by Lunasquared
Uncle Obie May Have Lied (And Other Lessons To Be Learned) by Theskeptileptic
We'll Make Butterflies by iron_spider
You're My (Spider) Baby by For_The_Night
THE ONE WHERE WORLDS COLLIDE
A New Point Of View by Waitingondaisies
Chase You Down Until You Love Me by OK_Butwhy1
Dark Matter by Mysterycyclone
Emergency Contacts by Sara (Ctrsara)
Forever And Ever by Thisisnotourlasthunt
Home by Patrochilles_Trash
I’ll Be By Your Side (When You’re Stuck In Place) by Marvelousbutterfly
If You’d Only Listened by For_The_Night
In The Blowing, Cold Wind by Odd_I
It's A Secret To Everybody by Snapdragon_In_The_Snow
Kids These Days by Isnt_It_Pretty_To_Think_So
Mr Parker Declines To Comment by Apisdn
Put It On Speaker by Onlyforward
Quaranteens by Blueh
School Sucks, I Know by Call_Me_Coley
Setting Things Straight by Sara (Ctrsara)
Sick Day Shouldas by Sara (Ctrsara)
Stark Industries Is A Real Place by Sisyphusclimbs
The Person On The Other End Of The Line by Imgoingtocrash
The Stark Legacy by Ironfidus
Ultimate School Pick Up by Coconutknightshade
Undercover Chaperone by Happyaspie
What Makes A Hero by Patrochilles_Trash
Write It On The Skyline by Ironfidus
THE ONE WITH ALL THE OWIES
Addiction by Lanyakea
At The Bottom by Living_Is_Easy_With_Eyes_Closed
Atlas Held by Grumperella
Because They Didn't Want Kids by Swizzlemalarky
Broken Mirrors And Fragile Things by Evienyx
But Only Hope and Sorrows End by iron_spider
Couch Cuddles by Happyaspie
Count My Heartbeats by Katinamoon
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Equilibrium by Lunasquard
Feathersoft by Katinamoon
Fledgling Avenger by Assayist
Four Times Peter Cheated Death And One Time He Didn’t by iron_spider
Grief Has No Timeline by Sara (Ctrsara)
He’s Just A Kid by For_The_Night
Hold Me Close, If You Dare by Id_Rather_Be_Reading_3
I Am Not Worried, I Am With You by Kingdomfaraway
I Will Always Be A Liar by Natasha_Romanoff_Official
Just A Little Obsessed by Quacks
My Teen Angst Bullshit Has A Body Count by Imgoingtocrash
Not Broken, Just Bent by Cheerios_Me_Lovely
Of Flying And Falling by Polaroid15
Pride And Joy by Canon Irondad (Tomlinsoul)
Someday (I'll Make It Out Of Here) by The_Color_Pomegranate
The Long Game by Niniblack
The Stars The Moon They Have All Been Blown Out (You Left Me In The Dark) by Madasthesea
These Webs We Weave by SpaceCowboysFromMars
Through The Multiverse And What Peter Found There by Unctrlablyalt
Tumblr Prompt: Villainirondad And Spider-Son by Ironmum
Wherever I Go (I’m Home) by Plqto
Write It On The Skyline by Ironfidus
THE ONE WITHOUT A HOME TO GO TO
A Difference In Husbandry by Happy_Cloud
A Good Reason by Baloobird
Adopt-A-Kid by Waywardkeener
Broken Mirrors And Fragile Things by EvieNyx
Dark Matter by Mysterycyclone
Distracted By A Dime by Happyaspie
First Impressions by Athingcalledr
Gaslighting For Breakfast by Anonymous
Hold Me Close, If You Dare by I'd_Rather_Be_Reading_3
I Am Not Known (If I'm Not Seen Or Heard) by Madje_Knotts
I Want To Be Well by Lemon_Drop_Drabbles
Iron Dad: Coming Home by Jaworley
Make Way For Tomorrow by Hopeless_Hope
No Ulterior Motive by Ob_Liv_Ious_Writer
Please Don't Slip Away by Llovedove
So This Is Christmas… by Cheerios_Me_Lovely
Spider Snark & Mr Stark by Lethewren
The Morning Will Come (And The Dream Stealing Your Sleep Will End) by Winterturtle
Through The Multiverse And What Peter Found There by Unctrlablyalt
THE SECOND CHANCE AT HOME
And The Songbirds Keep Singing by Finny3120
As Day Changes To Night by The Spider-Man Alt (Counterclaw)
Even In Sleep, I Seek You by Anonymouss_Writerr
Hold Onto This Grief Dearly Until It Lets Go Of You by Canon Irondad (Tomlinsoul)
Home by Patrochilles_Trash
Home Is Wherever I'm With You by Maicaly
I Promise by Marvelously3000
If We Have Each Other, Then We'll Both Be Fine by Iplaypiano36
My Friends Are Ghosts by Firecracker121
Not Broken, Just Bent by Cheerios_Me_Lovely
Oh I'm Ready (For Whatever Comes Next) by Rotfuchs
Peter's Hitchhiking Guide To The Time Heist by Randomsketchez
So Many Things To Say by Happyaspie
The Hind & The Hart by Coal_Scuttle_Waltz
The Seventh Escape by Bergen
To Melt An Iron Heart by Retro_Memo
Unexpected Brother At Daycare by Yeeter_Parker
THE FIXER-UPPER
(Meet Me In) The Afterglow by Pro_Fangirl
Blue Memento by Bergen
Broken Mirrors And Fragile Things by Evienyx
Count My Heartbeats by Katinamoon
Electric Bugaloo by Nihilego
Equivalent Exchange by Seajelly (Legless_Fish_On_Rollerskates)
Fly On The Wall by Kuroi_Tanken
Hold On To All My Son by For_The_Night
How To Fire Your Intern Sixteen Times In Three Days by Bergen
Like A Waterfall by Oriocookie
Long Story Short (It Was A Bad Time) Or Ais Don't Forget by Peacockgirl
Make It A Good One! by Zippe
Meet You Up There (Where The Path Runs Straight And High) by Bluesweatshirt
One In A Million by Inkonmyheartandonthepage
Roots Before Branches by Disneyn3rd
Somethin's In The Air Right Now by Natasha_Romanoff_Official
System Error: Reboot by Oriocookie
The Other Side by Memoriaeterna
The Ripples They Cause by Linarai
There Is Always One Last Light To Turn Out by Kingdomfaraway
Through The Multiverse And What Peter Found There by Unctrlablyalt
Watch Over You (Fall Down, Get Up) by Fragmentaryblue
We Got Lucky by The Muses Summer House
Whatever It Takes, Spiderling by Lethewren
THE MAGIC NUMBERS (5+1)
5 Times Peter Accidentally Stuck To Something by Call_Me_Coley
5 Times Peter Leaves Before The Ambulance Arrives (And 1 Time He Can't) by Lillylemonbee
5 Times Peter Scared The Crap Out Of Tony + 1 Time He Scared Everyone Else by Sara (Ctrsara)
5 Times Peter’s Metabolism Screwed Him Over by For_The_Night
5 Times Someone Loved The Paparazzi More Than Tony + 1 Time Someone Didn't by Katinamoon
5 Times Tony Joked About Peter Being Part Spider by Katinamoon
5 Times Tony Reminded Peter He Was Human by Katinamoon
5 Times Tony Stark Found Peter Parker (And The 1 Time Peter Found Tony) by Speakeasyscribe
Break These Bones ('Til They're Better) by SpaceCowboysFromMars
Five Times Tony Stark's Fabled Intern Just Showed Up + One Time He Was Invited by Kingdomfaraway
I Know How Much You Love Surprises by Opal_Earrings
Mishaps At Midtown by Onlyforward
Ready For Those Flashing Lights by SpaceCowboysFromMars
So This Is Christmas (War Is Over) by SpaceCowboysFromMars
So This Is Christmas… by Cheerios_Me_Lovely
The Stark Legacy by Ironfidus
Variation On A Theme by Bluesweatshirt
With Great Power by Polaroid15
Would You Still Love Me If… by Yellowsunflowerheart
You Caught Me At Just The Right Time (Until You Couldn't) by 14million_Constellations
THE RIPPING OFF THE MASK ONE
A Difficult Choice & "Aw, S**T." by ADGAEA
All Good Things Come in Threes by Bergen
Because Of You by Rootbeer
Devil's Roll The Dice by Ephemeralstark
Flowing With The Melody by Pandaluna
Intern Override by Sara (Ctrsara)
Lost And Found by Pogokitten
Make Way For Tomorrow by Hopeless_Hope
On So Many Levels by Opal_Earrings
Peter Is Worthy (And So Done) by Anonymous
Rhodes Well Traveled by Grumperella
Secret's Out by Celestialseawitch
So Many Things To Say by Happyaspie
The Girl From Yesterday by Finny3120
The Kid Behind The Mask by Inkinmyheartandonthepage
The Same Soul by Katinamoon
These Lives We Seek by Beautifullights
Through The Multiverse And What Peter Found There by Unctrlablyalt
You Better Let Somebody Love You (Before It’s Too Late) by Ambivalentangst
You Know What They Say by Patrochilles_Trash
You're Not Insane by Llovedove
THE NAME YOUR RANSOM ONE
Bring Me Some Hope (By Wandering Into My Mind) by Tonystankandthekid
But Only Hope and Sorrows End by iron_spider
Count My Heartbeats by Katinamoon
Did We Come Close To Having It All by For_The_Night
Extraction by Niniblack
Happy Birthday, Enjoy Your Kidnapping by Kingdomfaraway
It's Too Cold For A Kidnapping by Pogokitten
I've Got You, Baby by Thisisnotourlasthunt
Just A Mouse Stuck In A Glue Trap by Spicysauce
Lamb To The Slaughter by Kirac336
Man In A Can by Jinxquickfoot
Money Can't Buy Family by Olliecollie
Order Fulfillment by Sara (Ctrsara)
Return To Me, The One I Love So Endlessly by SuperHeroTiger
The Most Chaotic Of Kidnappings by Onlyforward
The Same Soul by Katinamoon
Very Normal Totally Regular Human Intern by Winterturtle
Worst Summer Vacation by Mysterycyclone
THE SOMETIMES-HAPPY FAMILY ONE
Are We Out Of The Woods Yet? by Bluesweatshirt
Christmas With The Starks by Emmaelsa0000
Definitely Not A Lizard by Hailfire_73
For Peter; For My Son by Canon Irondad (Tomlinsoul)
Gonna Let The Light Shine On Me by Doctornineandthreequarters
Happy Endings Are Complicated by Mazeeternal
Happy Hibernation Day by For_The_Night
I Know That There’s A Place For Us by Madelinedear
Ice Ice, Baby by Olliecollie
Ironfam Day by Marvels_Blue_Phoenix
Little Demons Like To Play by Raccooncati
Magic Makers by Sara (Ctrsara)
One In A Million by Inkinmyheartandonthepage
Post-Surgery Sleepover by Sara (Ctrsara)
The Best Thanksgiving Ever by Niniblack
Try, Try Again by Mak5258
We Aren't Related, Blood, But It's What Deemed Our Bond Unbreakable by Peterparkersimp3000
THE ONE THAT MADE YOU LOL
Am I A Dying Man? by Odd_I
Better Than I Was by Sara (Ctrsara)
Between A Pun And A Noble Gas by Skymageariel
Boy Meets A Random Out Of Body Experience by Natasha_Romanoff_Official
Buttering Me Up by iron_spider
Call The Priest by Call_Me_Coley
Don't Get Confused, Its All About You by Krystalpomme
Far Out by Bergen
Field Trips And Lab Days by Bundibird
Fred The Tarantula by Hailfire_73
Gremlin Activities In The Stark Household by Emmacortana
Hey Grandpa by iron_spider
Home Alone (Peter's Version) by Annasgolden
How Steve Found Out That He Traumatized An Entire Generation by Gempiglin
Instant Kill Mode by Isnt_It_Pretty_To_Think_So
Papa-Paparazzi by Niniblack
The Grey Area by Lansfics7
These Lives We Seek by Beautifullights
Tony Stark, Doctor (Prompt 21: Famous Last Words) by Itsapugthing
We're Never Too Far Apart by Kingdomfaraway
Wrong Place, Wrong Time by Winterturtle
THE WILD CARD STORY
A Place To Call Home by For_The_Night
A Stubborn Teenager Vs Adrenaline Crash by Thisisnotourlasthunt
Can't Part The Sea, Can't Reach The Shores by Forensicleaf
Catch and Keep by Bergen
Chase You Down Until You Love Me by OK_Butwhy1
Equilibrium by Lunasquared
Evergreen by Onlyforward
Fly On The Wall by Kuroi_Tanken
Good Kid Name by Rainwaiter
Haunting The Halls by Blasphemmky
Home (Is Where My Heart Found Exactly Where I'm Supposed To Be) by Ironfidus
How To Fire Your Intern Sixteen Times In Three Days by Bergen
It Started With A Headache And Ended With The Multiverse by Kingdomfaraway
Men Of Iron by Spdrmain
Mortal Flaw And Fatal Sin by Retro_Memo
Mother May I by Battybatzgirl
Of Careful Steps And Reborn Dreams by Seventeenspiders
P.E.T.E by Dixiegrayson
Secret Identity? You Mean A Private Twitter Account? by Villain_Klaus
Sirens In My Mind by Olliecollie
Surviving On Secrets by Booklivesmatter
The Cycle Of Shame by Cheerios_Me_Lovely
The Love (And Other Things) You Inherit by Ironfidus
Through The Multiverse And What Peter Found There by Unctrlablyalt
Under The Advent Of Stars by Gigidoyle
Whatever It Takes by Ronnieibyrne
THE ONE THAT’S A WHOLE NEW WORLD
A Pirate's Life For Us by Lbigreyhound13
Dear Fellow Traveler by SuperHeroTiger
Do I Deserve This? by Id_Rather_Be_Reading_3
Far Out by Bergen
Forty-Seven Flat by Geekymoviemom
Golden Threads by Winterturtle
Home Is Where The Heart Is by SuperHeroTiger
If These Wings Could Fly by For_The_Night
Left Of The World by Emmacortana
Moulded Minds by Wingswithoutstrings
On So Many Levels by Opal_Earrings
Open Your Mind And Let Me Step Inside by Sunsetuniverse
Past, Present, Yet To Come by Thedumbestavenger
Peter Parker's Home For Wayward People And Animals by Bergen
Prince Of The Forest by Tess_Moon
The Silver Prince by Marialf2001
The Truth Is (Everyone Is Confused, Quantum Physics) by Eviefuller
These Days I'll Sit On Cornerstones by Finny3120
THE SERIES THAT SWEPT YOU AWAY
Cause Freedom Is No Small Thing by TheWeirdDivide
Dear Fellow Traveler by SuperHeroTiger
Earth 2354 by Id_Rather_Be_Reading_3
Fostering Hope by Happyaspie
From The Same Star Series by Sara (Ctrsara)
Heir Peter Fics by Onlyforward
Home Is Where You Hang The Live, Laugh, Love Sign by I_Regret_Thatpersonalityquiz
Inimitable Verse by Deniigiq
Peter Is A Precious Chickpea by Bergen
Peter Parker: Feminist, Social Justice Warrior And Stand Up Guy by Coincidental_Fangirl
Pieces Of Echoes by Geekymoviemom
Role Models by Writing_As_Tracey
Roo-Niverse (Irondad AU) by Juiceontherocks
Spider And Bat Friends by Emmacortana & Tinkerslut
Strands In The Rope by Sara (Ctrsara)
The Meaning Of Inevitable by Mendeia
The One Where Bucky Kidnapped Peter Stark As A Toddler by Niniblack
These Words Written On My Wrist by Katinamoon
They Say It’s What You Make (I Say It’s Up To Fate) by Littlemissagrafina
To Hold The World In My Arms by Ashleyparker2815
Up Came The Sun by Whimsicalethnographies
Wake Up And Smell The Coffee by Bergen
THE ONE THAT GAVE YOU ALL THE LOVE
5 Times Tony Dealt With A Loopy Peter by For_The_Night
A Chance (Of Life, Of Death) by DJ_Unicornsrgr8
Ace Of Hearts by Ironfidus
Catch Your Own Happiness by Truelovetakesawhile
Dear Mach - Come In by Finny3120
Do You Remember Forgetting? by Silverstar1
From My Weakness I Drew Strength by Mendeia
I Know How Much You Love Surprises by Opal_Earrings
Just A Little Obsessed by Quacks
Not Your Peter Parker by Id_Rather_Be_Reading_3
On Begged And Borrowed Time by Buckleyirondad
Only Suckers Wear Scarves by Bergen
Spidery Intervention by King_Claus_The_First
The Ripples They Cause by Linarai
Through The Multiverse And What Peter Found There by Unctrlablyalt
Tony Stark Finds Himself A Family (That Doesn't Suck) by Youcancallmearrow
Trapped In The Shadows by Geekymoviemom
Where There's Smoke by Juiceontherocks
Worst Summer Vacation by Mysterycyclone
THE ALL-TIME FAVORITE
#Supportspidey by Ironfidus
Academic Decathlons And Peace Offerings by Ironfidus
An Unofficial Introduction To The Avengers by Isnt_It_Pretty_To_Think_So
Cause And Effect by Pokeydotes
Deep In The Heart Of Me by Finely Honed (Jaqen_Hgar)
Five Times Tony Worried Peter And Harley Wouldn't Get Along by Fanfictiongreenirises
Fly On The Wall by Kuroi_Tanken
He Looks On Tempest by iron_spider
Heir Peter Fics by Onlyforward
Hindsight by Elephreak
Identity Theft by Kitcat992
More Peril In Thine Eye by iron_spider
Moulded Minds by Wingswithoutstrings
No Matter If I Fall From The Sky by Opal_Earrings
Prince Of The Forest by Tess_Moon
Roo-Niverse (Irondad AU) by Juiceontherocks
Sins Of The Fathers by Geekymoviemom
Slow Down, Start Again From The Beginning by Cassiecasyl
The Chasm Between by TheSleepingOwl
The Ties That Bind Us by Winterturtle
Through The Multiverse And What Peter Found There by Unctrlablyalt
Turn Back The Clock (And I'll Try Again In The Morning) by Madasthesea
Up Came The Sun by Whimsicalethnographies
Visiting Hours by Sara (Ctrsara)
Who Says You Can't Go Home by Peacockgirl
THE 2021/2022 FAVORITE
A Different Kind Of Heat by Katinamoon
But Only Hope and Sorrows End by iron_spider
Feathersoft by Katinamoon
Grief Has No Timeline by Sara (Ctrsara)
Hold On World You Don't Know What's Coming by Sandyk
Long Story Short (It Was A Bad Time) Or Ais Don't Forget by Peacockgirl
Men Of Iron by Spdrman
One Of Those Weeks by Juiceontherocks
Prince Of The Forest by Tess_Moon
Sirens In My Mind by Olliecollie
Survivor's Guide To The Galaxy by Fanfic1892
The Long Game by Niniblack
The Love (And Other Things) You Inherit by Ironfidus
The Trouble With Being A Unicorn by Angelworks
There Is Always One Last Light To Turn Out by Kingdomfaraway
These Webs We Weave by SpaceCowboysFromMars
Through The Multiverse And What Peter Found There by Unctrlablyalt
Would You Still Love Me If... by Yellowsunflowerheart
#Irondad Creator Awards#Irondad Creator Awards 2023#Iron Man#irondad#spider-man#spider son#Irondad and Spiderson#MCU#fanfic
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