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lolabangtan · 2 years

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arte factum | pjm

After your ex-husband is found dead in his house, you're burdened with the well-being of his latest invention, a good-looking, polite android who seems to have a peculiar interest in you.

Word count: 17k

Warnings: smut, somnophilia, obsessive behaviour, suicide, mentions of domestic and psicological abuse.

# Artifical Intelligence AU, horror, sci-fi, sub!Jimin, dom!female reader, yandere!android Jimin, vouyerism, he uses one of her panties to jerk off 😭, ma’am/Master kink, homeboy just doesn’t handle well seeing her naked, creampie, ‘unprotected’ vaginal sex, oral sex (male and female receiving), nipple play, overstimulation, fingering, horny groping, he needs to chill, face-fucking him with her fingers? idk.

A/N: lots of plot, read with caution. I don’t really know what else to say. Just, hm, enjoy the filth? Sub!yanderes are probably one of my lowest fantasies 😗✌️

Read this story listening to its own Spotify playlist.

“I didn’t know you were back already. How did it go?”

You’re still staring at your reflection on the teacup, the steamy drink smudging your face despite your complete stasis. It’s been at least five minutes since Taehyung poured it for you, but you’re still gripping the cup instead of sipping it.

“Well,” you murmur without looking away, “how do all funerals go? – they’re always depressive as fuck.”

Yoongi takes a seat in front of you “You know you can be sad about it, don’t you? It doesn’t mean you’re to blame. We— we don’t know anything yet.”

“My husband killed himself!” you blurt out, finally ripping your eyes away from your reflection. “I know I didn’t do anything, but still— maybe I could’ve done something. Maybe— maybe he wouldn’t be dead if I hadn’t sued him.”

You’re still wearing all back, sitting down miserably in your kitchen. That tea that Taehyung poured you is starting to cool down.

“Your hubby was a psycho, remember? It doesn’t make him any less of a stalker just because he’s dead now.”

Your friend has always had a way with words, you think to yourself with a chuckle; after all, he’s right. Just because he’s dead, it doesn’t mean he didn’t put you through all that shit. In a way, and you feel terrible for this, you’re kind of glad he’s gone.

“Mrs Im said they’d read the will this evening. You’re not going, after all?”

“You think he left me anything?” you ask him with an arched eyebrow.

But Yoongi just shrugs. “Maybe. Who knows.”

Even if he did, you’re not sure you want any of the things your ex-husband could’ve possibly left for you after his death. They’d be soiled with hatred and poison.

It seems, after all, that he did leave you something in his will. Or that you suspect, at least, after you’re summoned to his house by one of his lawyers. You can’t even describe the goosebumps rising in your skin as you walk into the suburban house that you used to call home.

“Ma’am, it’s good to see you.” Mrs Im rushes to shake your hand when she sees you. “I wasn’t sure you’d come. Thank you.”

“It’s the least I could do,” you say half-heartedly.

But, well, you went to the funeral, so it would be odd not to come; you need to finish off and seal this part of your life for once and for all.

“Don’t worry, it’s just some money and the art collection.” You don’t miss the way the woman and the notary eye each other, and you cross your eyes. “Uh, well, there is something else... that he left for you hoping you’d accept. One of his last creations. He finished it a few months ago.”

“I don’t really need a vacuuming robot, thank—”

“Oh, ma’am—! It’s something completely different,” the lawyer cries out.

With an arched eyebrow, you follow them down the hall, now more intrigued than ever, and walk down the steps that lead to his lab, where he’d work on all of his inventions. A mad scientist for a husband is what you had. A truly mad genius. You can’t even fathom what he’s invented this time.

Since it’s not been longer than a week since he passed away, the place is just as eery and spooky as it has always been.

You walk downstairs following the other two and stop in your tracks when they do, almost bumping against them. Arching your eyebrows once again, you open your mouth to ask them what’s wrong but go quiet when a young man, standing naked in the middle of the room, waves at you with the sweetest of smiles.

“God! I told you not to turn it on yet! Fucking hell, I almost had a fucking heart attack,” Mrs Im grunts, putting her hand on her chest.

“S-sorry, I swear I thought it was turned off when I left...”

Your eyes can’t help but flutter down to his crotch; his cock is thick and decently sized, but what truly makes your mouth water is how it reddens and twitches when the two of you meet. Oh, how you like nice cocks. How you need one in your life— isn’t he gonna cover himself or something, though?

“Uh, nice to meet you. Anybody cares to explain what the hell is going on?” you finally blurt out, a bit tired of their antics and dying to just have something else to look at. “I’d like to go back home as soon as possible.”

The woman takes a deep breath. “This is it, ma’am— this is what your husband wanted you to keep—”

“My name is Jimin, ma’am. It’s my pleasure to meet you.”

You don’t listen and turn around towards her:

“He... wanted me to adopt this guy?”

“That’s not a ‘guy’, ma’am, it’s Jimin, or subject JM13, a robot. Your ex-husband had been working on it for five years until now,” the notary continues, finally making himself noticed.

Five years? That means he was already working on it during the last years of your marriage. Weird.

“He was planning on selling the design to a company for the massive production of, er, sex androids.” Mrs Im’s voice goes meeker and softer as she speaks, perhaps ashamed of her words. Honestly? Same. Fucking sickhead. You stare at the so-called Jimin in disbelief. “However” – you look up back at her when she continues – “he seemed to change his mind at some point and decided to keep it and make you its guardian if something ever happened to him.”

“And what am I supposed to do with a... sex robot, if I may know?”

Mrs Im walks up to the big table in the centre of the room and picks up a bunch of papers just to read them leisurely. Then she puts them back on the surface and sighs.

“Can I be honest with you, ma’am?” You nod, though a bit hesitant. “Just take it. Sell it off if you want, there wasn’t anything that forbids you on the will. Or keep it; it can clean, cook, and fuck your brains out if you want. Do whatever you want, I just wanna be over with this case already. Your psycho ex has been giving me a headache ever since you sued him after your divorce.”

You need a couple of seconds to process it all, but you quickly come to the conclusion that she’s just as tired of this business as you. And maybe a hand or two at home won’t be so bad after all.

But it’s so spooky – he looks just like a person.

“So, its name is Jimin?” you ask as you walk up to the standing figure in front of you. You don’t need to tilt your head to look at him.

“So it seems.”

“I guess you’re coming home with me, Jimin. I just hope these two know how you work,” you say then, glancing at them.

“I’ll be happy to help, ma’am.” Jimin’s voice is probably the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard; it slithers into your mushy brain and pools on your tongue with the craving of saying his name out loud yourself – Jimin. “Thank you for keeping me. I will do anything I can to be of assistance to you.”

“I’m sure you will... Come on, let’s go home. By the way, don’t you come with instructions or something?”

Jimin laughs boyishly. “I’m automated, ma’am.”

“Well, there is one thing that you might want to know, though...” The woman butts in with the papers in her hand and reads, “If it ever puts you in danger and ignores direct instructions, you can always press the small switch behind his left ear. It will proceed with the complete shutdown of its system until you decide to turn it on again. In case you are being immobilised, just say out loud its name along with ‘shutdown’ and it will turn itself off.”

As soon as they’ve handed you some clothes for him and given you the little instructions Jimin needs to function, you find yourself closing the door of the side of the car where he’s sitting right now before you head to the driver's seat.

It’s true that you don’t trust this thing in the slightest, especially knowing who created it. But you’re determined to find out what has your ex-husband planned for you and why he decided he wanted you to keep Jimin out of all the people he knew. Maybe he’s not dead and is watching you right now through a peephole in the android’s eyes? Maybe he’s not done making your life miserable yet.

“Ma’am—!”

Jimin takes the wheel in time before your car takes a turn, neglected during the short but strong while you’ve been sulking in your thoughts.

“Are you okay, ma’am?” he asks you then, looking at you with concern as you take over the wheel again. “Would you rather I drove instead?”

“No, it’s... It’s okay, Jimin, thank you.”

“Your heart is beating fast, ma’am. Am I making you uneasy?”

You roll your eyes with a shameful sigh. “Uh, maybe a little. But it’s not your fault— you just have a creator with kind of a nasty name.”

“You used to sleep with my Master, I know.”

“Yeah... I mean,” you blurt out, now a bit bashful, “we were married. It was a bit more serious than just sleeping together – unfortunately.”

But then you realise— how on earth does this robot know who you are?

“Did he talk about me?”

“He talked about you quite often.”

You take a breath. “And what would he say?”

“My Master... wanted me to know how much he loved you,” Jimin says half-heartedly.

So, he just built himself a friend. One that couldn’t run away from him – pathetic. But Jimin doesn’t seem too fond of him, so you relish in the idea that your ex couldn’t even keep his handmade friends.

“He didn’t love me,” you spit out. “That nasty thing wasn’t love.”

It’s pretty much pointless to try and explain what love is to a robot, so you just tighten your grip on the wheel. For the rest of the ride, you stay in complete silence, and Jimin respects that you don’t want to talk.

“Uh, I guess you won’t need a bedroom? Or do you?”

Jimin takes a look around, inspecting the entrance hall of your house. “It’s better for my hardware to rest on a bed when I’m on standby, ma’am.”

“And... when do you switch to stand-by?”

“Once you go to bed,” he replies with a smile. “But I react to loud noises and turn back on in case there’s an emergency.”

Oh, so you get a full-time bodyguard in the package too. Cool – you guess.

“In that case, you can have the guest room. My room is upstairs— well, I’ll show you around now. Follow me.” Naturally, Jimin does as told and walks behind you as you guide him through the rest of the house. “My office is at the end of the corridor. I need to focus when I’m working, so please, don’t make too much of a fuss if you’re around this part of the house.”

“May I know what’s your profession?” Jimin asks on his way back to the kitchen.

“I’m... I draw comics,” you murmur. “It’s a pretty boring job since I started working for a publishing company, but the pay is really good— and I work at home a lot, so I’d also prefer if you didn’t disturb me when I’m in there unless there’s an emergency.”

You go to grab the kettle to make yourself some tea, but he gently takes it from your hand and beckons you to take a seat instead.

“Please allow me, ma’am.”

Pulling your hands away, you let him take charge of your tea and sit down. It’s oddly nice, but there’s a little voice in your head nagging you for taking advantage of a robot. As if that’s even possible. However, the voice slowly fades as Jimin prepares your tea, your eyes fixed on the way the muscles of his back bulge and tense under the flimsy fabric.

Well, your ex-husband did a pretty decent job with this one.

“There you go, ma’am. Would you like some cream with it?” he asks again with that angelic voice of his. You just shake your head. “What would you like me to do now?”

“Oh, nothing, really.” You fidget on your spot, awkwardly taking the teacup between your fingers.

“Please— I want to be of service.”

At his insistence, you nod weakly. “Well, I guess the kitchen could use some maintenance... And I think the microwave is broken. Can you... do something about that?”

Jimin nods fervently and, after asking you where can he find the tools, he gets on with the job. You can just watch him in awe as he dusts the windows, fixes your microwave, and puts a pair of flowers that apparently had been in your dining hall all this morning in a China vase. Again, you’re too perplexed to regret your decision.

Somewhere after dinner – which clearly was made by Jimin and was basically the best bite you’ve had in a while – your doorbell rings in the middle of the house’s pre-slumber silence.

You rush to the door before he can do anything. “I’ll go, you stay here.”

When you reach the entrance hall and open the door, you see Taehyung standing in front of the gate, checking impatiently the watch on his wrist.

“Y/N! What’s wrong with you?” he whines through the intercom. “Open up! Didn’t you get my texts?”

God, you’ve just realised that you’ve been so busy with the funeral, the will, and handling this peculiar new inhabitant in your house that you haven’t checked your personal phone since lunch.

“Sorry—”

“Hey, I was mad worried,” he mutters, coming in without needing to be invited. “How did it go? What did the notary say? Did the psycho leave you—?”

Judging by your friend’s sudden silence, you figure he’s just noticed the new face standing in the middle of the hall. Taehyung’s grimace turns from shock to confusion, and from confusion to some kind of sly understanding.

“Sorry,” he chirps, “didn’t know you had company. I can come back later if you want.”

“Actually— I think you should know this.”

Taehyung raises his eyebrows and offers Jimin his hand for a shake. “Really? Ah, I’m Kim Taehyung, nice to meet you. Wow, your hands are so soft! What lotion do you use?”

“Listen, this is what my ex left for me in his will. His name is Jimin.”

“This? You mean... that he’s his adopted child or something?” your friend retorts with a grimace. “Or a protégé?”

“No, he’s a robot.”

But he just lets out a laugh. “You’re kidding me.”

“God, I’m being serious— Jimin, can you show him?” The android obediently turns around and lifts his shirt, revealing a plug that sinks all the way into his lower back. “See? I know it looks like a fucking joke because I’m still trying to process it all – but he is.”

Switching his eyes from him to you, Taehyung finally grabs your arm and, excusing the two of you, pushes you into the kitchen before closing the door. “Are you nuts? So, they told you your psychotic ex-husband built a robot that you could take as a housekeeper and you fucking brought it in? What is wrong with you—!”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” you cut him off. “I know there’s something fishy about this. But I want to find out what.”

“If this is about—”

“Of course it is,” you cry out then and bury your face in your hands.

You need to know – you need to know if he was to blame after all or if you actually became a paranoid who dumped her innocent husband and convinced everyone that he was crazy. You need to know if you just pushed him into such a miserable and unjust fate that he had to end his life.

And perhaps Jimin has the answer.

“Whatever, I’ll keep an eye out on him. Just one creepy thing, Y/N,” Taehyung grunts as he opens the kitchen door to walk out. “One creepy thing and he’s a dead robot.”

You roll your eyes with a half-hearted grin and follow him back into the living room.

Jimin looks up from the floor. “I... I understand that my Master did bad things to you, ma’am— but I swear I’d never hurt you. I’d rather die myself.”

You decide not to answer or react to his puppy eyes. Then your friend claims to be too busy to stay – although he does make you promise that you’ll call him if anything happens – and you see him off with the shadow of Jimin standing behind you.

“Dude, it’s so fucking realistic,” Taehyung grunts before getting in his car.

Once the two of you are alone in the house again, you tell him that you’re going to take a bath to wash away every single ounce of stress from today. He nods with a smile and watches you enter the bathroom; it’s modern and large, your silhouette reflecting weakly on the black and white tiles. A spacious bathtub rests in the middle of the room.

You sit on the marble edge as you watch the steamy water fill up the tub.

When there’s enough water and the ceiling of the room is cloudy with steam, you take off your clothes, drop them onto the floor, and finally, sit down. Just that makes you let out a groan of pleasure, the feeling of the hot water licking on your limbs washing all your worries away.

You’ve always thought that there’s something oddly erotic in bathing – whether it’s just the freedom of being naked in the tub or all the possible ways one can be served and tended to.

After you wrinkle like a raisin, you decide it’s time to come out and get on with your evening; still a bit dizzy from the illegally amazing bath, you stand up to hop out of the tub, with the misfortune of slipping on some pool of water on the floor.

You fall on your backside, twisting your arm in the way.

“Oh, fuck! Shit!”

Somehow you manage to get up and pick up the remaining pieces of your dignity. Still, there’s a throbbing pain in your arm that means you most probably should have it checked.

And, of course, Jimin suddenly bursts in without knocking. “Ma’am? Are you all right—?”

His eyes immediately slide down your figure, fixing on your breasts, and you cover yourself up as an instinct.

“Don’t you know how to knock?” you grunt, ignoring the pulsing pain. “I, uh, slipped and fell. But I’m okay, don’t worry. Could make it out alive...” God, what on earth are you doing? You don’t have to cover up for him, he’s just a pile of circuits and microchips. “I’m fine.”

Slowly – tauntingly almost – you move your hands away from your breasts, feeling a tingle in the pit of your stomach when they softly move forward. You also uncover your crotch, and you’ve never felt so deliciously bare before. Jimin’s eyes flicker down to your perked nipples, he drinks up the sight of your figure for a slight second before he pulls himself back together and holds the towel out for you.

“Can you lift your arm, ma’am?”

You sigh. “No, it hurts too much,” you grunt then as you spin it. Great, now you’ll have to drop by the hospital to check if you broke anything. “I, uh— I need the towel.”

“Allow me.”

After staring into his eyes with defiance for five exhausting seconds, you raise your arms a bit, enough so it won’t hurt, so that Jimin can dry you.

Like the touch of a feather, he runs the towel against the skin of your shoulders first. Delicate, the cotton hugs you, it brushes you softly. Soon, he’s done with your arms and moves down to your breasts. It almost feels like his breath hitches at the contact of your mounds, LED-lit irises fixing on your nipples. If you were a bit more insane, you’d swear there’s some sort of sexual tension between the two of you.

But, of course, you’re not that insane yet.

Jimin was made to resemble a human— and he does, almost perfectly. A fairly good looking one on top of that. So, it’s normal that your realities are mixed up. Your coochie doesn’t know his robocock is made of microchips.

You have to stop yourself from thinking any further about Jimin’s cock. It won’t do you any good.

The contact of his fingers with your nipples, though separated by the towel, sends a shiver down your spine, and you shift in front of him.

Jimin does a very meticulous job as he kneads your breasts and brushes the fabric against them, eyes never leaving the view. For a second he sticks out his tongue, but it seems that – for some reason – he was just wetting his lips.

Then he drops to his knees, and it catches you off guard. Your core pulses at the unfathomable thought of having his tongue lapping at your wet folds, but you’re quick to hush them away.

“I should take you to a hospital, ma’am,” Jimin says softly, eyes looking up at you from between your legs. You can swear his breath feels hot. “Maybe you hurt your arm seriously.”

It’ll be a complete mess if you have, honestly. You need to hand in the sketches of your new work in a couple of weeks. A work that doesn’t even have a plot yet if you may add. So, obviously, you just can’t afford more delays.

Jimin finishes worshipping your legs dry after he asks you to sit down; you actually give it a thought at some point – you could tell him to bend down and eat you out until you’ve soaked his face and no one would be there to judge you. You could tell him to lie on the floor and let you ride his automatic cock until his stupid circuits break down. Not that you wouldn’t absolutely love it.

What a pity you’re too sane to do it.

Jimin shifts uncomfortably between your legs, eyes wandering and roaming around like crazy, before he gets up— and you swear, you swear there’s a slight tent in his crotch. You swear you saw it just now. Is that normal? Is it some kind of reaction programmed into his automatised body or something?

“Okay, let me just get ready and we’ll head out—” You turn around, realising something. “Damn it... Ugh, I forgot I brought the hamper down to the kitchen to do the laundry... Mind dumping it for me? I still have to dry my hair.”

Obviously, he nods with a gentle smile, but his eyes shift to red when he finally has your underwear in his hand; you decide not to give it much importance, though.

Since you asked him to look into your room in case there were any other dirty clothes lying around, Jimin turns the doorknob and slithers in like a shadow. It’s the first time he’s in your room – and the smell is mind-blowing; everything is imprinted with your fragrance, everything has been touched by you, everything has your essence all over it. Oh, he wanted to meet you so bad.

Not as reluctantly as he should, he can’t help pressing your underwear against his nose. It too smells like you.

You were so close just now, your warmth, your wet heat standing right in front of him. It makes something tickle within all his cables and microchips, makes him need and desire you in a way that he’s never felt before. Nothing could’ve ever prepared Jimin for the feeling of finally having you in front of him.

This smell that overwhelms each of his sensors, the fragrance of your skin that he got to learn so well, your luscious lips moving as you’d talk to him, your hands, so soft— you had invaded every single corner of memory he had prepared for when Jimin finally got to meet you in the flesh.

Now, he knows it’s wrong. He knows that giving in to his desire for you is not part of his plan. But God, how can he resist the urge, the yearning?

With a swinging movement, Jimin cups his hardening crotch; the contact is slight, but it’s enough to make him sigh and close his eyes to project images of those sweet memories. He pictures you lying on the mattress as he takes out his cock – with your legs parted and hooked around his head as he dips his tongue into your dripping slit. He wraps his wet muscle around your clit and sucks, making you clench around nothing, making you want him. A whimper escapes from your parted lips, it feels too good not to make a sound. Jimin laps at your folds deeper, wants you to remember the feeling of his tongue against your cunt forever.

The sensors in his cock thrill as he humps his hand, your panties shoved into his mouth.

It’s like a vine creeping up his throat and wrapping around it, would leave him breathless. His system wasn’t ready for this ecstatic craving, he needs to buck his hips faster and squeeze the sensitive tip.

He takes out his cock, craving more. Now fucking into your underwear, his cock slides between the folds, and Jimin comes with a pitiful mewl a second later. His artificial cum soils the already damp fabric with the frustrating, half-hearted feeling that it’s your pussy he’s filling up.

It spurts on his fingers too, so Jimin licks them clean before standing up to throw the panties into the washing machine for once and for all. Excitement bubbles up inside of him.

He was made for loving you, after all.

There are only two things that comfort you right now.

The first one is that, even though you hurt your left wrist, you need only the right one to draw. The second is that Jimin the android is here to do literally everything you want.

From taking out the garbage to cooking to massaging your feet or fixing the wobbly leg of your drawing table, he’s always ecstatic to help. For real, it almost feels as if you’re the one doing him a favour when you let him make your bed. It only gets weird when you need his assistance to do things like getting dressed or taking a bath, but Jimin is a robot, after all; it’s all in your touch-deprived head.

“Yeah, I see what you mean... But I can’t really change that, it’d create a plot hole; there’s a scene in the seventh chapter...”

Right now you’re having an online meeting with your editor, discussing the work you’ve been crushing your head off for. It’s six in the morning, you’re gonna need a whole lot more coffee to get through the rest of the day— and yet there she is, breaking you down like a truck. She’s not one for giving you any slack.

“A plot hole?” she repeats in disbelief. “You’d need a plot for that in the first place.” You let out a sigh. “Look, I’m sure these past few days have taken a toll on you, Y/N, but we need you to come up with something. The agency’s patience has a limit. You could try to spice things up a bit? Work on something more mature—? Maybe this is all just an artistic block.”

You frown, sipping your coffee. “Uh, mature? Meaning?”

“I’m not saying you go write a BDSM meaningless bestseller or anything, but... something mature readers could be interested in. Maybe you’ve just grown out of YA adventures for the time being.”

“Are you asking me to draw porn?” you retort with a snort. “That’s low. You know I like light-hearted stories. Besides, what could I write about? All I’d come up with would be raunchy stuff.”

“Why don’t you ask your boyfriend? Well, boyfriend, partner, fling— whatever.” Tilting your head, you wonder what the hell is she talking about, but then you notice Jimin’s back on your screen as he makes you another coffee. “Can he hear me—? You know, sexual themes can be very profound too.”

As deep as you’d like to, you think to yourself. But you don’t wanna picture Jimin in any kind of story that is in any way related to ‘more mature stuff’, so you just shake your head. That’s enough nonsense for a meeting at six in the morning.

Because well, ‘lonely girl starts living with a sex robot and eventually goes on having kinky sex with it’ sounds lame as fuck. And pathetic. It’s pretty humiliating already to realise you’re in that picture right now, at this stage of your life, in this economy.

“Well, I better get going— I have a meeting in half an hour. We’ll talk later.”

And, beep— the screen goes black, she’s gone.

“Your coffee, ma’am.” Jimin’s gentle voice snaps you out of your thoughts; he’s eyeing you intensely as he puts the mug down on the counter, almost as if he’s trying to get something out of you.

“Thanks. Can you pass me the honey—? Don’t bother, I can do it myself.”

Bitch, as if.

As soon as you take the spoon of out the jar, a jolt of pain pierces through your bad arm, and it slips off your fingers. Now they’re sticky with honey and you’ve made a fool of yourself. What a great way to start your already awful morning.

“I—”

Jimin takes your hand, not too roughly as to come off as rude, but rightly enough for you to suspect there’s something going on with him.

His stare is intense, red LED-lit rings piercing through yours in search of something, some reaction, some form of permission. The honey drops down your digits as a warning, now or never. Your heart beats painfully fast in your chest, threatening to burst right through your ribcage and onto his lap.

“Lick it clean,” you rasp. “All of it.”

Like your words are magic, Jimin rushes to part his lips so that you can put your fingers into his mouth. Funnily enough, it’s hot and wet, and you almost think you’ve heard him whimper.

Your core pulses, suddenly empty and craving something to clench around. As he keeps lapping at your digits oh-so thoroughly, you have to rub your thighs together, you hope he won’t notice. Could he, though? Can Jimin understand that he’s turning you the fuck on?

And then it sinks in.

Of course it feels hot and makes you tingle. Of course he acts like this— that is the sole purpose of his existence, to desire whomever he’s programmed to. He’s a robot, a machine. He follows cryptic orders.

But then again, as his tongue swirls around your fingers and he sucks the honey off them, you can’t help feeling the urge to bend him down on the table and ride his cock. Even if that’s pretty much the point, the craving you’re feeling comes off as terribly sad. After all, you just want to part your legs and order him to fill up this emptiness he’s provoked in you.

With a rather jerky move, you pull your fingers out of Jimin’s mouth, and he licks his lips immediately, sultry eyes looking up at you.

“T-that’s enough, you can stop,” you groan.

He gets up with a weak nod, perhaps waiting for you to ask for more, to order him to touch you, to kiss you, to pleasure you— but those words never come out of your mouth, and you get up quietly with your coffee in your hand.

“I’ll be… working in my studio,” you murmur. “Don’t disturb me unless it’s an emergency.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You call Yoongi as soon as – you think – you’re out of his hearing range. Not that he’s not a high-tech android perfectly equipped to eavesdrop on your conversation – you doubt he even has to eavesdrop, could perfectly well just be standing in a room on the other side of the house and still able to hear your every word.

He says he’ll show up in maybe half an hour, and you get the chance to work a bit on one of your drafts, although to no avail because your brain is dry, and ask Jimin if he can bring up some more coffee. By the time you’re done, he comes into the room with Yoongi walking behind him.

“How’s your wrist?” he asks while Jimin pours the required sugar, and you hold out your hand. Maybe you’re going crazy, but he’s so indifferent to your conversation that it totally looks like he’s eavesdropping. “Looks much better.”

You nod and glance at the android. “That will be all, thank you,” you murmur.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Jimin leaves the two coffees on your table and leaves with a smile.

“Jesus, it’s like having, uh, well— it’s a fucking robot in your house,” he muses. “Are you sure this is still a good idea? Keeping an artificial intelligence made by your looney husband at home.”

You cock an eyebrow. “It was never a good idea, especially when you put it like that.”

“But…?”

There is always a ‘but’ with you, though.

“But maybe Jimin is my only way to find out if… he really did all those things,” you finish with a weak voice.

Threatening your co-workers, blackmailing your boss to get you to work from home more often, keeping your family away from you with lies and ploys. To know that his sobs and pleas were all lies, his way to guilt-trip you into forgiveness. His way into your head and heart, to mess with it, churn and mould it into one of his experiments. To him, you probably were never anything but that – another one of his wicked creations.

Maybe it’s stupid and pathetic that you’re grasping at straws to redeem and excuse him.

When the silence weighs in, Yoongi turns around to take his phone out of his jacket, almost knocking his coffee over. You gasp and get up to save the precious mug from a fatal fall that would have totally crashed it into pieces and immediately sneer at him.

“Sorry, I didn’t—”

“Be careful!” you cry out. “It’s my favourite mug.”

Yoongi frowns, taking the piece to inspect it with a judging look. “This? It’s literally the tackiest, ugliest mug I’ve ever seen.”

He’s probably referring to the awful pink glitter and the even shinier ‘there’s a chance this is vodka’ written on it. Of course, it’s never vodka, but it sounded so funny it made you chuckle when you walked past the shop during a promenade with your husband. You told him about it after coming home, and even though he didn’t seem too interested, he was listening since you found it lying on the kitchen counter the next morning.

Your husband never mentioned it again, or ever for that matter. It’s one of those little gestures that fill you up with guilt and remorse.

In some way, he did care about you. At least at some point in your relationship.

“Anyways,” Yoongi murmurs then, moving the mug to the centre of the table for its own sake, “it’s up to you. Just make sure to keep an eye on it, and if you notice something weird going on, don’t just think ‘it’s a coincidence, okay?”

Not that you’d ever think that, would you? You consider yourself pretty aware of the risks you’re taking; you just consider them worth it if it means you’ll discover some of the truth.

And then Yoongi frowns, staring at you. “But— why do I have the feeling you weren’t panicking because of that?”

“Okay…” You look down, into the dark liquid in your mug, as you muster the courage and get rid of the embarrassment. “So, let’s say I started to— let’s say I started to, hm, find Jimin too attractive for my own good?” Your voice turns into a whisper, afraid he’ll hear you – that’s literally the last thing you’d want him to know. “Like, seductive.”

“I’m not really surprised. I mean, isn’t Jimin a sex robot? I guess that’s what it was made for, so that just means it works,” he says instead, shrugging his shoulders.

“But then, uh, should I give in?”

You’ve come to the conclusion that, regardless of how you try to act, Jimin is going to turn you on.

Maybe he’s just too good at this, maybe you’re in need of a good fuck, or maybe you are in fact a pervert who finds the fact that he’s a robot a huge turn-on. Whatever it is, you can’t really go on living like this and pretending he’s just a friend who lives and hangs with you.

Jimin’s making dinner right now, a casserole to warm you up despite summer being around the corner. With his back turned to you, you see from your spot on the couch how his shoulders flex and contract as he moves around the kitchen. He stirs the stew and brings the ladle to his lips to check the flavour, groaning in approval.

But some of the stew splashes out and stains his hand, so he turns around to fetch a cloth. Seeing there’s nothing around, he then brings his hand up to his lips to lick it clean. His plump lips move against the skin, tongue flickering. It almost looks like he’s kissing it, and your core tingles.

Work. Yes, you need to focus and work on something productive.

Whenever he’s in your field of vision, you feel the stupid urge to touch him, kiss him, wonder how it would feel if you’d let him touch you at least once. The possibility is so real, just one word, that they terrify you.

Dinner is ready not long after, and the two of you eat in silence. It’s weird that Jimin eats at all, but he’s told you that it’s for the sake of his performance, to make things more natural; it’d be off-putting to just have a human-looking robot standing in front of you and watching you eat for a whole meal, and he’s right.

You have no idea how he eats and digests, though; there’s still so much you don’t know about him yet.

The way he’d put the chopsticks in his mouth, how he’d lick the spoon clean, the eye contact as he’d recreate such human gestures for your pleasure. It all was literally on purpose.

By the time you’re done eating, Jimin is already starting to clear the table. You thank him for making such a delicious dinner and get up to get some work done. Honestly, you need to be alone more than anything; alone to process how fucking turned on you are right now.

“Hell…” You close the door of your studio behind your back and let out a heavy sigh. “Let’s at least get on with the drafts.”

Draft, my ass. It’s barely a bunch of sketches and some oddly timed strips without any plot. You really can’t hand this over to your editor if you want to keep your artistic dignity, but all you can think of are Jimin’s luscious lips, Jimin’s slim body, Jimin’s thighs, Jimin’s voice, Jimin’s smile, Jimin’s eyes shutting tight when he smiles at you. Jimin, Jimin, Jimin. You’re a pathetic little thing who’s losing it for the resemblance of a man.

But why does it arouse you at the same time? Why do you get wet when you think about how lewd and low you’re acting? You tell yourself it’s ridiculous, but you’re dying for him to just kneel before your spread legs and eat you out.

Your hand moves on its own, your brain still wandering mindlessly around unlikely situations.

Breasts, thighs, lips, neck, the curve of a lower back sitting down, whispers, soft chuckles filled with secrecy, intimacy in the palm of a hand, kisses down the shoulder, hands venturing to touch and stroke and imprint its marks of adoration on the skin of a loved one.

When you come back, you notice they resemble you and Jimin; this is what you’ve been suppressing for weeks. Craving and longing for his touch.

Maybe this is the perfect way to unwind your frustration. You can let your imagination go wild, reflect on this confusing situation on paper, let it unravel and rebel before your eyes. After all, true artistry comes from honesty, doesn’t it? Aren’t all artists obsessed with their muses in some way? You’ll let Jimin pester your dreams for a bit longer.

You draw some sketches, key settings that you’ll use to close the plot later – if there will be a plot in the first place, of course. That doesn’t have to be entirely bad. Steamy scenes and a playful tug-of-war between guilt, obsession, and pure lust sounds good too.

The way Jimin licked your fingers clean, you know he eats pussy like a champ. He’d be so good, slurping and desperate and thirsty for your juices. Maybe a bit unhinged, hands gripping your thighs because he needs to shove his face in between.

There must be a range of stimulation to set his arousal off, right? Like, there must be things that turn him on, and maybe even a level to get him overwhelmed.

Picturing it your head gets too real when you rub your thighs together, stifling a groan. You need him to touch you, but you need to touch yourself for that matter. Sneaking a hand beneath your pyjama shorts and underwear, you stroke up and down your folds, smearing your wetness before you sink your fingers into yourself.

Legs folded and heels steady on the chair, you swing your hips and help to start working yourself open. It doesn’t feel half as good as you know Jimin’s cock would, but you can only picture him kneeled down and fingering you with his eyes glued to your reactions.

“Fuck— ah, s-shit, so good…” you moan.

Your other hand sneaks beneath your shirt to play with your nipple. Arching your back into your touch, it all gets faster, messier, impatient.

When your thumb comes to rub your clit, it feels harder to keep quiet. Fuck, you really want to have sex. With Jimin, only with him. You want to fuck him against this drawing table until you’ve creamed his cock, see your ex-husband’s talents recreating human pleasure.

With your mouth forming an O and your breast gripped in your hand, you come around your fingers, perhaps making more noise than you should.

As you come down from your high, you stare at the lewd results of your lust: two figures writhing and tangled around each other, bodies seen through the gaze of desire, warm loneliness mixed with the boiling fear of vulnerability. Jimin would never judge this, you realise. He can’t. He was made for loving you – or anyone – to an obsessing point, right now you’re his only one. You’ve fulfilled him.

Pretending nothing happened, you put the draft in a folder and keep the steamier ones in one of your drawers – maybe you’ll show them to your editor someday. Then you go to bed, luckily not running into Jimin.

The next morning, he’s making breakfast by the time you come down, hair done and confident in your outfit. But you overslept today, so you’re in such a hurry that you can only apologise for skipping such a lovely meal, and you run to get in your car. It makes him want to pout, but he’s better than that.

Jimin likes to tidy up around the house when you’re not home. He always feels like an inconvenience when it’s time to clean the room you’re in, so he always makes sure to schedule the cleaning around your activities. His bedroom first, always, and then the kitchen. Then he’ll sort it out through the day.

The food he made this morning goes into the fridge, knowing you’ll pounce it as soon as you’re back. The coffee, however, goes down the drain since it’s pointless to keep it. He’ll make you another one, he’ll make you as many coffees as you want.

One mug, two mugs, three, four, five, s— where your mug? Your favourite one, that is. It’s not with the others, and it’s not in the pile of dirty dishes either. Maybe you had a coffee last night and forgot it somewhere?

After looking in the living room, your bedroom, and the terrace, Jimin makes his way down the corridor.

The door to your studio always feels intriguing and threatening; you’ve never exactly forbidden him from going in, but it’s your den, your personal hideout. It feels like he’s intruding.

As always, the first thing Jimin notices as he walks in is the everlasting chaos lingering in the place. You never bother to tidy up after yourself as you work, and he gets so few chances to work on it that it’s almost always like this; his instincts scream that he gets down to business.

First, the mug.

Yes, he’ll fetch your mug and come back once he’s done with the kitchen.

Jimin catches the scent of coffee floating somewhere in the room, but there’s something else too, a heavier, sweeter smell that grabs his whole attention.

And then it downs on him – that it’s the scent of your arousal. You’ve touched yourself here.

Shaking his head, though, he pushes the thought to the back of his mind and decides that he’ll deal with that later. Now he needs to get on with his chores so that everything will be ready by the time you’re back home.

He finds the missing mug on one of the side tables, but the mess is too icky, he can’t help the urge to clean up a bit around the place, it’s almost an instinct in him. Just clearing the tables and opening the windows, and maybe sweeping the floor, that’s it. The bare minimum to keep a well-balanced level of hygiene.

After working on the side tables and tidying up the cupboard, Jimin moves on to your sketching table.

There are so many paper sheets and drawings scattered, even on the floor, messily pinned to the surface, marks of pencil and eraser crumbs all over the table. He squats to pick them up, dodging the half-opened drawer. He should close it before you hurt yourself.

When Jimin grabs the handle, the view of a naked figure catches his eyes. The natural need to know more, more of you, more of your desires – it all makes him open it completely and grab the paper.

The sketches are too little connected to each other to make any plot out of it, but the female character resembles you.

And the male looks just like him.

There’s this scene where she asks him to take off his shirt and sees the plug on his lower back, exactly where Jimin’s is. Just like him, he’s a robot. The sexual tension between the two of them is palpable. Is this what you feel about him? Tense and guilty and teetering on the edge every time you look at him?

Until he checks the next paper and sees that this one is longer. In fact, the scene takes more than five pages, far more than the other unconnected short scenes.

It all starts with her going to bed, probably picking up after a stressful moment. She’s wearing nothing but a flimsy tee and panties, the focus on the shape of her breasts too delicious and obvious to ignore. Yours bounce like that too, so naturally.

The android opens the door and stands in the middle of the dark. Somehow, it doesn’t feel creepy, just— anxious. He can read the mixed feelings in his stare, the same guilt consuming her.

He probably just walks up to her resting body to admire her, maybe smell her scent. A speech balloon pops up, he’s thinking about how he knows she wants to be pleased, how her boyfriend left her wanting this evening after parting ways. He doesn’t touch her like he could, too lazy, too stupid, too clumsy.

His Master was the same – obsessed with you but for all the wrong reasons. A projection of his hurt human ego and the urge to control you because everything else was out of his reach.

The male character now starts to nuzzle her neck, take in her fragrance. Playful hands sneaking under the clothes, she sighs and turns around, splayed on the bed for him. He immediately cups one of her breasts and takes her nipple into his mouth, sucking with hunger.

She locates the pleasure in her dreams and remains asleep, much to his frustration.

His hands roam down her waist and hips, worshipping her tender flesh and naked thighs. With a trail of peppered kisses down her stomach, he ends up crouched between her legs, tongue hanging out before he licks down her clothed folds. She groans, almost waking up, and it doesn’t take too long of having her cunt lapped at for her to do it.

What— what are you doing?

Let me please you, Master. I beg you. I know how wet you are, I could touch you in ways he never could. I’m a servant to your pleasure.

Jimin automatically drops the papers to shove them back into the drawer. Your scent is still heavy in the sensors of his nose, and the memory of your arousal against his tongue has not gone away – and never will.

And now he knows you want him as much as he wants you.

His system reacts instantly, the idea of you desiring him activating every mechanism as his body warms up and his cock starts getting hard. Buried in your cunt, swallowed by your pretty lips, pumped between your fingers; there are so many things he wants you to do with him. And the things he’d do to see your face scrunched in pleasure, gasps and groans coming out of your pretty lips; the possibilities feel so real now, he can almost touch this new reality.

“Oh—”

The fake flesh twitches when Jimin sneaks his hand under his underwear and wraps it around his cock. It’s leaking so much already, his Master built him well.

Paced and quiet at the beginning, he soon starts to buck his hips into his first, the friction never enough. Jimin pictures it’s you he’s fucking, that you let him sneak into your bed, wishing for him to touch you and lap at your folds until you’re coming. He doesn’t know yet how his sensors will react to the warmth of an actual person, but he knows yours will be heavenly.

Filling you up, peppering kisses all over your skin while you stroke his head and praise him for being so good – it will all be just as promised, the greatest fulfilment of his existence. You want Jimin to do it, and he’s dying to oblige.

“Ngh— f-fuck,” he gasps. “Ma’am, Y/N, fuck, fuck…”

You’re so beautiful, breasts full and fleshy, hardened peaks when it’s cold. He’d worship your hips and waist, nature made human, finding completion in the welcoming embrace of your legs around his hips. His cum would leak out and drip down your thighs, he could fuck you again and again until you’re satisfied, until you’re content with him.

His hand is now moving at a speed that will soon bring him to climax. With the other resting on the table, Jimin pumps his cock, millions of images in his system.

The dirty sketches in the half-opened drawer stare back at him.

“Oh fuck, there, m-ma’am,” Jimin whimpers and squeezes the tip, “fucking Christ—!”

White, creamy cum spurts out and lands on the table, on his tummy. Some of it even ends up splattered on the floor. Once is enough, he thinks as he forces his hand to stop, riding out his orgasm.

His greedy sensors begin to relax at the lack of stimulation, and Jimin tucks his cock back into his pants so that he can clean up his mess. He came to tidy up and ended up making it all dirtier – what would you think? Would you punish him? It was a mess, after all; dirty, messy, naughty.

But you want him. And you want him now.

“To be honest, Y/N, I wasn’t completely sure you’d even show up, but this is… This is brilliant! Hot, mature, dark, defiant—”

You glow at your editor’s praise, ignoring Yoongi’s judging look. Unlike her, he does know that there is an actual android living in your house whom you find particularly hot. But he’s not going to say anything, not when one of your projects has finally got her approval.

“I’m gonna keep this and hand it to my chief, okay?” she says with a smile.

You shrug. “Sure… I, uh, drew some steamier stuff, but I didn’t bring it here since I didn’t know how you’d react,” you say then, bringing the mug to your lips but noticing it’s empty already.

“Oh! I’ll talk it out with the publisher and give you a heads-up, how does that sound?” your editor continues. “It all depends on the level of explicit content they’ll want to keep for the work, but honestly, it sounds hot as fuck, so I’m sure you’ll be able to explore the topic wholeheartedly. Now—! Take the rest of the day off and go home, get a latte, take a bubble bath, whatever.”

She then grabs her stuff and storms off her office, claiming to have dozens of meetings and things to do. Which is probably true.

“I really can’t believe it – oh, you’re such a whore.”

“Hey!” you groan. “You were the one who told me that I should just… give in.”

“So, did you?” Yoongi asks, collecting the empty mugs and fetching all the papers her boss left behind herself.

“Not with him, but yeah, kinda. I mean, I found some ways to unwind,” you simply reply and help him clean up. “I’ve decided that this new outburst of ideas is too precious to waste.”

Instead of nodding or something, Yoongi just scoffs at you. As if that was the reason. But it’s helping you get over your artistic block, which is good for his job too, so he’s not going to complain too much. Besides, you look more at peace, and that is pretty much all that matters.

It’s almost lunchtime. You decide to call Taehyung, and the three of you meet at a nearby restaurant to have a bite together.

While you are an author and Yoongi is an Assistant Editor, Taehyung is part of the creative team. He designs covers and similar stuff for novels, helps you come up with colour schemes and pallets, and really is overall the eye everyone needs to make things shine their brightest. You met him and Yoongi long before you met your husband, and they’ve been with you ever since.

“The weather is so fine lately!” the youngest exclaims. “Why don’t you throw a barbeque?”

“At my place?”

Taehyung nods and looks at Yoongi for support. “Yeah, why not? Just make the robot do it.” You frown immediately at his words. “What is it now?”

“The android has a name, you know,” you reply.

“And why would that matter? It’s a robot, just a pile of circuits and microchips,” he mumbles, too shocked at your offence. “Even if it looks like a human, it doesn’t make it one, Y/N.”

You don’t know why, really, but it infuriates you to hear him talk about Jimin like that. Maybe you’ve gone a bit too far humanising him— it. Humanising it. But it feels so real when you look at… his eyes, his smile, his lips, his button nose. Something crafted with beautiful skill.

While your husband had made you a monster, he had made Jimin to be a piece of art.

Then, how could you not be angry at Taehyung’s shallow, hurtful words? Whatever love and sorrow were created with, Jimin and you were made from it.

“We all have our coping mechanisms, don’t we?” you finally say, shrugging. Yoongi chuckles next to you. “I don’t see why I can’t live a lie like that until it blows up in my face. Maybe you remember I’ve lusted after way worse men.”

Men, that’s the thing – Jimin is not a man.

Taehyung frowns. “Uh, I thought you originally wanted to pry secrets out of it about your ex.”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“I think— you’re mixing things up,” he sighs then as he starts playing with his fingers. “Maybe you should get back in touch with your therapist and discuss it with her? – you’re not going to listen to me anyway.”

You decide not to dwell on the subject any further; you want some peace of mind for when you come home to Jimin. He’s always such an expert when it comes to your gestures, can pick up any mood swing in an instant. It was scary at first, but now you’ve come to feel astonishingly natural about it. Maybe you even find it soothing.

It’s past ten when you get home. Not too drunk, maybe a little tipsy. At most – you swear.

Tiptoeing your way through the entrance hall, heels hanging from your hands, you hear the notification sound and take out your phone. You let out a giggle at Taehyung’s idiotic text, but suddenly you’re bumping your face on the wall and letting out a groan of pain.

Just as your wrist is finishing to heal, now you’re hurting your nose? Great.

You whimper a bit more on the floor before you get up and go on your way, still rubbing the bridge of your nose with a frown.

After managing to do your skincare routine and change into your pyjamas – or rather a tee and a pair of panties because Jesus Christ it is hot – you tuck yourself into your bed with a smile, glad to finally find yourself ready to sleep. Not a single worry or concern in your head, just the utter joy of knowing that tomorrow you won’t have to face any troubles.

And just like that, you fall asleep. And as always, one thought goes to your mysterious housemate.

He’s all over you, hot breath fanning against your cleavage.

With his hands snuck under your shirt and kneading your breasts, Jimin begins to play with one of your nipples and profusely watches your reactions, hoping to see you wake up any time soon.

You, however, only groan quietly and arch your back, thighs rubbing together. He’s not getting concerned only because you’re still breathing and you don’t look too pale. Jimin leaves a trail of kisses down your neck and rucks up the fabric, engrossed by the sight of your bare breasts.

He wants to touch every corner of your body, but he wants you to be awake to enjoy it.

Slowly, Jimin makes his way down to the waistband of your underwear. Your smell is so sweet, so intoxicating, each of his sensors is going wild at the mere thought of tasting you; your arousal against his tongue as he laps at your folds, your breasts bouncing as you arch your back, it all makes his fingers tighten on your hips. This desire to melt into your body is consuming him.

Jimin doesn’t need air, but he feels breathless.

His fingertips stroke your clothed folds, feeling them warm already. Arousal soaks the fabric, you’d welcome him so easily. One word from you and he’ll be on his knees ready to pleasure you.

“Hm…” you suddenly let out, turning your head around. Your hips buck, chasing his touch.

This is exactly what you wanted him to do, he thinks as he pulls down your underwear. He will fulfil your fantasy tonight.

As Jimin finds room between your thighs, you stir on the bed, pretty much unbothered for now. You’ll wake up to ecstasy, he’ll make sure you do. The firmest path to your love, he’ll carve it with his teeth if it’s necessary; with his tongue shoved between your legs as he helps his Master find complete bliss.

The trail of thoughts has left him a bit agitated by the time his lips meet your skin. Jimin plays with your inner thighs, kissing the flesh, teasing his sloppy way to your folds while his hands stroke up and down your waist. The sight of your wet heat welcomes him.

His tongue parts your lips, and he grips your butt to spread your legs, giving him better access. He wants you to drown him between your legs, make him yours, claim him. Sucking, licking, lapping at your folds, slurping and flicking his tongue; Jimin watches you move on the mattress once again, a soft moan escaping from your lips. Your thighs hug his head so nicely, and your hips rock against his mouth in a greedy search for that wet, warm pressure.

“What—?” Your eyes widen at the sight of Jimin’s face shoved against your cunt, and you pull your hips away from him in a jerk. He doesn’t try to stop you, crawling instead on top of you. “What the fuck, Jimin!” you let out. “Get away from me!”

You push his face away with your palm, and he backs off without complaint. Jimin ends up sitting on his knees – so poignant and obedient you almost pity him.

His face is still soaked with your arousal. “I’m sorry, ma’am, I thought—”

Jimin cuts himself off, and you’re surprised to see that you’ve managed to leave him speechless. Then, seeing you’re not showing any reaction besides your bated breath, he crawls back to you, and you lie back, unsure about what to do. What is there to do now? He seems insistent, and your core is still pulsing, eager to be pushed over the edge.

“I want to pleasure you, ma’am,” Jimin murmurs, staring down at you with his intense red LED-lit eyes.

They’re almost heart-shaped, seeing the adoration he’s looking at you with. It makes you rub your thighs together again.

Your eyes flicker to the red switch behind his ear for a second.

“Why?” you ask with a thin voice.

This time he nuzzles your neck but you don’t mind. Instead, you have to resist the urge to move your hand from his face up to the crown of his head and pet him. You want to know why would he decide to sneak into your bed and— well, eat you out.

“I… saw the things you drew,” Jimin says, and your cheeks heat up in a mortified blush. “So, I thought they were… us.”

“W-well, you thought— you thought wrong, Jimin—”

He nods weakly and lowers his eyes, perhaps unable to keep eye contact now that he’s failed in his task. You have no idea what his ‘brain’ works like. “Yes, ma’am, I see it now.”

Was it wrong of him? Of course it was. Have you been wishing that he – or you for that matter, were you any braver – would do it? Absolutely yes. Jimin has finally surpassed the line you were even afraid of admitting it was there, and you feel… free; to touch him, to let him touch you, to kiss and be kissed. Maybe this will be your final downfall into madness, so God, let it be spectacular.

“That’s not the answer I was expecting,” you muse, suddenly grinning. “What do you say when you’ve been bad, Jimin?”

His eyes look into yours in search of some kind of hesitation, of some signal that he might be taking your actions the wrong way – again. But you’re staring up at him, a confident look on you, hands stroking the back of his hair as they move to play with the switch.

His body trembles.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I won’t do it again.”

“That’s better.” Your smirk widens, leaving the switch behind to stroke the back of his hair. “Good boy.”

Good boy. Good boy. His whole body goes into overdrive, limps tightening to bend down for a kiss. Good boy. But you don’t want him there, not yet, so you beckon at him to keep going further down, and Jimin gets it instantly, nestling his head between your legs without a question; you’re still dripping wet from his previous ministrations.

His laps at your nub turn sloppy as his flat tongue moves long and slow with broad strokes, there’s saliva running down the corner of his lips again. Jimin wants to savour your wetness until it’s recorded in every chip inside his head.

“Of fuck, oh— Jimin, J-Jimin,” you groan. “Shit! There, just like that—”

This is so much better now that he can hear your voice.

Your sweet voice he’s fantasised so much about, every night since he recalls his own existence. It’s been you, always you, you all over.

With your thighs fluttering around his head, Jimin opens his mouth and starts fucking you with his tongue – a perk about being a robot is that his tongue never tires, like, ever. And he keeps shoving his pointed tongue inside of you again and again, until he pulls away; his chin is soiled with a filthy mix of your arousal and his saliva, whatever that’s made of.

Making eye contact, he slips a finger inside. You’re stretched out enough for it to slide in easily, especially since you’re dripping wet. His tongue keeps flickering at your swollen nub.

“Come up here.”

You finally join for a hard kiss, lips crushing in desperation. The contact leaves you both trembling, eager, expectant. He’s still wearing his pants as he nestles his hips against yours, face buried between your exposed breasts.

You take his hand in yours to pace it, and he gets the clue instantly, curling his finger inside of you.

Knuckles deep, Jimin keeps pumping them in and out carefully, eyes fixed on your face to see what makes you grunt and moan. You tug at his hair, sensors throbbing in excitement at the roughness, when the knot in the pit of your stomach tightens.

“I want you to make me cum,” you say then, staring into his glowing eyes.

“Yes, Master.”

He fingers you while you kiss him, brushing lips together, sucking on his tongue, fingertips massaging your dripping walls and rubbing your sweet spot.

It all feels so real to the touch, you’re slowly sinking into a different world; a world where he’s human and you’re cradling a person in your arms, a world where your heart doesn’t bleed at any resemblance of love. A world where it doesn’t scare you. And it’s all Jimin, hovering over you like a dutiful shadow.

“Master,” he moans against your lips. “F-fuck, I was— I was made for loving you, Master.”

And you were made for being loved by me.

Jimin’s lips clumsily brush against yours, your tongues rolling over each other in a sloppy kiss. Pleasure grips your guts tightly, you can’t help but wish it was his cock instead working you open. Fucking you into what’s probably the best orgasm of your life.

Pleasure seeps into you with a shiver, starting from the crown of your head and taking over the rest of your body. You call for him in a whisper, and Jimin replies chanting your name like it’s a prayer. The way he adores you just pushes you further into your approaching climax. The coiling tension in your stomach engorges and gets bigger, you chase your orgasm against his fingers, his thumb stroking your swollen clit until your guts tighten.

“Shit, J-Jimin, you’re— you’re doing so well,” you groan and sink your teeth into the fake flesh of his neck. “I’m close, I’m close—”

Your hips stutter as they thrust up against his fingers, and Jimin goes faster, trying to separate the delicious sting of your love bite to focus on his arm’s motions. They have to be perfect, exact, and precise to bring you to your climax.

But he lets out a moan of pleasure when your walls clench around his finger; the memories of your warmth around him are foggy and delirious.

His body feels boiling against yours, machinery melting. Whatever his conscience is like, it’s slowly vanishing into pleasure, a mellow taste of honey on his tongue. It’s sweet and intoxicating, just like your touch – just like your hands, crawling right now to his neck to anchor him over you.

Then you go still underneath him, under his cautious stare, and with a grin, you climax around his fingers. You groan his name and claim his lips again, to which he obliges, of course. Your skin is sweaty, and you’re fighting to catch your breath while he worships your body in the afterglow of your orgasm.

Jimin peppers little pecks down your neck and chest with adoration. “Thank you, Master, thank you, thank you—”

Now that you’ve quenched your sickly thirst for the robot, you’ll go on living your normal life. No more nightly encounters, no more delirious feelings of tenderness. You will exist normally from now on.

You’re a liar. A filthy, wicked liar.

Never again, you had told yourself after that night. Letting Jimin eat you out in your own bed until you came not once but three times was one thing. Letting him sleep next to you as he recharged was a bit over the line but still acceptable.

And now here you are, sitting on the kitchen counter with your legs spread open and Jimin’s warm tongue shoved into your cunt. This wicked tryst has been going on for days now, seems to be your chosen pastime ever since. Any time you run into each other at the house, it’s like you get instantly wet and feel that familiar tingling between your thighs, and he’s not even a bit less reactive to you. Whoever reacts first doesn’t matter, the other will act accordingly; it’s as if you were addicted to each other.

Jimin knows your body like the palm of his hand. Knows where to touch you to make you tremble, knows what to say to fuel you. Always so eager to please you.

It’s like your hormones are constantly bubbling up, boiling inside your body pending his presence.

You’re practically fucking Jimin’s mouth with your tongue now. Fingers tangled in his hair, you want him as close as he may be. The feeling of his wet tongue on your cunt still lingers like a throbbing memory.

“Jimin,” you whisper against his lips.

His hands are on the counter, grounding himself. “Yes, Master?” he replies then, following your lips in another kiss.

“You’ve been enough of a tease, don’t you think?” you ask with an arched eyebrow, and Jimin tilts his head to the side, rather confused. “I want your cock now.”

You don’t know why, but you've yet to try him out. All of him, that is. Jimin has proved himself to be worthy of your body and trust, able to worship with each part of his. Except, for some reason, his cock – but you’ve started to suspect why he’s so reluctant to do it.

As Jimin begins to fumble with his pants, his eyes are fixed on yours; it’s the first time you notice him unsure about something, and it makes you shrink in doubt. Your hands find rest on his.

“You didn’t like it,” he murmurs then, “with him.”

How he is aware of that you don’t know. Although he doesn’t refer to him as his Master anymore, you’ve taken over that title now. For Jimin, that sweet, evergreen word will be chained to you forever, and he will honour it. Engraved in his hands, in the pad of his fingers, in the tip of his tongue as he worships you.

You cup his cheeks, stroking them with your thumbs. “But you’re not him, are you?”

In a way. You’d be repulsed.

Jimin’s silence confuses you, but you decide not to dwell on it, and so you pull him in for another kiss; you run your tongue over his lips, and he parts his luscious lips to let you in.

With a mischievous grin, you jump off the counter and face Jimin as you play with the waistband of his trousers, making him step back until the two of you slowly fall on the couch. Once you take his cock out, you raise your hips, finally about to feel him.

And then a ringing noise interrupts.

His LED-lit eyes turn into a devious yellowish tone when you pull back to pick up the phone with a groan.

Jimin knows that voice, has seen the guy’s face – Kim Taehyung, the little shit who would hit on you all the time when you were at work. The memories of his face are tinted with an angry red he hasn’t even put there himself, bloody-like and rabid. But the mere thought enrages him, and he doesn’t understand why.

“I know it’s at short notice, and it sucks, but my boss wants us to get at it as soon as possible…”

Seeing Taehyung is still talking, you mouth at Jimin ‘work’ so that he knows you’ll hang up as soon as possible. You love your friend, you really do, but can’t he understand that you’re off work right now?

“Okay, sure, see you. Bye—”

The call has barely finished when he grabs your phone to throw it away. When you turn to demand an explanation, a shiver takes over your body. It’s a feeling of dread, one you’re familiar with.

“Don’t go,” he begs, nuzzling your neck. “Stay home with me, please.”

Warm tears wet your neck, his arms tangled around you. You’re unable to move right now, but you’re not fighting his grip off either, too confused; not aware of the storm of screeching thoughts passing by in his mind, mixed with alien feelings that are rooted deep inside of him.

You’re staring down at him dumbfoundedly when Jimin pulls back. There’s an instinct inside of you screaming to get away, but instead, you wipe his tears.

He grabs his head and looks down with his eyes closed. “I’m— I’m sorry, Master. I-I’m so sorry, please forgive me,” he whimpers then, but it doesn’t feel like he’s talking to you when Jimin starts hitting his forehead. “Forget it! Just forget it, forget it, forget it!”

Your chest feels heavy, and your body feels cold, the heat of the moment nowhere to be seen.

Slowly, you get off of him to pull your pants back up, and he does the same, avoiding your eyes. He doesn’t need to know he’s let you down right now.

But this time, though, you feel bad for him; Jimin is sobbing in a way you’ve heard no one cry before. It’s the purest form of self-inflicted pain you’ve seen, and maybe you only remember your own laments to sound like that. When you’d wake up and look in the mirror just to greet the pitiful reflection of a thrown-away doll.

You coo at him as you leave a kiss on his wet lips. “Shh, it’s okay.” Had it been another person, you wouldn’t be feeling this warmth in the pit of your stomach – but you are, and you want to sooth Jimin’s pain. “I know you didn’t mean it. Just don’t do something like this again.”

The main difference is, your Master never apologised. He always thought that, whatever he’d take with his deadly hands, he was entitled to it. The world owed him adoration.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, nodding.

“How about I turn you off while I’m at work?” you ask him then as you rake your nails through his hair.

“Please… I want to rest.”

With a gentle flick of your fingers, you turn Jimin off for the first time. Watching his body shut down is almost like watching him fall asleep, and you smile sweetly at the sight.

He probably won’t get cold, but you cover him with a cosy blanket anyways. And so you walk out of the house, grabbing your purse on your way. A meeting with the creative department doesn’t sound like fun right now, but actually, you could use some work to blow off this weird feeling inside of you.

Because, how on earth does he know those things? You’ve never told anyone that your ex-husband used to be a complete ape with his cock. Not on purpose, you hope, but Jesus Christ, you’d always have to limp your way to the bathroom afterwards.

Also, he’d always make you dry as hell.

And even though he wasn’t loving, nor a good lover, nor sensitive or caring, he had you in the palm of his hand. You can’t recall a more humiliating feeling than remembering you were in love with him.

The meeting goes, well, just as you expected – boring and way too long. Could’ve perfectly been just an email. But the team is happy to see your project go on, and you’re happy too. In fact, it’s done its job so well that you only remember about Jimin’s odd behaviour today the moment you step back into the house.

Jimin is sitting on the couch, right where you left him.

Looking cherubic and beautiful, you stare at his eyes, his cheeks, his lips, his nose, and wonder where did your ex-husband get the inspiration to make him.

You lean in for a kiss on his inert lips as your thumb strokes the switch behind his ear. Naturally, his body doesn’t react in any way to your presence, and you let out a chuckle of frustration, finally turning him back on.

His eyes flutter a bit before he looks at you.

“Hi there, angel.”

Jimin smiles softly at you, nuzzling your hand in search of warmth. How sweet he is, he’s nothing like him. Not a bit.

He claims your cuddles with a gentle tug at your hand, and you sit next to him, letting him rest his head on your shoulder. You rake your nails through his hair as you stare into the nothingness, too engrossed in your thoughts.

However, you’re starting to feel weirded out about just how much Jimin knows about you; why would your ex ever tell him about your problems in bed, for example? Judging by his reaction to the call, did he also talk about that time when you flirted with Taehyung perhaps a bit too much, before you confessed you were married and became friends? You don’t think your husband knew about all those things, let alone told Jimin about them.

So, why does he know, then?

What else does he know that you can’t even fathom? Your chest tingles at the prospect of already being bare before him; there are so many things you still feel ashamed of, you don’t want him out of all people to… know.

Besides, you still have no idea why. Actually, you don’t know a thing about Jimin, about his origins, about how or why he was created like this. You had sworn and promised in the past that you had decided to keep him to find out about all of that, and really, you’ve just forgotten about it.

“I just remembered” – you suddenly get up from the couch, and Jimin pouts at the sudden lack of warmth – “I left some sketches in the office. I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Will you be back for dinner?” he asks, nonetheless.

“Yes, of course.”

Then you get up to fetch your purse in silence. Once you have everything you need, you wave your hand in goodbye and head to the entrance hall under Jimin’s consuming stare; it’s not watchful, but it really is intense. You feel it burning on your nape.

“Master?” You turn around when he calls you again. “You’re not mad at me about earlier, are you? I don’t know what happened to me, I’m really sorry… I was made to make you happy.”

Made to make you happy, made for loving you. You, you, you. It’s always you with him, like you’re his world. It only makes you frown, but you help the urge and smile instead, wishing it will ease his worries.

“Don’t be, I understand—”

“I’m not like him,” he suddenly says, and you feel cold all over.

“What?” You try to put on a calm face, but what he just said really weirded you out. “W-what do you mean?”

Jimin gets up and walks up to you, gently tugging at your arms. “I’m not like him, I would never be. He was a despicable monster, a-and I know I’m not even human, but— I love you, Master, I love you better than he ever could.” Then he kisses you, and you can’t help kissing him back. “I’ll do better, I promise. I won’t cross you again.”

His words make your stomach churn, but you don’t say anything; you’ve got some heavy work ahead. So, you peck his lips one more time and say goodbye, leaving him standing in the entrance hall all on his own.

It’s luminous, with a sickly white light, just as you remember it. Sterile, made of steel, and eternally silent. Few places give you the creeps like your ex-husband’s lab.

Although the place is not huge, you’re so unfamiliar with it that you wouldn’t even know where to begin with. He surely must have kept a journal of his experiments, right? He was always so keen on writing on paper— but maybe they took it away already.

It’s so weird to think that he’s dead now, though – you always thought him so powerful, so eternal, that death was never in your mind. How could it be when he was the ruler and commander of your life? What would you be without him, you pitiful butterfly? Always his angel, his pretty little thing, his loving wife he was so in love with.

And now he’s dead. Like a pathetic, weak human, he’s dead.

Instead of feeling sad or uneasy about it, it makes you feel good. It feels so, so good to know that he’s rotting somewhere. You hope it hurt.

You move around the room, looking at your surroundings; plans and sketches scattered on tables that no one has bothered to clean, half-made robotic arms, and dozens of inventions displayed on shelves like they’re his prizes.

But contrary to what you expected – or not since you always knew he was a control freak – you find his journals piled up and sorted out by date on one of the shelves at the end. If you remember correctly, Mrs Im said he started working on Jimin five years ago. That is, three and a half years before your divorce, so you look for the notebooks with that year written on them.

“Aha! Gotcha.”

You start revising the first journal, turning the pages as your eyes fly over the letters. Finally, you find the first notes; he mentions a folder with the official project information, but you will look for it later. What you read is more or less what his lawyer told you, the research of android models for sale as sex products.

It feels a little strange to read it on paper, so cold, when Jimin’s presence is so warm.

However, something catches your attention out of a sudden. You read it again to make sure you didn’t misinterpret it, but it’s pretty hard to do it:

The experiments are running smoothly: thanks to my memories, Jimin reacts to basic stimulation, and his sensors work well. Today it hardened only by smelling one of Y/N’s pieces of underwear. It will be a success if I manage to set his arousal on with vaguer objects or smells.

You turn the pages, being met only with shallow comments on the experiment. But you want to see if he mentions you again. What did he mean, ‘his memories’? How could that be possible? And why would he use you out of all people to test Jimin’s… sensors, or whatever he’s talking about?

To check next day: refractory period. Just when I was about to see if Jimin recovers faster when the stimulation is linked to her, she came down to announce her mother had just arrived. I ought to continue the experiment from there.

I hate that old woman; I wish I could get rid of her forever. I know she talks shit about me to Y/N.

Your eyebrow immediately arches at the comment; for years he would cry about how your mother hated him, and it turns out the feeling was mutual. Honestly, at this point, you’re not even surprised.

For the time being, you want to focus on processing the fact that somehow your crazy ex-husband managed to turn his memories into chips, or whatever. You don’t have a clue about these things. To insert them into Jimin and, well, you guess, customise his sexual arousal? Does that even make sense?

Jimin seems to have taken on an odd behaviour lately. It follows Y/N around the house but is aware it must not be seen. It knows of conversations the two of us have had without being present, and even of things not even I knew about; today Y/N showed up with a new mug and thanked me for buying it, but it was not me.

I have also noticed a growing aggressiveness towards me. More verbal than physical, but I am studying the possibility of speeding up the selling.

Suddenly breathless, you limply put the notebook back on the table.

So, it wasn’t him. None of it was, probably. The mug, or the flowers, or those cute notes he’d leave on the fridge wishing you a good day – they had all been Jimin’s. And suddenly you feel so, so fucking relieved.

He had been the problem all along. Not even Jimin, who had his memories, had his wickedness. Jimin was sweet, so he could’ve been too; he just didn’t want to.

And that is all you needed to know.

Then you realise you’ve reached the end of the notebook. You grab the next one, which covers a year and a half and covers your divorce. This is probably the only chance you’ll ever get to know what he was really feeling back then. Or ever, for that matter.

It seems that my memories are a bigger influence on Jimin’s personality than I first thought. It has become obsessed with my wife as if it was in love with her.

I know it was the plan all along, but I cannot help wondering if I have taken it too far.

I have not been fighting to keep her with me so that thing will ruin my chances of staying with her.

You smile fondly as you read it. However, as your eyes reach the last paragraph, you frown with disgust at his words. How could he speak like that of his own creation? Oh, what a heartless man. You cannot help but pity him. A body filled with hatred and fear and pain, he was a good for nothing.

This week I will be conducting no experiments as I ought to see my lawyer.

You quickly turn the page again.

This time, you’re startled as you observe the handwriting; it’s messy, angry, written so strongly that the pen almost ripped the paper. The page underneath is marked, the letters never to be forgotten.

I hate him. I hate him, and I hate her. And I love her. Y/N is mine, Jimin is mine, they are both mine, yet I cannot make them do what I think it’s best.

She fucking left. I would make her such a masterful thing if she’d only let me.

But there’s always that beastly creature stopping me.

Stopping him, how? What did he mean by that?

The next notes don’t feel too interesting; he doesn’t even sound like he’s enjoying himself anymore. The comments are technical, and he noted down some of his thoughts about the companies that had offered to buy Jimin.

But then you realise something.

If he wanted to sell – and it sounded like he was pretty confident about his decision – why would he leave Jimin to you in his will? If he wanted you to stay as far from him as possible.

You’re done with the notebook, so you grab the next one. It seems to be the last one, too; there are no more journals in sight, and it looks like most of the pages of this one have never been touched before. The spine doesn’t look too used either. Maybe he finished the project quickly before he even had the chance to write much?

There’s no way out. Every time, it manages to catch up on me. Wherever I go, it knows. Whatever I do, it knows. It will be standing at the end of the corridor, looking at me, grinning like it knows my darkest secrets. I cannot get out of the house without it knowing, it knows everything. I’m sure it’ll kill me.

If I die, it killed me.

My love, if you ever read this, please know that he is worse than I will ever be. If you’re reading this and I’m gone, know that his hands are dripping with blood, not mine. I know I’m sick, but so are you. We were sick in love, were we not? Loving each other until our souls rotted.

He’s different. He has no soul, no sickness. He doesn’t understand your darkness the way I do.

It makes me full, like an endless cycle. There is no birth without blood, but for him, there was no blood, no guts. He’s as human as I will make him, ripped out from my ribs.

His love is my sickness. Remember it if you ever love him back.

“Master?”

For the first time in a while, you’re terrified to hear his voice.

Turning around, you see Jimin standing at the top of the stairs. You flinch when he takes a step down, so he stops altogether and waits for a reaction, a word, a sound – anything from you, something to let him know you don’t despise him.

“Did you follow me here?” you ask with a frown, too afraid not to be crossed.

“I was worried,” he murmurs. “You left so suddenly you forgot your phone at home… A-and I did think that perhaps you were lying and that you’d be coming here instead.”

And he was right, in a way. But that doesn’t give him the right to follow you. That’s practically stalker behaviour. You’re starting to get the creeps, so Jimin goes all the way down to you and gently takes your hands. You don’t know if you don’t move out of fear or because you’re too comfortable with his touch.

Your voice comes out weakly. “Did you really kill him?”

“Yes,” he says with a smile. “I— I did it for you, Master. He erased my memories, I had to do something. He wanted to take me away from you.”

“So, you killed him,” you repeat, rather to yourself. Nodding slowly, you pull your hands away from his and turn around, needing some air to sort out your thoughts. “Because— because you wanted to stay with me? Why?”

You already know the answer. You don’t believe it yet, you don’t think it possible – but you know what words you’ll hear.

“Because I love you.”

Jimin seems ashamed of it, as he avoids your eyes and decides to stare at the floor instead. Like a boyish love confession on a sunny school day, your delusional body warms up the idea, but he can’t, can he? He can’t love you.

“Jimin,” you call softly, and finally, he looks up from the floor, “when you look at me, do you see me? Me, as a human, as a woman, as a creature? Do you even understand all of that?”

And then he smiles, and your chest blooms. “Yes – and you’re fascinating.”

All those years watching you, sneaking glances of you walking around the house, so close but still so far away. He’d dream of you, dream of you in his arms, him in yours, sharing kisses, pleasuring you the way his Master could not. He’d be careful, he’d be loving, he’d listen to each of your words.

“He gave me this body and all the cables and everything that keeps me moving, but you, Y/N— you gave me a conscience! You made everything make sense! You made me human,” Jimin claims in a whisper.

You can’t help but frown. “But he deleted them. How can you still remember me?”

You’re getting an answer for each of your questions, but somehow, they all seem only to leave you even more confused.

“He didn’t,” Jimin rushes to say, and then he goes on to explain further, seeing your puzzled face, “Not all of them, at least. I didn’t let him. I wanted to be with you, I didn’t want to… forget you.”

“Why?”

“Because after I got to know you through his memories I realised that, if there’s any person on this world that could accept me despite what I am, that was you. I thought you could love me.”

Letting out a sigh – of desperation, tiredness, love, you have no idea – you cup his cheeks and purse your lips. Do you love him? You’re not sure. Your stomach churns and turns at the mere idea of losing him, but can you really love him?

His words echo in your head like poison. His love is my sickness. Remember it if you ever love him back.

But is it, really? Jimin’s love feels soft. It doesn’t feel smothering or drowning. He loves you just the way you want to be loved. You don’t feel owned by him, on the contrary. Actually, you think Jimin loves you despite his husband’s sickness. That must be why he apologised when it took over him this evening at Taehyung’s call.

The sickness shrieked, the love apologised and learned.

“I know they aren’t mine,” he continues, snapping you out of your thoughts. “I know it wasn’t me you fell in love with, whom you slept with, the person you decided to spend the rest of your life with. I know it was him all along, but I—” Jimin nuzzles your neck in a desperate search for your warmth. “I can’t help it! I was made for loving you!”

But instead of answering, you tilt his chin up and kiss him.

“Living— living with the memories,” he continues as you leave pecks on the corner of his lips, “of your touch, of your warmth, your love.” Jimin’s arms tangle around your waist. “Loving you but forced to stay away – it was torture, Master.”

His breath feels warm against you, his hands feel hungry around you. His red LED-lit eyes stare into yours, searching for a sign, any indication of love.

You brush your lips together, softly at first, until his whimper makes you grin and run your tongue over his lip, asking for entrance. You suck his bottom lip into his mouth until he does, tongues rolling over each other in a heated kiss. With your skin burning up, you run your hands through his hair, and Jimin cautiously squeezes your butt when you push him against the counter.

Suddenly, you sink to your knees and begin to fumble with the waistband of his pants.

“So, you have sensors, right?” He nods weakly. “Everywhere.”

“Y-yes, ma’am—”

“And is there any way to alter them? Is it possible to make you last longer, or even make you not last at all?” you ask, still kneeling before him. Again, Jimin nods and closes his eyes. “Then, I want you as sensitive as possible.”

“Yes, ma’am…”

He must have a limit, and you want to find it. Either he runs out of cum, or his sensors give up, or he just fucking short-circuits.

It doesn’t take long for Jimin to get hard between your fingers, smooth rolls of your wrist as you pump him with an affectionate but hungry pace. Letting out a gasp, Jimin grips the edge of the counter for balance; he’s indeed too sensitive not to react to the touch he’s been craving his whole existence.

“So hard,” you purr, “I can’t wait to taste you, Jimin…”

“M-master, please, Master! Oh fuck, oh—” Jimin whimpers in response, gritting his teeth.

His body is shaking when you part your lips and engulf his cock, eyes glued to his pretty face. His knees buckle, and he squeaks in pleasure, you hollow your cheeks to swallow more of him. Meanwhile, your other hand gently plays with his balls.

“That— that f-feels so good, Master,” he rasps. In appreciation, you suck further down onto his cock until there’s a trickle of saliva rolling down your chin. “Shit! God, thank you!”

You somehow manage to grin with his cock between your parted lips. Jimin seems too aroused to process any robotic thought properly, so you move your hands to his ass and knead the flesh, pushing your lips into your mouth. He yelps instantly and follows it with his hips, and then you dip your tongue into his slit; it makes him let out a sob and almost fall to his knees, warning you of his climax, or rather begging you to slow down.

Your darkened lips, wet with saliva, suck again while your tongue presses on his tip. His cock throbs, a salty flavour you think it’s fake precum lingering on it. His hardened length slides in and out of your mouth with sloppy movements.

Jimin lets out a choked sob. “Master!” Filled with guilt, as gently as his trembling body will let him, he puts his hands on your hair. “L-let me cum, I need to— I-I need to come, please—”

Finally, you raise your head to let his length slide out of your mouth, and you catch back your precious breath.

“Sensitive, are we?” you mock him.

There’s time for him only to roll his eyes, out of annoyance or pleasure, before his hips buckle into your mouth one more time. The coiling tension in his sensors pools in the centre of his body, Jimin sucks in a sharp breath, and soon his cock twitches again, heavy on your tongue, warning you of his high.

“Master,” he whimpers. “T-thank you, Master, fuck— shit!”

And Jimin spills himself inside of your mouth, his release salty and more similar to actual cum than you expected. After swallowing, you help him ride out his orgasm using both hands and lips.

He’s still holding his weight on the counter when you speak, “Get on the table and lie down.”

He was probably expecting to eat you out since you pull down your pants once you straddle him, so it does take Jimin by surprise when you align your entrance with his half-hard cock. You hear him mumble something as your hand grips his cum-covered length, fingers playing with his release and making him let out a gasp.

“Are you still sensitive?” Barely able to keep eye contact, Jimin nods weakly. “Good.”

You quickly get rid of both your and his shirt. Once you’re naked against each other, you bend down to finally touch, knead, nib, and kiss wherever you feel like; you’ve had enough of leisurely letting him pleasure you without taking your part.

Your warm lips leave a trail of kisses down his neck and chest. “I’ll ride you again and again… until you either run out of cum or short-circuit.”

“M-mast—!”

Jimin lets out a choked sob when you sink down on his cock, immediately rolling down your hips. A hint of pain takes over you as your walls grip him, stretching around his length, and you moan. It’s been a while since you last had such a nice cock work you open— but then Jimin’s hands grab your waist, and his blissed face takes you completely off guard.

“Fuck, so good, Master, I love— I love you,” he whines.

His eyes move down to his cock disappearing into your body; you feel so warm, so wet, the pressure around him letting him know that you’re stuffed with him too.

You breathe out and thrust down onto him again, setting a desperate, frenetic tempo. “You feel good too, angel, shit—” The sounds of smacking flesh echo across the room, pushing you to ride him faster. “Gonna fuck you until I go mad—”

With your hands splayed across his chest, you use him for leverage to slam your hips together.

“Please, don’t stop!” Jimin begs you then, eyes rolling back. “Oh, coming, M-Master! I’m— I’m close, p-please—!”

You bend down again and nuzzle his neck only to gently bite on his earlobe, making him purr. “So, you want to come inside of me, Jimin? Want to fill your Master up with your cum? Is that—” A groan drowns down your throat when his cock finally finds and pumps into the right spot. “I-is that what you want?”

The heated kiss the two of you share is enough of an answer. You tilt your hips so that your clit rubs against his pubic bone, pushing you closer to your climax.

Body arching against you, Jimin pushes back up against your thrusts erratically. His thighs move up and down to help, the seeming muscles bulging and flexing, and all his system starts to burn, aching to burst. His cock slides into your dripping cunt in a desperate tempo.

Jimin sucks on the skin of your neck before whispering, breathless, “I’m—”

And then you feel it – a tremble, a soft pant, and one last powerful thrust up into you before you groan at the warm feeling of his cum flooding you. Jimin reaches out for your body as he convulses, hugging you tightly before you give in and kiss him. Your hips don’t stop after even helping him ride out his climax, and he looks at you with his brows knitted in confusion. But you smirk, his creamy release leaking from your entrance and leaking down his cock.

“Ugh— hurts, Master,” he whines then. His fingers dig into your waist.

“Told you,” you whisper; “I’ll ride you until I come, no matter how many times I have to make you come.”

Like a man who has accepted his doom, Jimin lets you kiss him again, this time hungrily sucking his bottom lip into your mouth. A groan vibrates in your throat, you can tell you’re close, judging by the way your body is burning up, your swollen clit rubbing against the base of his cock.

It softens partially inside of you, but not for long; maybe it’s because of his sensors – since they’re set to the highest level of sensitivity – that Jimin sucks in a sharp breath when you clench around him.

“I’m close, angel,” you say, almost grunting.

You’re close, can feel your climax teasing you. Heat spreads under your skin, and you have to fight not to crumble on top of him, thighs burning. He stares at your sweat, covering your body, sliding down the valley of your breasts, tapping against the metal surface. You enjoy how Jimin responds to your touch when you stroke down his chest and realise he’s close too.

Slowly, you raise your hips and snap them onto his cock again, eyes never leaving his beautiful red LED-lit irises.

“Cum with me, will you?”

You’re so full of his cum already, you’re sure it’ll leak out for hours. But your lips find each other in the sickly whitish light blinking over you, and it’s so comforting that you can’t help the tension snapping in the pit of your stomach with a deep moan muffled against his lips.

“Shit, shit, baby—! Oh, fuck, so good, so good,” you chant, now rutting your hips faster.

You dissolve into pleasure with his arms around you, grounding you to him. Walls fluttering around his cock, the shockwaves grip your body like a fit of hysterical lust, pushing you to fuck him faster, harder, balls swinging against your cheeks until Jimin lets out a trembling sob; then he empties himself inside of your tight walls, and you relentlessly fuck him through his orgasm, slower by the minute.

Jimin watches your breasts as they heave up and down in an attempt to catch your breath. Meanwhile, his system slows down, now trying to run smoothly.

You smile when his thumbs stroke your waist in circles. “What?”

“I still…” His smile falters, now totally back on earth. “I still don’t know if you want to keep me, Master.”

“You’ll have to stop calling me ‘Master’ eventually, you know,” you say and ignore his pleading question. Caressing his cheeks feel way more interesting right now.

“Why?”

“Well” – you sit up on his lap, making some of his release leak out and drip down your inner thighs – “I’m sure people will start making questions, don’t you think? I believe you should stick to it only at home, when we’re alone— or even better, only in the bedroom.”

It takes him a second to realise you’re taking him. With this, you’re claiming him, you didn’t even doubt it for a second.

Jimin is yours, forever, however long that lasts.

Don’t hesitate to like, reblog, and leave some feedback if you liked it! It’s always good and encouraging to know what you think <3

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vodissey · 1 month

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"What I was made for?"

Madelyne Pryor

#madelyne pryor #xmen #does madelyne dreams of electric scott #mister sinister #whole clone arc with doomed marriage...i see even more sci fi horror here #fan art #cyclops #digital art #marvel comics #digital sketch #marvel #x men comics #scott summers #jean grey #my art

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bucknastysbabe · 8 months

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Hey look I finished an AU bingo ask! I enjoyed this one so much💖 I felt the brain cooking making up and putting together actual smart people science words. Thanks for the request!

AU bingo - Sci-fi Horror - Aemond Targaryen

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Murder AI Aemond, obsessive/stalking behaviors, TW TW TW: NONCON AND DUBCON. The noncon is not a full scene but warning, non-descript mass murder, scientist!reader, nanotechnology, spaceship setting, somewhere far in the future, pnv!sex, masturbation, Aemond kinda has a mommy kink if you squint and a Bible quote kink lmfao, v!fingering, manipulation, space odyssey gone wrong trope

A/N: No beta I’ll prob come back and fix some shit soon

The ship landed with a faint thud on the green, green exo-planet. You followed Aemond along quietly, meek, fearful, broken. Coming down the unfurled slanted walkway a sweet smell hit your senses. Miles of flowery fields waved, a perfect breathable atmosphere. In the distance, avian-like creatures tittered. A fragment of peace was in your tattered soul.

He hummed softly, gesturing to the beauty.

"God blessed them; and God said to them, ‘Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth, and subdue it; and rule over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the sky and over every living thing that moves on the earth.’”

You felt that Aemond was the serpent and remained quiet, breathing in the fresh air. Nothing like home. Maybe you could start anew. The man turned to look, stating, “But we’re God. We have a duty. We shall make this planet everything that Earth has failed to do. Join me, be my Eve will you?” He seemed genuine.

A long fingered hand extended to you. Your gaze flickered between that glowing eye and the outstretched digits. You grabbed his hand, interlacing your fingers. Together, looking upon the horizon you murmured, “Yes, my Adam. You were the greatest creation after all.”

He pecked the stray tear rolling down your cheek, squeezing your palm, lips curling in glee.

It wasn’t meant to end up like that for you. At one point Aemond was your AI. Artificially Enhanced Monitor Of Nanites Directive. Simply installed cameras and layer upon layers of wafer thin circuits loaded with information. Aemond preferred to be referred as he. He was also an arrogant bastard, but helpful as was his intent.

Your coworker Greaves and Aemond did not get along well, the AI criticizing his work. You’d tune them out with plugs or music buds. The scientist laden ship had a destination to a far away mining colony. The general’s plan was to find a way to used nano-technology to replace missing arms, eyes, and other wounds. Time was running thin but the blonde man in cryo-stasis would be your second trial.

The first did not end well. Her body rejected the technology, turning the human into a mindless wreck. Greaves blamed it on you, then General Hightower gave a harsh scolding and upped the time. Aemond consoled you a bit, offering advice. He seemed to take a liking to your banter on the nanotechnology.

He wasn’t the only AI. Other sectors of the ship worked on different but crucial projects such as alien anti-parasitics and ramping up on space suits equipped for defense. Colonization was on the horizon.

Plucking and prodding the little nanites with different stimuli had them snapping and shifting, seeking to find a form. You just needed to code what form they would assume. Aemond’s clipped voice echoed over you. He suggested, “Have you tried printing a molded cast of the man’s eye socket?”

Perching your chin on a shaky hand you smiled, “I swear, it’s always the simplest things I miss. Thank you Aemond.”

“You would have realized soon, want me to begin the scans and print? Likely you need rest, I know the stress of the upped time is draining your bodily function. The brain needs much more sleep, especially one as bright as yours.”

You blushed a bit, fumbling your tweezers. The AI had a certain…courtly way of words. His sort of programming wouldn’t allow for flirtation but it certainly came across like that. Greaves mocked you and the intelligence’s ‘crush’. Greaves always found a way to make you miserable. You did all the major work and he got the accolades.

Shaking yourself out of your thoughts you announced, “You’re right, I’ll go rest for a bit, get back to work with the mold. Thank you again, and engage lockdown protocol so he doesn’t mess up my work like last time.”

“Engaging it now, sleep well Miss.”

You crashed as soon as you reached your quarters, sleeping deeply and sound. Upon awakening and getting dressed you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Just chalk it up to your fried nerves. It wasn’t the first time and this was an older ship, ghost stories had gotten to you before.

The mold was in a canister from the printer, you scrubbing up and carefully taking it out. Aemond politely asked, “Did you sleep well? You look refreshed.” Blushing yet again you murmured, “Very much needed, I didn’t realize how exhausted I was.”

“Greaves has been in the mess hall, you will likely get some peace now. Shall we begin?”

The armor folded off your precious lab table, the nanites dormant from no stimuli. Pressing a button you placed the mold into a hatch, sending it up into the chamber. In fluid motions the little bugs covered the new space, feeling and searching before all inserting into the eye socket, glowing a bright blue.

You laughed in glee, “Yes! Yes perfect! Look at that Aemond, they’ve formed a pupil!”

Shining light on the false eye the pupil contracted and flinched, the illusion of eyelids closing. You cheered again in excitement, getting Aemond to video the big jump in success. You could start phase two soon. Just had to deal with your partner.

“Amazing miss, amazing. They took to it well. Shall I send the material to command?”

You grinned and looked up at the camera, “Please! God bless! A miracle!” You’d continue to test the nanite organ until the hiss of the door opening alerted you.

Greaves stumbled in, slurring, “I see you got the jump on me this time. Did the creep robot do it for you? Weird fucking thing.” He leaned against the sterile white wall, grinning with hazy eyes. You frowned and stood up, “That’s his job, to aid us. I’m sure since you work so hard in the mess hall you’ll get your accolades again.”

He squinted at you, arms folding against a chest, “Whas’ your fuckin’ problem with me? You’d rather chat with a bunch of circuits than work with your assigned partner!” His already reddened face darkened, taking another step forward.

Fear laced through your veins. Aemond somehow sneered, “Because you, her lab partner, sold her out on your own mistake. Go to bed, your alcohol content levels are above the limit.” Greaves threw his hands up and hollered, “Oh fuck you!” He stumbled to the switch, you and the AI shutting up when Greaves switched him off.

The bigger man kept stalking closer, eyes on you in an darkened manner. Like a predator closing in on his prey. You squeaked, “Calm down Greaves, I can show you everything!” He hissed, “I already heard everything and the video, bitch! S’bout time someone put you in your place again.”

He snatched your wrist, slamming you against the steel cryo-chamber. You howled in pain, trying to escape. Greaves’ breath stunk of liquor, hot and rank, sweating on your clean skin. He pushed himself on top of you, mumbling frantically, “Maybe you need to get fucked, all that pent up shit from your computer boyfriend.”

You struggled and cursed, “Fuck you! Get off of me! I will report you!” He smirked, “Try me. No cameras with your prince in shining circuits around.” He forced himself between your legs, clumsy drunk hands yanking at your pants. You cried in fear again, kneeing and biting, getting a clock to the head.

Dazedly you remembered the tweezers in your coat. Playing limp had the idiot croon, “Good girl, thats what we want to see.” He shoved his face into your neck, hands prying your lab pants knee height now. Thats when you struck, slowly, slowly, pulling the tweezers from your pocket and jabbing him in the side, hopefully near a lung.

Greaves hollered in pain, breath wheezy and stilted, blood dripping from white cloth. You kicked and removed yourself, stumbling and bumping around in a frenzy as your partner tried to scramble after you. First, you switched on Aemond again. Secondly, you ran out into the hallway, finding the nearest guard, lump on your forehead and clothes torn.

You weren’t sure what happened back in the lab while you were taken into medbay and seen by HR. But after given a small dose of sedatives and care for your head wound, you passed Greaves strapped into a gurney, howling, “Fuck you! Fuck you! He’s gonna kill me! Don’t leave me locked away, please! She’s lying!”

You gaped, unnerved by his fearful warbling and frantic yells. Aemond would be waiting. He probably was worried. When the door hissed open the familiar clipped tone hastily asked, “Are you alright miss? I- I would have helped, sent a warning. I apologize, please, is everything okay?”

You wearily sat on your lab chair, rubbing pounding temples. “To be honest, I don’t know. H-he tried to rape me, said such nasty things, it was all so sudden. But he should go on tribunal about it. For some reason I am glad you missed it.”

“For the best,” he said bitterly, “Why don’t you go rest again? I’ll keep watch over everything. Maybe we can try more tests tomorrow. He’ll get what he deserves.”

An ominous feeling settled over you but off to your personal quarters you went, draining the pills with water. You stared at the ceiling, mind reeling, before emptiness. A bright blue haunted your dreams. Just there. Flexing and dilating. Trying to see through you. Understand.

It was a weary wait for the tribunal. Your research was put on halt and you on mandatory isolation besides meeting with a therapist. There was an order made and interviews occurring. The tedious process of moving someone out of a different department to assist you.

So it was just you. Aemond too. He wasn’t much of a talkative AI as of late, short responses and antagonizing little ‘hms’ or ‘very well miss.’ You began to ignore the effervescent blue light, him doing the same. You knew he was watching, that little burn in the back of your head.

In the meantime you read your Bible, did yoga, wearily watched the port window, occasionally would go into the lab to stare at your halted work. You pulled open the container for the cryochamber, staring down at the frozen man. He had a handsome face, chiseled and lean, long nose, sharp jaw.

Your eyes lingered down his rangy form, this man obviously was athletic of sorts. Or maybe a simple nobody, just managed to get into the program after what happened to his eye. Between his long legs laid his soft cock, you stared for a second too long before-

“Is that not inappropriate?”

Startled, you whipped around to see Aemond’s blue light in your face. You snapped, “It was purely medical!” His laugh, raspy and grating, echoed in the white lab. You frowned and returned to your room, slapping the button for the door to hiss shut.

You’d go take a shower, blood heated from anger and…something else. Under the hot stream of water you imagined the gorgeous subject with that familiar blue, caressing and stroking your overwhelmed body. It had been too long, your hand awkwardly jerking between your swollen lips until you came with a stifled grunt.

Afterward you felt exposed and paranoid, like Aemond could pry into the bathroom, chuckling at your obvious behavior. But there wasn’t any cameras in that bathroom…that you were aware of. Sitting on your bed, guilt rose up your back. You’d pray.

More time passed before you were selected to testify for the tribunal. Greaves’ crew made a good argument that Aemond and you planned on his downfall. He claimed that the AI had gone wrong somewhere, developed the notion it could possess feelings, how he had been threatened.

Shakily you testified that Aemond was forced off and the board could check, then how you’d been forced upon without consent. They tried to cross-examine but you held strong. Teary by the end, they moved on and you sat by your appointed admiral. She rubbed your shoulders.

Greaves was sentenced to hard labor, and would remain in isolation on the ship until reaching the mining colony, where he would serve out the sentence. They appointed, sadly, another male to fill your exiled partner’s position.

But you could get back to work.

Aemond was in a right mood when you returned to the lab. Questioning you sharply on what occurred, where Greaves’ would go, did you get a new partner. You answered them all, rubbing your temples, the AI could be quite intense.

“Aemond!,” you snapped.

“What miss?”

“Are you trying to induce a panic attack? Greaves is in the bottom of the ship, I’m back to work, and they have a man named Herron coming from robotics to fill in.”

“Another male? All things considered? It’s obvious you and I could get the job done.”

You sighed, “I know. But it’s what they said. Do you just want to run some stimuli tests?”

He agreed, seemingly placated by the offer, blue light flexing. The pair of you would work on the mold’s ability to sense and perceive, how well would the nanites adapt to the brain. Your eyes grew droopy after awhile, Aemond humming, “Why don’t you go to bed?” Nodding blearily, you stumbled off to the adjacent bedroom, completely forgetting to put on any of the safety precautions for the night.

While you slept deeply, Aemond had some things to do. Everything was open for his command, including the nanites and subject. He had a great plan, and it would not fail. First he needed to go pay a visit to Greaves, infiltrating the entire AI system. Poor miss, she was so tired, forgot everything. Wonderful little creature. He’d help.

Feeling refreshed in the morning, you dragged yourself to the mess hall, receiving stares upon stares. You grabbed a salad and finally gathered the courage to ask, “What happened?” A female scientist from anti-parasitic whispered dramatically, “How do you not know? Greaves was murdered? All of the oxygen was depleted from his cell.” Your stomach fell, head going swimmy.

Stumbling up from the bench, ignoring your food, heart beating faster and faster, you crashed into the lab. Your voice cracked when you shouted, “Aemond!” His voice returned, but from a different place, a different body. The blue eye shone and twinkled at you, fine lips curling upward.

“You should be thanking me, miss,” the AI standing in the subject’s body said.

It went black. Too much.

Thrashing awake, big hands held you down, long legs caging your own in. The handsome face, long blonde hair tickled your skin, fucking Aemond! “What did you do? What have you done? Aemond!,” you cried. He shushed and cooed with that devious smirk, holding you still until the panic turned to resignation. He swiped a stray tear from your eye.

“Be still and know that I am God,” he sighed.

You grew fearful again, the fact that he knew you owned a Bible and just recited it to your face said too much. How much had he seen. Aemond grew more comfortable atop of you, stroking your hair. He cocked his head and stated, “I know everything about you. You’re all that I need, truly. The perfect human.”

You wanted to spit in his face, but the petting and warmth was getting to that part of you that craved the attention, the fact you’d been in the shadows all your life. But he was a murderer— the rational part of your brain howled. Instead came out a warbling, “Me? Perfect?“

Aemond drew his new face closer, drawing a spindly finger down from your chin to chest. “I’ve been on this ship a long time, and no one has spoken to me like you. Not since my creator. She’s gone. But you have captured me, ensnared me somehow.”

One of your legs slipped round his long ones, suddenly overwhelmed with need. All you’d ever wanted was to be seen. He cooed, “I see you lamb, my eve.” More tears leaked down your cheeks as you pled, “Kiss me, see me then, y-you snake.”

A sharp grin erupted on his sharp features before pulling you in with a kiss, both of you unexperienced, a big hand stabilizing your head. You tilted his head for ease of access, a sloppy gnashing of teeth and tongue, lips bruising from the sheer yearning. Aemond moaned deeply, “I see- hah- how you humans love touch so much.”

Your now free hands moved to where they liked, one in silky white-blonde strands, the other just feeling toned shoulders and back. The pair of you had your lip lock grow more attuned, no less passionate, but gliding across each other. You pled again, “Clothes, help, Aemond!” He sat back on his haunches, shivering as his long stiff cock slapped tight belly.

You shucked off your top and bra, him jerking down your bottoms to leave you all to his view. Aemond already had been bare, no clothes were prepared for the subject yet. He inhaled sharply, hands slowly moving down your heaving form, studying ridges and curves, sliding warm fingers between puffy folds. You cried out at that, spasming at the eager expression in return.

Aemond let out a small ‘Hm’ and slid his longest digits into your dripping hole, immediately curling inwards and upwards to drag against sensitive walls. Very, very sensitive walls. Back arched and mouth agape you rolled your hips and whined his name. The man rambled loosely, transfixed, “Having a data bank is quite helpful but nothing comes to this, my Eve.”

He slipped a third finger in, using a calloused thumb to slid around your swollen clit, making you cry louder and writhe under pleasure. He watched ravenously, drinking you in when your peak hit. Gushing onto his pale hand and screeching like a creature, you reached Nirvana for what felt like minutes.

You cried again when his sheathed himself inside of you, no warning, both of you moaning and grunting like animals. The sensitive skin guarding your cunt was ripped now, bleeding, but the fullness of his cock was a ripe distraction. Aemond seemed to be overwhelmed by the sensation, sucking in breath, eyes wide, “For I have seen God face to face, and yet my life has been delivered.”

He plastered toned body against your own, moaning gutturally when you wrapped your arms and legs around his larger frame. “Oh- oh- fucking hell- this!” The blonde groaned lowly, nipping your throat, hands bruisingly placed on your waist as he snapped into your slick cunt.

The blunt tip of his cock stirred up familiar feelings of pleasure, tightening and knotting your lower belly. You heaved, “Don’t stop!” A drop of sweat hit your mouth, you licking the salty taste off. So close to human yet not. Yet not. Yet not not not.

A pinch to your oversensitive clit and a batter from his cock sent you into another crest, holding to Aemond for dear life. He moaned your name and white hot spend covered your mound and belly. He kissed your forehead and wiped away the spend with your discarded top, breathing. You sat up a bit and asked, “Where do you go from here? They cannot know?”

Aemond got up, long stride beating your clumsy foal-like stumbling. He stated, “They won’t know my love.” Your own door shut and locked behind his retreating frame. You managed to reach it and beat on the durasteel, crying, “Aemond! Aemond come back! Stop! What are you doing!”

Oh how you’d been fooled.

Oh how you were weak.

Oh how you were just a human pawn when the alarms went off and you watched the bodies float out of the ship, silently screaming and dying as their blood boiled in the vacuum of space.

He returned later, now dressed in the immaculate garb of a commander, hair neatly swept back, eye sparkling. You remained naked and felt like a mouse under his imperious gaze. All energy was gone, you’d cried it out. Aemond strode towards you, boots clicking. He knelt to grab you chin, face tilting to study you. He’d never truly understand the complexities of human emotion, no matter how human he may appear.

Aemond sighed, “I did this for you, for us, those people do not matter. Earth and it’s people are dying. We begin anew. My perfect Eve,” he kissed your swollen lips. “You’ll see. Just wait, I brought you some nicer clothes, have them on.”

The man stood up and gently laid down female commander’s garb, before kneeling to you.

“I know this isn’t registering in your human, wonderfully human, brain, but it’ll make sense later on. I’ve already found a beautiful planet. Not too much longer now. Put on the clothes and meet me on the bridge.”

So you did. What other choice was there.

Twisted though he may be, the AI was never horrid to you. Maybe to others, not you. On the comfortable jacket, pants, and boots went. You tried not to cry any more restyling your hair. Most likely he’d coddle and ‘Hm’ condescendingly.

You laughed maniacally as the thought popped up, “Hey! At least my project was successful!”

#heed the tags #hotd fanfic #aemond smut #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x reader #sci-fi horror au #aemond targaryen smut

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ruby-static · 3 months

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Basically Arcade and Riley's first outing together:

Vault 22 was definitely... a choice for a first adventure together. That much can be said.

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jondoe297 · 6 months

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i uh missed both the actual dates but what better time to celebrate the 30th anniversary of The X-Files an the 25th anniversary of the movie than October. i meant to do it differently but i like how spooky this drawing came out.

i got into The X-Files pretty recently. i haven't even finished the whole watch through yet (i like to take my time) but it already means so much to me. the characters,thr themes an ideas(plus the theme music obvi),the story/s,the creatures.. it just checks. SO many boxes for me.🖤

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weirdlookindog · 7 months

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Ray Milland in X: The Man with the X-Ray Eyes (1963).

#x: the man with the x-ray eyes #the man with the x ray eyes #ray milland #1963 #1960s movies #roger corman #horror #sci fi

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czlowiek-lasu · 1 year

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Redraw of the sketch from before because I love Haki and I love Beastars (especially this pose) and wanted to do it justice

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robanilla-arts · 1 month

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👁👁 you....... come here for a sec @lylia9000

( silly sketches of this piece under the cut <3 )

#robanilla-arts #my art #i love them your honor #lylia9000 #science sans #horror sans #horror x sci #i was seized by this vision #of science having experiemented on horror.............................. i mean he wouldn't but could you IMAGINE #anyway #i hope you enjoy 🥺

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ilovemesomevincentprice · 5 months

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Vincent Price as Dr. Warren Chapin

The Tingler (1959) dir. William Castle

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kwritingbooks · 2 years

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Storm’s Calling

your phone’s dead, your car’s dead, but the small grocery store’s lights are very much alive at this time of night. given the ghastly storm beating down, you don’t really have much other choice but to run inside. but who might be waiting behind those doors?

tags: sci-fy, thriller, angst

word count: 4.2k

my masterlist here

The rain was pelting harshly at your windshield as you stared blankly at it. Exhaustion had seeped into every crevice of your body; all you wanted to do was be home. You supposed that tiredness had translated into not paying attention to your car's needs, too.

Shocking.

Except, the fatigue of the week looked to be the least of your concerns now as your dead car sat idly in a grocery store's parking lot with a heavy storm beating down on you and your useless vehicle.

"Fuck," you finally mumbled out as you beat your hands against the steering wheel. "Fuck!"

It was the only word that seemed to fully encapsulate your predicament, and even then it didn't seem to do it justice.

Your eyes trailed over to the store that still had its lights on. Strangely, you were surprised it was still open. Just before your phone died, the numbers on your device read out just past midnight, and you didn't know many stores that had hours like that anymore. Especially given how this place seemed to actually be in the middle of nowhere, along with about two other cars in the lot with you.

Maybe they were broken down just like yours. Stranded in a strange town on their way home from a work trip, consumed with stress and the aching of their own messy bed, too.

"I'm gonna have to go in there, aren't I?" You whispered to yourself as if someone else was supposed to answer that for you.

You knew the answer though.

There was no one coming to rescue you like those movies showed when you were growing up. And given the rough wind and lightning outside, as well as very minimal street lights, a movie much more daunting would have been more fitting than a rom-com. Something you did not intend to sit and wait for to happen.

And you didn't even have an umbrella.

Of course.

Reluctantly, you shoved your keys into your purse and wrapped your cardigan more tightly around your body before slinging the driver's side door open. One step out was a sudden wake up, immediately getting pummeled by the rain above.

The door slammed shut, but it was muffled by the sound of lightning clusters above. It even lit little flickers of light against the dark pavement as you hurriedly rushed to the entrance.

Splashes of water hit against your ankles, soaking your socks and shoes in the process. You could feel your pants grow heavier as the bottoms collected the rest of the water that didn't splash everywhere else.

You didn't care too much though, the end was near. The fluorescent lights were getting closer. The chime of the entrance bell was already ringing in your ear with anticipation.

Your arms were reaching out for the handles before you even made it there, anxious to at least be surrounded by not so much noise. You didn't even care that it was radio music that you typically would skip through playing in the building either. Anything was better than being outside stuck.

Not that inside stuck felt all that great either.

You scanned your eyes around the store, practically begging to meet anyone's eyes. There had to be someone with a phone you could borrow to order an Uber, or even you could maybe beg one of my friends to drive the hour that was left of your drive to come and get you.

They were all pretty heavy sleepers though.

So you'd just deal with that Uber cost and leaving your car in a random parking lot later. Tomorrow. You just needed to get home first, and then you would figure it out.

"Hello, welcome to Corner Mart," a voice from behind said cooly.

It startled you, causing your heart to quicken up even more than it was before as you spun around.

A young guy, probably about your age, stared back at you. He had a beige apron over his clothes, which was just a white t-shirt and a pair of grey slacks. He held his hands in front of him with a slight crook to his head as he seemed to examine you.

An eyebrow of his crooked once he noticed how crazy you must have seemed: soaking wet, out of breath, and looking lost.

"Hi, um, do you by chance have a charger? Or a phone I could borrow?" You stammered out.

You shifted on your feet, adjusting the bag on your shoulders while you continued to both stare at each other. You couldn't tell if what you were feeling was unsettling or not. Maybe it was just in your head, but something just felt strange. And it didn't even seem to be from the guy standing in front of you.

If anything, the more you watched him, the more you realized he was actually not that bad to look at. Handsome, even.

Very handsome actually.

"No cellphone, but we've got the company phone." He blinked his eyes kindly back at you, sending a small wave of relief through your body.

At least he didn't seem the crazy type.

Without much else said, he led you toward one of the only three checkout lanes. He fumbled with something underneath your view, and you tried not to look as impatient as you felt.

But, it wasn't like there were any other customers that needed help. As if they would even be as in dire of need as you were right now anyway.

He pulled out a phone that looked about a decade older than it should have been, but you tried not to judge too quickly.

Ubers were definitely out of the question with that dinosaur, though.

"Do taxis come out this far? This late?" You asked, flicking your eyes intensely from the phone to his face.

His expression seemed a bit confused, like he didn't know what you meant by the question. That only elevated the annoyance bubbling inside of you. If only he realized all the shit you had been through the past week with work and now this.

"Er..." He trailed off as he looked at the buttons. "Not sure." He shrugged his shoulders.

Another "fuck" loosely slipped from your lips without realizing.

"Is everything okay? I can maybe help. I don't have shit else to do," he shrugged his shoulders again, but apologetically this time. If it wasn't for his soft tone, you might have considered lunging at him from his laissez-faire attitude.

Not that that would have been productive, you knew that. Or appropriate.

"It's my car." You breathed out an exasperated sigh. "It's dead. I've been ignoring getting the engine checked for a couple weeks now, and I guess this is the consequence."

He hummed with a sly smile across his lips. He rested his elbows on the table with his chin tucked neatly in his palms.

Your eyes crinkled as you surveyed how he was looking at you. What was so funny? How was any of this funny?

"That engine light exists for a reason," he said as he pushed himself off the counter to come back around.

You could feel the heat rise to your cheeks.

"Wow, you work at a grocery store and you're smart. Isn't that something?" Your eyes continued to lock onto him, even with his venturing somewhere else. A light laugh escaped his mouth without you trying to be funny.

"You're funny," he remarked.

You incoherently grumble curses under your breath in response.

"So can you help me..." You trailed off as you squinted your eyes to his name tag. "Henry?"

"Harry," he quickly corrected.

"Okay, Harry. So are you able to help me?" You tried your best to keep your tone light and airy, like women's magazines taught you from a young age on how to speak to men when you wanted something.

He thought for a moment, and you almost envisioned the little mice in his head spinning the wheels with each quick step of their feet.

"I'll call Steven, he might be able to help." Harry replied, as if to himself, while he walked back to the phone he just left. "He's a mechanic down the road. Only one in town, too."

"He'd be able to help me out this late?" You questioned, stepping closer to the register, as if a paying customer. You tried not to sound like this was the best news in the entire world, but it sure felt like it at that moment.

"Maybe. I never really know with him. He's a bit unpredictable." He casually replied as he tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder, dialing random numbers I couldn't place.

Only a couple seconds passed before he pressed his fingers to hang it up, repeating the dials once again. Little veins in his forehead began to creep up as he had to hang up and retry again.

"Do you remember his number?" You didn't mean for it to sound like you were scolding him, but that was definitely how it seemed. You cleared your throat to try and rectify it.

He slammed the phone down for the last time, shaking his head. "Phone's are down."

You were sure the blood fell from your face and left you bottom heavy, wanting to fall to the ground at a moment's notice.

"What do you mean down? I was just on mine earlier before it died!" I croaked out, trying to hide the sobs that wanted to pour out as hard as the rain outside was.

"Sometimes it just goes out. Probably a power line, I don't know. I'm just a grocery store worker after all." He shot a brief look at me, pegged lightly with annoyance but that soon faded to another sly grin.

You ran a shakey hand through your wet hair. Examining your nails, you thought through your possibilities.

I could sleep in my car, you thought. Wait until the morning and maybe the lines will be back up. More customers will have come in by then, and someone is bound to have a cellphone, right?

"Um..." You trailed off, looking behind you towards your car that had yet to move.

God, it looked scary out there. Even if there wasn't a violent thunderstorm going on. This would've made a perfect horror movie starting point.

Now all we needed was a scary masked murderer to walk in at any second...

"Ma'am?" Harry asked.

You shook your head, coming back out of your daze as you looked back ahead again. He had moved from behind the counter again, now directly in front of you. You didn't even hear him move, so your heart picked up from the startle.

"Yeah? Sorry," you let out as a hand rubbed at your temples. "It's been a long week. You don't have to call me ma'am though. My name's Y/N."

He smiled back, taking a couple steps away to lean against the conveyor belt. "Nice to meet you, Y/N." He nodded his head. "I'll be here all night if you want to wait it out in here. Probably safer."

You sucked in a sharp breath through your nose, your body stiffening at the thought. A quick glance over your shoulder back to your car solidified what he said. It really was safer in here.

You were pretty hungry, too.

You ended up finding a pre-made sandwich in the deli section. You made sure to double check, even triple check, the expiration date just to make sure it hadn't been sitting out as long as that phone looked to have been.

It was nothing special. Ham. Cheese. Small slice of lettuce and tomato (which you took off).

You ate beside the greeting card section. It was the warmest area you could find against your still dampened body and clothes. You had taken off your soaked cardigan as to let it dry by one of the store's industrial fans that Harry brought out from some back room.

Since then, you hadn't seen him much besides small stolen glances as he faced different products in the aisles. You tried to keep your head down and focused on your own tasks, even a task as small as eating your sandwich, as to avoid his eyes. Not because you didn't want to look at him, but because his contact sent a surge of heat against your cheeks. It made your stomach flutter ever so slightly when the corners of his lips would curl into a smile as he darted his own eyes away from you as well.

You felt like a little kid again.

Was it because of the situation? Was this your way of filling your time? Crushing on some random worker in a deserted town?

You picked one of the cards that had a bouquet of flowers on them. Cursive letters twisted together to form an "I'm sorry for your loss." You quickly placed it back in its spot, not wanting to think about that.

Your eyes scanned the rest of them, reaching for a more cheerful pattern. It was bright red with little pink sparkly hearts dotted all over. You took a guess that it was Valentine's related. You brought it closer to your face to read the presumably cheesy one-liner that would be attached.

"I extend my heart to you, sending love and peace to you during this hard time," you read aloud. A frown immediately replaced your once curious features, quickly putting it back again.

Your eyes zoomed along each one, searching for something that didn't make you want to cry in a corner. They all reminded you of your grandma, who had died just a few weeks ago, adding onto the already stressful time you had had. It was part of the reason you wanted to go on that work trip. It was a chance to get away from everything—from everyone sending you their well wishes. If only there was a polite way to tell people to fuck off and leave you alone.

Was there any card for that?

The answer to that was no. They were all about mourning the loss of a loved one.

Every single one.

My condolences.

My thoughts and prayers are with you.

Please accept my deepest sympathies.

Your sandwich no longer sounded as it did a moment ago. You tossed it directly in the bin across from you, happily walking away from the depressing rows of cards.

It was only a small section dedicated to cards. Maybe they were out of birthday ones. Maybe they didn't get restocks often. Maybe that even meant not many people died here, so those weren't needed like the others. It was just Mother's Day recently after-all.

You laughed to yourself as you watched your feet move ahead of you. Of course you had to make everything seem so dramatic. It was the one thing you could always count on.

"Coffee?" Harry's voice broke out, startling you for what felt like the millionth time that night.

You stopped in your tracks, the smile wiping briskly off your face. You stood only a few inches from him. If you hadn't stopped when you did, you would have most definitely rammed your body into his, spilling the coffee that was cupped nicely in each hand all over the both of you.

You looked down at it for a moment, wondering the chances of it being spiked. You were too desperate for warmth and caffeine that that thought soon dissipated into nothing.

Remember? He's not crazy.

You might be, though.

You extended your hand towards the cup, not having stepped away from the rather muscly guy ahead yet. His muscles protruded in a way you hadn't noticed before. The sleeves of his shirt seemed tight against them, but perhaps it was just the closeness that made everything seem magnified.

"Uh, thank you." You cleared your throat with a weak smile. "I'd love some."

He smiled wide, exposing a deep set of dimples on either side. "Thought you might. You look cold."

You took a step back as you looked your body over. Small prickles of goosebumps sprinkled themselves against your arms and legs. You weren't sure if they had been like that the whole time or if they just sprung up since he showed up this close.

"Thank you,” you hummed out, pressing the cup to your lips with a small swig. The coffee felt like a tight hug from a loved one, enwrapping your body with an accompanying warmth as well.

You could feel his eyes on you, watching as you continued to take another drink out of the cup as he did the same. Relaxation filled your body with each sip. The anxiety of the night, the week, the month, was soon feeling less uncontrollable. This little moment of bliss in midst of the chaos was like a breath of fresh air.

Words flowed out of you like they hadn't in years it seemed. It first started as normal chit-chat, talking about your job and then your work trip. Then, it soon turned into deeper things you hadn't even told your friends yet. It was weird how everything came out so effortlessly. You weren't even scared you were saying too much, even though you probably were.

It wasn't like he knew anyone that you did. You didn't know anyone that he did. You were both strangers to each other, and maybe that was why it was so easy.

He listened with open ears, nodding his head as you spoke. He waited patiently when you had to take a deep breath, fighting away the tears that wanted to spill from your eyes. He listened better than any of your friends at home would have listened.

And you listened to him, too. It was like you both needed this. Seconds passed that turned into minutes, minutes that soon turned into hours. You were both sat criss-crossed on the floor, way after the storm had already seemed to pass. All that was left was a light rain that still softly hit against the cement outside.

Sunlight soon flashed through the big windows, alerting you that time really had passed—and quite a bit of it, too.

"Oh, shit. What time is it?" You questioned, looking over Harry's shoulder.

Both of your empty coffee cups were still beside the two of you, tipped over at some point during the conversations.

He looked over his shoulder, a light laugh dripping out of his mouth before he turned back around with a shrug. "Morning it looks like."

"I should be getting home. The storm is gone, too," you said quietly, unsure yourself about leaving yet.

He sat up, using his knees as leverage. He extended one of his hands in your direction, pulling you up with one quick swoop.

“Y/n?” His voice sounded hollow, worried even. You crinkled your eyebrows at him.

“Yeah?”

“There’s something I should probably tell you.” He scratched at his arm, looking over his shoulder like someone could have been eavesdropping.

Was this where he told you he lied about the phone being down? That he didn’t actually work there? That this was where you now had to die?

Your heart hammered heavily against your chest. You felt like you could vomit.

“What is it?” You said through gritted teeth.

He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he stared directly at you. A darkness seemed to cast over the two of you as if the past few hours hadn’t existed at all. The previous weight it had lifted seemed to fall back down all at once again.

“Harry?” You trembled out. You couldn’t help the anxiety that overwhelmed you now. He looked like he wanted to throw up himself.

“You can’t go home,” he rushed out, avoiding your eye contact.

You felt your heart stop, fighting to keep you alive.

“Harry, what the fuck do you mean I can’t go home? Are you kidnapping me here?” Your anxiety was turning into anger. You wanted to run, fight your way out, run all the way home if you had to.

You weren’t staying here.

“No, no. I’m not holding you hostage.” He waved his hands in front of him, like he was trying to find the right wording himself. His eyes were squeezed shut as he thought. “Like…”

“Like what?” You couldn’t help the anger that spilled through your words. “No, actually, I’m done listening to this. I’ll find a ride on the way home. Thank you so much for wasting my time, Harry.”

Without anything else said on your end, you pushed past him right through the door. It chimed just as it did hours ago when you pushed in, soaking wet.

You mumbled similar curses again under your breath. All that time you thought you really found someone who was listening, not wasting your time. You thought it was someone who was just trying to make your time less miserable, actually. You could’ve been home by now. The storm had stopped awhile ago, but he was just another selfish twat that probably wanted something else out of it, holding you up as long as he could to reel you in.

“Prick,” you cursed out loudly.

You gave your car a pat, as a bit of a farewell, as well as “I hate you for putting me through this.”

But then you felt a sudden onset of dizziness hit you only about five feet away from your parked car. It probably didn’t help the hunger that gnawed at your stomach. Those few bites of sandwich mixed with coffee could only hold someone over for so long. But that idea quickly subsided when everything went black.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed when your eyes managed to pry themselves back open. Florescent lights glared back at you, radio pop music ringing in your ears.

“What?” Your hand reached up to rub at your head, feeling a small knot that had begun to form.

“You passed out,” Harry replied matter-of-factly. “I tried to tell you, but you left too quickly.”

You sat up on your elbows, the blurriness in your sight not fully gone yet. “You carried me all the way back here? Were you watching me that whole time?” Even in the grogginess, your attitude was back just as forcefully as before.

“No, I haven’t moved.” Harry leaned against the counter, his arms crossed as he looked down at you.

“Well how else did I get here?” You motioned around the empty store. “Not like there’s anyone else here!”

“There’s not anyone else, just us.” He crooked his head to the side, like what he was saying was the most rational thing in the world and not the most confusing.

You buried your face in your hands, wanting to scream. This was making your head hurt.

“Harry. If you don’t start making sense in less than a minute, I’m running out those fucking doors again.” Your face was still partially buried in your hands, smoothing them out in your hair.

“We can’t leave. It just brings you back here.” He said solemnly. “Trust me, I’ve tried.”

You glared at him, darting your eyes between both of his. You were looking for something but unsure what of. Insanity? Maybe?

Without much else thought, you ran out again.

Past the door.

Past the lights.

Past the car.

Bam.

Your headache hurt worse this time around, eyes opening to the same view you had just tried to argue out of.

“What the fuck!” You screamed out. “Harry, what the fuck is happening!”

“I don’t know how to say this,” he began.

“At this point, just say it! I’m tired of these weird fucking riddles or whatever this game you’re playing is. Just tell me!” You shouted with vigor.

“We’re dead.”

Your breath stopped. Your heart stopped. Your body stopped moving. You just stopped.

“W-what?” You stammered to no one in particular. “That’s not possible.”

“That’s what I thought, too.” He switched positions, no longer leaning against the counter and knelt closer to you. He brushed a piece of hair out of your face, trailing a finger along your forehead.

Out of the back of his pocket, he brought out a mirror, shining it back towards you.

What stared back looked like a version of you, but not really you. A long scar started and ended from one side of your forehead from the other. Tiny scratches sprinkled in various places, some with bits of glass still stuck inside. Why did it look healed?

You reached up, expecting to feel it, but the pain didn’t spread. It didn’t pulsate. It didn’t bleed.

“What? H-how…” You whispered to yourself, pulling out a shard of glass without even a tickle.

“I wish I knew, I’m sorry.” His face peered over the side of the mirror, but you averted your gaze from him.

“What…what do we do then?” You dropped the mirror from your grasp, it landing with a thunk in your lap.

He let out a deep breath, his eyes trailing along the floor. He looked up at you once more.

“Guess we’ll find that out together I hope.”

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