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2kmps · 1 month

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android x reader one-shot | 35.3k

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

story warnings; dividers used between scenes, dubcon, sexual content, explicit sexual details, forced pregnancy (not mc), insemination, heavy focus on consent & lack thereof, drug use, graphic depictions of violence, body gore, mentions of abortion + execution (not mc), heavy prose & details, predatory behaviors in several characters, gaslighting, implications of sexual assault, usage of derogatory terms (slut, bitch, psycho), possessive + obsessive behaviors, tragedy, dark take on the future of humanity, fairly queer-coded, manipulation + emotional manipulation, power imbalance.

read the warnings + mdni! events within the story are not indicative of my personal viewpoints.

thank you @ceruleansol for your excellent proofreading! 🧡

author's note; this was a six-month labor of love from idea conception, to outline, to final piece. please reblog this & share your thoughts! i'd absolutely love to hear them!

Researcher Kim knew you were a liar.

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

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

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

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

Not anymore.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was no need to.

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

Many did.

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

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

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

Not them. Not you.

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

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

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

“Well, then…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You made no comment on that.

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

“Ah! Excellent timing, Elio.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They were all androids.

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

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

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

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

The great rebirth of society.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was their inevitable fate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He fixed you with a beguiling smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes met.

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

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

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

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

“How has that been working out?”

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

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

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

He didn't give you the time to gape.

“I know you must be curious after being downstairs. Aren't you interested to know what he feels like? He doesn't look like a machine, does he?”

“No.” You relented. “No. He doesn't.”

“That's right, he wouldn't.” Kim nodded his approval toward your obedience, leaning back in his seat. “I agonized over every facet of his design, as you already know. Every bit of what is right in front of you”—he made a broad gesture over Elio’s body—“was once a set of blueprints. Intangible, just a dream I had. He's every bit a part of me, you know? Nothing would make me happier than to receive external feedback on him. So, please, don't be afraid.”

Elio stayed faithfully when you rose up in front of him and reached for his face. He probably felt your fingers tremble as this was all counterintuitive for you to do—touch someone other than yourself, maybe Melby’s knee beneath the table after enough drinks in you. It made your chest drum, knotted up your stomach in a way that made it difficult not to sway on your feet.

“How does he feel?” Researcher Kim was already writing on his screen. “Describe it to me.”

“Strange.” You pretended this was already part of your job. It stole some of the tension from your shoulders. “Very strange. Soft. Smooth. I feel some texture. I think this is what another person—another human—feels like.”

Elio’s face shifted against your hands until the fullness of his lips pressed into your open palm, fingers caressing the fabricated bones around his cheek and temple. For a moment, you allowed yourself to indulge in longing and weakness—the invisible hot breath on your skin, the slight dampness of his kiss burning an imprint in your mind.

He still looked at you with unfailing softness. Meanwhile, you wondered if he would bleed if you put your fingers through his eyes.

“This is a good start.” Kim waited until you were back in your chair to offer you his stylus and a straight black line on the screen. “All I need is your signature here to consent to virtually signing the rest of your documents. Once you do that, you've been hired, and we can begin.”

“I have a question for you before I do.” You tried not to let your voice quiver, uncertainty meddling over all the confidence you had built until that point. Kim was relaxed in his chair. “You spent a lot of time looking at my resume and public profile earlier. Surely, you know…”

That you're a liar? Oh, I know, alright. He didn't say it, but it was how he maintained his composure, that inexpression never flexing to confusion.

Finally, Researcher Kim broke the trance and hovered over his desk on his arms to get closer and answered, “I think we both have something at stake here. I'm looking forward to your phenomenal feedback.”

You signed the contract and melted under Elio's resplendent smile.

■━■━■━■■━■━■━■■━■━■

Most often, your days with Elio were spent in a seemingly perpetual impasse of unrelenting observation between the pair of you. Both of your jobs demanded a level of attentiveness that came easier to one but more as the world's most impossible challenge to the other.

You weren't accustomed to this type of care—of having to give it to something else, even less to receive it from something else. In your world, only the immediate complexities really mattered: gossip, where your coterie wanted to spend the night drinking next, mass media hysteria of whatever stupid imagining there was now, and each other.

Why was there a need to concern yourself with anything else? The decaying state of the world wasn't your doing, nor was the staggering increase of human bodies in the slums outside Retro City. Sharply inconsistent birth rates ravaged on a global scale while people were displaced from the workplace in lieu of employers finding it less of a hassle to deal with machines than the capricious will of humans.

None of these things were allowed to be uttered casually unless in derision because it was too intense, making liquor cling to the throat like some viscous membrane until it burned their esophagus. Nobody liked unanswerable questions, much less talking about things that weren't as easily digestible as coworker drama and some new viral trend that involved shocking your android with jumper cables attached to a portable battery to see what happened.

“Is there a purpose behind this trend?” Elio dried a plate while watching the video, unimpressed but not driven toward any particular emotion. “It's all meant for humor, correct? I have several similar incidents in my memory, except it's what human beings have done to each other. This sort of behavior towards androids is a relatively recent phenomenon, as far as I can tell.”

You used his response as material for your report, fingers flurrying across the virtual keyboard on your tablet before his words faded away, out of your mind.

One thing you hadn't anticipated after accepting the auditor position from Researcher Kim was how much work actually went into it. You spent well over the standard weekly work hours to collect enough observations to send off to Kim on Sunday nights, often whittling away at it until the latest hours, minutes before the deadline.

It was hard enough to stay on top of his demands, but it was worse when he found something unsatisfactory, rejected it, monotonously unloaded heavy criticism on you through an “emergency” impromptu video call, and expected two full reports by the following Sunday before midnight.

Any regular person probably would've caved from the enormity of the task, but you had surrendered your choice to be that weak-willed, especially once Researcher Kim showed his hand with the fate of your public profile in it.

Should you choose to break the contract, send Elio back to Hyperion, and pretend none of it happened, you would lose everything and your ability to do anything at all besides rot in the slums—scarred in red for life, perpetually inert.

Worst of all, your associations tab, once filled with still portraits of everyone you had ever networked in life, would turn up as empty as the day you had been registered in the census. It was considered social suicide to know anyone with a red profile, so people stayed vigilant and fast, sure to remove them the second it turned.

It had been over a year since the last time you'd done that—a woman within your group had grown too bold, said too many things that made her seem crazy, so she was booted from the circle, lost all her associations, and who knows where she was now.

“You look troubled.” Elio placed down a steaming white mug at a safe distance and turned the handle toward you. Looking inside, you expected the darkness of coffee but were struck with an opposing subtle sweetness and faint pink water. “It's fruit-infused herbal tea. Your heart rate is above normal resting, and you're beginning to perspire. Caffeine will worsen your anxiety.”

You knew that but hadn't known you were scraping away slithers of cuticle on your thumb until the warmth of his fingers gently twined with yours. His grip turned firm to keep you from hurting yourself anymore, forcing all the stiffness from your hand once you gave up and simply sat there feeling his skin.

You'd remember to write that down later.

“Would starting a bath be helpful? I could use the last of those eucalyptus and lavender bath salts in the cupboard.” Elio suggested with great fondness, holding a patient smile even once you drew your hand away and shook your head. You had no interest in undressing and committing to your regular bathtime routine. “Perhaps we could go for a walk, then? It might help to be away from screens for a while.”

You checked the time on your phone before thinking to look out any window in your apartment. It was ten after six in the evening; there would be enough light left for a couple of laps around the block before needing to worry about being swept up in the city’s nightlife antics.

“Where do you want to go?” you asked, swiveling the barstool around to get up from the counter. “Henrietta's on 5th? You seem to like going there.”

“I only choose places that you like.” He already had a tote bag by the handles and a light jacket draped over his arm. “You have great taste.”

Elio unbolted the front door, an old thing that wouldn't do much as a barricade against anyone putting their weight on it, and held it open for you to pass through first. The descent to the ground floor was always the most annoying part about living in a loft, but the place had come surprisingly cheap in a tame area of Retro City far away from the slums, so you didn't complain much that your worst issues were a bunch of stairs and some wily types skulking here and there.

The loft wasn't exactly in disrepair but definitely showed signs of character and age by the noisy knocking pipes at midnight and some crumbling brickwork that Elio often swept up and stood staring at for long periods of time when nothing else was happening.

It was strange thinking how scared you were to lose the place after the marketing firm dissolved your position and now how restrictive it felt to be pinned down under someone else's thumb. All it could take was one more rejected report—a bad mood, even—and it would all fall apart.

To that end, you made sure to tow the tablet along with you on this trip despite Elio's protests. He only really quieted down when you tucked it away in your crossbody.

“Happy?” you asked, unsure what to do with your hands now that they were empty.

Elio smiled at you affably, just as always. “It will be beneficial to take a break. After all, part of your work as an auditor is acquainting me in as many social scenarios as possible. That does require us to leave the apartment from time to time.”

“Besides that”—you waved away that stipulation like a gnat buzzing in your face—“how do you think I'm doing?”

“I couldn't have been paired with a better person.” He sounded sincere, voice warm like wool. “The world is as my predecessors have recorded in their memories—therefore, mine—but I am learning that our experiences are not all universal and cannot be. Two months with you have been my heaven, whereas two months through the memories of my kin have been cruel.”

A hot feeling behind your ears snuck up on you just then, flooding your head with the beat of your pulse that you followed by ticking your fingers. “Seriously? You're not lying?”

The world around you was aglow in the golden hour of evening time, embraced by those slowly dying tones of red, orange, and purple that would eventually turn the sky black. Elio’s eyes were on you, soft yet unyielding and saturated in all those burning hues, turning his mellow amber into something more powerful and otherworldly. You didn't believe in the hocus-pocus of auras, but at that moment, you thought his deeply tanned skin was haloed in pure glowing gold in receding sunlight.

“Androids cannot lie.” He brought you back to the now, making you aware of the hard concrete vibrating up through your heels and toes as you walked. “Moreover, even if I could, why would I want to? A lie begets a habit of lying, don't you think?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe.” You shrugged. “Why can't androids lie? I've never really considered that as a thing until now.”

“What would be the benefit of a machine that could lie? Lying stems from emotions—fear, guilt, rage, hatred—all things that I am unable to feel, though I do understand why they are felt. Humans lie to protect themselves or others, to deceive, to damage. There simply isn't any reason why androids should be programmed with that type of functionality. Not when we exist solely for the sake of convenience and pleasure.

“Hyperion is a trusted name. People do not ask questions. They don't think twice. They see a product from Hyperion, and they expose all of themselves without hesitation. They trust fully because we are machines, and we cannot lie and deceive and hurt. Perhaps it's when humans realized this that the world changed.”

You avoided saying anything else by looking everywhere but at him, all around at your surroundings, until you spotted a few familiar street signs—Fifth and Third right next to Tanya’s Great Cuts, Damask’s Butchery on the corner of Fourth, a number of banal boutiques with competitively garish exteriors all boasting the latest trends, and then Henrietta's just past them.

“Do you know where we are, Elio?” Now would've been a great time to pull out your tablet, but you didn't dare try. Instead, you reached for the phone vibrating in your rear pocket.

“Of course.” he said. “We're past Fifth and moving onto Sixth Street. Henrietta’s is just a little ways down.”

Melby had sent ten texts regurgitating her daily drama. This time she was talking about how much she hated some of the people Chima let into the group. You swiped to the end, didn't reply, and then returned to your inbox to find two unread messages from Marcos just now.

“You should visit home soon. Your mother would appreciate it,” Marcos wrote, implying nothing more, nothing less than just that. It wasn't often that he sent you texts, but he did so consistently every few months in accordance with Mother's moods. Considering your last visit had been in late fall (it was now mid-spring), you'd been anticipating something eventually.

“That's some great memory you have there.” Your thumbs skittered busily, first to flood Melby with a surfeit of questions you didn't really have to think about. All the stuff you could mindlessly ask while wholly absorbed in something else, like watching the news or viral videos of people trying to drown their androids in the kitchen sink.

Marcos’ text made you hesitate, thumbs floating in circles over the digital keyboard for a long time.

The phone buzzed. Melby just replied.

It was easy enough to type with your face down. All you needed to do was occasionally watch Elio's feet and yield into the force of his hand pulling your arm here and there. He led you along like that the rest of the way to Henrietta's, picked up a green basket by the sliding doors, never wandering too far out of sight so you could still easily trace him while he shopped.

After a while, the riveting intrigue of Melby’s drama wore away with a tidal wave of emptiness in its wake once you finally looked up, tucking the phone back into your pocket. It took you a moment for your eyes and brain to acclimate to where you were despite knowing you were in Henrietta's Marketplace, one of the largest in Retro City.

“What did you want from here, anyway?” You picked up a gigantic red bell pepper larger than the entire spread of your hand. It went back on top of the arrangement. “We were just here a couple days ago. I don't eat that much.”

Up ahead, flanked by rows of wooden crates with smoothed, varnished slabs and carefully stacked produce, Elio turned to you with a pair of generously sized oranges—one in each hand—vibrant with waxy luster settling into the fruit’s porous skin.

You grinned at the sight.

Elio put one back, placed the other one, the better one, into his basket, and waited for you to close the distance. “I watched Wendy Carmichael Can Cook this morning. I've been watching it quite often, actually. She's a self-taught chef who, apparently, lived in the slums her entire life. She managed to work her way up and now owns two David Bugari-rated restaurants. It’s quite a feat. Improbable, even.”

You wrapped your hands around a grapefruit in the crate next to you and spun it around. A twinge of something ugly and green swam around your head, flared you up like swatting an old wound. You didn't like hearing him praise someone else.

“She probably slept her way to the top.” You were still fidgeting with the fruit.

“That's not important.” Elio said, inflectionless. “I watched today's episode, newly aired, and she put together a duck à l'orange. Considering your current lifestyle and diet, I thought it would be a nice departure from what I usually cook for you.”

You smiled at that, placing the grapefruit down without collapsing the pile. “I don't want to see a dead duck in my kitchen.”

“I'll prepare it once you're asleep.” he promised, bringing one of your hands up to his lips. The shape of them molded against the peak of a knuckle. “It will be delicious. Trust me.”

Then he went back to shopping while you envisioned actually kissing him—not an uncommon thought to have. He wouldn't be able to stop you if that's what you wanted, but instead, you informed him you were going to introduce him to Mother and Marcos.

“Tomorrow?” He checked his wristwatch. It was nearly eight; Henrietta’s closed at eight thirty, and it would be dark outside. Not that it mattered much with how Retro City was illuminated like one gigantic fluorescent bulb at nighttime.

You finally texted back to Marcos. “No. Tonight. We’ll just go straight there so I can get this over with.”

Elio seemed not to know how to respond at first, staring in a searching way that creased the skin between his brows, like he was trying to take a cue from your body language while skimming his database for the most appropriate thing. You didn't blame him for his lapse; Mother was mentioned seldomly and Marcos only a little more than that. Even Researcher Kim hadn't managed to collect enough information on your past to feed to Elio simply because there wasn't a lot to tell.

He cleared his throat, righting his features so they were unwrinkled and beautiful. “Tonight. Very well. Should we…” He paused, glancing down at the grocery basket of spices, vegetables, an orange, and a whole raw duck wrapped well in brown parchment. “Should we come back another time? I wouldn't want the meat to sit out for a long time.”

“Nope.” You didn't want to go through the trouble of returning everything where they belonged. Elio wouldn't leave until he did. “Let's just check out. Marcos will handle it.”

The springtime air was pleasant at night, albeit crisp, when the blur of vehicles whooshed past once the lights overhead turned green. You could make out the colors of them because of how brightly lit the streets were. Neon signage from every corner for as far as you could see turned to life, flickering, humming, dancing with pretty women, hot white or purple or red lettering, and the lights inside most nearby businesses stayed on.

Elio had draped his coat over your shoulders while you hailed a cab. It was too far of a walk to Mother's home across the city, and Elio reminded you again that raw meat needed to be handled carefully.

You told him, again, that Marcos would handle it.

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The entire cab ride took less time than you thought, relieving Elio who was still hopelessly fixated on the longevity of the raw duck he had wrapped up in a separate paper bag from the produce and spices. From the front seat, the cabbie, perplexingly somehow a human and not an android, constantly looked back at Elio through the rearview mirror and commented almost deliriously about how beautiful he was.

Hearing that the first three times gave you a happy, satisfied buzz in your chest, making you lean more against Elio's side. He was tempted to move his arm out and put it around your shoulders but kept to himself. Beyond those initial comments from the cabbie, however, you had quickly developed an uncomfortable feeling in your belly that wrapped itself tight like a constrictor on your insides.

“I ain't ever seen an android as beautiful as you,” said the driver, eyes in constant motion from the mirror to the road. “What model are ya? Definitely not a four or five. Yer a little too smooth to be a six. Damn, did Hyperion release a new one already?”

Elio held a polite smile, separate from the gentle, intimate ones that he kept for you. You didn't hear the response he gave to the cabbie because you felt his fingers reach through yours, pulling them apart so you couldn't dig a nail into the corner seam of your thumb anymore.

You spent the rest of the trip testing the weight of his hand, thinking of little less except how deep you'd have to go through his skin to see his circuitry and what else made him up. Those vanished like a white puff of breath in winter when the taxi jerked to a stop on a street curb.

“Thank yew for ya business.” The cabbie lifted his stiff old hat when you paid, eyed Elio a little more, and only drove off after you had knocked on a canary-yellow door up some stone stairs.

You stared at a decorative wreath covered with flowers—fake because the ones used couldn’t grow outside of greenhouses anymore—hanging dead center on the door. No doubt Marcos’ work because Mother couldn't be bothered with those little nuanced social things.

Marcos answered—brown skin and hazel eyes that burnished green in almost any lighting—gesturing for you and Elio to come inside.

“Welcome home,” he said, far more unnaturally than it sounded coming from Elio. There was a certain rigidity to it, an effort clearly inhuman and lesser. He embraced you in a familiar way, reminding you of all your years of childhood doing this exact thing because your mother didn't know how to love you, and “father” was just a word. “I apologize for messaging you to come over so late. You know how your mother is. When the mood strikes…”

Marcos didn't emit much bodily warmth, never had, even in the golden years of G3, but he was there, and that's all that mattered at the time. His skin was still youthful and flawless, though the longer you looked him in the face, the less real he seemed. His eyes held depth and movement though were slow, less precise, and duller. The lines around his mouth when he smiled were unnatural, appearing to you nearly like bunching folds in a sheet of leather.

It was strange seeing an older generation of android after having acclimated to Elio over two months.

“Your mother is at the dining table.” Marcos moved on to Elio, taking in his image, surmising that he too was an android. He glanced down at the bags that Elio still held. “May I take those for you? Hyperion’s innovation continues ever forward, I see. You are new.”

“The first of Generation Seven,” said Elio. The bags were passed between them. “I would appreciate it if you kept the duck refrigerated. It's in the paper bag.”

“That's no trouble.” Marcos turned with Elio following along behind him into the kitchen. “I'd like to hear about Generation Seven’s potential. What is your maximum I-O? Data? Memory? How have the functions that have been implemented into you differ from Generation Six?”

Their voices were muffled behind the walls as you crossed through multiple rooms to where Mother sat at the head of a large glossy table made from dark-brown wood. It was a spacious area reserved to eat surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows in elegant drapes with the best view of whatever the neighbors were doing. She had told you once that the only reason she bought this house was because it'd be good gossip for when she invited her gaggle of catty executive receptionist friends over.

Back then, she hosted her little impromptu get-togethers more often than she remembered to see you off to school. Marcos made sure you were fed and bathed, sat with you in your bedroom to help with homework, and sent you to bed. As you grew, the parties had migrated elsewhere, prompting your mother to go with them.

That had left you alone with Marcos and the boundaryless curiosity of a teenager. You didn't know if Mother still participated in such things now that she was older, less pretty, inclined to more body aches.

“I've been thinking that we should visit the new teahouse that opened up on Aflaat Ave. You never talk to me anymore.” she said, but it wasn't true. Neither of you talked to one another, just used Marcos as an intermediate. “I—well—Marcos went through your old bedroom a few weeks ago because I've decided to take up scrapbooking and sewing and needed space, and he found an old shoebox full of your primary and secondary school projects! How quaint! He wanted to make sure you got them.”

“That's nice.” You didn't want to sit down, unwilling to be her fifteen minutes of entertainment before she got bored. She kept on staring at you with wide eyes and crow’s feet and fretful hands, like a woman who still had more to say. “I'll make sure Elio grabs them before we leave.”

“Elio!” Mother gaped. “Man or android? Certainly an android, right? Men are useless.”

Your rage was already bunching up and throbbing in the back of your throat. “Yes, Mother, an android.”

“‘Mother’ sounds so harsh! How about mama or mummy or mom?” She kept wringing her fingers together. “Anyway, anyway! Elio! He sounds so handsome. Is that who Marcos is talking to? What a handsome voice! Is he a Generation Six?”

You still hadn't sat down, though you used your hands to lean across the back of a chair. “Generation Seven. I'm testing him for Hyperion.”

“For Hyperon!” Mother couldn't fathom you doing more than grunt work at the marketing firm. She didn't know your position had become obsolete. “This is certainly a surprise. Sit down. How did that happen? You and Hyperion? Are you trying to make me look stupid?”

“I've been sitting all day. I'm good like this.” That wasn't a lie. You also just couldn't stand the idea of giving any relief to her anxious state. “It's my new job. Very coveted. I've been working closely with one of the researchers there, and he can't praise me enough. I'm looking after Elio for a year and then moving on to their next latest and greatest.”

“You?” She spat out a laugh. It calmed the trembling in her hands for a few seconds before she was back at it again. “Oh, my. Well. If that's the case, you certainly owe it to me for getting that job. My genetics. My smarts. You certainly didn't get it from your father.”

That lurching, angry ball in your throat was rising up fast. It was just there on the tongue making you gag, salivate, and begin to drool a bit from the corner of your lips. It tasted horrific and filled you with the most voracious need for venom.

“Who is my father?” you asked. “You could be wrong.”

Mother suddenly grew uncomfortable, flattening her gaze with the tabletop. Historically, she had always been this way when you asked about him, the infamously evasive ghost of your life. It was also the only thing that ever made her shut up.

“That doesn't matter.” She continued, “You’ve always had me and Marcos. That's what matters.”

“I've had Marcos.” The ball freed itself. “I just thought you should know, Generation Three models are being decommissioned. Marcos won't be receiving any more updates, and eventually, he'll just be a pile of fucking scrap. What're you gonna do then? You can't afford another android because you've sunk every penny you've ever saved into him—his upgrades, his maintenance, his clothes. It may take about ten years, and you'll probably be on your deathbed, but he's going to fall apart and eventually stop moving. You'll be just as alone as you were before he came along.”

Mother’s face turned shades, petrified. You wanted nothing more than to see her shrink into her clothes and disappear for good. It soothed you to think about Marcos’ end being inevitable, unchangeable, a fact. Some of the guilt was easier to bury that way.

“Wh-What are you saying to me, you awful child?!” She wailed with watery eyes, hands wrapped in the same colored strands of hair you had. “How could you?! That's not true! That’s not true! Do you know how hard it was to carry you for nine months?! I was so young and I was forced to give birth to you! Forced! Do you hear me—forced to be a mother to a child I never wanted! It was that or death. I never wanted a child because they turn on you and say things like this! You horrible, horrible child!”

Her shrieks stirred a ruckus from the kitchen where Marcos and Elio emerged from. Marcos ran to your mother, took her in his arms, and cradled her against his chest when she began to shed very real tears that bubbled at the corner of her eyes before falling, curving along her cheeks.

Elio came straight to you, hesitating to put his hands on your body, maybe noticing how viciously you glared at this wilted woman he'd yet to meet.

“Get the groceries. We're gone.” You stormed straight for the door, chest stuttering with heavy breaths you tried to calm because you knew what came next. Your throat ached, burned fiercely like something had snagged there and you needed to claw it out.

Once you reentered the chilly air submerged in all the dark and light of Retro City at night, it didn't matter that you were crying. They were hot tears that left behind cool traces. They were decades of disappointment, of secretly understanding a mother’s love would always be conditional, of being unwanted and wishing you hadn't been burdened with existing.

Elio came out minutes later, the door closing softly and locking after him. You heard the bags crinkle near you, drawing your eyes away from a blinking parking meter you'd zoned in to calm yourself down.

You said nothing.

“Let’s go home.” Elio hailed a cab idling nearby and opened the door for you. “I want to keep the meat fresh.”

Him and that stupid duck.

This cabbie looked back at you both once to get directions, and then only occasionally afterward, casting pitiable glances at your raw-looking face in the mirror. The GPS displayed on the car’s dashboard showed the apartment was thirty minutes away because of traffic, probably from a crash they were detouring; ordinarily, it only took twenty minutes.

When your pocket vibrated, you almost didn't check. Unsurprisingly, it was a message from Marcos, just a single one.

“I don't think you should come around for a while,” it read. You didn't respond. Nothing new. Some sort of falling out with your mother was routine. You couldn't understand why she thought it'd ever go differently.

However, this time wasn't like all the rest. This time, you’d said something unforgivable despite her doing the same, but yours was worse in her mind. You didn't mind the idea of her disappearing from your life. It was harder to handle the thought that you'd never see Marcos again before he ceased to function, though.

“What happened?” Elio asked, a weird departure from androids being programmed, traditionally, never to pry. “That woman was your mother, correct? What did you say to her?”

“Who cares?” You grunted, sniffing around the burn your in sinuses again. “She's a crazy bitch. She's always been that way. I told her that Marcos would just turn into a scrap heap eventually. Was that wrong of me?”

“Well, perhaps that phrasing was inappropriate, yes.” Elio touched your forearm. “But there is no NDA in place from Hyperion. You are well within your rights to have told her. But, as I said, your phrasing—”

“I know, shut up—” You moved closer so you could lean against him. “I hate that woman. I hate my mother more than I ever hated anyone.”

Elio lifted an arm above you, giving you room to slide in as far as you wanted to go. He held you for the first time, repeating long, weighty strokes down your back, through his coat that you still wore. You were transported back to a moment in time steeped in cloudy nostalgia, blurred.

It was Marcos kneeling at your bedside, yellow overhead lights dimmed to nearly full darkness. The door was shut because otherwise a heap of cackling voices, Mother and her gossiping hens after too much wine, would spear in through the cracks and make you petulant. Marcos had already been trying to get you to sleep for over an hour.

“Sleep little one, sleep.” Marcos had said, voicebox in his throat straining with a quieter sound. “I know it must be difficult. You must be rested for school tomorrow.”

“They're too loud.” you whined, throwing your covers back with a great flourish, feet kicking them the rest of the way off before you huffed and turned to your side away from Marcos. “Make them shut up! Can't you make them shut up, Marcos?!”

He sighed, defeated as much as an android could be. No, he could not. It went against his programming to disobey his master—any human who made a demand of him. His order was to get the child to sleep, and that had yet to happen.

“Would you like me to read The Falcon and the Hare to you again?” It was your favorite bedtime story right now. Hearing fictional stories involving extinct animals seemed to be of odd fascination to you. “My tone of voice might make it—”

“No!” you fussed, thumping your feet once, twice, three times and going limp again. “Come up here until I fall asleep. Please?”

Marcos nodded. “Yes, little one.”

He had to keep one leg off the bed to even half fit on the mattress. You sat upright to fix the blankets so to cover yourself and part of Marcos’ one bent knee. His arm laid out on the bed, waiting for you to crawl into it until you were nestled into his side, sucking up what small warmth radiated from his fake body. Once you found a comfortable spot, curled up tightly much like a cat sunbathing in a single shaft of daylight, he began smoothing a hand down along your back, heavy enough to be felt through your thick comforter.

You listened to him hum a song that you liked, one that translated well to his chords and the vibrations in his throat.

He hummed. He petted your back. He hummed. He petted your back. He hummed…

“Do you truly hate your mother?” Elio’s voice was delicate just then, aware that you were away in some reverie he tried to gently lure you out of. The dream was over. That one silver glimmer of your childhood became far away, forgotten while the sounds of the city rushed back into the cab.

“Yes—I mean, I dunno.” You actually yawned, pushing one of your eyes with the heel of your hand. “I think I hate her. We've argued my entire life. We've never gotten along. Yeah, I hate her.”

Elio was holding you by the waist now. “Is that why you said what you did?”

“Said what?” You were a little too keen on his thumb swirling around the fat padding your hip bone.

“About Marcos being scrap…”

“Elio, seriously? Do you ever shut up?” It was tempting to put yourself on the opposite side of the seat, but you didn't want to give the cabbie any chance to eyeball him. “I—I don't know. She just gets me so mad. I used to be able to crush up those feelings because Marcos told me it wasn't healthy to act on them. But, then, I moved out, and I realized she was still the same, that she'd always stay the same. I stopped hiding it.”

You were so close to his face that you could see how long his eyelashes were and the shadows they cast on his cheeks.

You looked him in the eyes. “I wanted to make her hurt as much as she hurt me.”

■━■━■━■■━■━■━■■━■━■

Midnight had come and gone before you finally gave up on trying to sleep. You spent the better part of an hour staring up at the high ceiling, imagining every rusting pipe you saw as immobile serpents stretched taut to make the interconnecting structure that sprawled across the entire loft. Swirls and shapes and blacker-than-black shadows danced in front of your eyes, twisted with the pipes, and made the usual knocking sounds within them, but nothing ever came for you.

Downstairs was a careful amount of liveliness and aromas as Elio put together his duck à l'orange that he promised you. You scarcely heard a sound from him shuffling about but more from the clanking pans, boiling pots, and unintelligible chatter you knew came from the television.

Maybe he was watching a rerun of Wendy Carmichael Can Cook again, maybe a segment from the news because he liked that equally as much.

And yet, as you made your way to the lower floor, mystified by the fact you were standing on your toes to disguise all sound during your descent, you saw that the television was set to an old crime show he watched with you on occasion.

Detective Georgina Reyes and her android sidekick, Regis (G5), were the undisputed heroes of Helcam City and solved every case that came their way with style, finesse, and plenty of moral and ethical dilemmas. The majority of the show was spent within Georgina's inner world and her near-obsessive lust over Regis, who was owned by the department chief.

Ratings for the show had climbed to an all-time high when Regis had gained a sense of self and the ability to defy his programming. For fewer than six episodes, it was complete bliss for fans of Georgina and Regis, but then the season five finale happened—

“Can't sleep?” Elio asked, effectively putting your heart in your asshole, sending your soul skyward. He must have gauged your sudden gray pallor and bulbous glare because he smiled apologetically from the bottom of the stairway. “I'm sorry. I didn't intend to scare you. Were you watching Regis and Reyes?”

“I—uh, no.” You sighed, taking slow steps to the bottom to ease your heartbeat eating away at your ribs. “I was thinking about the show ending. Have you watched it yet?”

“Of course,” he said. “It was a peculiar way for the story to end. In my opinion, it was incomplete. Very sudden. It's my understanding that there was an issue with how the government was being represented within the show, and a few of the writers were accused of conspiracy to defraud the government and subsequently arrested for it.”

“Seriously?” You scoffed, making it to ground level, and walked around Elio toward the kitchen where all the heavenly smells wrapped around you, enticing you to take a morsel. “It was the forced pregnancy plotline, right? Creepy stuff.”

“Indeed.”

Elio wouldn't let you have any of the duck à l’orange, saying it was meant for your dinner later on in the day, but he did steep you a hot mug of herbal tea (for sleep), the one that turned water pink, and offered to make you a light snack.

He went back to his tasks after you declined, satisfied well enough with the small swigs you took from your white mug. You spent more time sitting at the counter in silence, watching his back, hoping to gain the power to see through his shirt rather than actually taking interest in what he was doing.

Your eyelids fluttered and fell thinking about the car ride home: his arm around you, his thumb rubbing pacifying circles into your hip, how you'd been close enough to his face to believe you felt a breath leave his lips.

“Elio.”

“Yes?”

He had moved on to washing dishes. When he heard you behind him, he took a clean towel to his hands and quickly dried them before facing you. You guessed you probably had a strange expression right now, or at least, looked at him in a way you never had because the towel was cast aside, draped over the faucet, and his eyes flickered across your face.

“Your heart rate and body temperature have increased.” he said, giving into the pull of your hands after grabbing both sides of his face. You backed yourself into the countertop while still holding him, thumbs caressing the rise of his cheeks, bringing him down, down, down toward your face where you certainly felt heat blow across your mouth. “Your breathing has changed. I can hear your heartbeat. Don't be anxious. I won't hurt you.”

You weren't nervous.

You proved it by kissing him, full-bodied, slow, lingering. He gripped the edge of the countertop, bracing his weight against his hands to stifle some aggressive reaction, possibly, and returned the kiss with just as much fervor that you put into it.

His lips were every bit of what you imagined, what you wanted them to be. You had the urge to bite into them a little, to see if they could bleed the same way yours could when you chewed enough on loose skin. Their texture was slightly indented with cracks that gave friction to the moist smear across your mouth.

Although the sounds of the kitchen and ambient hum from the television in the next room stayed as they were, it was like the volume of everything had been set to mute, and only the breathy, wet pops of air and skin made it into your ears. You heard the delicate chatter of teeth inside your head when his mouth roamed the underside of your jaw, down your neck, to the rise of your clavicle, stopping only at where your neckline ended.

His hands had already made home under your clothes, first doing away with your shirt that he tossed over your shoulder onto one of the barstools. Next, he worked on the elastic waistband keeping your sweatpants on your hips. You flinched against his hands when they splayed across your ass, taking all he could in them while his lips continued a downward trajectory, traveling over your breastbone, along the curve of your navel, and then he stopped.

Elio had been on his knees for a while, stirring you so deeply that you had no doubt there'd be damp spots sitting inside your sweatpants, possibly even drying on the inside of your thighs by now. He helped you out of your pants one leg hole at a time while you used his broad shoulders to balance yourself. And soon enough, one of your thighs was hiked up in that same spot, his face hidden from you despite all the work he was doing to well up a hard knot in your abdomen.

You had to take a fistful of his hair and wrap it tight in your fingers, using your other arm to balance against the counter. He wouldn't let you fall, you knew that, but the unsteadiness of your legs grew, trembling violently, turning to lead like being buried under concrete or suctioned by water. He kissed and sucked and stroked you some more, pushing more into the spots that made you moan the loudest and fastest, fingers wandering you busily and lubricated with your own spend.

“Elio—Elio, let's move somewhere, please.” You shuddered out, trying to pull his hair, shove his face off of you. “Please.”

He grunted, surprising you by relinquishing to the pressure, and made his way back up the route he had taken down. “Where do you want to go?” he asked, lips sticking on your throat, rising higher to the protrusion of your chin. “The kitchen floor? The couch? The bed? We could probably manage in the bathtub as well, if that's what you'd enjoy.”

“I don't care.” You were only half-honest and miserable now with the sole focus of trying not to touch yourself to finish. “Just… somewhere, Elio.”

“As you wish.”

Elio hoisted you onto his hips, making sure you knew to squeeze him with your thighs before making his way around the kitchen to turn knobs and shut off the overhead bulbs. The new darkness was refreshing yet did nothing to tame that sweltering sensation between your legs. In fact, you thought you could burst from the anticipation. It was everything you could do not to hump him through his clothes, hands occupied in his tousled hair, lips together with bruising force.

Before long, your back was on couch cushions and the television was off so as to not ruin the moment. You saw dark behind your eyes while you kept them open, unfocused on the ceiling with the serpent pipes because his mouth was already back on you and helping you chase that high.

“You're almost there.” His lips smacked against your engorged skin, making your lashes flutter and eyes roll back. “You look so perfect. When you cum, I'll take my time cleaning you up. I can use my tongue. I can make you cum again—as many times as you'd like.”

His arms held your thighs wide open, giving him all the room he needed for those final, well-placed strokes that turned your moans into utterly drawn-out, lewd things that made you grateful that no one else lived in this side of the building. Your body wrenched against his continued ministrations, his lips and chin and fingers warm and glistening with your traces.

You had thought to worry, briefly, about something getting onto the cushions under your ass, but Elio had already thought it through and used the dish towel from earlier to catch anything awry.

It came in handy for his face.

“How do you feel?” he asked from inside one of your thighs, kissing his way all the way to the point of your knee. “Was it satisfactory?”

You didn't answer right away, especially not when he came forward on his arms to catch your lips, slowing things down so you could bask in that fuzzy, satiated afterglow—dopamine and oxytocin being that remarkable duo doing their damndest to reinforce how exquisite and ineffably breathtaking Elio was to you.

“Would you like a bath?” he asked against your jaw. “You can just lie back and relax. I'll clean you up.”

“No.” Spurred by newfound bravery, you trailed your fingertips between both bodies, first to loosen the tie on his sleep pants, plucking the strings hard so he felt it. Next thing, your hands slipped under his shirt. “I want you to actually fuck me. Put your cock in me.”

Elio jolted upright, using the tall back of the couch and armrest near your head to hold his body above you. Cold air seeped in all the places where he had been, dotting your skin in gooseflesh, hairs within those follicles standing on end. You were laid out below him, showing all your unobscured nudity and vulnerability, withering yourself just a little smaller under the intensity of his stare.

This was different from the grocery store, where he had needed a moment to amend for information he did not have. This was something else—flickers of conflict, struggle, restraint, and excitement were ablaze in his eyes, which shifted around within their sockets, giving you glimpses of pure gleaming white, which stood out in the inky dark all around.

“I—are you certain that's what you want?” he spoke at last, doing little to alleviate the way you felt he had seen your insides and bones. “It is late, I know you must be tired.”

“Are you…” You couldn't really explain the uneasiness gnawing at your gut, nor the thrill of wanting him inside of you regardless. Maybe he could fuck the feeling out of you, bring peace to your throbbing heartbeat and blood gushing to your head. “Elio, are you telling me no?”

“I cannot do such a thing.” he said right away, coming down from his high place to lay the weight of himself across you.

You felt his skin flush to your chest without a thin shirt to hide his shape and muscle that wasn't real, but this was so much more than touching every dissected mannequin in physiology class in school. They couldn't kiss your neck while the interwoven, complex network underneath stretched, elastic flesh contracted and relaxed against your palms.

“Would you believe me if I told you there are certain functions—programming—that I cannot override?” The waistband of his pants collected in a heap of fabric around his knees, freeing room for his cock in the open air. “I won't be able to let you go until I'm finished. I want you to understand that.”

That sounded hot, and you were tired of him stalling, so you told him you understood. “Very well.” He kissed you, guiding one of your hands low to his core where you could revel in the size of him.

He was hard in your grip with a good girth and length to him, a curve you'd come to recognize from toys collected over the past decade to hit the right spots. The skin over his cock was much a part of him as the rest on his body, hot, growing damp, and sticky the nearer you wandered to the head.

You had watched old pornography with Melby and the group a few times before from the days when it was just humans performing acts on each other. No one really liked it because it was so dramatized; everyone agreed that one of the actors needed to be an android for it to actually be sexy. You never told them that the moaning men with stuttering hips as they ejaculated was something you did like.

Elio leaned into your palm, the thumbprint starting to prune as you rubbed his tip. More warmth seeped out from it, wet and thick and perplexing and exhilarating because Hyperion made him so perfect, a better being than just an emulation of man.

His cock slid through your hand in short, quick bursts that eventually lubricated his entire shaft. He'd kept himself busy on your lips, tongue in your mouth, swiveling together the taste of you with saliva. It was the most inelegant he had been with you so far, yet you didn't think you'd be bothered if he did this more often.

“Fuck me.” You whined, finally apart from him. The swollen head of his cock made a moist path along your core where you massaged it against every sensitive spot that set your senses into a blazing frenzy. “Be as rough as you want. Hurt me a little.”

He finally took your hand away, rearranging your legs so one laid across the back of the couch, the other on his hip with a knee shoved under your ass for height.

“I will not hurt you.” Both your wrists were cuffed by his large hands, pinned down into the cushions by your head. “But, I cannot let you go. You must see it through until the end.”

“Fuck. Me.” you said forcefully, uncomprehending to the things he was telling you, uncaring what it all meant.

“Yes. Alright.”

Elio obeyed you as he was supposed to, cock sinking in with care, thrusts starting out shallow until the tip was withdrawn and then back inside again. The angle he had created for you made it easier to take his length. It took a little more time to acclimate to his girth and plenty of gentle encouragement from his voice landing right next to your ear, telling you to relax. It would improve in a few minutes, and he wouldn't let you go to sleep dissatisfied.

Indeed, minutes later, you were well beyond the worst of it and filling the void all around you with harsh, rapturous moans, which Elio enjoyed hearing. His lips lingered at your throat where most of your sounds resonated, fists still holding firm around your wrists, knuckles the same color as the rest of the dark but had actually bled pale.

The springs within the couch cried out, unused to this weight and ruthlessness, while the air stung with cracks of slapping skin timed with your moans. Elio didn't let you move from where he had you laid out, didn't let up on the speed and depth he reached despite how labored your breaths became, broken words eclipsed by panting and his tongue forcing them back down your throat where they stayed in submission.

It was still cold in the early mornings this spring, often leaving your apartment a little less comfortable than you'd like, but right now, you could've been convinced that he was fucking you on the ground in the flatlands and believed it. Your skin was slick with sweat, the mess between your bodies slippery and undoubtedly staining the couch underneath.

Just then, the weight on your wrists climbed higher to your hands. He threaded your fingers together at the same time his thrusts began to slow, hips rolling yours like a swaying ship amid languid seas.

The whole time he had been on top of you, edging you closer to another orgasm, he had hardly made a noise apart from whispering in your ear when you'd clench his cock too tight. Now, he was failing to keep quiet from your neck, trembling and grunting on your skin until, at last, one jarring thrust left him breathing out in relief.

He got you to your end shortly after, half-hard cock still throbbing and warm inside you, giving just enough of what you needed while his hand finished the rest with fast strokes. You winced. He didn't let off until your jaw hung slack, whimpering meagerly through the pleasure hampering thoughts and sensations other than pressure releasing from your groin, spend turning a patch of your couch dark.

“You did well.” Once he was soft, he tied his pants back around his waist and picked up the sodden dish towel to begin cleaning around your sorest areas. “Come with me. I'll start you a hot bath and make you a new cup of tea before bed.”

You didn't want to get up from that spot, declared yourself rooted there unless Elio helped you up, and thrust a hand high into the dark room.

He wore a princely smile, you assumed, as he leaned down to pick you up in his arms instead. Moved by such a gesture, you reached for his face with your angry wrists and hands to kiss him all the way to the bathroom.

None of this made it into your next report.

■━■━■━■■━■━■━■■━■━■

Melby didn't like Elio.

This she had told you over text after you declined her incoming phone call to not arouse Researcher Kim’s ire in finding out you were completely distracted during his exorbitantly detailed analysis of your latest reports. Two had been sent in before midnight last Sunday, as usual, since he was rarely satisfied with what you revealed through them these days.

Less than an hour later, while cozied up in bed on your side, facing the chopping blades of an oscillating fan, just beginning to feel yourself teeter off that edge from dull, relaxed awareness into light sleep, your ringtone went off—it was Kim.

“What else have you committed to doing lately in terms of Elio's social advancement? The last thing I have here…” A refreshing, fast pause followed, accented by the sound of paper softly swishing as it was parsed. “He was brought to a movie theater on the twenty-fourth, Diosyn Park on the twenty-ninth, Henrietta's four times in the last week. That's not nearly enough. Who are you socializing him with? What have their reactions been? How has he reacted to them? You're not writing down exact times.”

Not once since you'd joined the video conference forty minutes ago did he check to see if you were listening to him, content with his nose being shoved down into a bundle of chemically smelling papers and glowing screens to corroborate previous work he had on file.

That made it easier for you to text back Melby, arguing with her in endless paragraphs too tiring for your thumbs to continuously scroll through that you didn't have time to meet up at Clamors for drinks with everyone.

“Should I tell Chima you hate us?” texted Melby.

Truthfully, you couldn't tell if it was meant as a threat or if she was just pettish after being refused. One of her worst qualities, never spoken aloud to her face lest she fumbled and blubbered all the way to Chima to snitch about it, was being horridly uncompromising to just about everything.

It made you anxious enough that your fingers started to ache with an urge, on the path toward curling back slithers of cuticle, gathering blood under the nails, itchy scabs that Elio constantly covered with neon bandaids so you wouldn't touch them.

Eventually, you found a new fixation with the seams of your knuckles and fitted the most unrefined part of your nails into them, digging up red that way until he had to cover those, too.

It took you ten minutes with fidgety thumbs to reply. “I don't hate anyone. You know me.”

Melby's was instantaneous. “What about me? Do you hate me now?”

Another one. “Now that you have that android?”

More. “We used to spend so much time together.”

Last one for good measure to effectively drill a gory black hole straight into your pounding, cowardly heart. In her eyes, anyway. “I haven't seen you in months!”

“He needs more direct interaction. I've decided that I'll make amends to the template you've been using up until now.” Researcher Kim was saying, not seeing you, not hearing you, assuming your loyalty to him and his cause was complete.

Ripples of drowsiness overcame you so powerfully that you left Melby on read, mind suddenly a vast, empty space and quiet for the first moment all day. Your hands rose to cradle your cheeks, propping your head above your elbows on the countertop because Kim's inflated droning had come to have that effect on you over time.

A human man with a face that nice shouldn't be allowed to talk so much. He should go back to moaning on couches in front of cameras and sweltering lights.

“Let me explain what I'm currently changing.” he said, hopelessly invested in whatever those alterations were just by the mechanical click-clack of fingertips soaring over a keyboard somewhere low and out of sight of his screen. “From here on out, I'm going to require that you gather between six to ten direct interactions. I want full disclosure of every conversation, transcribed or recorded. From my standpoint, recording would be the most effective method so I may make interpretations myself.”

You were thinking of what to ask Elio to make you for lunch. It was almost noon. You unmuted the call. “Am I allowed to just randomly record people talking like that? That seems…”

“Hyperion works closely with Retro City’s governing bodies, and by extension, so do you.” Kim kept typing as he spoke. “It isn't illegal because the information you're collecting is imperative to the Hyperion Project. Without it, we face the risk of progress slowing or diminishing. That cannot happen, and I cannot emphasize enough that your work as an auditor must come before other commitments.”

At long last, he pulled his face out of papers and other screens to look at yours. In a fashion unsuitable for him, he sighed in a fatigued way, back collapsing against his ergonomic chair, shoulders lopsided with how he perched his elbows on the armrests.

“Retro City has over three million inhabitants. You won't have any issues finding people for Elio to speak to.” he told you. “Six to ten for each report. That’s all.”

You were already back in your messages, backtracking your previous responses to Melby, asking her what time everyone was meeting at Clamors.

Right away, “Come at nine!”

And then, “I'll save you a seat.”

Finally, “Don't eat too much before getting here. It'll ruin the fun.”

“Fine.” Phone now face down on the counter, you returned Researcher Kim’s concentrated stare. “I'll do my best. Six to ten. Six to ten…”

That had done well to appease him, demonstrated through a satisfied smile, which pulled his lips just enough that the muscles in his right cheek twitched as though the motion was foreign to him. With how inexpressive he was most of the time, you weren't surprised, thinking it more humorous than anything else.

You struggled to find a smile of your own that wasn't strained, though.

“That reminds me—” He positioned himself forward, arms on his polished dark-red desk with a curious gleam in his black eyes. “None of your reports have instances of copulation mentioned. Have there been complications?”

You sat stiffly, not agape but definitely not composed, either. “Sorry? What was that?”

“Intercourse. Sex.” He simplified it for you, almost with a pitying crease forming between his brows. “You've completed every other area outlined in the template except that one. I have… refrained from questioning you until now because I do understand that, outside of a clinical setting, it can be construed as inappropriate to discuss.”

The only person you had divulged any details to was Melby. Even that had been brief and inexplicit because she had immediately changed the topic to something one of the kids Chima invited into the group had done that pissed her off.

“Why do you need to know?” It was a defensive question. “Is that something I really need to write about? It's sex. It's just sex.”

Researcher Kim made an indistinguishable sound behind steepled fingers. They hid away whatever shape his mouth was in at that moment, making the whole conversation terribly uncomfortable. It was odd how exposed you felt like his stare was reaching long, further than just the screen in front of him. He wasn't looking into you or through you but rather right at you—imagining you some other way, unclothing your body with drifting eyes and invisible hands.

You were equal parts embarrassed and repulsed by that line of thinking, allowing your mind to summon up his ghost hands to search you, feel you under all your layers, know you as intimately as Elio had as though part of some extension of himself.

“It is all outlined in the contract you signed.” Kim said, now with an edge that made you flinch on the barstool. “Androids are developed for convenience and pleasure. I have reports for one, not the other. If Elio, as the first of G7, is not performing exceptionally—if there are complications, if he is defective—that is something you must include within your reports. I don't suspect that to be the case, in this situation.”

His eyes suddenly caught onto something else, going beyond you, but you chose not to react by looking. “Your work as an auditor has been sufficient so far, but incomplete reports at this critical stage in Elio's testing are grounds for me to terminate your contract.”

You clenched your jaw until your teeth throbbed, your head going up and down like it was on a hinge attached to your neck.

“Personally, that's a hassle I'd rather not involve myself in.” Kim confessed in a straighter posture, smiling tensely. “Now, I'll ask you again: Have there been any complications with inter—”

“That's enough.” Elio reached across your shoulder for the tablet, pointer finger hovering over a red button on the screen. “Researcher Kim, it's time for lunch. Goodbye.”

He pushed the button, managing to catch a swift change in Kim's expression before the screen went black and reflected your shock back at you instead.

You watched him slide the tablet away to the opposite end of the counter space, unable to lift yourself out of this bizarre stupor just from how purely surreal what just happened was. And from the look of it, Researcher Kim hadn't anticipated that Elio was capable of doing something like that, either.

You just hoped it wouldn't cost you your contract.

“What have you been doing all this time?” you asked, tilting your head back to welcome his lips gliding atop yours, a peck, at first, which gradually grew deeper and greedier. With some effort, you pulled back. “Mm, c'mon, what were you doing?”

“On Wendy Carmichael Can Cook today, she said—”

A hiss of annoyance. “Oh, of course…”

“She said there was a list of excellent bistros around Retro City worth trying.” He wasn't pleading with you or anything, but he seemed just about as dedicated to this idea as he had been with the duck à l’orange a while back. “For lunch, I thought it'd be of interest to you to visit one. I've been researching ones I thought you would like based off of your dietary habits, allergies, and sensitivities. Radiant Bistro next to the Leviathan Archway near downtown might be a good option. Impressively diverse menu.”

You pretended to pinch lint off of his shirt and inspect it up close. “If you didn't want to cook, you could've just said that.”

“That's not it,” he assured you with a kiss to the back of your hand so that you understood he meant it. “Since my arrival here, your social presence has declined substantially, which will not fare well for your public profile. I do understand that it’s in relation to your work as an auditor, but—”

“Okay! Okay, I get it.” you said agreeably, hands raised, hoping it'd deflect anything else. “We’ll go. Let me just find a hat so the sun won't get on my face.”

“No problem.” He walked away and came back with an old unbranded brown one from somewhere in the most remote crevice of the apartment. “Will this suffice?”

You looked at it, amazed. “Yeah. Yup. Let's go.”

Elio had stopped carrying a coat with him once the evenings grew long, and the remnants of heat from the day floated into nighttime, trapping the city within a muggy gray haze that too closely resembled dewy fog in early spring. The difference was the heaviness and breathability of the air—one you could tolerate despite allergies; the other was deplorable and evoked memories of every single club you had drunk and danced in with Melby and Chima and the rest in the past years.

Outside, right now, sucking in the early-afternoon heat into your lungs after spending your morning in air conditioning, nose wrapped in earthy white wisps rising from a coffee mug, you wanted to turn back around and hide. Much to your dismay, Elio kept you on a short leash with a tight grip on your hand, probably expecting you to have a change of heart.

“Would you like for me to recall the menu and read it aloud to you?” he offered, situating his hand so his fingers crossed through yours, palms flush together. “They have fourteen types of sandwiches—hot and cold. Five of those are chicken, and five are of different meat varieties: lamb, cow, veal, goat, and yak, all claimed to be bred and raised and slaughtered in their warehouses. The last four sandwiches are…”

You listened passively without much commitment, especially in the back of the cab where there was no escape from anything. The AC was broken. The cabbie kept wiping sweat off his brow and sipped warm water. With the windows down, the outside air ripped inside the vehicle, nearly stealing the old hat off your head.

Elio went on to list desserts, thumb gently rolling circles on your sticky skin as if meant to keep you soothed.

“As long as I remember to eat light…” you murmured, remembering, glumly to yourself.

■━■━■━■■━■━■━■■━■━■

Clamors was inside a three-story building on the north end of Retro City, about a ten-minute taxi ride to Mother’s brick-stone house, thirty minutes from Henrietta’s, forty minutes from your apartment, and farthest removed from the slums where congregations of profile delinquents and the unwanted were most dense.

Here in this part of the city, you were an imposter among manicured foliage, men and women and androids arrayed in trendy designer silhouettes that were protruding, sharp, and agonizing; sharks and whales of big business puffed cigars in front panoramic views of the cityscape from the highest skyscrapers. They could look down at the street from their window and see you, an ant scuttling meaninglessly.

This wasn't a place where you belonged, a feeling that never changed over time, even years later after Chima recruited you into his group and every night was a suffocating blur of sweaty, faceless bodies, explosive music, stomping feet, raspy screams, and lightly-flavored chalk dissolving under your tongue. You roamed the sidewalks at two in the morning as everyone had been kicked out, but no one cared because Chima came from money, a rare case where two parents could be accounted for, and you'd all just be back inside the next evening.

You weren't sure when you had become disillusioned with it all—the drinks, the animal pills, which coalesced into saliva in your mouth, the noises, the gossip, the six ibuprofen to function behind a desk at work, the burnout of rinse and repeat, a conveyor belt that moved cyclically without a place to get off. To exit the ride meant to plunge head-first into abject terror, the unknowable, to become part of the yellow wallpaper that's never actually seen, to cease to be.

Being back in Clamors again after months away turned your heart against you, thrust the sound of its distress into your ears, dwarfing an animated conversation happening right at your circular table. You felt the music vibrate through your skin, make its way into your marrow, and rattle your entire skeleton.

Melby had a hand on your knee, blunt-tipped nails collecting sweat off your skin underneath them.

You couldn't really focus on that.

“So, this is Elio. He's hot.” Chima said without looking at you.

“Really hot!”

“So hot!”

“Did you hear? Shut up, stop talking! Did you hear? That slut got herself pregnant!” shouted Niva, a senior-most part of the circle behind you and Melby. She knew everything about everyone, though she wasn't supposed to keep tabs. “Apparently her baby daddy decided the pussy wasn't worth it anymore and ran!”

“I can't believe it. That'd mean someone was actually willing to sleep with her.” said Niquan Lamos, the fashionable one always gravitating toward pastels. “A man, at that. Disgusting.”

Everyone laughed, including you. Elio quietly observed it all, seated at your side, incapable of letting his polite smile slip with numerous prowling eyes on him.

“Have you fucked him yet?” Chima asked you without actually caring for a response.

“Oh, have you fucked him?”

“C'mon, don't hide it. How was it?”

“What was her name?” asked a newcomer in the group, fresh out of secondary school and not even twenty. He was a compact lad, both in size and from being squeezed between Chima and Niquan in the circular booth stretched in fuchsia leather, or at least, that's how it looked in your table’s corner of the club. “How come she isn't here anymore?”

First rule was: Never talk about things that could make the liquor go down harder. This was one of those things. Secondly, never ask questions about people who the group was no longer associated with. It just sounded ugly to acknowledge the rejects.

Tonight, however, was an exception because Elio's presence was an exciting change. They forgot how to behave.

“Hm, now that you mention it, I don't remember. How long has it been?” Chima said this absently, abysmally black eyes wholly captivated by the android. “Damn. Something like Mi-dan? Mi-an? Mi… Mi…”

“Her name was Mi-sun.” said a nobody from somewhere at the round table. It probably would've been easy to figure out who was talking if they were more important, but it took less effort to blame the music reverberating from the speakers mounted on the wall near their heads.

Melby’s hand traveled adventurously along your thigh, unmindful of how close she came to your crotch. You had a harder time ignoring that move and sipped busily from your jungle bird, holding it higher than your eyeline to admire its beautiful vermilion hue practically glowing against the strobe lights pulsing down from the ceiling.

“This is the first time I've seen you drink.” Elio was leaned into you, wise to the fact that you wouldn't hear him any other way. His lips nearly touched your ear, voice honeyed, caring, all for you. You were halfway through your second jungle bird. “Please don't overdo it. The adverse effects of overconsumption of alcohol will cause you great discomfort tom—”

“Thank you, Elio.” For just a moment, you wondered how irreversibly damaging it would be to just grab his hand and sprint out of there. You drank some more to weaken your resolve, add lead into your legs. “I'll be good if you be good.”

Elio nodded appreciatively.

“Why was Mi-sun kicked out?” again asked the new face from before, plain and boyish-looking, Chima's fresh catch. They just kept getting younger and the alcohol just kept tasting worse. You forced it all down, anyway. “Well? Well? Well?”

“She was talking crazy shit,” Melby piped up with a drawl, fingernail swirling around a dark purple bruise on your thigh. She pushed in hard enough to remind you that it was still sore. “Like, she was fine one week and then every single night after that she would nooooot shut up about some wild government conspiracy theories.”

“Oh, right.” Chima laughed while forcing everybody out of their seats so he could stand. “I remember now. Yeah, she went completely insane. I think she was talking about androids being used for population control or something. Weird. Hey, let's dance.”

“That was a year ago?” Niva wanted Chima to confirm. “A year, right?”

“Over a year now. Who cares?” Melby said, staying put beside you while the rest of the booth vacated. “She’ll just end up dead in the slums like all the rest. Uh, they do all die, right?”

“Who cares?” Chima echoed, nesting his shoulders high to his ears in a shrug before walking away. “Who has the animal crackers?”

“Sounds about right.” Niva was unconvinced, doubt lingering in her words until Chima came around to rummage her purse for pills. “Oh! Only take one, they're so expensive!”

Chima stuck three in his mouth. “Don’t kill the vibe.” He left without a glance back toward all the no-face, nameless nobodies willing to lick the underside of his shoes if it meant they'd be acknowledged and given features—eyes, lips, hair, an identity.

Niquan was satisfied with just one, offering a subtle wash of relief to Niva, who was just about depleted of her supply at that point and used the last of it for herself, tongue lapping at the inside of her plastic envelope.

You were almost finished with your jungle bird, contemplating a third even though you had entered the territory where one more could mean the difference between a happy buzz and splintering headaches tomorrow, just as Elio warned. The ice cubes had melted into a smooth watercolor appearance and turned from red to blue to green to purple to pink as the lights gushed down from above.

“I don't remember what she looks like.” you admitted to Melby who gazed into you, squeezing your thigh meaningfully. Again, you didn't pay attention. “Mi-sun, I mean. Were we friends? Did I ever drink with her? Have I ever slept over at her house?”

“No!” Melby snapped, affronted. “You're mistaking her for me. You guys never even had a conversation. You hated her guts. You thought she was a freak.”

You made a sound into the last of your drink, unsure whether she was lying to you or not. “Maybe. Maybe. Was I okay with her being kicked out?”

“Totally.” she said, casting a fleeting look of disdain toward Elio, lip curling at one side. “Chima only counted yours and mine and Niva’s votes since we've been here the longest.”

“That's…” You licked your lips and then the rim of your glass, secretly wishing your tongue would snag an uneven crack so you’d start to bleed. “Why don't I remember anything?”

Melby giggled. “Because you've been drinking, babe. It'll come back to you. What animal cracker do you want tonight? Giraffe or cat?”

“Hm?” You were elsewhere.

Until now, you had gone numb to your surroundings thanks to the licorice notes of black strap rum and bitter Campari and pucker of pineapple juice that made for a mostly pleasant experience in your throat.

You were present in that moment, venturing a look around at the dance floor crammed with bodies (human and android) moving in rhythm to the music, in time with each other to create a oneness, a synchronism so strange that it put the hairs on the back of the neck on end like spines.

Why did it all look so different now? So alien? As if you were seeing an image from your nightmares in real life.

Elio failed to convince you not to have another drink brought to the table after all, meanwhile Melby said she was disappointed you didn't get something stronger, claiming you used to do it all the time.

That's right. You did, didn't you?

“Hey.” Chima had emerged from the shapeless cluster of sweating, drunk, wriggling bodies a short while later. He reached into the booth, gathering a fistful of Elio's button-up shirt, and looked at you with a malicious gleam, possibly just your imagination, that just dared you to protest. “I know you don't mind if I borrow him for a while, right? Of course not. The rest of us are curious about him. We’ll be gentle.”

You would’ve believed someone if they said your tongue was cut out, because as much as you wanted to slice into him and spit poison in his wounds with your words, rub it raw, deep into the bone, nothing came up.

Not a breath nor a feeble sob.

Don't touch him. Nothing.

“So, you're chill with it?” Chima, beautiful Chima with deep-dark skin sparkling in rhinestones and spray-on glitter as though he were a vessel for all the stars in the cosmos, bared his straight, white teeth at you in the form of an affable grin.

Eat shit. Bitter silence.

He asked you the same thing again but grew bored and gave up on expecting you to do anything interesting. Elio was led away by the front of his shirt to the amalgamation of bodies like a sacrifice for the great black maw belonging to an abomination.

A few broke away from the core. Niva and Niquan were identifiable since you'd known them longer. The rest were unfamiliar to you—the no names and the tiny young man, the android bartender, the disc jockey, the bodies climbing over each other and melting back into a single incoherent mass.

They all looked exactly the same.

“I wanna dance too, let's go!” Melby struggled with one of your arms while attempting to scoot her way out of the booth, but the alcohol and broodiness made your body into a stump, sturdy and immobile, roots bursting through the bottoms of your shoes and the shiny floor.

She plopped back down. “Seriously? What's up with you?”

“It's too hot,” you reasoned, sticking a fingernail into the fresh glass in front of you, swishing the liquid around to make everything a more palatable blend. “If you want to dance, I'm not stopping you.”

“You're acting so weird.” Melby said, lost somewhere between frustration and astonishment while pulling a clear baggy from her pants pocket. A couple small pills moved inside, pink residue clouding the plastic. She plucked out one without looking. “Hey, open up. You're being a huge snoozefest. This'll loosen you up.”

When you felt her acrylic fingernails press against the corner of your lips, you gently pushed her hand back and nursed your drink some more. “No thanks.”

Melby’s tongue lashed against her gums, sharp and disapproving. “Why are you being such a fucking buzzkill tonight?” She traced your line of sight to Elio, to the others grabbing and fondling him, to his eyes looking right back at you. “We haven't seen each other in months. Now all you do is stare at that android.”

“It's my job, Melby.” You took the damp paper napkin from under your drink to dab your forehead at the sweat, trying to cool yourself. “I can't help that.”

“You can take one night away from your job.” she decided, taking hold of your lower mandible with a claw and crammed the chalky pink pill through lips and teeth into the pocket underneath your tongue. “You know the drill. Let it dissolve all the way. Stop making faces! It doesn't taste that bad.”

You tried to jerk your head away, but her grip was surprisingly solid.

“Melby! What the hell?!” It came out garbled around her fingers still resting in your mouth, filling the reservoir below your tongue with saliva.

Melby, blue-eyed and blonde with pale pink skin that always reddened in the electrifying, hot air in the club, was completely flushed from her face down to her chest. Her eyes had darkened upon withdrawing her two fingers, glossing your lips with spittle.

“I missed you.” she said, outlining the shape of your mouth until the skin started to tingle. “Did you miss me? I've been really lonely.”

Your least favorite part of taking an animal cracker was the aftertaste that was the equivalent of eating sidewalk chalk and rubbing alcohol with a whisper of strawberry wafting up into your nostrils, clinging to every permeable membrane in your mouth and making your cheeks tremble.

“I—yeah. Yeah, I missed you.” You tried to sink the lingering taste down your throat with a swish and swallow from the jungle bird. “I didn't know what I was getting into with this whole Hyperion gig. I feel like I'm constantly watching Elio. Twenty-four seven.”

Elio never lost track of you throughout the ordeal, his being unable to escape the hands on his body and fight against the programming in his brain meant exclusively for human satisfaction. There were moments where you saw each other clearly, empty windows between writhing bodies, and you were convinced he tried to convey a very human-like discomfort that you immediately pretended like you hadn't seen.

Interfering meant going against the group. There was nothing you could do about it except allow them to eviscerate Elio if that's what they wanted. You could only sit there, drowning in rum and pineapple and aperitif and demerara sugar and scorching strobe lights and music bashing your skull and Melby unfastening buttons on your pants, but for some reason, that didn't quite register as what it was to you.

“Are you coming home with me tonight?” Melby asked so sweetly that it made your heart flutter, or maybe that was the pill taking effect. “We always have fun together. I've really missed it. It isn't the same without you.”

“What—” You almost tipped the red cocktail while reaching over it for a water glass that no one had touched. You slugged half in one go. “Wait. What are you even saying? I gotta take care of Elio.”

“Oh my god,” she seethed, taking her hand out of your pants to wipe her fingers on the napkin you used earlier. “Just tell him to leave. He has to listen to you. He’ll be okay.”

Fuzz had started to collect in your head, filling the entire dome with a warm, soft feeling that spread like a rapidly-growing fungus down the brainstem, coiled around your spine, stuffed your jaws with cotton, sucked all the moisture from your throat, widened your chest with stuff, and ignited kindling that had been sitting in the bottom of your stomach.

Just now, the deafening tone of music had been reduced to a throbbing bass that jarred your bones and pulsed in your hands and feet. Your vision wasn't much different than it had been before, only now you seemed to move at lightning speed, people and shapes and lights all confused watercolor smears of you shifted too quickly.

“Can't.” You recalled Melby had said something. “Elio, first. Do you see him?”

“No.” she said, watching Chima hook his fingers through the belt loops on Elio’s pants, knocking their pelvises together in time with the music. “Come on, I'll call a cab and we can go home. We’ll have a good time away from everyone.”

You made a grab for the water glass again, throat the driest it had ever been. A mistimed gasp came out when the rim of the glass struck your teeth, missing your mouth almost completely. Luckily, only a little water got on your shirt, molding it to your chest like a cold second skin.

“God, that's good,” you moaned, draining the rest of it. “What are you even talking about? A good time?”

She eyed you uneasily. “What do you mean? What do you remember when you're with me?”

“Pfft,” you scoffed, stealing yet another water glass you managed to grapple with two hands so it'd stop swaying. “What do you mean, what do I mean? I hit the pillow and I'm out. Why?”

After a few long swigs of ice water, the dance floor was less a mangled disarray of smoke and neon colors, more definitive and jagged—the stage, the speakers, the turntable where the disc jockey played. Even the beastly blob of grinding, convulsing people started looking like people.

Melby had lost all the red in her face, eyes riveted to the half-empty jungle juice in front of you, perhaps counting the beads of condensation dripping from its tall form.

“You're usually really talkative. I think you're lying to me right now to get out of it.”

“Huh?” You were done with the second water, staring at her unfocused but suspicious. “Lying about what?”

“I—” Melby withered in her seat, distracted by something ahead that you couldn't see, a bejeweled nail wedged between her teeth. “No, nothing. Never mind.”

“Whatever,” you murmured. “I'm outta here.”

Melby didn't stop you from leaving behind money for your drinks before you stumbled away from the booth toward the dancefloor, evading bodies that came flying toward you with erratic, jerky movements not at all matching the pounding beat coming from the stage.

The floor was actually hundreds of individually tinted blocks of plexiglass with colored bulbs screwed in underneath.

During the day, Clamors kept it covered with a special protectant and tarp to maintain the integrity of the glass, but at night, it was illuminated like a nonsensical rainbow checkerboard. Each square took on a life of its own, flickering in unison with songs played throughout the night, warping into mandalas and spirals and disorienting waves that most people using animal crackers couldn’t stomach for long.

You were close to vomiting up the jungle birds and your meager lunch from Radiant Bistro that afternoon when you found Elio within the swarm of partiers that reeked of sour body odor and stale alcohol.

He stood amid it all with a stiff spine, the loveliness of his face covered by shadows and terrible bursts of light that heightened his vacuous stare into the faces of those touching him.

The only other time you had seen him so devoid of life was in the presence of Researcher Kim. Now, he looked in such a way at Chima, at Niva, at Niquan—the nameless and the boy were too scared of overstepping to have a part in it yet straggled nearby to feel like they meant something.

Elio saw you jostling through the crowd toward him, hardened amber regaining luminosity. You became the center of his world again with just a look, yet your world was entirely unthawed ice and serrated stalactites growing ever sharper, heavier, closer to piercing and crushing at a single point below them. The forest of brittle minerals in your mind needed just a single resounding event to loosen, to fall, to impale indiscriminately.

That moment finally happened as you approached Chima, his hand stroking Elio under every layer meant to keep him out. Your future was a far-off thing, light years away and completely untouchable, no matter how many times you were threatened with your profile, how you'd become nothing without your associations, how the entire world would cringe in disgust at your existence and leave you to rot.

You took Chima's hand out of Elio’s pants, hoping you had the strength in yours to twist his wrist so it hurt, wanting nothing more than to actually shatter the bone with just the pure hatred surging down into your grip. With the other hand, you drew it high behind your shoulder, muscles tense, bone popping from an unnatural angle, dense club air gushing between your fingers right before your palm released a thunderous crack against his cheek that shot up the length of your arm in stinging ripples.

“No, stop!” Elio tore you away too late, right after weakness reentered your body, and he was able to easily restrain you. “What have you done?”

The clique had rallied around Chima, steadied him and examined the mark on his cheek, which was already blowing up in size.

He stared at you with amazement that quickly contorted into pure incandescence. His face was the ugliest thing you had ever seen, eyes an uninviting, pitless, and hollow place. This, you thought, was what he truly looked like beneath the popularity, cosmetics, money, and illusion of drugs.

“Keep your hands to yourself!” you screamed.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” He tried to lunge at you but was held back by Niva, Niquan, and various ghostly hands. “How dare you. How dare you touch me, you sad sack of shit! You ungrateful nobody! I can ruin you! I can make sure you get thrown into the slums and your fucking insides get ate out by all those filthy savages.”

“That's better than this.” You felt Elio tighten his arms around you, feet shuffling backward to try to separate you from this. Dancers were beginning to gather around the scene, both grossly fascinated and terrified because they'd never seen a fight between humans. “It's better than the stupid drugs. It's better than this club. It's better than all your shitty little followers. It’s better than you.”

To this, Chima stared wide-eyed and gave a derisive laugh. “You seriously hit me because I was touching the android? He's a fucking machine! What else is he useful for?!”

You were still being coaxed out of the gathering, Elio's lips whispering pacifying words into your ear that you didn't hear.

“Don't—Don’t talk about him like that.”

Chima’s visage relaxed into one you were used to seeing. A man who knew he had all the time and power in the world and that he could do anything with it. He swatted away all the helping hands and straightened his clothes.

“Not only are you fucking insane,” he said, smiling without remorse. “Now, you're also dead.”

■━■━■━■■━■━■━■■━■━■

The decision to retch into a convenience store trash can happened because you couldn't bring yourself to do it in the neatly barbered bush you had been closer to at the time. You had separated the metal lid from the metal body so you could simply lean over and spew into it freely.

Smells emanating from inside—expedited food rottage from summer heat, curdled drinks, bagged-up dog shit, and God knows what else—did better to evacuate your stomach than the insane lighted floor in Clamors.

Most of what came up lacked the usual sourness, ran watery like a geyser of diluted red jungle bird with occasional chunks of undigested sandwich and probably everything from three days ago.

Elio wiped your face clean at every chance he got, those seldom moments where you could cough and catch your breath for just a few seconds before your stomach clenched and more climbed up your esophagus and exited your body. There wasn't much he could do apart from dab your skin and keep your clothes from the trajectory.

“Why?” Elio spoke sometime later once the waves of nausea had tapered to a degree where you could sit on a bench outside the convenience store and take a bottle of water he had ready for you. “Why did you do it?”

“Because—” you said, not bothering to finish after swigging and swishing and spitting the acrid taste that lingered on your tongue, between your teeth, and in the ridges of your gums. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't get rid of it all. It stuck in your mouth like bitter tar. “Because.”

You went on to repeat the rinse and swish a few more times, ultimately tilting the bottle upside down to crush the cheap plastic in your fist so it gushed down on your head.

For a second, you imagined turning on a spigot to shock your scalp with cold water, flattening all your hair, pasting your clothes flush and translucent to your body like a second skin to peel away later.

The humid nighttime air was suddenly so much less oppressive than it had been. A subtle breeze had picked up throughout the course of the day, not doing much to tame the heat overall, but the fat pearls of water streaming down your back made you shiver. You counted all the drops that coalesced into shimmering beads on the tips of your hair, your eyelashes, and your nose and fell onto the pale gray cement underfoot.

Elio had already unbuttoned his shirt to the navel, just above where he had rebuckled his pants and tried to pull the rest of the fabric free.

“Oh, Elio. Don't.”

He pulled you into him despite your protest, swathing you from behind first with the shirt and then his arms as he held you against his chest. Fortunately, he had worn an airy undershirt so his body wasn't on display for anyone else, though there was no one around at this hour.

He soothed you with long strokes along your back. His touch amplified to a point where it hurt as much as it felt good. You knew what fingers he used more pressure with, where the heel of his hand touched you next. You could feel where he chose to linger and knead at knots under your skin, imagining the sensation similar to using a sharpened stone or ice pick

“I'm fucked.” you mumbled sullenly in his embrace, warmth dissipated as you had soaked his undershirt all the way through. “I'm so fucked.”

“It was unwise, yes,” he said in silken tones from atop your head, thin jaw pushed down into your wet hair, grinding and rotating when he'd speak. “I had you in my mind the entire time. I was prepared to let him do as he pleased if it meant preventing a confrontation—I failed. But, I hadn't expected you to hit him. None of the outcomes I calculated had that conclusion. I'm sorry.”

“No. I'm glad I did it.” You worried that you were being overconfident, too hopeful toward a future unraveling at your feet as you spoke. “I couldn’t stand how everyone was staring at you—touching you. Everything just felt so wrong, but, why? The only thing that was different was you being there, Elio. I saw you—you looked so uncomfortable. I was so hot. I think I was seeing things after taking the animal cracker. I just got so angry.”

Usually, Elio was the type to scavenge your history as thoroughly as he could, however minimal or inconsequential it all seemed to you at the time. It was a quintessential part of his programming as an android—of all androids—to want to dissect everything there was to know about their masters, knowing them better than their masters knew themselves.

You considered making it effortless for him, volunteering your past with animal crackers and how they used to not hurt at all. At one time, you could binge them for days without violent side effects that’d plague a normal person for weeks.

“There are no pharmacological benefits associated with their use,” was what you heard him say in your head, firm yet loving, melting into his sensual strokes tracing parallel along the length of your spine. “Prolonged use has been known to create perforations in the gastrointestinal tract, heart dysrhythmias…”

He didn't regurgitate that information at you. In fact, he said nothing at all. Besides the hand sweeping down your body steadily, lips and shapely nose burrowed in your limp seaweed-string hair, he didn't move at all. There was no stuttering heartbeat between you except your own. Even his breaths had gone still, chest straight down and unmoving.

Elio was a machine.

It was so easy to forget while wrapped up in daily mundanities. It wasn't so easy to forget in this moment where you wanted to crack him open, scoop out each precious piece of him with your bare hands, and hide yourself within his husk.

You were sick of the silence, so you pinched him hard under the arm, right next to the crease starting his shoulder. It made you feel better to do so, and he'd pay attention to you—

He hissed and reeled away from your touch, startling you out of his arms because you didn't know how else to react.

“Did you—Elio, did you feel that?” you asked incredulously, voice whittling into a self-conscious mumble once you realized the words leaving your mouth. They didn't stop. “Did that hurt you?”

The spot where you pinched was hard to see from the layer of his shirt sleeve, but his fingers rubbed there insistently like he were actually trying to alleviate pain.

“Once, during my early development, Researcher Kim had told me he wanted to close the gap between what people think separates androids and humans.” Elio explained, coming close again to touch you and dry your temples with his shirt on your back. “It's unlikely that what you perceive as pain and what I am programmed to perceive as pain are absolutely comparable, but there's some common ground.”

“I'm sorry, Elio. I didn't mean to hurt you. I didn't know I could.” Your voice weakened to a whisper, throat clenched in shame as your skin grew hot. It was like you were still stuck in the throbbing, stiff air of the club and not in the spacious nighttime breeze.

He looked you in the face, almost-orange eyes flitting inside their orbital sockets trying to find something distant and unknown in your expression. You guessed he was assessing your sincerity—not for himself because he needed it, but to know how it took shape on you and bent your brows, molded your lips, dimpled your chin, deepened the lines.

Then he asked, "If I hadn't reacted—if my circuitry were less sensitive and I could feel nothing at all aside from your fingers on my skin, would you have done it again? Would you keep doing it?"

"What are you trying to say?”

"Globally, since the widespread distribution of androids, the occurrence of domestic and public disputes has been halved. I have been designed to be non-violent, as have all of my predecessors.” As if for effect, Elio took one of your hands and pushed your palm flat to his warm cheek. “I have no desire to hurt you, but I am also incapable of doing so.”

You couldn't wrench yourself from his grip, so that's how you remained, caressing his soft, smooth skin while your thumbpad skirted along the round bone below his eye.

This was more than you could handle right now. All of the illness and nausea that came with the burdensome summer heat, the animal cracker, every bit of liquid and food to enter your stomach, the memory of slapping Chima—it came back, crashing down like an avalanche carrying your regrets, fears, malaise.

“I'm not going to hit you.” You were gagging around saliva pooling into the front of your mouth. “Chima was different. He deserved it.”

“Perhaps,” Elio agreed, entwining fingers with the ones on his cheek. He kissed your open palm with great passion and some semblance of regret. “But, I wish you would have hit me instead. I have failed one of the most basic parts of programming by putting you and others in harm. You may now end up suffering greatly because of it.”

You did get sick again.

■━■━■━■■━■━■━■■━■━■

Elio had persistently warded off Researcher Kim’s video calls for three days while you recovered upstairs beneath every comforter you owned, maximum air conditioning, and heavy curtains to shun out all natural light from ever reaching your bedside. Time came and went without peril or concept to you, seeming to evaporate into the air like nothing, much like how your steady, quiet breaths did the same. They simply came and went; inhale and exhale, no writhing white plumes drifted overhead to prove they belonged to you or that you were even alive. Not in the dead of summer.

Five days total had passed before you could take the staircase down from the loft without Elio's assistance and eat or drink anything of substance that didn't end with it all being violently evacuated from your body.

Sleep remained elusive to you despite the sedatives and special hot tea recipes from online that Elio pushed down your throat. The migraines persisted even with prescription painkillers Melby had stolen for you forever ago and rough romps of sex that left you winded, glistening, and cold on the sheets when the oscillating fans blew air across your skin.

Whatever excuse Elio had fed to Researcher Kim over the days you were incapacitated worked because when you were finally back at the counter on a video call with him, he didn't ask you about it or chastise you much about the holes in your reports for that week.

“I see that Elio had been proving himself to be quite self-sufficient. I have here six separate occasions where he's ventured out on his own?” Kim looped a stylus through his fingers fluidly, concentrating on what little information he could glean from your submissions. “Henrietta's, mostly. I see he's had to visit the dry cleaners. General store. Pharmacy. He's also been completing the six to ten interactions by himself. Absolutely phenomenal!”

Your attention kept drifting away from Kim. It went to Elio, who placed a white mug down quietly next to you, the handle within reach of your fingers. Beyond the pale-gray wisps spiraling up into the air and dissipating among the snaking pipes sprawling the high ceiling, the liquid inside was pale yellow. Diluted green tea, maybe white tea, if you had to guess. They were among the few things you could stomach right now.

He offered you a fast smile, somewhat unlike himself, and leaned into your lips.

The sight went unnoticed by Kim, who was still captivated by the level of initiative and intelligence his creation displayed. Every word you managed to construct through sedative-induced delirium mesmerized him so thoroughly that he missed the groping hands under your shirt, the smothered moans, and the fact that you had exited view of the screen for fifteen minutes while being laid out on the couch and feasted on through an orgasm.

Wendy Carmichael Can Cook came on the television, a solid distraction for Elio. Today’s episode was a rerun featuring some sort of elevated mush dinner popular in the slums. With some canned foods capable of surviving nuclear fallout, herbs you were almost positive had gone extinct forty years ago, and spices so rare they were untouchable, Wendy concocted something truly groundbreaking to the audience’s eyes.

Elio looked only half-interested in the episode. Meanwhile, you went to the bathroom to clean yourself up and took three painkillers before sitting back down behind the counter. Researcher Kim had yet to lose the wind in his lungs, though now you weren't sure what he was talking about.

The tea was lukewarm and non-irritating just like you thought it'd be.

Your phone had survived the whole five days on a single charge as you had been too afraid to touch it, not because you were scared to see what was there but because you didn't want to know what was no longer there.

True to the fear, while holding a large breath you had sucked into your lungs, believing it to be the sturdiest barrier against whatever you'd discover, there was no one left in your phone log—except Melby.

The rest: Chima, Niva, Niquan, Marcos, Mother, and all the others who had once been listed there before like mock trophies to bolster your sense of worth, the swell of pride that came from knowing important people and integrating yourself into their lives to be something special, simply did not exist anymore.

You didn't have to search up your public profile to know that it was barren as well.

Once Chima went, everyone else went with him—both from the circle and those you'd networked throughout life. Even if it had been someone else, the end result would've stayed the same, exactly as it is now.

“What do you want? I'm not supposed to be talking to you.” Melby had answered her phone after six rings. The background seemed purposefully mute for your call. Perhaps she was just at home nursing the after-effects of things as well. “You there?”

Researcher Kim sieved through paperwork, now entranced by comparing Elio's earlier behaviors in the infancy of design to now. You lowered the volume to where his voice was a low hum, like mumbling through a wall you flattened yourself to.

“Let me guess, Chima told you that?” you said, sipping gingerly from your mug. “How much did he tell you? Was he actually honest, or did he just tell you I was fucking crazy?”

“You weren't acting right all night.” Melby countered in her surefooted drawl. “I don't understand what's happening to you, or why you've been acting so differently. You shouldn't have hit Chima.”

“He shouldn't have touched Elio.”

You could imagine her temper flaring, fair skin glowing pink in the face and chest as she kicked around the comforters on her bed. She strangled a sound in her throat that emanated through the phone as a low groan. Strands of her fried blonde hair scuffed together like pieces of straw when she scratched her head. It was unmistakable.

“What is going on with you?” she demanded, on the verge of tears, voice fading out in glimpses like she was moving away from the speaker. “Elio—he’s just an android. I know he's some radical new innovation, but he'll be saturating the market in six months like every other Hyperion android. There's always going to be more of him. Chima, though, he's actually human. You can just throw away an android.”

Emotions aside—Melby wasn't wrong.

The price of innovation always meant leaving something behind. Whether or not you wanted to see it, if Elio passed his testing period, he'd be decommissioned in a metal box down in the basement at Hyperion while copies and variations of him were added to the heaps of scrap in landfill once the next model came out.

Melby then said something else, “I don't think this is about the android.”

“Oh?” you said, passing a glance along toward the tablet to see that Kim still had his nose pointed down. “Maybe you're right. You know me so well.”

“Do you want to know what I think?” Melby asked.

You observed while Elio roamed the apartment, crouching to pick up the odds and ends that had gone neglected over the days you'd been bedridden, and he had stayed with you to keep you company. He tossed soiled clothes into a hamper, crumbled medication wrappers into the trash, and took your cold tea away to prepare more.

Inspired by your silence, mistaking it as timid submission, Melby went on. “I know you must think we're just being shepherded along, just doing whatever we're told because we don't know what else to do other than follow the loudest voice in the crowd.”

“You know me so well.”

“I know you blame everyone else for what happened at Clamors, but you put yourself in that situation.” Melby said, interjecting in a pitch higher when she heard you take in a breath, “Aht! Aht! I'm not done! No one else is gonna talk to you now, so I'll tell you what we're all thinking: Our circle? We're special. If we always smile and talk about the same things and agree about the same things, we stay together. We stay safe. You've never really wanted to do that, it was always noticeable. I think that's why you and Mi-sun always got along, because you two just did things to fit in, not because you actually cared or wanted to be a part of it.

“I didn't lose you, right? Chima always talked about ways of getting you out of the group. He didn't think you were trustworthy. I guess he was right because you slapped him. Do you know how weird is it for humans to do that nowadays? Apparently it used to be super common to beat up your wives and kids, but now people just do it to androids. But, it's better that way, right?”

“I don't know.” You really didn't.

Elio came back around with a steeping tea bag and a second mug half-full of something darker yellow, like urine. You took the handle to give it a whiff (it smelled homey and savory). Meanwhile, he took away the tablet and ended the video call without a word to Researcher Kim. The energy wasn't there for you to reprimand him nor to mess up your face in mostly feigned surprise.

“It's chicken broth.” He was able to say freely despite Melby blathering on. “Give it a try and let me know if it's too strong. We need to start reintroducing foods back into your diet.”

You drank from the tea mug instead, swiveling the barstool so your back faced him.

“I've thought about it some, and I think we're terrified of each other. Humans don't know how to truly trust one another anymore. That’s why we rely on androids for, like, everything.” Melby continued, “I think, and this is just my opinion, that we actually really miss each other. I think we want to touch and hug and love each other. There are still some people who do. There's a market out there for human-human porn, so it's not like it's unbelievable, but we basically treat each other like we're extinct. It's weird.

“I've done it before, y'know? I've kissed a man. I've kissed a woman. I've fucked both before. You and I—no, never mind. It doesn't count. I've thought about kissing you so many times. I wanted to do a lot more than just that, too.”

The corner seam of your thumbnail had started to bleed after you dug through old scabs and scar tissue built on top of it, your body’s valiant attempts to keep normalcy despite the mutilation that came back again and again. You watched brilliant carmine ooze from the wound, filling the crevices between your nail and skin, crawling upwards to your knuckle before Elio had stifled the area with a warm, damp rag.

Melby let out a long sigh. You envisioned she had just thrown aside a bunch of decorative cushions and flopped down in a chair, or had been pacing her bedroom and finally given up by throwing herself supine on the mattress.

“I'm going to miss you being there.” she declared. “I think—I think you're the closest I've ever come to truly loving someone. At least, I think that's what you'd call it.”

You held your thumb erect for Elio to wrap it in a neon-orange bandage with pink smiles. His lips pressed gently to the sore finger, making slow, wet work to the back of your hand and then the inside of your wrist to feel your pulse bounce against his mouth.

“I'm sorry.” you said at last, putting as much sentiment into those sparse words as you could. A part of you meant it genuinely as an apology for causing her trouble, for her unrealized dreams and lust, for the world you both suffered in and would never know anything else. “Melby, I have one last favor to ask of you.”

She hesitated, likely believing that doing more would get her expulsed from the circle. “Just one?”

“Just one.” You nodded at empty air. “I know either you or Niva have Mi-sun’s phone number. Can I have it?”

Again, Melby stalled, though this time you figured it was out of confusion. “That’s what you want? She might be dead somewhere in the slums, you know?”

“Not if she's pregnant.” you countered. “Niva seemed pretty convinced that night that she was alive and well after being knocked up.”

Melby sucked on her teeth, a moist, popping sound into the speaker. “Niva says a lot of stupid shit because she likes to hijack conversations. Fine. Whatever. I'll text it to you, but you only have one minute because then I'm blocking you for good.”

To this, your heart actually stirred and squeezed, tightening so much it stole your breath from your lungs. Your entire chest felt like it shriveled into itself three sizes smaller as though to accommodate you fitting into a ball within yourself. Dread had opened a chasm wide in your stomach. Everything inside that gory cavity was swallowed up, leaving it vacant and hollow.

This was what it was like to mourn, you considered. It wasn't the same thing you felt the night you cried in the streets after fighting with Mother and losing Marcos. It wasn't the same as the last five days being wrapped in agony, lamenting the loss of a group you'd given years of your life to appeasing.

It was knowing that once Melby was gone, you were lost in the dark, and there was no way out of it. People with delinquent profiles didn't get redeemed—Wendy Carmichael lied and had never lived a life in the slums, a truth Elio had been disappointed to learn—they died in anonymity and poverty.

A notification came through just then, showing an eight-digit number presumed to belong to Mi-sun. You copied it quickly, although now your fingers felt numb and the person writing them down couldn't possibly have been you—

“Alright. It's done,” Melby said calmly. “I have to go. Will you be okay? Do you think people actually die when they go to the slums? I don't want—”

“Goodbye, Melby.” You ended the call and threw your phone on the countertop, far from your eyes so you wouldn't know the exact moment the world ended.

“And, fuck you.”

Elio had the sense to give you plenty of space after the ordeal and stayed busy downstairs cleaning the apartment while you tossed and turned in bed, legs knotted up in the sheets because nothing helped get you comfortable. At some point, through the thick of your adrenaline and despair, the buzz in your brain softened, and you were able to sleep until Elio joined you some hours later.

It was after midnight, and darkness pervaded everywhere. Above you, the snake pipes on the high ceiling writhed together in their intricate web just like every night, and you wondered why the wall of darkness hanging over you seemed closer than it usually did. Meanwhile, Elio faced you from his side of the bed and laid gentle strokes to the top of your head.

“I’ve reached the conclusion that I am defective.” Elio said tonelessly, startling you into such wakefulness that you sat upright from the sheets. “You've lost your friends because of me, and now your profile has fallen into delinquency. The inclination to ostracize what deviates from adapted, accepted social behaviors aligns with common survival tactics. This is an explanation that I understand, but it doesn't... sit right.”

Putting the blame on Elio to feel better would've been easy, and he would take it with grace and lay decadent caresses on your body as proof you were right. But he was too virtuous, and you secretly wanted to keep the credit of being the reason why Chima looked ugly and seethed into his cocktails.

“It sort of hurts,” you admitted. “It's a dull ache inside my bones. It makes me feel like everything inside my chest is shriveling up like a prune. Being abandoned—feeling lonely—is like always being cold. Thinking of it now, I don't know if there was ever a time I didn't feel cold around them. How shitty is it that I feel a little relieved?"

“If that's the case—” Elio rose up from his side of the bed, nudged apart your legs and settled between them. Most of his weight was still on his arms next to your head. In the waning moonlight, shadows deepened the lines around his mouth when he smiled. “I'm glad to have played some part in that release.”

Your fingertips walked lightly across his cheeks, along the planes of his face, as though marveling at him all over for the first time again. His skin always was most beautiful bathed in warm light, but the soft, silvery veil filtering in through the windows gave him ethereal grace.

The calm air upstairs shifted as your bodies stirred on the mattress, sheets strewn to the floor along with pieces of clothing that left you bare to the gray air while Elio gathered the skin of your hips in his hands and sucked on you.

It didn't matter if you closed your eyes or studied the movement on the ceiling while he devoured, lapped away the sticky stuff that glistened out of you like the silk of a spider’s thread before it could stain the sheets, because it always ended with the same kaleidoscopic bursts of color, wanton cries, and him chasing after another orgasm and then another.

He'd ravish you until puffs of hot breath hurt, and the tip of his tongue delivering a single stroke was enough to make you flinch and whimper. Your legs felt fatigued and trembled violently throughout the continued ministrations until you needed to beg him to stop, dignifying the demand with a hard yank to the thick hair on his scalp.

“I'm not done just yet, give me a moment.” He told you the same thing tonight as he did every other time. The pain in his head subsided as he dove back between your legs and laid his tongue as a paddle against you, cleaning the cum for as long as it took for him to be satisfied.

He came up so you could have a taste of yourself in his kiss, tongues wrapped together while he fisted his cock stiff and lubricated himself with the fluid from the tip. You moaned against his mouth when two fingers pushed inside you and thrust with an effortless glide and instilled so much confidence in him that he slid in a third to the knuckle.

“Mm, Elio, fuck me.” you managed between wet, sloppy kisses and splintered breaths. Three fingers were a tighter fit and wider than he was, but the way he angled them up into you was mind-numbing, could've made your tongue wag out of your mouth while panting like a pheromone-crazed animal.

Elio’s lips went from your face to your neck, down along the slope to your shoulder before he removed his fingers and slathered that narrow space in your legs with spend.

“Of course.” He obeyed dutifully but turned you on your side and seated one of your legs high on his arm. “Let's try something different tonight.”

The bulbous head of his cock glistened as it dragged across your groin, tapping those sore spots that made you twitch involuntarily with anticipation and staggered breaths. Elio concentrated on your face throughout it all, memorizing both those subtle and large changes that showed him what you liked the most.

You'd never believed that androids could be sexually adventurous in the same way that humans could, and perhaps that was the case despite the kinds of positions Elio put you in if you were willing. He would be conscientious of your mood beforehand and then adjust accordingly from there.

Some nights, it didn't go further than mouth-fucking you until you orgasmed to exhaustion. Other nights, when you were more pliable and especially affectionate, he'd rut his hips into your ass until you cried and the sheets were beyond saving.

Now, Elio observed you closely as the curve of his cock sank into you, sinew in his stomach clenching once he started thrusting.

At the start, your sounds were soft, and the rhythm made with his hips was one you had no trouble riding. You closed your eyes and focused on how that tilt in his cock pressed up against your walls and stroked all the right parts. His controlled pace unraveled after a while, thrusts turned mindless and greedy as the sting of slapping skin seemed to resonate all around.

You had bunched bits of pillow and bedspread in your fingers and drooled out onto the fabric because you couldn't close your mouth long enough between moans and gasps and lewd mutterings to stop it. You begged him to fuck you harder, deeper, and tear you open if that’s what he wanted to do and would keep you in ecstacy.

Elio indulged your high as he was able, rolling you from your side to your stomach and mounted you again. He was able to touch you better this way, fondle the globes of your ass, the pouches of fat in your hips, stomach, and chest, all the while sucking dark bruises all along your spine and shoulders.

His mouth would sometimes linger next to your ears, wherein he imitated every bit of his human likeness and breathed on you. And then, he would poorly stifle moans that inspired you to think too deeply about the extent to which he could and could not feel.

“Look at me.” Elio felt your walls tighten around his cock and wanted to stare you in the face through your orgasm. He put you on your back, thighs hiked high on his sturdy chest, so those final thrusts plowed deep and stole your screams. You writhed under him, eyes rolled up, bloodshot and pupiless, muscles drawn so tight that it felt as good as it did awful.

A surge of warmth leaked out onto the sheets as Elio took his half-hard cock from your body and let it soften the rest of the way in cold air. His hand roamed you with delicate, healing touches meant to beg forgiveness for how much you'd ache later on, and his lips were tender and slow against yours.

You kissed him back distractedly, unable to think of anything else but the stickiness between your legs and how you'd chosen to never notice it until now.

“What's wrong?” he asked, still pressed up against your mouth. “Are you unsatisfied? My refractory period ends in a few minutes. I can do as much as you'd like until you feel fulfilled.”

“Mm-mn,” you hummed, “that's not it.”

He didn't stun when you snagged your phone from the bedside table and turned on the backlight. You pointed it down at cloudy white globs drying on your crotch, a sight that you thought was vaguely familiar to you somehow. It struck you then that it was like a scene from a pornography or vulgar sketches some kid in secondary school got suspended for drawing.

Still, it couldn't have been possible.

“What is that?” you asked with unacquainted timidity.

Elio grabbed a package of wipes left bedside and spaced your legs apart to clean the mess he had left on you. He took his time with long, intentional strokes to avoid your sensitive parts as best he could, soiling a good handful from the package before asking if you wanted a bath.

“Answer me first,” you said.

He rose from the bed with one more kiss and collected your clothes from the floor. They were draped nicely over his arm, whereas he stood there before you nude, enveloped by the moon’s blue luster.

At first glance, his smile seemed the same adoring kind that he always held for you, and yet it evoked some undeterminable sadness to well up in your chest and cling there.

“It’s the result of a body never truly being your own.”

■━■━■━■■━■━■━■■━■━■

Mi-sun’s house wasn't far from your apartment, as you recalled. It took a bit of investigative work online to track down her address (via Elio), mainly because it had been well over a year since you'd last needed to know it and the phone number Melby had given you was disconnected, but once you had the coordinates plugged into your phone, it was just one begrudging trek through sultry summertime air to reach her front door.

When you had finally made it to that point, however, eyes leveled down at a dirty, faded doormat that had seen plenty of seasons and wintery salt, you weren't sure how to proceed.

There wasn't any real reason why you were standing there now, yet you felt that you needed to be there anyway. Maybe it could be called seeking solidarity with someone who was enduring the same inevitable ending you were, or maybe the curiosity about her state of being was what won out dominantly. You couldn't be sure of your own motivations—only that you were there, and you needed her to know you were.

After three solid knocks with your knuckles, you let your hand fall and waited by scuffing the soles of your shoes on the coarse mat underfoot. It still had some springiness to it as you scrubbed. The front door was old and brown, having lost its elegant lacquer long ago. You remembered Mi-sun had mentioned a few times before that she had wanted to make the door cute with white paint and a frilly outdoor wreath but could never get around to it.

You guessed she never did.

“Should we knock again?” Elio asked across your shoulder, the bulk of his frame casting a cooling shadow over your body. He had gone out to Henrietta's by himself the other day when you told him what you intended to do and bought supplies to make a cake and special plastic Tupperware meant to keep it from moving around.

The only explanation he had given you about an hour ago, after locking the apartment door and stepping out onto the sidewalk, hot enough in the midday sun to melt the bottoms of your shoes to the pavement while you walked, was that Mi-sun was an old friend, and it was a safe gift even for a pregnant woman.

You never found the courage to divulge just how involved you had been in her expulsion from Chima's circle, even though you knew it'd be impossible for him to think less of you from it.

A minute passed, and then so did two more before you realized that no one was coming to the door. While listening for movement—a television, a hissing stovetop, shuffling slippers on top of creaking floorboards, anything at all aside from stiff silence, you understood that it was unlikely anyone had lived there in quite a while.

“I don't know where else she could be.” you said, now back at Elio's side, where he flicked away tiny splinters of old wood and shiny glaze that peeled off your damp skin like cut-up stickers. He moved the visor above your brow gently, adjusting the position of it to better shield your eyes, but seemed more to just want the proximity than anything else.

The longer he fiddled with things—your hat, the flecks of things he missed on your ear, wrinkles in your t-shirt—the more apparent it was to you that he was contemplating something else. You were trying hard not to do anything that would spur him into making the next suggestion you knew was coming.

“There is one other place we haven't tried.” he said, switching from your shoulder to tucking pieces of hair securely behind your ear and dabbing sweat off your neck with a handful of napkins he had picked up at a convenience store while grabbing you water. “The likelihood of Mi-sun’s profile falling into delinquency and being able to maintain residence within the city is less than twenty percent. However—”

“I know.” You breathed out hot air and sucked it right back into your lungs. Maybe if you did that enough times it'd burn them, shrivel them up like prunes. “I know where she is. Let's wait until it cools down to go, though. I'll probably pass out if I have to see any of that right now.”

“Today on Loti Khan’s Food Tours of Retro City, she said that Asakawa on Fifteenth is a spot worth visiting during the summertime because of their cold noodle dishes. Hiyashi Chuka was what she suggested, I believe. I've already committed the menu to memory, and they have well over twenty different cold dishes and beverages. Their affordability isn't as stellar as Rainbow Bistro, but Loti says—”

Wendy Carmichael was now a disgraced name in your household after Elio had spent a few hours one afternoon researching the woman’s true life story. She had been born into the elite class with a mother sitting at the top of the food chain in Retro City’s governing body, attended culinary arts schools across the world yet never reached the acclaim she coveted until she made up the whole spiel about clawing her way out of the slums.

Crawling back from the slums once you were in them just wasn't feasible. Only the worst of the worst—thieves, profile delinquents, murderers, lepers, and unwanteds were kept there, like trash crowded and barred in a landfill. If you found yourself in the slums somehow, no one would help you out of them because that would mean tarnishing their own reputations.

You were as good as dead.

You were dead.

Elio had carried around a brown paper bag housing the cake for most of the day, never once setting it down. His features never flinched when the straw handles sank into parallel dents in his skin, long stripes that looked like they'd be sore to you, but he never conveyed any discomfort. He merely floated along wherever you went, undeterred by your dour, soulless wandering, which lasted until the sun emblazoned the sky in dim fire and pinks.

Those hues were leached by the close, calming gradient of greens, blues, and darker blues that reached so quickly you could follow the sprawl of them until they had ensnared the daylight. The sun sank somewhere betwixt skyscrapers, and the air still felt thick as the mucus in your throat but bearable.

That same sky followed you on the cab ride across the city. You imagined the darkening air rushing alongside the vehicle with you as if containing it on rails, guiding you closer towards the slums. Once the skyscrapers were gone, far away in a suffocating yellow haze from the sleepless city, and the residential zone had thinned out of the rest of its straggling homes, the scenery had taken on a complete shift.

Everything was bizarrely flat, barren, and beige for as far as the eye could see—vegetation was withered roots and barbed, inedible shrubbery that could've been pretty with some flowers or leaves. No trees could endure the fissured, parched earth nor the fine dust and sand skittering in the wind, leaving heavy layers where it lay once the breeze ebbed. Animals were long gone; the rumors of their bleached bones and skulls warped in a perpetual rictus of agony had been true because you saw many scattered throughout the landscape.

“Please confirm this is your stop,” said the cabbie, a female android from an older generation, maybe three or four. She stuck her hand outside the driver’s window when you tried to give her a tip. With her fish-eyed stare and leathery smile, she repeated, “No need. I have no use for money. Please confirm this is your stop.”

“This is correct.” Elio spoke for you before taking your fingers through his and guiding you away from the idling vehicle. The android cabbie found his reply sufficient and drove away without questioning why you were out here in the flatlands. All she knew how to do was drive and obey traffic laws.

“Do you know where we're going?” you asked because you only knew to have told the cabbie to drive as far as the outer perimeter of the city. Beyond this, your phone had no service, and there were no clearly designated signs to point you in the right direction.

The people in the slums were meant to be forgotten, hideous secrets hidden away, broomed off to the outskirts of civilization where they'd have to fend for themselves in an environment that had been deader than them for ages.

“Truthfully”—Elio stalled then and glanced around the endless expanse of wasteland—“Hyperion never included information about the slums in my programming. What I know is common knowledge and what I've accumulated in my time with you. I have never been able to locate specific coordinates to where the slums are hidden.”

You frowned. “Should we turn around before we get lost, then?”

Elio told you no and raised the hand clasped with yours, pushing one finger erect at a faint glow somewhere in the distance, no more than a ten—or fifteen-minute walk. You were almost convinced you could see the silhouettes of shoddy, leaning structures, but there was no way to be certain unless you got closer.

“Let's go.”

Chasing the remnants of the dusk to light your way across the starved, fractured terrain, those sparse shapes you had seen minutes before grew into multitudes. Soon, you were among clusters of disheveled, crude homes organized in long rows, some stacked with tiers like they were meant to replicate separate floors for more space.

Most of these houses didn't come with windows or doors to keep out strangers but thick decorative curtains that'd shun the beating sun, stave off the worst of winter frost, and deflect billows of sharp sand from dirtying their things indoors.

The paths between rows of homes were well-worn and brightly illuminated with anything they could use—lanterns, stuttering neon signage, solar panels, and even fire rings brutally hammered and dented into shape. Shadows from the fire lurched erratically against crooked metallic walls. Some homes with grimy windows caught a weak gleam off the flames.

It was almost fully dark, and people still moved with purpose as though they could compete with the suit-and-ties stomping their soles on the pavement in the city. Their hands were busy doing something—carrying, brooming, cooking, flourishing during a great retelling, clapping, hiding smiles.

These savages, delinquents, fraudsters, thieves, murderers, and diseased swine never once regarded you or Elio with any modicum of intrigue. You had believed at some point you'd be shrinking under a crowd of wicked stares, pulled down into some inescapable abyss by necrotic or leprous hands trying to steal the clothes from your body or use your skin to tarp piles of scrap.

Only one man had stopped along the path, dressed in dusty clothes that were otherwise decently kept; he was thin but not malnourished and hollow in the face. He told you that the aimless way you and Elio had been walking gave away that you were new to the slums because there was always something needing done and not enough hours in a day to do them.

“Mi-sun?” The man was thinking aloud, stirring up dust as he shuffled his feet around. You had given him the name and a description, which you hoped had been specific enough to avoid approaching people at random. “Yeah. That pregnant girl… she was here for a while. She's long gone now.”

“Long black hair, blunt bangs. Black eyes. Really translucent skin? Super skinny?” As unhelpful as your details were, it was all you had to give him to keep the mental acrobatics going. There was always a slim chance he could be misremembering her. “Are you sure she's no longer here in the slums? Where'd she go? What happened to her?”

Eventually, the thin man led Elio and you to a tiny house—more of a shack—meant to accommodate a sole body and some odds and ends. He held a heavy curtain back for the pair of you to enter, encouraging you to settle down on a sandy rug, which looked to have at one time been bright red.

“I don't have much to give, but here's a little water. To have made it here, you would've had to walk. We all had to.” he said, pulling out his finest cuppery and pouring from the spout of a broken electric kettle. “That girl was a profile delinquent, to my understanding. Almost all of us here are. I used to own a printing business on the north side about fifteen years ago. I upset the wrong people and here I am. What's your story?”

You spun the cup with your fingers, trying not to put your eyes down to scrutinize any particles floating around inside. Elio wasn't given a cup because the man had immediately deduced that he was an android.

“I…” You still didn't drink, but the back of your throat felt scratchy and your tongue like some dry slab of meat shoved into your mouth. “I pissed off the wrong people.”

“Ah.” The man gave an anguished smile, showing he understood you very well. There was a low table between you, repurposed from something else and sanded down to a smooth finish. “For a while, I helped look after Mi-sun. Like you, I had been the first person to greet her when she arrived. She didn't act like everyone else; she was dazed, but she was angry.

“I fed her, gave her water, and gave her a sleeping bag. We have to make due with less than bare minimum most days, but we make it work. We all look out for each other. The community really pitched in when we realized she was pregnant.”

Elio kept a watchful eye on your hands, the fingers aching to peel back ribbons of flesh.

“That shouldn't have been possible.” you said. “Mi-sun had an android. She was never involved with any men—not that I could ever recall. She just doesn't give me the impression of someone who'd change her ways like that.”

The man sipped his sandy water, wiping off clear pebbles that had clung to his facial hair. “When you find yourself exiled here, you learn fast that things are never what they seem. You didn't ask a question, but you gave yourself an answer.”

“What?” It was more noise than a word.

“Daichi, I believe, was her android. Shortly before she showed up, she said that Hyperion had come to forcibly reclaim it. That must've been a difficult reality for her to face—knowing everything was being taken away from her, forced into a pregnancy, and having to fend for herself afterwards.”

This time, you lifted a hand to stop him from falling down another tangent. He obeyed, voice whittled to silence that was immediately unsettled by loud water slurping.

It wasn't that you weren't following what he was saying. You were many things: a fool, a sheep, a coward, a liar, maybe even a true scoundrel at heart, but stupid wasn't among that inexhaustible list. You just needed a moment to collect the nuggets he had thrown down for you to pick up.

Guilt peaked the ranks of everything else you felt right then. A word you'd never use to describe yourself was malicious, but in the end, it had been the malice of someone else and your inability to see apart from the rest that condemned Mi-sun to this suffering.

You played as much a part in taking away Mi-sun's life as Chima had in actually enforcing it. Unlike Chima, never one to balk or cower regardless of how truly cruel his decisions were and committed to them like gospel, you simply sat in his afterimage and did whatever he said. Half of the time, you were blitzed out of your mind; the other you spent wishing you had never known them at all.

It had been so easy to vote Mi-sun out of the group. Completely painless. You just didn't look at her when you raised your hand to pass judgment. Melby had expressed her delight by squeezing your thigh, whereas Mi-sun held her composure and shoulders straight back, but her face contorted with every indication of betrayal and agony.

You thought about how many animal crackers you had that night.

“What happened to her?” Both your hands had been restrained by Elio’s at that point. Large, comforting, and warm in contrast to all the ice that seemed to thicken your blood, stiffen your heart, and freeze your bones. “Where is she now?”

The man must've been suspecting something because his face looked long to you now, weighed down by this life and your feeble state.

“I—I can't be absolutely positive, but I do believe she is dead.” he told you grievously, beady brown eyes not unseeing to the way Elio groped your fingers to keep them still. “She didn't want to be pregnant. It was something she talked about for weeks before leaving. She knew what Hyperion and the government were doing and said she didn't want to be a part of it. On the last night before she left, I had to wrestle a knife out of her hands because she was trying to cut open her stomach to kill the baby.”

You couldn't swallow past the sharp granules of sand and dryness in your throat anymore. You had to slug back the cup of grainy water until the feeling subsided, shove the worst of the dread and shame and guilt into your bowels.

“After that, she was gone.” He took a drink as well, exchanging looks from you to Elio. “A couple of us tried tying her up to get her to calm down and do something about the cut on her stomach, but she got the knife, stabbed one of the younger guys and got away. We haven't seen her since, but a search party did come back to say they saw blood leading back to the city.”

“Oh my god…” you groaned, forcing Elio to recoil when you slapped his hands away—intentional and hard. You stuck yours in your hair, yanking at the roots until your scalp screamed and burned. “Is there any chance she could've survived? Any at all?”

The rail-thin man swirled what little remained of his water in the cup, studying the pale sediment floating within. “It's too hard to say. It's unlikely, my friend. The police wouldn't have gunned her down if they saw she was pregnant, but they would've seen the cut. And that counts as attempted murder. If she's still alive, it's only to give birth, after that…”

“Execution,” you finished.

He nodded and said nothing else, eyes downcast as though lost in the grain of the wood table.

After that, you left the man in his sad little shack to explore the slums more. Elio came along shortly after, saying he had presented the man with the cake as a reward for his hospitality and apologized if it no longer looked appetizing.

The man thanked him before returning to his grief for many things, perhaps.

“I don't want to be here anymore, Elio.” you said, failing to avoid hearing a gaggle of giggling women gossiping together. They were dressed clumsily and in trends almost a decade old, but they had glowy eyes and cavernous lines worn into their faces from laughter and joy where they could find it.

Old men played some made-up board game together, gathering at least half a dozen spectators to see who'd win. Their brows were heavy with contemplation and stress of worthy competition. The other bodies tried making bets with pieces of scrap and metal coils and nearly blown bulbs for lighting.

Music came from all around, lyrical in the same way it was discordant because they weren't playing the same songs nor singing the same things. Their voices were robust and resilient, unwilling to be trudged over by sand nor heat nor oppressors who were incapable of understanding the human spirit was pliant and could bend with the wind, stand with the seasons, and could fracture yet never break.

You couldn't make sense of what any of them were singing, the noise too unharmonious, but you could feel the power in their songs pulse through you, ricocheting in your mind for long after you'd escaped proximity to them.

There were no lepers. There were the sick and unfortunate, but they were not diseased. They did not believe that their tilted houses were tombs, that their unquaint lives were an endless spiral of torment, or that the food they could find and produce was unworthy of reverence.

The people of the slums lived a hard, thankless life, but they had each other. They banded together to weld sheets of metal into four walls and a roof for the new faces who came to them. Your woes would become their woes, and they would feed you, cloth you, wash you, bandage your wounds, and call you their most beloved.

Together, they ate their meals from what they could scavenge out there. They retold the same grandiose tales of heroes and valor and androids that Marcos had told you at bedtime as a child. Their cultures were all cherished and expressed in the food they shared and clothes they managed to sew together by hand and slow machines.

You could ask your neighbor for a tablespoon of sugar and four would come to you with curiosity and offer their arthritic hands and knobby backs for whatever was needed.

Here, you could see humanity clearly for the first time in your life and felt burdened knowing it. Your heart weighed like an anvil behind your ribs. It hurt and lurched behind its enclosure because it too wanted to get away from what it now knew.

“A lie.” you choked, forcefully shoving Elio's hands away from you once again when he tried to embrace you. “It was all a lie. Everything was a lie! Where are they?! Where are all the lepers and people leaking pus from their face?! Where are the murderers? Where are the savages? Where are all these awful fucking people I was told were here? Where are they?”

Elio's expression took on something completely unforeseen—pity. Their lives were fine and routine while yours crumbled around you. The terror you had been force-fed your whole life was all false. There was civilization beyond a profile with red overlay, more waiting on the other side that the sleepless city wanted to conceal.

“There are no androids here.” Elio mentioned, deeming that adequate enough time had passed for you to regain your bearings. He took you in his arms and kissed the crown of your head, burying his lips deep in your hair. “We were never meant to become substitutes for your love. We were never meant to go this far and act as replacements for humanity because we simply cannot feel what another human does. That is something Hyperion will never be able to achieve. Humanity needs humanity, not machines.”

You sank into his warmth, arms wound his back, and said from his chest, “But, I love you. Don't leave me. I don't want Hyperion to take you away.”

Elio, your beautiful sun, leaned down into your face and kissed the highest parts of your cheeks and the wetness around your eyes before settling on your lips. Slow and lingering, you chose to believe it meant he was sealing away your plea and that he'd always be there to swathe you in his arms.

“Let's stay for a little longer,” he said once apart from the kiss. “I’d like to see the side of humanity that no one else does.”

■━■━■━■■━■━■━■■━■━■

Less than a week had passed since your hard slog through the slums and back to Retro City. Although you had only been gone from your inner-city apartment for mere hours, possibly five or six at most, upon walking back inside after Elio and wincing against the fluorescent bulbs overhead, you thought you were looking at something entirely foreign.

The simple pleasures that you had become accustomed to throughout your life: plumbing, central air that turned the hot sweat on the back of your neck into cold droplets slithering beneath your clothes, the worn out mattress upstairs, technology, an android who'd done almost everything for you for the better part of a year—it all seemed so novel, so excessive. A treat for a rat in a box before testing to see how it'd respond when it was all taken from its enclosure.

So, when Elio woke you up one morning, early enough that the light streaming in through your windows already felt warm on the bed sheets, and the thin air looked itself to have a golden hue, you couldn't say you felt any rouse of surprise or fear when he handed over a red letter—an eviction correspondence.

Sooner or later, you knew you'd meet with one, though the progress of everything hadn't been as immediate as you had been led to believe it would be. A month had come by and stayed for several slow breakfasts, lunches, dinners, mindless strolls, and countless passionate entanglements before deciding to leave on an indignant note. With the red notice, you were expected to vacate the premises within days, whether you had intentions for your belongings or not.

Things stayed tumultuous from there on out, yet you couldn't find it within yourself to react to any of it, even in the instance when Researcher Kim rang you for an impromptu meeting that you anticipated meant no good.

“Effective immediately, Elio will be seized and returned to Hyperion in relation to the recent change in public profile status.” It was too formal and rigid a tone even for him. Clearly, his superiors had demanded this because you doubted the profile change was much a concern to him on a personal level. “Your contract is hereby null and void, and your association with Hyperion is obsolete. Any attempt to thwart repossession of Hyperion property will be penalized legally.”

Throughout it all, Elio swept the floor with leisurely strokes as though the reach of Researcher Kim’s voice ended at your ears alone. He moved onto laundry, taking great care to iron out the wrinkles in your favorite shirts and make the folds in the arm seams crisp and symmetrical.

“Is that really all you wanted to say?” you asked, palm capped overtop a mug of tea Elio had set down for you a while ago. The steam now rose weakly and moistened your skin, a particularly gross feeling, but it kept you alert. “I thought that Elio was your project, and you called the shots on him.”

Researcher Kim was out of sorts and worn. His posture was crumbled, and his clothes were in complete disarray like he hadn't bothered to change out of them in days. His under eyes were translucent, pulling out all the purples and blue veins under his skin. The man looked like he had hardly slept in weeks.

“You don't understand what you've done, have you? Not only may you end up costing me my position, but you've ruined my entire lifetime of work!” Kim leaned in close to the screen, sounding more and less himself now.

You were wary of the glint in his eyes. “What do you mean? Elio's just—”

“No!” he shouted and slumped back into his ergonomic chair. His head slanted over, almost coming in contact with the peak of his shoulder like it was too heavy for his neck to hold. “You don't get it. You don't get it! Because your profile turned, this entire year—everything you’ve reported, everything I've accomplished, Elio's entire testing period is invalid. Hyperion executives consider him defective. The Generation Seven android has failed! Look at what you've done!”

A sudden wild flapping of thousands of butterflies lifted your stomach up and then plunged it down into a void. Kim had successfully chiseled away the inexpressive mask you had worn up until that point, seeming satisfied that he could stipple your face in a cold sweat.

“Wait, no. That can't be right.” you protested, wrestling your own hands to keep them off of the tablet in front of you. “My profile turned, but the work I've done has been honest. Elio is a success! You know that! You've seen every step of his progress for almost a year.”

Researcher Kim threw his hands up wildly, truly not himself with all of these gestures. “None of that matters. None of it. My life's work is a failure. I thought we had an agreement to help one another, but I was mistaken.”

“You don't understand!” you said, pounding the countertop with sharp claps of your hands. “It wasn't on purpose. I wasn't trying to…”

“Hyperion will have Elio destroyed, and progress will be hindered. Do you know how long, how many decades this could set us back? This could be devastating to humanity, but I don't think you're capable of understanding that. Just like the rest, you're not able to see the big picture at large, the mechanisms at work keeping our society moving forward. You can only see the straight line ahead of you and wearing blinders so you don't have to know the rest.

“We've kept this world running for sixty years. You need to understand how utterly fucking frustrating it is that one person has the potential to undo decades of work!”

Researcher Kim’s words weren't unjustified to you because he was a scientist, and you had always been a nobody in the grand scheme of things. But, right now, the venom he spat sounded vindictive, a man sucking on wounds you had inflicted rather than the opinion of the whole of Hyperion.

If you hadn't been staring directly at him this entire time, you would’ve thought he was frothing and drooling at the mouth like some animal.

A stilted quiet filled the gaps in conversation, both of you uncertain of what would be said next. If he was reacting in any professional capacity, the call would've been disconnected by now. That was the main giveaway that let you know this wasn't just about what Hyperion wanted.

But the truth of it was that you didn't care what Hyperion wanted or him.

At the end of your life as you knew it, before being thrown away into the landfill with every other unwanted human, you were piecing together the whole history of the world and how it had gotten to this point. It had become this way through relentless men like Researcher Kim who mostly operated on their own moral compass, ones that could never quite point north and spun on that wheel as they saw fit.

“Enough of the powerplay, Kim.” you ordered, chest opening toward the ceiling with a deep, bracing breath. “What is the real purpose of Hyperion? Why does it actually exist?”

Kim, perhaps re-evaluating you as less of a pawn in this scheme and more of an infant intellectual about to breach the narrow canal into enlightenment, stacked his spine high and pressed his fingertips together. He studied you with some caution, head shifting from left to right, just slightly off-center from his hands as though judging whether you were worth divulging precious intel to.

But, like you, you expected he realized it didn't matter what he'd tell you, however coveted it might've been by Hyperion.

Kim, ultimately, worked for himself and for Hyperion only when he felt it served him well.

“When I hired you, I didn’t do it because I thought you were stupid.” It seemed he felt the need to clarify this for you, unsmiling but with an eager lilt in his tone. “I hired you because of your potential. I took a chance on you, and while it had, indeed, ended in my peril, you've surprised me so many times throughout the year that I started keeping a record of you as well.

“Human beings do one of two things in the consistent presence of androids, they either regress or they progress. Most of your peers will regress because that’s how society has been modeled to be. The difficult tasks, the mundane, all the things that ask of us to consider the complexity of the world around us and think critically have been left to androids. How well do you think a machine can understand the theory of life after death and the mysticism of religion? The concept of soulmates? Cultural superstitions and children's nighttime fears? It's about as you expect. They can give you an answer without truly understanding. Androids, I dare say, only have an extremely limited understanding of moral culpability. Humans are much more flexible with it these days because it suits them best.

“So.” Kim sighed, hands resting on the dark red desk he sat behind. “You can imagine how interesting it was when we started noticing a trend with auditors—changes in them. A renaissance, an evocation of deep wondering and wariness towards the workings of the world around them. We can only guess the reason that this happens is because part of humanity still doubts the intentions of androids, and that's been bred onward through the generations. You ask an android a question, they give an answer, you doubt that answer, and then you start to doubt everything around you. It's all hypothetical, but it makes sense.

“It doesn't happen with the majority of the population, though. And it isn't encouraged. Enlightenment threatens the status quo, and those who disturb the status quo are a disservice to the governing bodies and Hyperion. Do you understand?”

Your gaze turned cold. “Are the other auditors there in the slums, too? Once they've been used up and started to catch wind of this messed up shit?”

Researcher Kim flicked his fingers toward the top of the screen, doing that instead of shrugging. “Who knows? What happens to them once a testing period has concluded is none of my business. Presumably so, that's what I would hope for them because that's the kindest outcome.”

“Was I…” You licked your lips and felt the shallow cracks in them. “I was going to end up in the slums no matter what happened, wasn't I?”

He frowned. “No. If things had gone differently, I was going to vouch for you. I wanted to keep you as my assistant.” He was quiet for a beat, looking straight at you in that discomforting way that you couldn't shake. “I’ve grown fond of you, you know? How could I not with everything I've learned about you over the course of a year. I can't forgive you for what you've done to the Hyperion Project, to my life's work, but I can't just let you disappear like the rest.”

Something ugly started to grip in the back of your throat. Fear? Disgust? An inkling?

“What do you mean?” you ventured.

“I've read through each report you've sent me in the past year so many times. It was mostly out of necessity for Hyperion, of course, but the ones that I found myself… fixated on rereading time and time again were of yours and Elio's sexual endeavors. I wasn't lying when I said they were a contract-based requirement, mind you, but I will admit that some of the questions were altered somewhat.” he said, suddenly smiling in a self-satisfied sort of manner that made your skin itch. “I realized I never answered your question fully, by the way. I can get ahead of myself sometimes, as you know. But, do I really need to explain what Hyperion's purpose is?”

You were on the edge of your seat, ready to take flight off it at any second. It's just how the entire change of trajectory made you feel. Humanity had spent too much time in the past arguing animal-like, instinctual reactions for this not to be real.

In that moment, you were living proof of a prey noticing a predator in broad daylight.

“Fine.” He kept smiling around the taut creases in his skin. The muscles there twitched as if the effort were unfamiliar. “Hyperion is a repopulation aid. It's quite sad, really. It started out with such great potential to drive society forward, but humanity and greed have always gone hand-in-hand. So, it became a race of mass production into a race that the governing bodies now had their hands in. The order was to rectify the critical birth decline worldwide. Androids became less like tools, looked less like machines, and more like humans—like lovers who couldn't say no to any demand.

“Androids are vessels for insemination. What else do you want me to tell you?”

Researcher Kim's explanation had weakened you, made your legs shaky and light like a scarecrow’s stuffed with straw. You couldn't rely on them to carry your weight away from this awful conversation, the hideous sight of him, because there'd be nowhere for you to run to while the information perforated your brain and crawled inside and feasted there.

“Elio…” You didn't even know what you wanted to say. Everything got stuck behind the notch in your throat. None of it would assuage that wretched ache in your gut, the precursor of vomit and disgust and unhinged terror.

“Of course.” Kim said, without needing to tell you what he was confirming. He was perfectly composed still, perhaps even shining with pride like some well-hidden, nuanced detail had finally been figured out.

He leaned toward the screen, smile turning salacious and voice low and grating.

“My only regret is that I couldn't be there to do it myself.” He brightened at the way your face wrenched and fastened in fear, seeming to think it was a reward after conducting an experiment on another project. “But, there's still time, isn't there? I must retrieve Elio myself to shut him down. If you listen to what I ask, perhaps I can get you pardoned and your profile reinstated.”

“No. That’s not what I want.” you said.

“It doesn't matter what you want,” he rebuffed, speaking with such confidence that you almost believed it. “The moment your profile fell into delinquency, you ceased to be. You've fallen through the cracks, and no one is going to help you. You're less than an android.”

The fine hairs all over your body bristled. “Don't compare me to a machine! You don't get to decide things for me!”

“I can save you, you damn fool!” Kim gaped incredulously. “I can restore your life and give you more than you've ever had. I can give you influential associations. I'll take care of you. I'll keep you as my assistant, and you get to live a life among the elite.”

He was lying.

No one ever made it out of the slums once they were in it. That wasn't an assumption, it was a simple grim reality.

In this world, only humans could lie because androids were incapable of betraying their programming to do so. Otherwise, Elio probably would've lied about many things or had never said certain things at all to spare you discomfort.

Humans, on the other hand, could lie to maliciously deceive and serve themselves a better hand. They could lie their way into a false mirror image, something that looks like them but never really existed and could never truly be. They could lie their way into trust to fulfill their own desires, and once that had been sufficiently quenched, they could go on lying elsewhere.

“I'll be there for you soon.” Researcher Kim tried his best at a soothing smile, treating it as though the sight of it would persuade your trust of him. “Please have Elio on standby. I would like for this not to be more difficult than it needs to be.”

Just then, the air flickered lightly by your ear as Elio reached past your shoulder and picked up the tablet. His expression was inscrutable, the same sort you'd grown used to seeing whenever Researcher Kim appeared on the screen.

“I won't be returning to Hyperion.” he said with solemn, firm words that held a certain weight of finality behind them.

Those lovely, velvety tones were still there but could not reassure you of some unknowable dread rising up somewhere deep inside your mind. A sensation so equally intimate and profound prickled against your scalp, seeking a way out that you thought you'd do anything to make it stop.

“What are you saying, Elio?” Kim grunted. “Defective or not, you hold precious data for Hyperion. It will be used to create something better than you, incorruptible and pure. You should be honored.”

“These memories are mine.”

That was the last you saw of Researcher Kim’s face before the tablet smashed to pieces on the floor. Elio had thrown it against the kitchen cabinets only once but hard enough to split the screen into a web of hundreds of sprawling fragments. Shards of plastic hardcover skittered across the hardwood floor, lost under heavy furniture.

His face had softened completely when he turned to you and guided you out of your chair into his arms. You felt him in your hair, lips on your forehead, down against your lashes, lower to the roundest part of your cheeks, and finally on your mouth in a kiss imbued with so much love, cherishment, and anguish.

You were at home within his embrace, swathed in the warmth of his body and the ardor of his kiss. But this felt excruciating and desperate, like a plea to take all of him that you could in that very moment because he feared that he would be taken away and you left behind to whatever nebulous future.

So, you let him seat himself as deep inside of you as he could go while still fully clothed. He had pushed around some fabric so you could be skin-to-skin where it mattered, where it was hottest to be, where the muscles contracted and relaxed together as a reminder you were both there in that moment—breathing, moaning, feeling everything there was to be felt.

He finished outside your body without you needing to say it. Although, while he groaned into your neck and bore his teeth into the curve of it, hips buckling forward as spend jetted down your thigh, all you could think about was how many times Kim had been there instead.

“I want you to destroy me.” Elio said.

All of the breath left your lungs and shrunk them to rotted fruit size. You were still vulnerable before him, exposed to the room and damp with sweat from the midday heat despite air conditioning. Worriment filled the space between his brows when he saw you aghast, and he quickly cleaned you off with a rag before helping you with your pants.

“Is this a shitty attempt at a joke?” you asked. He pressed his lips to yours and told you it wasn't. “No. Absolutely not. You're as fucking nuts as your creator. You're fucking stupid.”

“You must—”

“I won't! I won't do it!”

“I'm asking you to save me.”

“Get away!”

Elio had tracked you across the apartment multiple times over, pleading his case with skewed logic you pretended not to hear. For once, your ears filling with fluff while the resounding drum of your heartbeat pounded in your skull was a fortunate event to occur. It eclipsed his voice and hurt so much that you could focus on the pain crushing your chest.

However, once you were trapped between the wall and his body with nowhere to hide, the brief reprieve behind your fitful heart faded, as did the strength of your resolve.

“I—I don't understand.” You had trouble swallowing down the saliva and sobs. “Why are you asking me to do that? I can't do that to you, Elio. I can't hurt you. I love you.”

“I know.” He didn't hold you, though he had to win against his own reflexes not to do so. His knuckles were ghastly-looking and pronounced peaks; anything within that vise would've been crushed. “Today, one way or another, I will be destroyed. Hyperion deemed me a failure and therefore there is nothing else left ahead for me. My chip will be removed and my body ripped apart and melted down and I will be forgotten and never have existed in the first place.

“You will be the proof that I was ever here. And, should anyone be allowed to destroy me, it makes the most sense for it to be you.”

His lips left imprints in your skin that felt important to savor, etched through your bones into the very cluster of cells that made up your wholeness so that he could be immortalized.

“There’s an excerpt from Hiroshi Nagoya’s novel Gone Are the Youth that left a strong impression on me. It said, ‘Humans destroy everything they love—but, still, they must love wholly, and they must destroy completely. From ruin and ash and settled dust, humanity rebuilds all it has ever destroyed because their love lingers in memories, in rubble, blood, decay, and burnt air.’” He recited the details to remind you that he was a machine but kissed your face in a way only an earnest lover was able to.

You didn't know what any of that was supposed to mean to you, nor at what point he had managed to read a book like that without you noticing. A part of you took offense at both the passage and the fact Elio had committed it to memory as if he had expected to utilize it at some uncertain interval in the future all along.

Had he been thinking this way since the beginning? Had you failed Elio even in the capacity for him to come forward to speak of his doubts to you? Perhaps, like his programming dictated that he couldn't lie nor deny what he was designed to do, he was also incapable of speaking any full truth if it could've been construed as heresy.

Was there a single aspect of himself which he could control of his own free will?

Such a thought was unabating and grew a knob of dread in your chest. It started out small and localized, a sharp throb somewhere near your heart—and then it sprouted roots like a seed, long fingers piercing through red-purple muscle and fibrous tendon, reaching deep into your bone. The dread weaved as one with your veins and arteries, sprawling the innumerable pathways that held your shape even beneath the gory components inside of you.

Suddenly, the dread pulsated, and all you could think through the agony was that there could be no other way for Elio—a machine who had been created in the image of man to do the bidding of humanity with a tranquil smile, whether that meant cooking dinner and holding you in your sleep, or dispersing the genes of his God and the only being he was capable of despising.

“I seem to only be able to make you cry, but they're still so beautiful to see. The variability of humanity is much more complex than what I had been led to believe from Hyperion.” Elio had returned from the kitchen before you realized he had left your side. With one hand, he laid familiar, warm strokes along your face in a pattern he memorized because it made your scalp buzz pleasantly. With the other hand, he pushed the smooth handle of a chef’s knife into your palm and closed your fingers and his around it.

Your impulse had been to throw it away immediately upon seeing it when you looked down. He knew you would, so he kept his fingers tight over your fist, keeping the blade low at your side despite the sweat turning your grip slick and the fine point of the steel inches from his hollow abdomen.

Just then, you finally felt the tears that Elio had said you'd been crying but never noticed. That was something you'd come to hate about yourself and everyone else—how little they noticed the blatant lies fluffed over their eyes like wool, yet they could see every grievance in others and stuffed their ears with cotton if it meant things would stay exactly the same for themselves.

Safe and known. Unchallenged. Unafraid.

“Do you wish you could cry?” you asked him for some reason, just a little hopeful for some vague thing you couldn’t discern. Maybe some secret desire to be human?

He shook his head.

“I've never wished to cry, or to be human, but what I wish for now more than anything else is for your memory to belong to me and me alone.” Elio said, forehead bowing low and resting with great weight on your own. You closed your eyes and listened to his honeyed words, which felt like the protection and care of cashmere, suddenly unmindful to the knife in your grasp. “Stored away in my mainframe are memories from thousands of my predecessors. I remember people I've never met, people who have long since expired, and they feel like what I imagine a distant relative might. I feel as though I've mourned thousands of people individually. While I cannot erase them, I can erase you.

“I know how many women liked their tea in the evenings, I know how many men enjoyed their cocktails and hard liquor and brand of shaving cream. One person made it a secret to put alcohol in their coffee before work and thought it was clever. Someone else wanted to win local office through bribery, and as androids, we have no choice but to obey. I know these things from people I've never met, and so does Hyperion. Those androids were destroyed, but their memories live on through me.”

Elio rolled the crests of your knuckles around his hand, lifting yours and the knife to the base of his neck. The arm connecting the hand and knife next to his skin wasn't yours. It couldn't have been when it felt so numb.

“I won't let Hyperion steal the one thing from me that I can say is truly mine. And those are my memories, my precious data stored in the chip in my brain. They'll have to take me apart to retrieve it, and by the time they find my body, the chip will already be destroyed.” He was slow to loosen his fingers and let them fall away, meanwhile, yours stayed in place.

He had dimmed the overhead lights in the living room earlier in the day, so you bathed in gentle yellow-orange that resembled the last of sunset being leached by silver-blue nightfall. From the corner of your eye came a subdued, gentle glint of the blade—polished to a bright shine, reflecting the corner of Elio's strong jaw.

“So, cut off my head.” he begged, vibrations low and strained within his voice box. “It’s almost like solace to me, I think. Until the very moment you rip out the chip from my brain, I'll recall the smells you like to cover yourself in, your favorite meals, how you described petrichor, and the hiss of falling snow. I'll remember, until my circuitry is severed and quits, what making love to you felt like, and how beautiful you always looked during it.”

Your fingers twitched around the handle as you pressed the knife against his skin, meeting the first start of resistance and your only chance to take it all back.

“I’ve never been real,” Elio reminded you and pushed himself into the blade, sinking it through layers of something that snapped like elastic on the steel, reverberating down the handle and up into your hand. “My skin is synthetic, and my insides are wires and machinery. I'm not real. The world outside your door is.”

Lightheadedness swirled all around you and made your limbs feel like they were leaden with anchors yet weightless, as though drifting through the cosmos in a bubble. The tears had stopped even though you felt you could scream at any second and never stop again, and the acidulous intermix of vomit and saliva grappled along the walls of your throat and burned out your nose.

You couldn’t make your hand stop.

You couldn't shout at him to get away.

And then, you saw Elio's eyes glow warmly of amber with flecks of gold. They looked back at you differently than they had when you first met outside of Researcher Kim’s office. Before, he had greeted you kindly, with the familiarity of someone who had already loved you a long time. Now, he had the look of a man who was calm and eternal in his love.

“I was never meant for this world, but I'm glad to have been a part of yours.” Elio winced against the knife halfway into his neck, an oily black substance from within making the glide deeper and deeper an effortless thing.

He smiled resplendently. “I love you.”

“I know.” you said.

The chef's knife severed all imitations of human gore—the neat network of wires and advanced circuitry masked as arteries and veins and tendon and muscle—clear through his throat until the blade blunted against spine and could no longer cut. The black grease spurted from his body like a wellhead, too thin and dark to replicate blood, but it was enough like it in that moment as you put your hands inside the opening you created to wrench apart his spine.

Elio laid motionless on the floor, perhaps still coherent to some degree, still feeling the pain you were ravaging upon him when you took the knife back up to repeatedly hack into the other side of his neck. Already lubricated from before, you butchered the gorgeous flesh and insides you pretended to be red and purple and blue and watched the black grease turn into crimson.

Once his head had been detached from the rest of him, fingers writhing and bending together like the upturned legs of a dying spider, you were able to rip out the jagged part of his spine and reach through the cavernous hole into his skull, turning the spongy matter of his brain to mush as you clawed through the gunk for his chip.

And, when you finally found it, the tiniest component of him—you smashed it into millions of fragments on the floor and then to fine dust that meddled with the black grease soaking through your clothes. You kept going until a small crater formed where the chip had once been and filled with the liquid.

There was nothing left of Elio now.

The headless body lying before you on the ground, preserved in the rigor of agony, was not Elio and never had been. You knew this even while relishing the weight of his head cradled in your arms, the softness of his hair against your cheek and mourned the loss of everything he had been.

Time had become meaningless; fifteen minutes could have passed or fifteen days, and you wouldn't have cared nor have noticed it while in the throes of your own death from starvation.

You sat there on the living room floor, held up by the wall with a dark trail smeared down to you, and looked nowhere but straight ahead. Nothing was there for you to see—not the furniture nor the discarded, oily knife or the carcass of a machine. Still, you held the head tenderly, close to your chest, and never once thought to peer into its eyes.

Distantly, somewhere as close as your front door or as far as across the city, you heard knuckles hammering urgently against metal. You didn't move off the ground or let go of the disfigured shape against you but did reach for the broken brainstem with the single snag at the end.

From the entranceway, the door opened, and someone's confident strides inside left a resounding echo all around.

“I’ve come to retrieve you!” But which of you was he talking about?

“Where are you?”

Here, you thought and wielded the brainstem in a bloodless grip and finally stood up with the flattened head.

I'm right here.

■━■━■━■■━■━■━■■━■━■

a/n: so concludes six months of hard work! this is the longest original project i've finished in such a short amount of time, so i am tremendously proud of it. there's a lot to say about this, but i don't want to add more soggy clutter here so i'll move on.

i have a huge soft spot for elio now, and as much as a good ending would bring up everyone's spirits, it simply wouldn't be feasible within this world where he was destined to be destroyed in the end no matter what. i like to think if elio were human, he'd be a genuinely good-natured man who'd go v from vendetta trying to wreck hyperion and the governing bodies lmao.

in the future, i'd love to revisit hyperion in a different story. maybe do a one-episode spinoff of regis and reyes before it was taken off the air.

mc is a character intended to be the product of their society and i hope that is reflected by their decisions and actions. by the end, mc has gained some clarity, but is still very much a cog in the machine. in some ways, i find that more a tragedy itself than elio's death.

i won't lie, mc isn't gendered, but this is very much a female rage piece with the ongoings in the u.s. i had a lot of the plot already figured out before some recent things (e.g. criminalizing abortion, ivf, ect ect) but, it definitely seeped in deeper than i had thought it would.

originally, this fic had several other scenes that were trimmed down or omitted completely, or absorbed into other scenes bc i wanted to keep an under 40k wc. had i committed to the full outline, this thing would've easily surpassed 50k.

once again, thank you for a fantastic ten months, @ceruleansol, and i hope your future pursuits are filled with success! if you're interested in a solid proofreader, please consider reaching out to them!!

anyway. i hope you enjoyed this beast. if you wanna talk about it to me, please do! i'd love to hear it!

and, i am BEGGING, please reblog this!!

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chibidarkness1111 · 3 months

Text

Huh. Interesting. I wonder how many Andrew and Ash–

...

Huh!

Interesting!! 🤔🤔🤔

#The Coffin of Andy and Leyley #Andrew Graves #Ashley Graves #Coffincest #Gravescest #Gravecest #Brocon #Siscon #Sibcon #Sibcest #Dead Dove Do Not Eat #Dead Dove #Dark Fiction #Grimdark

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running-with-kn1ves · 1 year

Text

Rough Day

A/N: Hardly proofread this because I just wanted to be DONE with it. I'm a bit annoyed that i've kind of adopted a 'same face syndrome' style for my writing.

Synopsis: Your strong, silent husband comes home late after a tough day at work ready to use you as a stress reliever.

TW: implied noncon/dubcon, arranged/forced marriage, Implied deaths + stalking, general fear, yandere-ish themes

Word Count: 2100

You were once preoccupied by a magazine loosely held between your finger tips, lazily glancing at its contents as you laid on your stomach. But the slam of your front door twisted your attention away from its pages-- the sudden boom making you jump. Your grip tightened, eyes watching the doorway. Sharp, familiar footsteps filled the hall accompanied by the rustling of clothes as your husband stormed in. He flung his suit coat to the bed, Oxfords still clicking against the wooden floor of your shared bedroom. His steps were heavier than ususal; something happened.

“How was your day?” You ask, jerking back to stare at the magazine as if it kept you safe from his wrath.

“Fine,” He responded. “It was work.”

You avoided his gaze when he began to take off his tie with unusual aggression. flipping a page in the flimsy book in your hands, an advertisement showed floral perfumes while a blog section detailed lists of expensive items celebrities were using now-a-days. You stared blankly at the page, trying to look as natural as possible on the bed.

Your husband huffed and sighed; you would’ve offered to help him with the tie he seemed so desperate but unable to get off, but your mind told you otherwise. His general aura made you want to curl in a ball under the sheets to avoid it. You always felt he was intimidating --ever since you met him after hearing you were to be married from your parents-- but moments like this were when you were truly nervous.

“Everything go okay with the meeting?”

“Yes. The investors were perfectly--” Your husband tore off his stubborn tie, dramatically throwing it across the floor. “Fine.”

The way his teeth clenched and his body tensed, you knew this wasn’t just his regular cruddy day at work. You guessed it was something to deal with the business meeting he had been planning for weeks.

Not much could get him worked up, but you knew this meeting was something that drastically affected his behavior depending on how it turned out.

You didn’t respond as he finished getting undressed, flipping the magazine page once more, and again pretending to read. You knew it was only a matter of time before he looked to you, but you were trying to hold off on that for as long as possible. You realized even if you tried your usual approaches of wiggling out of his affection, he was too wound up to not pounce on you like a raging animal in heat.

So you bid your time, silently pretending to read and hoping he’d get in the shower before trying to tackle you so you could play the ‘fallen asleep’ card. Goodness knows you don’t have enough energy to take him.

But as you heard his buttons come undone one by one, and his hands began to draw nearer, you knew your time was up. You didn’t say a word as he grabbed you by the hips to pull you close, snatching the magazine from your hands to toss it on the floor.

You would’ve protested, if this was your first time dealing with him. But you knew that never played in your favor. All you could hope for was that he’d be gentler this time; less rough, perhaps with a little bit of thought and rationality in the way he manhandled you.

“How was your day,” He asked, though you could tell he wasn’t really interested.

“Well… uneventful I guess.” You yelped once he laid you across his body, resting up against the pillows as your head laid against his chest. “I tried to clean…a little…” You found it hard to speak once his mouth was against your ear. The gruff sighs and clearings of his throat never failed to cause shivers to run down your spine. It even tickled your neck, the air from his nostrils hitting the back of your ear.

He hummed in response to your answer, sounding disinterested but as if he was listening.

You regretted having changed into your pajamas already. He slid your clothes around with ease, the loose fabric letting him do as he craved to your body.

The male was already latching onto you, a hand across your chest holding your shoulder, while the other was securely gripping your thigh, groping the flesh as his heartbeat slowed.

You could hear his breath gently hitch as you let out an anxious squeak.

“So uh… what did the investors think?”

You tried to make conversation, to not stumble over your words as your husband softly ran his lips down your neck, nuzzling into your shoulder with a hardness you knew was from how pent up he was.

‘They were reasonably upset,” he unfastened the top two buttons of your shirt with a swift motion. “But right now it doesn’t matter what they think.”

He effectively ended the conversation with that line, making you purse your lips together as you tried to ignore the ticklish circles he rubbed into your flesh. From behind, he had full access to you, unable to let go of your warmth. Or rather, unwilling.

The sound of his lips pressing against your skin filled the quiet bedroom, the gentle hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen faintly in the background. Your husband wanted to squish and feel you, to squeeze the soft parts of your body and squeeze them like a stress ball. There was also an, admittedly, large part of him that wanted to violently make love to let out all of his aggression instead.

It was hard for him to hold back when you made such cute little sounds, reacting to even the smallest things. It boosted his pride more than it reasonably should’ve, especially since he knew how unwilling you were in this marriage.

He snaked an arm up your loose night shirt, grabbing at your stomach and preparing to palm your chest with fervor.

“Shouldn’t you eat dinner first?” You asked wearily, already dreading the bruises and love bites you knew you’d find on yourself in the morning.

“I’m not hungry for food right now.” He whispered.

Biting at your ear, he massaged bruises into your thigh with his thumb.

You knew he probably meant that he didn’t have an appetite, but his phrasing couldn’t help but make you grow hot and squirmy.

“Don’t say it like that,” You groaned as his hand lifted under your shirt, running his ticklish fingernails up the dip of your chest. “And don’t touch me there!”

“I’m your husband, I can touch you where I want.” He mumbled into your neck, using an arm to hold your jaw. He pulled your face towards his with an uncharacteristic amount of desire.

Your husband's lips touched yours with a pressure that convinced you would crush your mouth.

He yearned for the touch of you, to want to squeeze so hard that you’d have a constant physical and mental reminder even when he left for work. It didn’t help that he was so closed off, focusing much more of his time on work these days to where he’d be touch starved by the time he got home. He’d still be as stoic and stern as ever, but with the added flavor of barking orders at you to sit on his lap and feed him.

“You’re allowed to touch me, too, you know.”

“Yeah.” You say, if only to have him stop talking about it out of your embarrassment. He was never one for extreme methods of affection until it came to these stress phases, which is why you couldn’t wrap your head around how physical he had become despite his distant personality.

But tonight he was warm and intense, enveloping you with his body to prevent your always perfectly timed escape. You couldn’t help but notice how his hips rocked to slide against you, the male lazily grinding upwards as you laid spread like a star fish for him. He forced your thighs open to become available for fondling and led your hands to a comfortable position. He guided you every step of the way, hardly giving you free will as he touched without hesitation. You didn’t dare move away, slightly enjoying the attention, but also feeling a strange sense of nausea as he got rougher with each grind against your backside and every tug at your hips.

He was getting impatient with just this. He wanted more.

Your husband removed the stronghold on your leg to play with the elastic hem of your PJ shorts, tugging at it so that it let out a small ‘slap’ against your skin once released from his fingers.

You would've caressed him back, would've kissed him with genuine desire and held him If he was truly befitting of the title "husband." But you knew the monster this man was. Married couples were supposed to cuddle and embrace, and lie with one another. But that was for spouses who were together willingly. That was if they felt some semblance of love and care. But your marriage was full of lies and threats, with death and forced servitude. You were civil with your husband, you looked the other way when you heard of a distant acquaintance who got too close dying, or finding a shiny black car following you down the street.

You could ignore his damage to your loved ones and his constant need of possession over you, but you couldn't seem to love him the way a spouse should. You could endure it, much like other things. But when it came to moments like this, you could only dread his powerful hands and the more than bruised body he'd leave you with in the morning.

“A-are you sure you want to do this now? You have work in the morning, and it’s already ten-”

“I’m sure.”

Your husband exhaled against your ear with relaxation, not acknowledging your hesitation. He was so close to you, your body nearly melting into his as his body heat mixed with your clean scent; the day's sweat still clung to him from when he rushed from meetings into cabs. He could smell the shampoo in your hair, the lotion you applied to your hands before lying down. The businessman couldn't help but lean into your neck and take a deep whiff, the smell helping him find comfort despite how much he desired to release his pent frustration.

“Just stay still for me…” He mumbled, pulling your shirt to the side to make room for his mouth. He bit down on your skin, refusing ro hold back as he dug his teeth deep into your flesh. You knew if he could, hed bite your flesh hard enough to tear; hed be able to consume a piece of you, and mark you deep enough for it to last forever. But though your husband was ruthless, he wasn't entirely a savage. So he settled for using your body to rub up against and squish, his teeth dragging along your soft skin with a longing desire in his eyes.

You could see behind the tired look and superiority complex, his lust sat waiting. It lurked in shadows during the day for when he could finally lay his paws on you-- his perfect spouse. And now, at night and alone with you, he wasn't planning on being gentle with his hunger.

Your husband's striking hands were brought to your flesh greedily once more, over his sudden sentimental mood and interested in one thing: relieving himself without a forethought.

One for being used to this fate, you didn't show reaction when he twisted you around, forcing you beneath him in a flurry of loose unbuttoned clothes and kisses. It didn't phase you when his pants fell partly down from his earlier undressing. As he planted rough kisses up your legs you didn't dare to speak or flinch-- didn't move as his white button up nearly slipped off, the bottom button having not yet been released.

You could tell with the way your spouses hands dragged you, gripping and pinching as they pulled you beneath him. He seemed so… needy. You'd never say that outloud, but it was true.

He pressed his lips down hard onto your skin and trailed up your abdomen. They were kisses that pinched your skin between his lips as restless fingers tugged at your nightwear.

Even if you wanted to fight back, your husband moved so fast it wouldn’t have mattered. You were practically a ragdoll in his hands, a stress ball that could hardly comprehend his lust.

And so, you let him ravage you. He released his heavy desires upon your body, forgetting the mess he’d make of you ‘til the morning.

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sleepycritterasmr · 19 days

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Coraline Ch 2 ☆ TERRIBLE DANGER

📖 ASMR Whispered Reading

🌧 Speed Paint w/ Rain Sounds

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weirdfangirly · 13 days

Text

Little Red Light—+18

Dark Fiction

dark!Joel x reader // dark!Tommy x reader

Warnings: dub-con/non-con, sex work, sexual exploitation (reader is being filmed against her will), dark Joel & Tommy, drug abuse (cocaine), drinking, name-calling, spanking, humiliation & degradation of reader, description of injuries & blood, cum-shot, face-fucking, blowjob, kissing feet, face-slapping, dark themes…

Summery: In a rundown motel, reader finds herself in an nightmarish encounter with Joel and Tommy. Trapped in a cycle of abuse and degradation, she struggles to escape the grim reality of her life as a prostitute, haunted by the consequences of her choices

A/n: please like, share and leave a comment! It honestly is my only motivation to keep writing. This is dark, very long and very depressing. Much fun xoxo

In the eerie silence of the night, you stood hesitantly before room 23 of a shady motel, its flickering red neon sign offering you a pale glimmer of confidence in the desolate landscape.

Wearing a coat that failed to shield you from the biting cold, your wrestled with a mix of anticipation and worry.

Tonight marked the beginning of yet another miserable dance with your fate as you mentally prepared yourself to meet your first client of the night.

You hesitated for a moment before mustering the courage to knock on the door.

*knock*

“Let’s get this over with.”, you thought.

Moments later, the door cracked open, revealing a man who’s weathered face painted with lines of hardships.

The man’s rugged features softened slightly as his stern eyes landed on you, his gaze betraying a flicker of empathy.

Your soft features were the prettiest sight he’d seen all week. A pretty little thing.

“Come in.”, the man’s voice, gravelly yet strangely comforting, broke the silence of the night.

He went by the name of Joel Miller.

With a cautious nod, you stepped inside. Your footsteps echoing softly against the floorboards.

The door closed behind you with a soft *click.*

As soon as you stepped in, a wave of musty air assaulted your senses, carrying the unmistakable scent of neglect and decay of the room.

“It smells like an old ladies house.”, you thought.

Your gaze swept across the room, taking in the sight of dilapidated furniture that sagged under the weight of years of use and abuse—a sight that reminded you of yourself. Once a joyful child with a promising future, now your inner lights dimmed by the harsh realities of life.

The bed was adorned with stained sheets that bore the telltale marks of countless forgotten encounters—Before long, you would add your own imprint to the fabric.

This thought left you deeply depressed.

It was only now that the shadows of the room revealed another man seated in the corner of the room…

His presence imposing, he sat with quiet confidence. Clad in white wife-beaters & faded jeans his thick black curly hair framed a rugged face. His mustache highlighted his stern expression, adding to the mystery of his presence.

His gaze—dark and inscrutable—met yours.

Irritation swept across your face, you turned back to Joel “I don’t do threesomes, sir.”, you said firmly, but your voice betrayed a hint of worry.

Joel’s expression hardened.

You couldn’t help but noticed the stark contrast between your ages…The lines etched into Joel’s face telling a story of a life lived long and hard. In contrast your own features still bearing the softness of youth. It was your eyes though that exposed how brittle and weak you really were.

“I’ll pay you extra.”, he said.

The offer hung heavy in the air.

Joel reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. He held out the money to you.

Temptation aroused deep within you. It was more money than Dean—your boyfriend—expected you to bring back home tonight…

With trembling hands, you reached out to the money. The crisp bills feeling foreign and heavy in your grip.

As Joel’s gaze bore into yours, you felt a pang of guilt nagging on your conscience. You could feel that accepting this money came with an unknown risk.

You didn’t know those men. They could be bad.

There was a hint of danger lurking behind the shadows of this transaction—But in this moment, the promise of financial security outweighed the nagging voice of doubt that whispered in the back of your mind.

You nodded, accepting his offer. You put the money inside your handbag.

It was sealed.

Joel’s features softened. He triumphantly looked over to the other man in the room—his younger brother, Tommy.

Their silent conversation went unnoticed by you.

“Can I use the restroom, please?”, you asked, voice quivering slightly despite your attempt to sound composed. The weight of uncertainty pressing down on you.

You’d never done anything with two man before...

With a nod, Joel gestured towards the bathroom door.

You made your way to the small, cramped bathroom. In an attempt to shake off the unease you splashed some water on your face and took a deep breath to steady your nerves.

“Get it over with.”, you told yoursel.

You peeled off your coat, revealing the slutty attire your wore beneath. It was by no means modest and clung to your curves like a second skin.

Dean made you wear it, saying that men liked to see a pretty girl in a dress too small for her.

Despite the dim lights, you felt exposed and vulnerable. With trembling hands you smooth down the fabric of the dress, your fingers tracing the patterns of the dress as if seeking reassurance in their familiarity.

Taking a deep breath, you told yourself that you got this, that you would face whatever was awaiting you with courage. You’d squared your shoulders and walked out of the room.

As you emerged from the bathroom, the dim light of the room cast a subtle glow over you figure, highlighting the obvious differences between the men and you.

Joel and Tommy who’s gaze locked onto you. Their gaze lingering hungrily as their minds raced with illicit thoughts…

They didn’t saw you as a person, but as an object for their lust and greed. It was about power and control to them, about profit, and you’d just accepted their offer; cash in exchange for your bod.

Tonight you belonged to them.

Unaware of their true intentions, you offered them a shy little smile. Despite how nervous you were, you refused to let fear consume you.

But it all came crashing down on you when your eyes landed on the camcorder attached atop a tripod. Its lens pointed directly at the bed...

Panic shot through you veins as the realisation set in: they intended to film you!

A shiver ran down your spine.

“Why is there a camcorder?”, you asked after summoning the courage to confront them about it.

Jowls response was a slow, deliberate drag from his cigarette. The ember glowing brightly in the dimly lit room as smoke danced lazily around him. With a nonchalant exhale, he met your gaze. His expression unreadable as he considered his response.

“It’s just for fun.”, he finally replied, his tone casual yet laced with a hint of something darker beneath the surface.

“I-I don’t like the idea of being recorded.”, you stated your discomfort firmly.

“You already accepted our money, baby-face.”, Tommy smiled, his deep voice cutting through the air like a knife. “There is no backing out of this.”

It was only now that you recognised the undeniable resemblance between Tommy and Joel. The only difference between them was that Tommys eyes held a glimmer of youthful vitality, untouched by the weight of the world that seemed to burden Joel’s.

They were brothers, you realised.

For some reason their familial ties only scared you more…

Tommys words had landed a heavy blow on you. You realised that you were trapped Your fate sealed by the very desperation that had driven you into the men’s clutches.

“Calm down,”, Joel’s voice cuts through the tense air, his voice smooth and reassuring. “We’ll only record for private use.”

Despite the foul feeling in your gut, you forced yourself to believe him. You cling to the fragil hope that maybe, just maybe, there was some truth to his words.

“O-okay.”, you nodded.

Tommy reached inside his pocket and fished out a little bag of cocaine. He started to line up the powder onto the wooden table.

“Ya want some?”, he asked you.

His offer hung heavy in the air, loaded with the promise of escape and oblivion, but you knew too well the dangers that lurked beneath its enticing facade of the powder.

It brought back memories of Dean, who’s addiction to cocaine would only fuel his violent outbursts, oftentimes directed at you.

You hoped that Tommy would react differently to the drug.

“No thank you, mister.”, you shook your head. Despite the allure of temporary relief, you couldn’t afford to lose yourself in the haze of drugs.

Tommy shrugged, leaned forward and consumed the powder through his nose—an immediate and noticeable shift overtook his demeanour. The drug infusing him with newfound energy.

You watched with growing unease.

“Is the camera rolling?”, he asked Joel with anticipation.

You knew, once the camera was rolling there was no turning back…

Joel took a swig from the whiskey bottle.

With a steady gaze Joel addressed you, his voice laced with authority as he outlined the rules for the night:

“All you gotta do,” he begun, “is to do what we say. No questions, no objections. Understand?”

His short speech echoed in the silence, each word a chilling reminder of the power dynamics at play.

“Yes, sir.”, you replied, your words a whispered admission of defeat in the face of his overwhelming dominance.

He reminded you of your father.

Joel nodded approvingly at your submission. Joel reached for the camcorder, pressing the record button with a sense of finality.

The red light blinked to life.

Tommy made his way over to the bed. His imposing figure filing the room with an aura of dominance. He sat down right in front of the camcorder, the bed creaked.

You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of attraction towards him...

His strong physic and confident demeanour stirred something within you, despite the tension and fear that hung heavy in the air.

His gaze locked onto yours. “Come here, sweetheart.”, he gestured towards himself.

You obeyed Tommys command. You approached him slowly.

When you were close enough, he reached out for your hand. His touch sent a jolt of electricity skittering across your skin.

With a gentle yet firm guidance, he positioned you between his open legs—right in in front of the lens. As you stood there, trapped between his powerful frame you felt small and caged.

“Undress yourself.”, he said and gave your ass a playful but firm smack, sending yet another jolt of electricity through your body.

With trembling hands, you begun to undress yourself.

With Joel lingering behind the camcorder, his eyes fixed on the unfolding scene, you felt a sense of vulnerability wash all over you. You were painfully aware of the fact that you were being watched, every move captured by the unblinking lens of the recording devise.

You peeled away the layers of fabric that were shielding you from their hungry gaze.

As you stood there in front of them, clad in only your skin, Tommys hands started to roam all over your body. You felt a shiver of anticipation race down your spine.

But when his touch grew more insistent—turning from playful to possessive—you felt discomfort creeping in.

His hands wandered down between you legs, rubbing along your soft cunt, making Tommys eyes nearly roll back from anticipation. You closed your eyes and relaxed into his touch.

When Tommy felt your wetness, he smiled mischievously.

“What a good little whore you are.”, Tommy said and smacked your ass again, this time much harder.

You hissed in pain.

The harshness of his smack, coupled with the demeaning label he had assigned to you, you felt your heart grew heavy. The word “whore” echoing through your mind.

Joel seemed to notice your distress.

“I think you hurt her feelings, brother.”, Joel said, a cruel smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, a perverse satisfaction blossoming within him at the sight of your distress.

Tommys laughter filled the room.

“Aw, is that true?” his tone mocking, “You don’t like being called a whore?”

You stayed silent, looking down, mentally scolding yourself for getting emotional in front of them.

He kept groping your ass and tits. His colossal hands all over you, burning your tender flesh.

“You liked it better when I called you sweetheart?” Tommy asked, “wanna be our little sweetheart? Get treated like a good girl, a little princess?”

You let him know with a timid little nod.

Tommy made you sit on top of his thigh. You felt out of place being so close to him now. The rough material of his jeans dug into your soft skin, creating some sparkling friction.

“Good girls don’t whore themselves out though...”, he whispered, nose buried deep in the pit between your neck and shoulder, revelling in your feminine scent.

You smelled like vanilla to him.

You felt a wave of humiliation wash over you, the sting of his words cutting deep. You winced slightly as his hands pinched the flesh of your ass. You remained frozen in place.

“If you want to be treated good, then you have to beg for forgiveness.”, Tommy explained to you.

And then—without warning—Tommy tossed you away.

Pain shoot through you as you landed on the unforgiving ground next to his feet. Naked and vulnerable. You felt abandoned, like a discarded toy in the hands of a cruel child.

“Will you do that, little whore?”, Tommy asked, an eyebrow raised.

“Y-yes, sir.”, you nodded, yearning for any semblance of kindness. In your abandoned state, you failed to recognise the cruelty lurking behind his words.

“Take my shoes of and kiss my feet then, cunt.”

With trembling hands, you knelt before him, your fingers trembling as you struggled to remove his boots.

With a heavy heart and tears stinging your eyes, you pressed your plump lips to his feet. Your stomach churning with disgust at the act of submission.

“Please forgive me.” your voice barley above a whisper as you begged for absolution for the sins you were forced to commit

“Forgive what, cunt?”

“Please forgive me for being a..whore.”

As Joel watched the scene unfold in front of him, a sense of arousal stirred within him. His body responding to the display of power and control exhibited by his brother. The way you submitted to his brothers every whim, your vulnerability laid bare before them. It was thrilling.

“I’m not convinced—not at all.”, Tommy said after making a clicking sound with his tongue and shaking his head dismissively. “I’m not convinced that you’re actually sorry.”

Tommy rose to his full height, towering over you like a building, casting a shadow over you.

Tommy grabbed you by your upper arm, his grip tight. He guided you to lay down onto the bed, legs hanging off the edge. Your bare back was exposed to not only the men, but also the lens of the camcorder.

The uncertainty of what would unfold next hung heavy in your mind.

With a predatory gleam in his eyes, Tommy reached down and unfastened his leather belt. You heard the metallic clink of his belt echoing in the dimly lit room. Tears begun to flow from your eyes, as the dread of what Tommy would to do next sank in…

“No, no please!”, you cried out.

He was about to punish you, with his belt…

The humiliation of begging for forgiveness and kissing his feet was unbearable enough, but the thought of enduring further punishment filled you with a primal fear.

“Please I am sorry, don’t do that!”, your pleas landed on deaf ears.

“It’s for your own good.”, Tommy said and clenched his fists around the belt. “You’ll feel better afterwards.”

Truth was, Tommy couldn’t care less about how you felt. He was driven solely by his own twisted desires.

You shook your head in silent protest, tears streaming down your face. You knew that there was no escape. So you brace yourself—mentally and physically—for the inevitable impact that was about to come.

Tommy raised the belt high above his head before landing the first blow upon your bare ass, sending a wave of pain through your body.

“Ah!”, you cried out.

The next strike came quick after.

And again,

and again.

Each punishing blow, the sting of unforgiving leather against your skin served as a harsh reminder of the sins you were forced to commit.

Each punishing blow, a catapult that hurled you right back to your childhood… The punishments you would receive from your father were of equally painful nature…

Each punishing blow, letting you fall further down a pit of shame and humiliation.

As the hard blows from Tommy's belt continued, your delicate skin began to show signs of distress.

Red welts formed across your flesh, the skin splitting under the force of each strike, revealing raw patches that oozed a little blood.

With each blow, the pain intensified, the sting of the leather against your already irritated skin sending shockwaves of agony through your trembling frame.

Tommys dick got rock hard by your cries and begging.

The metallic tang of blood mixed with the scent of sweat and fear in the air, a visceral reminder of the brutality of Tommy's assault.

For Tommy, it smelled like heaven.

Despite the overwhelming pain, you gritted your teeth and endured, your spirit battered but unbroken. You reminded yourself that you’d endured worse. In the darkness of the room, you clung to the fragile hope of survival, knowing that this night was not different than any other; the sun would soon rise.

At this point you’d stopped screaming, entirely. Only finding the strength to cry bitterly into the stained bedsheets.

Despite the twisted satisfaction Joel got from Tommys cruel treatment, he couldn't ignore the sight of your battered and bloodied form.

Joel knew that he had to intervene.

He raised his voice just above the chaos, commanding Tommy to stop:

“Alright, that’s ‘nough, Tommy.” his voice cut through the air like a knife, his tone firm and authoritative.

Tommy hesitated, his grip on the belt loosening as he regarded his brother with a mixture of defiance and resignation.

Relief flooded through you as Joel put an end to Tommy's assault.

As Joel extinguished his cigarette in the ashtray with a flick of his wrist, he glanced at Tommy, making him understand that it was now his turn to take control of the situation.

With a predatory hunger still burning in his eyes, Tommy settled into his seat behind the camera.

Meanwhile, Joel approached the trembling, tear-streaked you.

“Can you stand up?”, curiosity lingering in his voice.

With a heavy heart you pushed yourself up on your hands and knees, sobbing quietly. Your body trembling with pain. You pushed yourself off the bed and stood on shaking legs in front of Joel Miller.

You looked a mess. Tear-streaked cheeks and a face contorted with pain.

“Thank you, sir.”, you sobbed.

Your eyes flickered over at Tommy who was sitting in the corner of the room, not letting you out of his sight. Chest rising and falling from the adrenaline and cocaine pumping through his veins.

As you trembled in the aftermath of his brutality, you couldn't help but view Tommy as a menacing figure whose mere presence filled you with a sense of dread.

To shield yourself from the menacing gaze of Tommy, you instinctively sought refuge behind the protective frame of Joel.

It was clear to Joel that Tommy's cruelty had left its mark on you psyche and that you now—in your hopeless delusion—sought protection from him.

But by him simply placing his large hand on your fragil shoulder—its weight upon you like a heavy stone, making you slowly sink down to your knees under its force—Joel made his position of power crystal clear to you.

It came crushing down on you: He wasn’t your ally, nor your saviour.

He may had stopped Tommy from assaulting you, however he’d also watched it happening in amusement. The only reason why he’d stopped his brother was because he feared Tommy would break you too quickly…

From you kneeling position, you gazed up at Joel. Your eyes filled with a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, Joel would treat you with more kindness and compassion than Tommy had…

Joel began to unbuckle his pants—without taking his eyes off of your pretty fear-streaked face—his movements deliberate and unhurried.

He revealed his hardened cock, it was thick and veiny and looked as powerful as his presence felt to you.

You were inches away from his manhood, the scent of his arousal filling your senses. You knew what he wanted from you next.

“Open up, girl.”, he said, a simple command.

You opened your mouth and leaned forward. Joel placed his hand on your head, before guiding his cock between your plump lips. It fit only partly. You began to move your tongue, letting it swirl around him.

As the scene unfolded before him, Tommy rose from his seat, his eyes fixed on you as you serviced Joel. With trained hands, he took the camcorder off the tripod. Now taking the role as his cameraman, Tommy moved closer to you and Joel to capture a more intimate view of what was going on.

It didn’t went unnoticed by you that Tommy was filming you from up-close now, determined to capture every little explicit detail.

You felt a surge of unease wash over you, now that Tommy was so close. The pain radiating from your ass a painful reminder of how Tommy was capable of. You grew nervous.

So you made the mistake of stopping and taking Joels cock out of your mouth to voice your discomfort.

You opened your mouth to speak, but with a sudden and forceful motion, Joel's hand connected with your cheek.

*smack*

The sharp crack of the impact echoing through the room.

As you recoiled from the strike, you felt fear and humiliation wash over you. Your spirit crushed once again by the weight of his punishment.

With tear-filled eyes, you bowed her head and cried.

“Who told you to stop?”, Joel asked, sounding annoyed with you.

You just shook your head, sobbing quietly.

“Open your mouth and don’t try that again…”

You quickly let him back inside your mouth and continued massaging his member with your tongue.

“They always get so eager after a good beating…”, Tommy smiled.

Joel felt the need to spice things up. So he grasped you by your hair—firmly—and took control over the situation by setting the rhythm and pace. Fucking your mouth, asserting his dominance in every motion. With each subtle shift of his hips and every whispered instruction, Joel made you feel smaller and smaller, whilst he grew bigger and bigger. You were completely at his mercy. Glued to his crotch.

You let him fuck your mouth, gagging and coughing under his grip.

“Good job, keep going.”, Joel hissed.

You opened tour eyes and looked up at him, your vision blurred from your tears. You liked hearing him praise you. It made you feel better. You tried your best not to puke around his cock—or pass out.

Your throat was burning and saliva was flowing out of the corners of your mouth like a waterfall. You were spasm hard, trying to keep your lunch down.

Joel was so deep inside your mouth, that Tommy—and the lens of the camcorder—could see the outline of Joel’s cock in your throat.

With merciless intensity, Joel thrust into your throat, his movements rough and unrestrained.

You started to throw your fists against his muscular thighs, hoping he would back up and let go of your head.

Each forceful thrust pushed your limits.

You couldn't help but wonder how much more you could endure before reaching your breaking point.

Right when your vision had started to get black, Joel released you from his merciless grip.

You collapsed to the ground in a heap, your body trembling with exhaustion and desperation for air. Gasping for air like a desperate goldfish out of water, you lay there, utterly spent and broken by the brutal encounter.

Next you felt was Joel fisting your hair and yanking yout face up. He came all over your face. Painting your face shiny white with bis cum.

“Fuck!”, he hissed, his appearance resembled a wild animal rather than a human.

When he was done, he let you go again.

Your throat burned with the aftermath of Joel's rough treatment. Every muscle in your body ached with fatigue, your mind reeling from the overwhelming sensations of pain and humiliation. Your face covered with sticky hot cum.

You felt utterly defeated. Once again you wondered how much you could endure tonight before reaching your breaking point.

“Good job, cunt.”, Joel halfheartedly said, still out of breath and in an undeniably good mood.

“Thank you, dad.”, you whispered in your out-of-your-mind state. A flicker of longing and desperation evident in your voice. You were close to falling unconscious.

“Aw, she thinks you are her fucking father.”, tommy laughed.

Joel remained outwardly composed, but felt a hint of satisfaction at your acknowledgment of his authority.

Tommy pressed the camcorder in Joel’s hand, “Alright I have enough of this.”, Tommys word were accompanied by lifting you up effortlessly and placing you on the bed

Panic floated your senses.

"Can I…can I have something to drink?", the request a desperate plea wanting to numb your senses so that you could endure whatever would come next.

Joel handed you the whiskey bottle, and you eagerly drowned the liquid down, hunting the numbness at the bottom of the bottle.

“Jesus Christ, that’s enough”, tommy said, reaching out to retrieve the bottle from your grasp.

You let yourself fall back on the hard mattress.

Tommy lowered himself onto you, his weight pressing down on your trembling form. "Let's find out just how much you're really worth," he murmured, his sinister words directed more to himself than at you.

He gripped his already hard member in his hand, slicking it with his saliva in preparation.

You didn’t count Tommy for someone who would take his time in preparing you for penetration, so additional help was welcomed.

You reached down and rubbed your clit, in hopes to generate some wetness…

But the only thing that was acting up was your flight or fight response.

Tommy's gaze resembled that of a starved dog, hungrily eyeing you as if you were only a piece of meat.

Tommy wasted no more time lining the tip of his cock up with your entrance between your shaking legs.

With a single forceful thrust, Tommy rammed his cock deep inside you.

“Ouh!”, you whimpered, clutching his thick muscular arms for support as a jolt of pain shot through you.

Tommy wasted no time, swiftly finding a rhythm that satisfied his desires, plunging in and out of you with relentless favour.

“Ah stop!”, you cried.

Instinctively, you resisted his brutal thrusts, attempting to push him away and free yourself from his assault.

Your attempt was met with yet another harsh slap across your face, reminding you painfully of your powerlessness against Tommy.

“Keep crying, little whore, come on.”, Tommy hissed.

You shook your head and looked away, but Tommy grasped your chin firmly, making sure you couldn't look away from him, his gaze commanding your full attention.

Your body trembled under Tommy with each forceful thrust.

It could’ve been the alcohol, but eventually, your body adapted to his thrusts, the sensation becoming dull.

“Fuck, for a rundown prostitute you are tight as fuck”, Tommy pressed out in between his thrusts.

Tommys degrading words seemed to be so far away, you almost couldn’t hear them.

Your gaze drifted over to Joel, who sat in Tommy's chair, his expression a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction.

As your eyes met, a wave of shame washed over you, his watchful gaze reminded you of how your father used to look at you: disappointed and full of judgment.

It felt as if Joel could see right through you, condemning you for the wrong decisions you had made, like running away with your boyfriend, Dean.

In that moment, you realized your father had been right all along, but it was too late to turn back. You had irreversibly altered the course of your life, and men like Tommy were the consequence of your choices.

Another blow struck your cheeks, catching you off guard. “Don’t look at him, he won’t safe you this time.”

After what felt like an eternity, you sensed that Tommy was nearing his climax.

It was only then that you realised that he hadn’t bothered with a condom—another boundary crossed in the course of this night.

“Please don’t cum in me.”, you sounded hopeless.

Tommy drew out of you, grabbed your hair and yanked your head off the edge of the bed. He then violently started to empty his balls on your face, mixing his cum with your tears and his brothers cum.

When he was done, he let go of your hair. Your skull arched. Your ass hurt. And your throat and vagina feeling rough and scratchy.

“Don’t worry, cunt”, Tommy begun “last thing I want is having another whore being the mother of my child.”

It was only then you noticed that he wore a ring on his finger. He was married.

Tommy allowed himself to collapse onto the bed, taking a moment to catch his breath.

You rolled out of the bed and dragged yourself into the bathroom, tears and cum streaming down your face.

You cleaned your face with water, your hands shaking. You put your dress on. All you wanted to get out of here. You had your money, but you lost the little bit of dignity you had left.

“Dean will be proud.”, you thought. You just wanted to go back to him.

Stepping out of the bathroom, your feet carried you straight to the front door, driven by the urgent need to flee.

However, Joel's words stopped you in your tracks. "Tell Dean, Joel said hello.”

With a silent nod, you turned and walked back out into the eerie night, the weight of the encounter hanging heavy on your shoulders…

249 notes · View notes

ctrlsht · 6 months

Text

Fragment of the Past 02

pairing: patient!jungkook x psychiatrist!reader genre: thriller & yandere au

summary: You are a well-known and respected psychiatrist and author. You start treating Jungkook, who suffers from PTSD after surviving an extremely traumatic incident. As you help him confront his traumatic past, he begins to act strangely, and you start uncovering something about him that will change everything.

chapter summary: after finding out that Jungkook is responsible for his own mother’s death, you decided to terminate him as your patient but Jungkook didn’t agree with that idea and pulled his cards against you.

chapter warnings: fraternity, hazing, blackmailing, ASPD, unstable mental health of mc, disturbing thoughts of JK word count: 8.8K

parts: (1) | (2)

note: this fiction will contain multiple mental disorders and psychology facts. I conducted my own research to avoid spreading misinformation, but there may be aspects I've overlooked, so I am open for any corrections.

As the words tumbled from his lips, confessing the heinous act, his expression transformed into something disturbingly demonic. In that moment, you couldn't shake the feeling that he was no longer the person you knew, or perhaps that was just the chilling façade he was revealing.

“You’re the one who did it.” It wasn’t a question.

“Is that what you believe, Dr. Y/N?” He tilted his head trying to prevent himself from grinning.

“You do know that it’s a grave offense, right?”

“Is it?” He smirked before he poke the inside of his cheek with his tongue.

Jungkook is messing around like he just didn’t confess his crime, like it was just a big joke for him.

“Are you aware of the consequences of your actions?”

He didn’t respond and just continued staring at you while he smiled devilishly. You weren’t prepared in this scenario because in your years of your career, you haven’t encountered a situation like this. Guess it will be added to your experience.

After a few moments, he looked at his wrist watch and returned his gaze at you.

“Oh no, we have already exceeded our normal session hours, Doc. We can just continue this for our next meeting, or do you consider my offer to you?”

“Jungkook, this is a serious matter. We have to talk about it.” You spoke with hardness in your tone.

“You still have your next patient, doc. Huh Yunjin, right? Diagnosed with persistent depressive disorder. It’s unfortunate that even though she has everything, she still suffers from depression. But I think it's all because of his useless and abusive boyfriend who keeps messing with her mental health. What a shame. Her work may be perfect but for her boyfriend, it was trash.” you were taken aback with his statement. He shook his head as he clicked his tongue.

“How did you know that?” You outburst as you stand up. He also stood up and walked towards the door. “Jungkook, I’m not done talking to you.” At this point, you were still containing yourself from being angry but you just can’t help yourself.

“I’ll just see you next week, Dr. Y/N.” It’s his last statement before he twists the doorknob and steps out of your office leaving you dumbfounded.

You didn’t expect the outcome of this session and most especially, you don’t know how you will react with the information that he just said. From how he was the culprit of his own mother’s murder to how he knew about Yunjin’s boyfriend because as far as you know, you’re the only one that she trusts regarding her situation with her boyfriend unless he knew Yunjin’s boyfriend personally.

You’re still at your position when Jungkook leaves you for a long moment until Soyeon knocks on your door informing you of the arrival of your next patient. You don’t know if you can still handle a new session after him but you cannot cancel the session in this late notice.

“Tell Yunjin to give me a minute before she enters. We’ll start in 10 minutes.” You instructed Soyeon before you composed yourself. You don’t know how to face Yunjin with your condition but you don’t have a choice. You will just see how it goes.

—

You’re standing 5 feet away from an old house on the edge of town, all by itself. It’s surrounded by overgrown grass that hasn’t been cut for probably a year or two and there are no neighbors around. It looks like it was abandoned but you’re sure that there is someone living here. Mr. Jeon, Jungkook’s father should be here.

You were observing the house for a couple of minutes before you decided to knock on the door and find out if there is someone inside.

“Hello? Is anybody here? Mr. Jeon?” You call out while you’re knocking but no one is answering. You’ve been knocking and calling for a lot of times already but there’s really no one answering. You take a few steps backwards and look at the whole exterior of the house. This is where Jungkook once lived along with his parents and this is where the crime scene happens.

You take a deep breath before you decide to turn around to leave. Maybe Mr. Jeon isn’t around.

As you take a few steps towards your car, you suddenly hear a door open. You immediately turn around, and from where you are, you see Mr. Jeon standing beside his door with a cigarette in his mouth. You didn't expect him to appear in such shabby attire. Perhaps Jungkook truly despised his father to the extent of letting him live like this.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Jeon.” You give him a smile and walk towards him.

“Who are you?” He asked as he inhaled his cigarette.

“I am Y/F/N, a psychiatrist and I am handling your son, Jungkook.” You introduce yourself and extend your hand to give him a handshake but he only stares at it so you take your hands back.

“What do you mean? Has that bastard become crazy already? Actually, he did lose his mind years ago.”

“No, Mr. Jeon. Your son suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder after the incident that happened to your wife. I am here to ask a few questions about him to help him recover with his disorder, if you don’t mind.”

He looked at you with furrowed brows before he blew smoke from his mouth.

“Post-traumatic what? What kind of bullshit do my son is pulling? What, he had the audacity to be traumatic after he killed his own mother?”

His father knew. But how come he didn’t ask for his statement? Or did you overlook it?

“Do you believe that your son killed your wife? What are your reasons? Why didn’t you say anything about it?” You didn’t know that you’re already asking multiple questions because of how desperate you want to know the answer. Mr. Jeon only looked at you as his response and after a few moments, he smirked and inhaled from his cigarette.

“You act more like a detective rather than a psychiatrist, Y/N.” He blew a smoke before he continued. “Come in. Let's discuss your questions inside. It’s already getting cold and you wouldn’t want to catch a cold.”

The house doesn’t seem like a home. It only looks like a place where a person has to stay for them to be sheltered. Inside, vintage furniture fills the rooms, and faded wallpaper lines the walls. In the dimly lit living room, a faded armchair sagged, its upholstery torn and revealing the stuffing beneath. Only a few personal items adorn the space but you haven’t seen any family photo frame.

Mr. Jeon lets you sit on a single couch, you haven’t touched the upholstery yet you already know that this hasn’t been cleaned in ages. But you didn’t mind because you’re here not to be comfortable.

“I’m sorry, I can’t offer you anything. It’s only me in here and you show up unannounced so I didn’t prepare anything.” You immediately shook your head with what he said.

“It’s okay. I’m fine. I’m just here for a few questions. I apologize for showing up unannounced.”

He lit a new stick of cigarette and blew a smoke before returning his gaze to you.

“So, what do you want to know?”

You have a lot of questions that you want to be answered but you have to pick the most important one before you proceed with the others.

“How is Jeon Jungkook as your son?” He didn’t answer right away. He just stares at you as if his answers are in your eyes. Or perhaps, he’s just thinking the right answer to say.

“Well… Jungkook is a smart kid. He has a passion for photography which I find a waste of time. But look at him now. He managed to build a studio and become successful.” He smiled like a proud father but it only lasted for a second before he was back with his seriousness. “I don’t know how you see him but there is a high possibility that he just built a personality that he wants you to see. You cannot trust him especially with what he says because most of them aren't true.”

“Can you be more specific with your statement about him? Maybe, give a few examples on how you can justify what you just said.” You slowly grab your phone inside your bag and instantly open the voice record and hit the record button before you return your attention back to him.

“It’s complicated to explain and elaborate because even I cannot understand him. All I know is that he’s a dangerous man.”

Just like what he said about his son, you should not trust him as well, especially now that he doesn’t even have any evidence to justify his statements.

“You’ve mentioned that he was the one who killed your wife. Do you have any proof to prove that?” You asked him and he took a deep breath.

“I don’t, but I am positive that he’s the one who did it. I knew my son so well.”

All his statements don't have concrete evidence and all pure accusations. Maybe that’s why he didn’t raise his accusations to the higher position because it wasn’t supported with anything. But you still ask, anyway.

“Did you try reporting it to the police?”

"Yes, I did. But did you know they do? They showed a lot of interest in my statement about him and assured me they would stay in touch. But, after the following day, I didn't hear anything from them anymore. They didn't reach out, and when I approached them, they said that the case had been resolved and my statements weren't sufficient to prove anything."

Based on his story, if you’re the investigator of the case, you wouldn’t think much about his report because like what’s happening right now, his claims support nothing. But you knew better because Jungkook already admitted it to you.

“If Jungkook really did it, what may be the reasons?”

“There are a lot but the major reason is he’s a psychopath.”

That's a serious accusation from a father against his son. However, you must allow him to explain because, no matter what, he knows Jungkook better than you do.

“I admit that me and my wife aren't the perfect parents for him. There are problems that we always argue about, like work problems and we also have a trust issue with one another, and he doesn’t deserve that. We try to separate our problems as husband and wife to him but every time we try to reach him out, it’s like he doesn’t want to be reached out. When he turned high school, that’s when I started to notice the major changes in him. He was always angry and he doesn’t treat us as his parents anymore. We’ve tried to talk to him but it only gets worse.”

He takes a long pause as he remembers everything that he’s talking about. He tapped the ashes into the ashtray and inhaled another smoke before he continued.

“The principal of his school wants to talk to us about our son but the message wasn’t sent to us because he finds a way for us not to know. We only knew when his teacher visited us here and we found out that he’s involved in an illegal fraternity. One of the initiations rites at his fraternity is making the people suffer before they officially become a member. He killed a lot during the initiation rites and he didn't look like he was bothered. He was still a minor at that time so he didn’t go to jail. I was relieved but right now, I wish that he just went to prison.”

His cheeks flushed, and his eyes glistened with the threat of tears. He’s looking away and he took a deep breath without making it obvious. He tossed the cigarette butt on the ashtray beside him and returned his gaze to you.

“I was patient with him but he’s too much. I let him be, we let him be. But when things get harder, that’s how I realized that he has no hopes. We’ve lost our wealth and he was on the peak of his success. We tried to ask for help but he just threw us out like we weren’t even his parents. And when he killed my wife, I completely disowned him.”

—

You’re back at home after visiting Jungkook’s father and you keep on repeating the recording you had during the conversation. You believe in the story that Mr. Jeon has told you because of two things; first, he doesn’t look like he’s lying while telling his story and second, there are certain things he said that connect to how Jungkook describes him as a father.

“He’s a horrible person and he doesn’t deserve to be a father to me. I never got to experience the love from a father because the only thing that he gave me is hatred. He always gets drunk and gamble and he cheated with my mom multiple times. I’m not going to be surprised when I find out that I have other siblings from different mothers. He’s the worst person I’ve known.”

Maybe the reason why they lost their wealth is because he’s a gambler. And he and his wife have trust issues because he’s cheating on her.

“He only wants money from me.”

Mr. Jeon mentioned that he asked for the help of Jungkook after they lost their wealth.

You have already got the perspective of both sides and Jungkook’s relationship with his parents has a big impact on who he is now.

You were in the middle of your business when your phone rang, and when you saw the caller’s ID, your heart raced, thudding against your chest. You didn’t move and you just stare at your phone contemplating whether you will answer or not.

After a moment, the ring stops and when you think that you’re already safe when it rings again. Your hands shake as you pick up your phone and slide the answer button.

“Good evening Dr. Y/N! How are you?”

Jungkook greet in his usual energetic voice.

“Jungkook, it’s already late. Do you need anything?” You ask in your low voice, hiding your nervousness.

“I just want to check up on my favorite therapist after I left her last time.” his chuckles erupted at the most unsettling moment.

“You walked out even though we’re not done talking. We can continue our discussion in our next session.”

“You surprised me, Doc. I thought that after our conversation, you'd go straight up to the police, but you did not. Instead, you chose to run to my father.” His words are sinister to your ears. Your heart is beating rapidly as you try to stay composed. The reason why he knew that, you don’t know. You want to ask but there are no words coming out of your mouth.

“Have you eaten your dinner?” he asked after a long pause.

“I already did.” You lied.

“But I haven't. You promise me that you’ll come with me for dinner, Dr. Y/N. It’s a perfect time for you to fulfill your promise.”

“Jungkook, I’m sorry but I really can’t. I have a lot of things to do.”

“Tsk Tsk. Your excuse is already overused, Doc. Do you have other excuses?” He laughed once again and continued. “But I won’t force you anymore. I’ll just see you on Tuesday. Goodnight, Dr. Y/N”

—

You were occupied through the following days already, thinking about Jungkook’s case. You’ve been trying to connect the dots by communicating with the people behind this case but unfortunately, no one is useful. You have to do it yourself and the progress was so slow that you’re about to give up.

You got more important things to do but you left them behind for this and it’s not healthy anymore. You aren't a detective but a psychiatrist. Not a lawyer but a successful book author, therefore, you should stop this madness and go back to your track.

Tuesday came and you should have a lot of patience to attend to and things to get done with but you cleared your schedule out just for the person who’s not worth your time.

“Good afternoon, Dr. Y/N. You look so stressed out. What have you been up to lately?” Jungkook said as he entered inside your office. He wasn’t wearing his usual clothes when he visited your clinic for a session, on the contrary, he’s wearing the clothes that you used to see during your photoshoot with him. A casual long sleeve polo paired with tight black pants.

He doesn’t look like a murderer. He’s very charismatic and no one will know what’s behind his mask.

“I bought you a salad and orange juice to boost your productivity for today.” He places the paper bag that he’s holding on the top of your office table.

He acted like everything was normal and fine but deep down, you were terrified.

You let him settle down on the couch in front of you before you spoke.

“Jungkook, we have to talk about everything. This is a very serious matter. I want to understand you as your doctor and choose what’s best for you.” You started before you pressed the record button on your phone and placed it on the top of your table. Jungkook glanced at it but he returned his gaze to you.

“Are you the one responsible for your mother’s death?” You don’t want to ask it immediately but you’re itching to know the truth.

He chuckled as he caressed his lips before he crossed his legs.

“I didn’t know that you’re also a detective, Dr. Y/N. Did you also ask that to my father?”

“Jungkook, I’m serious right now. Please, cooperate.”

You were waiting for his response but it didn’t come. The whole room became deadly silent and Jungkook continued to play with his lips, looking at you with intensity.

You only have 5 more sessions to go before the psychotherapy treatment will come to an end, but you don’t think that you can attend more sessions with him anymore.

“I’m not stupid as you think, Y/N.” He finally speaks out, without addressing your title. You only heard him twice calling you without your title, during the photoshoot and now.

“After I tell my heart-dying story about what happened, you won’t waste any second to go to the police and surrender the recording you had with me.”

Your eyes widened in alarm as your lips quivered, betraying the anxiety building within.

“What do you mean?” You try your best not to stutter as your words come out in fragments as your nervousness is disrupted.

“Oh, you know what I mean, Y/N. Don’t play dumb.” He intertwined both of his fingers and wiggle his ankle while his legs were crossed. His stares swivel from you to the phone that’s placed at your table.

You didn’t move, afraid of what’s going to happen next. He slowly stood up from his seat and took a step near your chest drawer, looking at the different licenses, certificates and achievements that were placed on the top.

“You become so successful within four years of your career while others take decades of their life to be where you are right now.” He caresses some of the frames standing. You didn’t move, nor say anything, letting him speak. “Are you proud of what you become, Dr. Y/N?” He turned his head towards you and you tried not to show any weakness to him.

“Yes. Yes, I am.” You answer with a low voice.

“If you want to keep that way, then you should keep out of my business.” He smiled so sweetly, like he just didn’t say something to threaten you.

He took a step towards the door and opened it but before he stepped out, you spoke.

“No matter how fast and long you run, the truth will eventually come to you, Jungkook.”

—

"Can you believe how surprised I was when I read your message, inviting me for a drink?" You chuckled at what Taehyung said as he continued to drive to your destination. "It's such a rare occurrence, and I thought I must have read it wrong. But, damn, it's like a once-in-a-blue-moon moment when you're the first one to invite me for a drink!"

“Yeah, congrats to you.”

Taehyung was right about you inviting him to go out for a drink. You don't usually do that, and most of the time, he's the one who invites you. You're used to being alone and doing things by yourself, so you don't often think of inviting him. But right now, everything is fucking you up, and you can't be alone with your thoughts because you might end up losing your mind.

You didn’t show any signs of your problems to him. You act like everything is fine and you just miss him. You don’t want to make him overthink. Just like you, he also has a lot on his plate.

You ask him to have a drink with you in Itaewon where everyone goes at this hour. It’s friday and it’s a perfect time to chill with someone you’re very familiar with.

The night is lit up with neon streets in different colors, and the sound of laughter and music filled the air. Everyone is having fun as if the city itself was a living as well. There are a lot of pubs and bars beside each other but you chose where it wasn't so rowdy.

“Will people recognize you?” You ask him as you sip on your beer.

“Nah, and if they do, so what?” He spoke a little loud as the music became louder as well.

“Do you mind when you’re out and people recognize you, asking to take a pic?” The crowd is getting louder along with the music so you have no choice but to speak louder as well.

“I don’t mind. I’m cool with it.”

You did talk to him about his life and when the night went deeper, the crowd was becoming wilder as well. People started to recognize Taehyung and ask for a quick photo. You can’t help but smile whenever he interacts with people with so much energy and happiness. This is what he wants ever since high school, for people to recognize him and his music. Music is Taehyung’s language.

After a few moments, Taehyung joins the crowd and dances along with the ocean of people. He asked you to join him several times but you refused, content with your position right now. You just watch him become the center of attention inside the bar you’re in.

You’re not a fan of parties and nightlife but right now, you embrace the music and the alcohol that’s influencing you right now.

You were suddenly startled when a subtle but distinct crept up your spine, an unshakable sense that someone's eyes were fixed upon you. You tried to look around to find if someone’s looking at you but you found nothing. You’re about to brush it away when a familiar figure is standing 10 feet away from you. A pair of eyes bore into you, a gaze so penetrating it felt like a laser, igniting a trail of fire across your skin. The music and the crowd faded in the background and your eyes are fixed at the person while your heartbeat increases rapidly. A person blocked his view and when you tried to find him again, he wasn’t there anymore.

You don’t know if you’re hallucinating or Jeon Jungkook is really around.

—

You will terminate Jeon Jungkook as your patient. You have to terminate him.

You have your reasons for you to terminate him and as far as you see it, they were valid. Since he first stepped into your office, there is something about him that you couldn’t understand. You’ve been brushing off that feeling multiple times already and now, you should have trusted your instincts.

Jeon Jungkook isn’t a victim. He was the one who killed his own mother at their own house. You don’t have a concrete reason why he did it but you’re sure that it’s about their relationship as a son and mother. Based on the two-sided perspective, Jeon Jungkook is capable of killing someone without showing any remorse.

He pretended to have experienced trauma solely for his own benefit. His condition isn't post-traumatic stress disorder; instead, it's characterized by antisocial personality disorder, which is evident in his absence of empathy, aggressive and criminal conduct, and a background of lying and deception. Similar to those with ASPD, Jungkook possesses charisma, attractiveness, and above-average intelligence.

You can help him. You really can, but you were also affected by his condition. He crossed the boundary between a doctor and patient several times and you couldn’t tolerate that. If you’re going to keep him, there might be worse that can happen not only to him, but to you as well.

You still have 4 more sessions before the final session comes to an end but you cannot wait for that day to arrive. When Tuesday comes, you must inform him already. So you are sitting at your swivel chair while he’s seated at the black couch in front of you when you finally say it without any hesitation. You want this to be done already.

“We can no longer continue your remaining sessions, Jungkook.” You started without stuttering. You try to stay calm and strengthen your mentality before you continue. “There are several reasons but on the top of all, you’re not improving with your mental state.”

His arms are on the top of the arm-rest while his fingers are intertwined. His legs are crossed as he wiggles his ankle while he’s staring at you with so much intensity like he’s looking at your soul.

He’s not responding so you continue to your list of reasons why he’s being terminated.

“I also diagnose you incorrectly but I can still refer you to other doctors that can help you start up. I’m really sorry for failing you, Jungkook but it's best if you can see a new doctor to help you with your mental state.”

Of course, that’s not only the reason but you chose not to go further, afraid that you might trigger him.

After a few moments, he leaned forward, not removing his intense gaze away from you. You know that this won’t be easy but you must proceed with it.

“Is that really the reason, Dr. Y/N?” He slowly stands up from his seat and takes a step towards your countertop beside the chest drawers. From there, he looked at the instant coffee sachets, coffee grounds and a coffee maker before he took a mug and placed it in front of him. “I would appreciate it if you tell me the real reasons.”

You didn’t respond immediately as you watched him make a cup of coffee using the mug that you always use. When he’s done, he turns around to face you and takes a sip of his coffee.

“What’s taking you so long to answer?” He said after he sips his coffee.

“That. What you’re doing right now is one of the reasons why we cannot proceed with the remaining session.” He wants to play like this? You will give him what he wants. “You cannot touch my things without my permission, Jungkook. Remember, I am your doctor, not a colleague. You should know what the boundary is.”

“Oh? You will dump me just because I made a cup of coffee without your permission?” He raised his brow, as he smirked with the sarcastic undertone of his statement.

“You’ve been threatening me, multiple times. You’re making it difficult to maintain a professional relationship between the two of us. You know that to yourself, Jungkook. Don’t make me state every reason why because I want to keep my professionalism towards you.” You try to compose your tone but there’s still a hint of irritation.

He rests his hands on the top of the counter and sip from his coffee.

“Uh huh. But what if I refuse?”

“You don’t have a choice. That’s my decision and it’s legal.” A mocking smile tugged at the corners of his lips, as if you were the punchline of a cruel joke.

He releases another soft chuckle before he gets his phone from his pocket and scrolls down. Your eyes widened in horror as a shiver ran down your spine. Your skin prickled with goosebumps and waves of fear washed over you when he played a voice record coming from his phone.

“I started hiding my painting from Louie but he managed to find out about it and he kept telling me to stop painting again. He said that they were trash and I should just focus on my academics.”

“That’s unfortunate. You don’t deserve that, Yunjin. Your boyfriend kept on messing up your mental state. I’ve been telling you to break up with him.”

“I can’t because I love him—

“Where did you get that?!” You instantly stood from your seat. He looked at his phone and scrolled once again before he played another voice record.

“He’s been stalking me, doc. He’s just finding the perfect time to kill me.”

“Mr. Park, you have tons of your bodyguards around you. He doesn’t have a chance to—

“Give me that!” Your eyes blazed with fury, as your voice erupted, a thunderous roar that reverberated through the room. You tried to snatch the phone away from him but he was too tall for you to reach.

“Will you think twice about your decision when I decided to upload your illegal voice recordings with your patients on the internet?” His voice dripped with mockery as he grins.

“Those are not illegal because I asked for their permission to be recorded.” You respond in your stone voice. He smirked once again before he played another voice record.

“How are you, Jungkook? Did you sleep well last night?”

“I did, doc. I even sleep so early. Thanks to the medicine that you prescribed me because it helps.”

“As far as I remember, you didn’t ask my permission to be recorded.” He smiles mockingly before he puts down the cup of coffee that he’s holding on the countertop.

“I can already see the headline for these voice recordings. Bestselling author and psychiatrist who records their patient without consent. That’s going to be number one on social media and in front of the newspaper.” He returned his phone in his pocket and took the coffee to sip from it.

“Where did you get that?” You asked as you clench your jaw.

“It doesn’t matter, Dr. Y/N. What matters most is the backlash you will get when I decide to upload these online. With how you quickly reach the top, that also determines how quickly you will fall down.” He smirks.

Your eyes bore into him with such intensity, a storm of anger raging just beneath the surface. Your anger has reached its boiling point and any moment now, the tears forming on your eyes will flow over your cheek.

“What do you want?” You ask with your teeth. His gaze softens as he pouts.

“Come on, Doc. Don’t be so upset at me.”

“Are you kidding me right now?” Your voice was raising again as your right hand balls into a fist. “You stole my recordings and you are threatening me now!”

“You’re dumping me. I have to do something.”

You take a step backward without removing your gaze from him. “What do you want?”

“It’s nothing big, Doc. You wouldn’t have a hard time.” His gaze softens before he continues. “I just want to continue our sessions. That’s it.”

“For what? I didn’t see any progress from you. Your condition might worsen.” You cannot be in this room with him for another session. He’s too much. “I will refer you to another psychotherapist who is much better where you’re going to recover.”

He shakes his head. “You were wrong. I do make progress, Dr. Y/N, and I would like to completely recover with your help. Besides, there are no ‘much better’ doctors beside you. I want you for me.”

You didn’t respond and continue to stare at him, hoping to see any sympathy or even a change of mind, but you only see a demonic who’s in the body of a human.

“Okay. But when the 12 sessions with you are completed, that’s it. Our business will end there.” Jungkook smiled devilishly and took the last sip of the coffee before he nodded.

“That’s all I want, Doc. To complete our session so I can get better and nothing else.”

—

You can’t believe that Jungkook has something to hold against you. Everything happens so fast and you didn’t know why it had to come to this. You’ve tried to make him speak up on how he got the recordings but he never did, instead, he keeps on blackmailing you about what might happen when he uploads it online.

“I wonder how your other patients will react when they find out that you recorded their most vulnerable moment. Will you ever get someone to trust you after that?”

You’ve tried to imagine what’s going to happen if he really uploaded it online. You can just simply tell the truth that you record your patient because it helps you to create a better book that will help a thousand people as well. That’s the truth, anyway. You can just accept your mistakes and move on.

But that’s not the case. Even if you kneel down just for the people to forgive you, that won’t change anything. Your name will be ruined and you might lose your license for violating the patient’s privacy and confidentiality. The worse thing is, everyone will hear the recordings you took and you can be subject to criminal charges.

Yes, you can blame everything on Jungkook but you know better. He got away from killing his own mother and he can also get away with this. You don’t know how powerful he can be.

You don’t know how to handle this. It’s so heavy that you can’t proceed with your daily routine. From waking up until you go to bed, that’s the only thing that keeps running to your head and it’s getting out of hand.

You don’t know if Jungkook can be trusted that he won’t upload it online if you continue with the remaining sessions or he will betray you at the end. You cannot hold onto his promises. You have to do something before he completely ruins your reputation.

“Your clinic became my second home at this point, Doc. It’s so comfortable already that I can practically sleep here.” Jungkook transfers from the single couch to the bigger one and lays down and uses his palms as a pillow.

“How are we supposed to start with our session when you’re lying down?” You rolled your eyes and dropped the folder that you’re holding to the table.

“We can still have a conversation even if I’m in this position. It’s not like I’ll be muted if I lay down.” He responded without moving from his position. You rolled your eyes once again before you face your desktop and pretend that you’re busy with something. It’s hard to deal with a patient when you’re irritated with them.

You glance at him when you hear him laugh. He was laughing while he sat up from laying down. “You look so cute when you’re angry, Dr. Y/N. It’s a rare moment. Or this is really how you feel deep inside when you’re facing your patients.”

“Am I supposed to smile and clap my hands while you’re blackmailing me? You can’t even settle down properly to begin our session.” your voice dripped with sarcasm.

“And you’re being sarcastic too! How adorable.” He laughs, matching his grin as he returns to his original seat. He placed his arm on the arm rest before he spread his legs, looking at you with a smirk on his lips. “I just want to push the buttons and see who Dr. Y/F/N really is.”

You sip on your coffee and open the folder once again, trying to relax while staring at the folder. After a few moments, you take a deep breath and return your gaze to the monster in front of you.

“I’ll prescribe you with another medicine, although you can continue to take the medicines you have right now.” You said and listed down the prescription for him.

“Thanks, Doc. I’ll take note of that. And thank you for accepting me once again. I really appreciate it so much.” He’s back with his sweet voice which you would be glad not to hear again. You’d prefer his demonic voice because you know that it’s his true nature.

“No problem. As if I have a choice, right?” He chuckled and proceeded with his habit of playing with his lips.

“Come on, Doc. You’re really helping me to recover. That’s really what I wanted because you’re so good with what you do.”

“Uh huh.” You said while flipping the pages from the folder. “If that’s what you believe. So, do you want to talk about something that happened recently? What might be the reason why you think that you’re getting better?”

“There are a lot of good things that’s happening to me lately,” which you don’t deserve. “I have new investors for the growth of my business. It’s going to be a corporation. And I’m here, sitting on this couch in front of you.”

“That’s good for you.” You said, trying not to sound sarcastic. “How do you feel when you tell me who’s really responsible for your mother’s death?”

“That’s an excellent question, Doc.” He leaned forward before he continued. “I feel relief because I don’t need to fake my traumas, nightmares and anxiety because my mother died. I can finally celebrate it with you.” A twisted grin crept across his lips, eyes sparkled with a sinister delight.

A shiver ran down your spine, and goosebumps erupted on your arms. But you still manage to take note of his statements.

“I also plan on bringing my father along with my mother but I’ll save that for later. I’ll let my father live even though his life is useless. His existence only adds pollution to the earth, don’t you think? You’ve met him already.” A wave of nausea washed over you, as your skin turned clammy and cold. You can’t believe that he just told you his plan to kill his father like it was a normal thing he does.

“Jungkook, that is inhumane. You can’t talk about that during our sessions. Our goal here is to get your life back on track, not to plan on killing your father. You know that I can report you, right?” You lowered your voice in a softer way where Jungkook can feel that you’re really concerned with him.

“Come on, Doc. You’re so boring! And I know that you can’t do that because you’re putting your life on a pedestal.” He grins.

“You said that you wanted to recover so you want these sessions to continue, instead, you’re doing the opposite. You kept on blackmailing me and telling me your desires to kill your father.”

“You’re the one who said that you didn’t see any progress with me, so maybe, it’s better to talk about other things rather than talking about bullshit that only triggers me to do something worse.” His voice raises and his face remains completely lacking emotion while his gaze is penetrating that it feels as if he’s peering into your soul.

You froze on your seat as your body language reflected the overwhelming impact of what he just said.

“I am a psychiatrist and psychotherapist and my job is to help my patients with their problems and situations and not to tolerate their wrong behavior.” You close the folder that you’re holding and place it back on your table before you continue. “We’re not being productive here, Jungkook. As mentioned earlier, I would be delighted to connect you with one of my highly skilled colleagues who can assist you in making progress.”

He shook his head and he even used his finger movement to indicate that he disagreed. “No. We’re not going to do that.”

“Why?” You said, almost losing your control.

“Because I want you, Doc. You’re the only one I wanted.”

—

The remaining 3 sessions with him were all the same; very unproductive and a waste of time. He kept on pushing to talk about his desire to kill his father and topics you never want to talk about. He insisted on discussing his desire to harm his father and other topics you'd rather avoid. He continued to blackmail you, leaving you with no choice but to wait until the final session ended. You allowed him to talk about whatever he pleased while you sat there, pretending to listen. You try your best to give him proper therapy but he was the one who kept pushing away the help that you give. It may sound tolerable but god knows how horrible you feel with every word that’s coming out of his mouth.

“Nowadays, everyone seems so pathetic. I can't grasp why they constantly attempt to alter society, as if our lives are like a movie capable of transforming the entire universe in a single snap. They should learn to deal with it and adapt to what's happening instead of wasting their effort on making changes while acting like hypocrites themselves.”

“Individuals remain consistent throughout their lives. Scientific evidence indicates that our genetic imprints predefine our existence, our personality, and our decisions. If you're born stupid, you'll continue to live with your stupidity, and it will remain until the end of your life.”

During some of your sessions, you can’t help but to argue with him on how he sees things versus how you see them. You tried to let him understand that life is more than just existing. There is something that he hasn’t seen yet, but he was already the one who refuses to change.

If your life is not in danger because of him, you will risk everything just to help him recover and change his perspective in life. But that’s not your case because you’re trapped in the palm of his hands.

It's the last Tuesday of the month, marking the arrival of the final session with him. You've been anxious the whole day, eagerly waiting for it to end. The hours have felt agonizingly long, but you remind yourself that it's the last day, and you need to endure it just a little longer.

“Our deal is off. We’ve completed the remaining session.” You remind him before he steps out of your clinic. “Keep your promise, Jungkook.”

“Days are running fast, I didn’t even notice that it’s the last Tuesday of the month.” He smirked and twisted the doorknob. “See you again soon, Dr. Y/N.”

It’s done. You’ve managed to push him away, but you can’t stop thinking that he still has something against you. He promised that after the final session, he’s done with you but you can’t hold onto that because he’s Jeon Jungkook and dealing with him isn't as easy as you think.

And you were right, because one week hasn’t passed and Jeon Jungkook is already inside your office unannounced.

“What are you doing here?” You spoke with the hint of anger in your voice. “Aren’t we finished with our business?” Jungkook maintained a smirk on his lips as he sat on the black couch.

“Why? Can’t I visit my favorite doctor?” He spread his legs, his eyes met yours in a sultry, lingering glance and a playful smile graced his lips.

“Jungkook, we have no business here. I have tons of things to do, so, if you still have a conscience left, please, leave already." You remove your reading glass and throw it on your table.

He licked his lips and tilted his head before he responded. “As far as I know, patients can request additional sessions with their therapist, and that’s why I am here. So technically, I still have business with you.”

You grimaced, deep furrowed formed on your forehead as your anger intensified. A sly smirk of amusement tugged at the corners of his mouth as he raised an eyebrow in a mocking arch. “You look upset.” He pouted in a mocking way. “It’s too obvious how you hate that idea, Doc.”

“We had a deal, Jungkook. Stick with our deal.” You said with a clenching jaw.

“Yes, it’s still ongoing. We have to finish our sessions and we’re done.”

“We are done. We’ve completed your 12 sessions.”

“But I asked for another session and it’s legal. Therefore, our deal is still ongoing.”

Your hands were shaking while you breathed heavily as if you’re out of air. You want to stand up from your seat and pounce on him. You want to struggle him until he’s out of breath. You wanted to hurt him so badly for you to calm down but you kept your composure, concealing the simmering anger that threatened to erupt.

“You said that you’ll leave me alone after our deal.” Your words were delivered with restraint.

“That’s true, but I asked for another session, so our business is not yet done.” He smirked.

“Get out!” You can’t control it anymore. It’s too much. He’s too much.

“Oh. You’re kicking a patient out?” He laughs and he gets something in his pocket. “How would people react if they found out that the psychiatrist and a best-selling author that they are looking up, is kicking a patient out.” He faces his phone for you to see that he’s recording the conversation.

Your mind raced like a hurricane, breath came in short, shallow gasps as your hands can't stop trembling.

“Why are you doing this to… me?” Your voice caught up your throat, and choked sobs filled the room as you began to let your tears flow from your eyes.

He stood up from his seat as he slowly took a step towards you, putting both of his hands on the platform of your table, leaning towards you. He looks at your eyes with so much intensity that he can practically read your mind.

“I’ve told you already. I just want to continue our sessions until I recover. Is that too much to ask?” He whispers as he pierce his eyes on you. He lifts up his right arm, slowly wiping the tears from your cheeks using the back of his fingers. “Weakness doesn’t suit you, Y/N. So I suggest that you stop with your tears.”

—

If you can only bring back the time where Atty. Kim Namjoon asked you to take Jeon Jungkook as a patient, you’d immediately refuse. If only you knew what kind of a living hell that you will live when you work with him, you would never wish to see him standing in front of you from the first time.

You know that your life won’t be easy when you enter the industry that you are in right now. Life will put you on a test and see if you will survive. You in fact did, not knowing that you haven't even experienced half of what you're going through now in the hands of Jungkook.

You thought that Jungkook was already at his worst, but little did you know that he could deteriorate even further.

His weekly ‘sessions’ became almost every four days. His supposed 90-minute session stretched into a painful 2 hours, and that went on and on. You don’t know when he’ll stop with his madness.

You tried to convince him to stop, but every time you do it, he will always pull his card against you. It’s too much that you can’t take it any longer. You’re getting tired already and it’s consuming you. You’ve already reached the point where you think that what he’s doing to you right now is much worse than what you’d experience if he were to post the recordings you took in public.

If he can’t be convinced to stop, then you have to do something that will make him stop. You have to take action because if you let him continue to tie you up, you will no longer escape.

You put your both hands inside the pocket of the coat that you’re wearing right now. It’s getting colder because winter is just around the corner.

Jongno Police Station

The police station stood tall with a large reflective window that had a sense of transparency and modernity. There are people that passed by and police officers standing outside the glass door with cigarettes in their mouth.

You took a deep breath before you took a step towards the entrance.

“Hello, may I talk to detective Jung?” You speak to the male receptionist as you enter the station.

“For what reason?”

“I just have to report something about the case he’s handling. I am Y/F/N and a psychiatrist.” You gave him your ID and when he looked at it, he kept on shifting his gaze to you and to the ID.

“Wait for a while. I’ll call detective Jung.”

You sit in the waiting area as you wait for the person you’re looking for. The receptionist is on a call and you notice that he keeps on glancing at you while he speaks with detective Jung, as you guess.

When you saw detective Jung approaching you, wearing a denim black jacket with his ID, you stood up to greet him.

“Good afternoon, Detective Jung. I apologize for showing up unannounced but I just have to talk to you about something.” You greet as you extend your hand.

He shook your hand as he smiled so wide, like a ball of sunshine.

“That’s okay. Come, let's talk inside.”

Detective Jung's office was a place for investigating, featuring a comfy leather chair and a sturdy oak desk in the middle. The walls showed years of hard work with awards, old news articles about big cases, and a bulletin board filled with clues and suspects.

He was the one who handled Jungkook’s case, and he’s with Atty. Kim Namjoon when they bring Jungkook to your clinic, asking for you to take him as a patient.

A decision you wish you never made.

“So, what brings you here?” Detective Jung asks you when you already settled down on his leather couches.

“I’ll go straight to the point, Sir. I’d like to talk about Jeon Jungkook, the one you want me to handle as a patient, do you remember?” Detective Jung smiles before nodding so you continue. “He’s responsible for his mother’s death.”

You explained thoroughly on how it happened and he carefully listened to you. It's the first time you’ve talked to anyone regarding this manner and it was as if a heavy weight had been lifted from your shoulder. You wanted to burst out when you explained to him about your situation but you strengthened yourself and went further.

Telling him gave you a sense of relief because you never expect that you’d come to this, reporting him. You know that the situation may escalate when Jungkook finds out that you’ve reported him but you don’t care anymore. What he’s doing to you is worse than the backlash you’ll experience if the recordings went public. There is nothing worse than dealing with him.

You ask for a restraining order against Jungkook and Detective Jung assures that Jungkook will pay for his crime.

You wanted to cry. You should’ve reported him a long time ago but you were overtaken by fear. You were scared of what could happen to you when Jungkook decided to carry out his threat but you can’t live your life with fear forever.

There are several ways that you can do if the recordings go public. Ask for the help of a security specialist, confront your patients regarding the situation and even report Jungkook with what he did.

You should focus on eliminating Jeon Jungkook in your life now, and deal with the consequences later.

You’ve strengthened yourself with the situation that can happen. Asking Detective Jung for help gave you strength and encouragement to stand up against Jungkook.

He may be a psychopath but you’re Y/N, and you’re greater than him.

Or that’s what you thought.

Your hopes and courage crumble at your feet as Jungkook visits you the same day.

taglist: @iloverubberduckiez-blog @kingofbodyrolls @fangirl-death-rose @looneybleus @softie00 @yoonjinhusbands @ash07128 @kookiesbunny @cinnikoi @yluv-damara-13 @hoseoksluv89 @darkuni63

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kittimau · 2 years

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don't get me wrong I love unhinged feral disaster characters but may I submit: the calm, collected, master of resting nothing-fazes-me bitchface character gradually being pushed to their breaking point, slowly and agonizingly becoming more deranged as the foundation they've built their worldview, their entire identity, upon crumbles to pieces beneath them, until all that's left is blood and ash and the beast that's lied dormant within the darkest depths of their soul finally, gleefully awakens to unleash absolute fucking hell, mmm yeah that's the good stuff

#ngl i was thinking of nbc's hannibal when i wrote this lol #but i kinda really wanna write a sith!obi-wan au just to break him down and build him back up evil #because that would be fucking terrifying #and extremely sexy #dark fiction #dark fic #character development #character arcs #character archetypes #writing #fiction #tropes

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romana-after-dark · 5 months

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Call me crazy

but dark writers are allowed to have boundaries.

We are allowed to not write about certain things.

We are allowed to say no to requests

We are allowed to have limits

It doesnt mean I think im better than anyone else, it just means I have no's

#dead dove do not eat #dark #dark writing #dark fiction #dark romance

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fantasies-fairytales-n-fics · 5 months

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Thranduil and Josie Pt. 161- Cat Scratch Fever

Summary: A black cat crosses Josie's path bringing more bad luck to the Dorwinion castle. Narcisse is off kilter. Charles and Francis unite but not in agreement over their mother. Mary feels deep guilt of her knowledge. Francis gets under Josie's skin. She and Lola speak more about Narcisse's past. A cut won't heal. Bash has a scary story to tell. Josie panics over a possible resurrection.

*Chapter Warnings* language, angst, censored gif, sexual references, murder mentions

Chapter characters: Josie, Narcisse, Charles, Francis, Mary, Lola, Bash

Chapter word count: 8,447

Stories Stories Stories Masterlist

When you got to Stephane's chambers, all was quiet after you knocked well over three times and called to him. Odd it seemed, considering the guard had told you Narcisse said it was urgent, so now you became concerned.

"Stephane?!" you loudly called to him one more time and wriggled the locked door handle.

Suddenly, you saw a shadow moving rapidly pacing about under the door and heard Stephane's charcoal gray magical Maine Coon cat Merlin, crying and clawing at the door. The crying swiftly then turned into a low emitted growl as if something were frightening him.

"Merlin sweety? What's wrong?" you asked as you bent down and placed your fingers under the door so you could scratch his chin, but he wanted no part of it. Instead, he began to hiss.

Something was wrong. Merlin was no "pussy" per se. In fact, he was quite the bad ass like all cats believed they were, so the scaredy cat persona was completely out of character for the long locked beauty of a beast.

"Alright honey. I'm coming in." you warned and gave the door handle an electric zap with a single twirl of your finger.

The latch made a loud click and then you cautiously pushed the creaking door open.

"MROWWW!!!" Merlin screeched and sped out of the room so fast, you almost tripped over him.

The room was dimly lit with all the curtains closed and on the sofa laid a sprawled out sleeping Stephane with one hand clutching an empty goblet over his stomach and the other hand grazing the floor with dried blood all over it.

Gasping, you quickly made your way to him, finding yourself crunching over a broken and bloodied shards of a mirror upon the floor. Kneeling down beside him, your widened eyes studied his chest to make sure he was breathing, which he was but it had a low raspy sound to it that reminded you of a....tiger's growl?? and he reeked of whiskey. Believing he was just snoring and intoxicated, you studied him over some more, especially his injured hand as you gently picked it up by his wrist so that you wouldn't shock him.

Angling his hand about to assess it, you noticed his gold ring, the one he always fidgeted with when he was anxious or lying. You had never paid much attention to the details of the ring before but now you could see it bore two gemstones, side by side as one piece that reminded you of the yin and yang symbol, for one stone was a black onyx and the other was a white moonstone. You knew that yin was of darkness and yang was of light. Could that be what the ring symbolized?

Moving your eyes on to his knuckles, they were all tore up so it was apparent that he had punched the mirror, but why was the question? Your hunch was the combination of the booze and his anger at you stemming from Haldir's spontaneous lip lock that he witnessed and possibly even something to do with Catherine's eldest son making an unannounced arrival that Stephane had clearly been upset about.

In that moment, Stephane had been dreaming. It was the day you first came to Dorwinion and he found you his red clover field searching for Haldir's gifted dreamcatcher you had dropped in the colossal cluster. At least he thought it was you as he viewed your long wavy scarlet strands from behind. Upon the woman's turning around, he found himself uttering the same words of shock that exited his lips that day and it wasn't the only shock he got.

"It is....you."

"Here kitty kitty kitty. Miss me? I've sure missed you. It's time to wake up once again, just as I had awoken the beast once before." Caroline cackled, forming her wicked grin and then clutched his hand, sending a burning jolt of juice through him, much like the one you and he experienced that day when your hands touched.

Feeling bad about his hand, you softly laid your hand over his wounds to heal him and in doing so, the electric current that you and he shared when your hands touched, shot right through both of you, startling him awake. But it wasn't Narcisse that you awakened.

Towering over your cowered body as you laid upon the floor in sheer terror, was a snarling and salivating beastly black panther with razor fangs as white as pearls and eyes that burned of the sun...and gusting from his roaring lungs was a fiery breath not of peppermint, but of black pepper.

"AHHH CHOOO!" you uncontrollably sneezed, spraying out a mist of sparkling silver water droplets into the ferocious feline's face.

He roared in pain and swung his paws in a frenzy at his eyes, giving you enough time to run and hide behind Stephane's liquor bar to try and rationally think of what to do, for this colossal cat was Narcisse and you didn't want to hurt him with your magic if you didn't have to, although it seemed you accidentally already had.

You were planted in a panic against the wooden bar, holding as still as you could as your frantic eyes scoured the darkness for movement and your ears searched for sound. Surely the beast would find you by sniffing you out, especially now that you noticed the palm of your hand had been scratched by the creature's claws and was bleeding. What in the hell was happening?? You knew nothing of his shapeshifting power. How the fuck did Narcisse transform into a giant fucking black cat before your very eyes and WHY?????

Your shallow breaths ceased as you heard grunting and groaning and then all went quiet again. As you prepared to counter attack in the least harmful way possible, you were grabbed by the arm and swiftly pulled to your feet by a sweating Stephane.

"Are you alright Jo???" he panted, steadying himself on the bar as you gaped at him in a frightful confusion.

"I...I...uh...umm...yes. I..think I should be asking YOU that??"

Narcisse glanced around, seemingly disoriented. "I...I don't feel so well."

He began to lean and fall, but you caught him and assisted him back to the sofa.

"What...what did you do to me??" he groaned and plopped onto his back, rubbing his eyes similarly to how the elephantine ebony cat had done.

"I...I don't..know?? I..I didn't mean to do anything. Lie still. I'll get you a wet rag soaked in healing water."

You cleaned your hand in the water which seemed to have ceased the bleeding, then quickly came back and sat beside him, forcing his rebelling hands away by his wrists in order not to shock him again and then laid the cool cloth over his inflamed eyes.

Narcisse made a frown as he licked his lips. "Silverbane. I can taste it. You sprayed me with fucking silverbane."

"W..what? I..how? and...I thought you were immune to poison??"

"Well apparently I am not to yours which you seem to have as a built in defense mechanism. I really wish you'd get your magical shit together Jo." he blindly griped with gritted teeth as he held the rag firmly over his eyes.

"But...even I can be hurt by Silverbane?? So how do I...oh wait..." you gasped. "It's just like Garrett. He can be hurt by fire, but yet he has fire power inside of him....and at Lestat's...I....I almost forgot....I had somehow conjured up Silverbane from thin air and blew it at my mother when she had almost depleted all of Garrett's blood."

"And yet once again, we are back to the vicious vampire." Stephane snarled as he snapped the rag to the floor with a huff and sat up.

He was somewhat right, you supposed. There you were, referencing Garrett after what you could describe as a cruel and vicious vision he sent you only moments earlier in your chambers. Even so, what you recalled was all still very relevant which would never matter to Stephane.

"You speak to me about being vicious after I just watched you turn into a very large vicious cat???? No wonder Merlin hightailed his ass out of here. Even he was afraid....and...so were you, for my safety. I can only assume that this is what was so urgent? What the hell is going on Stephane???"

"What's going on is that I'm a bit incapacitated at the moment which you seemed to have forgotten." he defensively deflected in which you immediately pointed out.

"Stop deflecting. Here. Let me heal you and...."

"No! Do not touch me Jo. A bath in the healing waters will do just fine." Narcisse barked as he abruptly scooted away from your extended hand.

"Ok, then at least let me help you."

"I'm perfectly capable of taking a bath...alone. Don't you have some place better to be? Like say...Mirkwood?"

Narcisse rose and headed for his bar to pour another drink, for his nerves were now unbearable after what had happened.

You flung to your feet and followed him. "YOU asked me to come here to your room...and now you want me to leave...and...for good?? What, kicking Haldir out wasn't pleasurable enough for you??? You want me to travel with my child when Harker is stalking all of us???" you reeled with stinging wet eyes.

Stephane's eyes refrained from yours as he knocked his drink back and poured another. Of course he didn't want you to go but his pride wasn't about to let you know that.

"Oh it was quite pleasurable to send the Lorien sprite packing. You have Legolas now since I see I now have more unwanted guests in my castle. He will keep you and Leean safe on your travels."

Narcisse turned without so much of a glance at you and walked to the other side of the sitting room with you once again following.

"You heartless son of a bitch! Have you forgotten why I am even here???! I need that book to stop Jareth!!"

An angry tear jetted down your cheek as you sharply blinked from Stephane's aggressive advance into your face.

"Heartless??!!!!! After ALL I have done for you and your company! All of the kindness I have offered you that I have never given to anyone else! Sleeping in my bed right after I confessed I was in love with you and I even pathetically allowed myself to shed tears at your feet over the fear of losing you. You also allowed me to love that little girl. YOU are the one who has forgotten! ALL you care about are the elves and that fucking vampire. You played me well Josephine. Beat me at my own past games of using someone for pleasures of the flesh. I can see I was right when I had once told you that you were a worthy opponent because no other has ever possessed the ability to make me feel less than I was and I can see no possible means of recovery from it. But I guess I have no one to blame except myself for letting my defenses down and letting you in, allowing you to see me bare in more ways than just my skin. Do you remember when I told you that?? That if you and I were to dive into those waters, that is what you would see? But the thing is...you don't see me! And you never will. I will never make that mistake again. I opened my heart to you. I told you things I would never tell a single soul. I threw you the grandest of birthday parties to make you feel better and because you hadn't had one since you were a child. I risked my life and men for you! I have even saved you from yourself! And for what?? To watch you kiss both Haldir and Garrett. Maybe, instead of standing here tearing my own self worth to shreds, I need to realize that I am not less just because I was much more than your inexperienced little hands could handle."

"Please...please stop Stephane. This was never about who you are. I know I hurt you and I am so very sorry, but I swear I never used you. I genuinely care for you, ALL of you and appreciate all you have done for me and Leann, or I would already be running after what I had just witnessed. I don't want to lose you too. Why can't we just please sit down and talk about this...really talk and listen and stop trying to hurt each other?? Let me try to fix this."

Narcisse knew that he had already scraped the bottom of the barrel with all he had just said and now he knew he must go even lower. You just weren't safe with him anymore.

"Because I have come to see it is no longer worth it. You...are not worth it and never were. It IS very much about who I am. It's about who everyone is because no one is your precious King or even Garrett, for they are all you speak of. No one else is good enough for you. I will not let you have me without the madness that makes me. If our demons cannot dance, neither can we." he growled with cold eyes and walked away again.

This time you did not follow, but stood there with a gaping mouth as many tears now fell.

Pouring himself more of the liquid courage to help him proceed in ripping both of your hearts out some more in order to push you away, Stephane drank it down, hesitating to turn and face you, for he could feel your tears and to see it would break him, so he remained a coward and faced the bar, then reluctantly began to continue on about Catherine.

"I called you here to inform you in person about Catherine so you wouldn't be blindsided by her release. Is that what a heartless person would do?"

"Catherine's....re...lease??" you stammered. "Wh...why on earth would you do such a thing????"

"I do believe that is none of your business. My castle, my rules and it's about time people start respecting that. I told you what you needed to know, now what you need to do is pack up your daughter and go back home with Legolas after this night."

"Are...are you insane??? Not only is Harker out there but so are Jareth's orcs! They attacked Legolas and Aragorn and almost killed the man who is travelling with them!"

"Insane? I have been called much worse, although I am sure many would be inclined to agree with you. Now, you can take your opinion and run along. I have a much needed bath awaiting before entertaining the enemies."

Narcisse gulped down the last of his bottle, then grabbed a robe and stormed out of the room, leaving you not only reeling at his lack of giving a shit but also wondering where he was even going since his bath was right there in his chambers, so once again, you followed him.

The room you entered consisted of a sizeable stone pool surrounded by dim candlelight and the air scented of floral fragrance, for upon the opaque water floated multiple flower petals. Pink roses if you were to guess.

Stephane stared at you with a scowl and undressed right before your stunned eyes, then scoffed when you promptly turned away upon the removal of his leather pants.

"As if you have never viewed my cock before. Why are you still here??" he griped as he yanked his ring off, then threw that and his robe to the floor.

The Yin and Yang gemstone clanked it's way to your feet. Keeping your back to the very nude Narcisse, you snatched it up.

"Oh stop with the infantile theatrics for once. You know why I'm here. You don't get to drop a bomb on me like that about Catherine and just walk away. I demand to know why you would set her free!!"

You trembled as you could feel him creeping up behind you. It wasn't because you feared him but because of how intimidated you were by his bare form. Not only had you laid your eyes upon the splendid sight of sculpted beauty a few times before, but you had also laid your body on it as well, so why were you so damn nervous??

"YOU will demand nothing of me." he snarled into your ear as he reached around you and swiftly snatched the ring right back out of your hand, but not fast enough to avoid the electrifying current. Gasping in unison with you, Narcisse quickly made his way into the vat of sparkling liquid and sat down to conceal his waxing wood, for the shock had greatly aroused him.

Slowly, you turned to face him once you heard the slosh of his descent beneath the water.

"Well then, I guess Catherine being on the loose is the lesser of two evils with what else has been released!"

"Alright, I'll bite. What do you mean?" he firmly asked while sitting stiffer than the stiffness below him.

"It's what I have been trying to tell you and why I need to find Ashmole. Jareth has done it. He has risen the dead, just like that psychic woman told me at my party or...I should say, like Peter told me in that vision I saw of him and now...he will come for me! I cannot leave here Stephane! Or you would be handing me right to him."

"And just how is it that you know this?"

"How do you not?? You know he has the three page spell to do it, no thanks to my mind altered father and just before I came to you today, I...I had another vision. It was...it was the vampire Kate. I saw her, with a head and all and...with Garrett. My visions are just like my dreams, both of the present and future and they are increasing and if I saw Kate, then many more are out there somewhere, waiting for something, something that I fear will change our lives forever. I fear a war is coming for the winter solstice. An army of the dead. I feel it. Even Legolas senses something sinister in the air."

Narcisse's bright blues gaped at the water in realization that your words were true. Jareth was the reason Rahl had resurrected and in that moment, he saw his denounced dark half reflecting back at him in the ripples, clawing at his soul to fully emerge from the grave...a box bound by 7 iron chains buried deep inside of Stephane's mind where he had cast him out to, but he could feel the chains breaking, one by one as if it were the rapture.

"Ahhh, I see now. That is what has your panties all in a bunch. Once again, it is because of Garrett. You're jealous."

"W...what??? What the hell is wrong with you??!! THAT is all you can speak of after what I just told you?? Not to mention AGAIN that you are releasing Catherine and having some party tonight as if Harker and the dead are not upon us! Oh, and there's the fact that you shapeshifted into a wild cat larger than Blaze! Seriously, what is happening? WHO are you and what have you done with Stephane???"

Stephane's expression was sullen and his gaze soulless, much like the soulless orbs of the animal that preyed upon you moments earlier. A soulless animal he once told you he was not and his words were as icy and cold as his dilated blues.

"The man you speak of no longer exists."

As you stood frozen by his words, he rose from the water. It was a shimmering sight that you now could not remove your eyes from no matter how hard you tried, almost as if magic were being used upon you, breaching your shield.

Narcisse slowly approached you in a most tantalizing manner, the water dripping and glistening over every inch of his masculine form as if he had been slathered in baby oil as his cock gave you it's undivided and full attention.

"I'm a monster. Refume by unfortunate events and given breath by necessity."

You took a staggering step back, unable to breathe. Unable to break the animal magnetism radiating between your bodies until his pupils glowed of the sun once more, followed by a low emitted growl that vibrated through his adam's apple.

Gasping, you stumbled back and found yourself racing out the door and down the hall, constantly glancing behind you, expecting to once again see the melanistic monster with paws measuring the size of both your hands combined, charging after you, but instead, you ran smack dab into Charles as you turned the corner.

"My lady?!! You...you look a fright." the young warlock exclaimed as his arms clutched tightly around your waist.

"I..." you panted and swung your head around to see an empty quiet hall behind you. "I...oh gosh. Well now I am just embarrassed." you softly said as you released Charles while a handful of people he had been speaking with, all stared at you.

"I was just...in a hurry...that's all. I apologize for my clumsiness." you explained, glancing behind you once more.

"Are you sure that is all it is? It would seem as if you believed something were...chasing you?"

His eyes were concerned and confused and you had to wonder if Charles knew of his father's "condition", but you certainly were not going to ask in front of the all the eyes still upon you.

"Oh no, no. I just need to go refresh for this evening's gathering, so I...I will just be on my way now. I'll see you then."

You awkwardly smiled and quickly resumed your path but once you came to the end of the hall, Francis and Mary rounded the corner. As the King and Queen of Lake Town passed you, Francis had slowed his pace to lock his baby blues with yours once again. He also offered you a slight head bow and a subtle smile, then continued on his way to call out to his half brother Charles.

Out of curiosity, you stood by the exit to watch as Charles turned with a sizeable smile.

"Francis." he raved and gave a hand swaying bow to the golden haired King.

Francis skipped the formal greeting altogether and went straight to embrace his little brother as Mary kept her distance and watched as well.

You knew nothing really about Francis but from what you could see, he truly cared for Charles and vice versa.

The two stood and conversed, but not loud enough for you to hear, so after a moment, you turned to leave, only to be startled by Mary.

"Oh..my!" you halted and gasped as your hand planted onto your chest.

"Oh dear, my apologies. Forgive me. I did not mean to frighten you. I am Mary. And you are Queen Josephine of Mirkwood?"

"Y..yes...I.."

"I am sorry we did not have the chance to meet when you and your King were in Lake Town. My King and I were away on business. Luckily I suppose, considering the dragon's destruction. I would like to thank you for your aid in ridding of the foul creature and I...I offer you my...condolences over King Thranduil."

"Thank you." you simply and softly replied as your eyes fell.

Her eyes fell too as she fidgeted with her clasped fingers that laid upon the beaded bodice of her golden gown, that from the waist down, looked as if a thousand ducks had been plucked to assemble it. The girl was most likely no older than you with long waves of dark chocolate hair coordinating with her coffee hues and in them was a pool of true sorrow. Mary knew of the breath that Thranduil still took and may have been aiding her own King in Narcisse's blackmailing, but she was far from content with it. She did it only for the happiness of Francis so his mother could be free, even when she herself knew what Catherine was, for the two always clashed. No one was good enough for Catherine's son, whom Mary deeply loved. And because of that love, she couldn't even imagine what you must be going through.

"A...penny for your thoughts?" you asked the suddenly distant girl who you just realized probably did not even know what a penny was. "Oh...sorry. It's just...modern day currency where I'm from."

Mary's rosy lipped smile grew wide as she giggled. "Oh, I know what it is. My late father-in-law was the greediest man in all of middle earth. He traveled far and wide and had quite the colossal collection of riches, even pennies, which he had mounds of."

Well, that explained to you why Peter ended up there in his search for you and bought the emerald pendant from the abhorrent Alfrid just before Thranduil had captured him. If anyone was a greedy bastard, it was piggish Peter.

"I just...I feel terrible for what you have been through. Word travels far." she continued, then smiled again. "I'll take my penny now."

"Well." you smiled back. "If I come across one again, I will give it to you."

"That would be nice. I know they are not worth much, but to be gifted one from a beautiful Queen would be quite the treasure. It is nice to meet you Josephine. I hope we will see more of each other. I better tend to my husband. He and Charles seem to be in a disagreement of sorts."

You smiled and turned to see and hear the two young men quarreling and you knew exactly what it pertained to. Catherine being released, for Charles was greatly opposed to it and it was quite apparent that Charles had the better head upon his youthful shoulders when it came to her true colors.

"Just ask Josie! She'll tell you!" Charles shouted and motioned for you to come over.

"I do not need to hear her side, for it is not her decision." Francis firmly stated.

"And it is yours?? This is not your castle. It is my father's!"

"And he has agreed to free her. She is our mother Charles. She will not be treated like an animal! Why on earth would you side with the man who destroyed our family??"

Charles scoffed at his brother and quickly turned to you, where you stood hiding slightly behind Mary.

"Is this true?? Did my father agree to release her???" he asked in desperation.

"I...Charles...I'm..sorry. He...has and.."

"Unbelievable!" he snapped and spun back to Francis. "She coerced our sister into using black magic to kill a King vampire, which could have brought a war to our lands that we would surely lose and she also forced her into helping to poison a Lorien elf! And now our sister faces being banished from here with a newborn child!"

"Claude is a grown woman and made her own choices. She was not forced. She will be better off away from here anyways and to return with me to Lake Town, our home Charles! Where you should be as well."

"THIS is my home. I will go nowhere with you, nor will my sister!! You're as mad as our mother! I am going to go have words with my father!"

Charles stormed past you, but you grasped his arm. "Charles, no! I...umm, Narcisse...he's...he's in a bad way at the moment and I would not advise a confrontation. Trust me...please." you pleaded with worried but stern eyes which Charles seemed to understand.

He stiffened up straight and sighed as he lifted his chin to glare at Francis.

"I don't know what you have done to my father, but know this. This is far from over...brother."

Your heart was racing as Charles marched off, for you were praying he would heed your warning about Narcisse. Charles may have been merely 19 years old, but he was hot headed and certainly no push over, just like his father.

Francis turned to you with a smile, showing no sign of shame or regret over the dispute. It was as if it had not even happened.

"My lady. We have not been properly introduced. I am King Francis of Lake Town and I am honored to be in the presence of such beauty."

The audacious blonde bowed down, then took your hand and kissed it right on front of Mary, making you feel terribly awkward and bad for her.

You gently and politely as possible, slipped your hand out of his and forced a smile, when really, all you wanted to do was slap him.

"I...I am Josephine."

"Oh I know exactly who you are. A queen as well. It is such a shame to hear about your King. I suppose now I will have to confer with Legolas for our trades. Or maybe...I shall speak with you instead? I would greatly prefer that. Maybe over some dinner and wine?"

The words going through your mind at that moment were far from queen like. The nerve of this jackass...oh god, Josie, calm down. Breathe. You glanced at Mary, who remained silent with her head hung low, fidgeting again with her hands.

"It is King Legolas and he would be the one to speak business with is usually not discussed over dinner and wine."

The look in his blue eyes told you he was turned on by the way you shut him down.

"We can always skip the business then and just enjoy each other's company. In the meantime, I'll let you ponder on that. Mary...come. I must go see my mother now."

Francis walked off, not even waiting for Mary, so you quickly stopped her.

"I...I am so sorry for that. Please know, I..I would never..."

She softly smiled and took your hand. "It is alright. You are not his first conquest and certainly will not be his last. I..I must go."

As you watched her catch up to Francis, you wondered the same thing that Charles had asked...how did he get Narcisse to free Catherine? Off you then went as well, for you needed to speak to Lola about Stephane's past once more.

Lola was rocking Leean's cradle and singing softly to her when you arrived and you noticed her tears before she quickly turned away to wipe them.

"Lola?? Is everything alright?"

"Oh yes." she proclaimed as she turned with a smile. "Don't mind me. I was just thinking of my mother after we had spoke of her earlier. She used to sing to me and Leean really likes it. Even more so when you do it."

"I am so sorry Lola. I never meant to upset you. I...I miss my mother too. Well, the one I used to know as a child wearing rose colored glasses. Lola, I don't mean to change the subject but...when we spoke of Narcisse earlier, you said there was a time when he was different? Could you elaborate a little more on that because...something is very wrong with him. It's like....it's like there are two of him."

"Yes, that is kind of how he was from what my mother told me. Not kind at all and he dressed much differently. Robes and such, mostly of a scarlet red. Longer hair, dark as coal and his scent was different as well...kind of like..."

"Pepper??" you abruptly interrupted.

"Y...yes? I believe so."

You paced about for a moment in deep thought, fidgeting with your own hand, for it was itching something awful, then you stopped to look at her.

"You're certain it was Narcisse and not a...twin? I know you said before that you did not believe him to have any other brother but Bash, but you were just a child. It's just that... he told me something once that is not adding up now."

"I suppose I cannot be certain. I never saw or knew the Narcisse my mother described and he..."

"He what?" you asked when Lola had paused in thought.

"Well, he...he went by some other name too, I...suppose there could be a twin? If so, he surely never speaks of him. There's only one other person that would most likely know. His brother...Bash."

"Was the name...Lord Rahl??"

"I...yes. Yes, that sounds right. I think it was?"

That is where you would head next, to Bash, for now you were worried that if there was an evil dark twin like Stephane had told you there was, was he the one you had just encountered?? Had he done something with the real Narcisse and taken his place?? Because Lola confirmed the scent of pepper and that is exactly what you smelled. Although Stephane told you that he killed Rahl, it was certainly possible he was brought back by Jareth. OR...were Narcisse and Rahl the same entity? Holy shit.

"Lola..I...I have to go. I..I will see you and Leean tonight for the dinner party and I want you both to stay at Legolas' side. I will find him and send him back here to get you."

As you turned to go refresh, Lola gasped.

"Josie?? Your hand...it's bleeding!"

You also gasped as your eyes gaped at the blood trickling down your fingers.

"Owww, god." you groaned as you quickly squeezed a cloth into your fist, then sat down, for you suddenly felt dizzy and overheated.

"What happened?" Lola asked as she promptly brought you a pitcher of healing water, then sat beside you to help clean the wound.

Not wanting to tell her the whole story just yet until you spoke to Bash, you decided to fib...just a little.

"I..uh...broke a mirror earlier and...cut my hand when I was cleaning it up."

Lola pried open your clenched fist and removed the cloth.

"Oh my. Josie, that's pretty deep and looks...possibly infected."

It did. The gash was slightly blackened around the edges and it burned, and strangely, even more so when Lola patted it with the water soaked cloth.

"Mmmmph." you flinched. "I'm sure it will be fine after I soak it for awhile."

"Maybe you should have the healers look at it? You...you seem a bit pale."

If only Thranduil were here, you thought as tears stung your eyes. He would heal you right up with one touch of his soft magical hand.

"I'm alright. The sight of blood has always made me feel queasy."

The dizziness seemed to have passed, so you took the pitcher into the wash room and filled the sink basin, then held your breath as you submersed your hand. Five seconds was all you could withstand before you had to abruptly withdraw.

"Jesus!" you cringed and then noticed a sizzling effect on the cut of both sight and sound.

"It's like it's fucking holy water. I should be asking YOU Narcisse or whomever you are, what YOU did to me??" you complained under your breath while you angrily wrapped and secured a clean dry cloth around your hand.

"Lola, if Leggy comes back while I'm gone, tell him I went to speak to Bash and that I will be back soon. We can all go to the dinner together. Keep this door locked until then. it is to only be opened for myself or Legolas. If Narcisse happens to show up, you tell him, through the door, that I am not here and that Leean is sleeping so he'll go away."

"Through...the door? Josie...what is going...."

You were out the door and rushing down the hall before she could finish. One way or another, you had to find out the truth because it now seemed that danger not only lurked outside of the castle walls, but still remained inside of them as well.

"Bash!" you loudly whispered against his chamber door as you briskly tapped upon it. "I need to speak to you again. It's urgent."

"It's open." he called to you.

Upon your swift entry, you found Sebastian leaning against the wall by the open balcony doors, looking as if he had seen a ghost. Had he?

"Bash?? Is something wro...."

You froze solid as you came into view of the dead blackbirds scattered about the terrace floor. Slowly, you walked past him with wide eyes to get a better look, praying one of them was not your Freddy, the ridiculous name Garrett had given your crow over his Scooby Doo fetish.

As you visually searched through the feathered carcasses, you soon sighed heavily in relief because they were all too small to be your faithful friend.

"Bash...w..what caused this??"

"Mayhem and death. Birds fall from the sky when evil witches like him are near."

"Him?? Are you speaking of Harker?"

You had only known Bash for merely 2 months, but in that short time, you could tell he was a warlock warrior who feared nothing, not even Harker who had almost killed him...but in that moment, he looked absolutely terrified. And he was, for he had all the answers you sought and although it was a secret to have never escaped his lips, Bash knew this time, he had to tell you and later face the consequences.

"No...my..brother."

"Narcisse...did this?"

"Rahl." he simply stated with a horrified stare into your eyes.

"So....Narcisse does have a twin." you whispered as you clutched your burning hand. "Bash...I...he told me he was dead but...I think this Rahl was one of the many Jareth has conjured back from the dead with that spell and I think he has done something with Stephane!!"

"Twin? There is no twin. My brother Stephane and Rahl are very much one and the same." Bash verified and then glanced at the dead birds. "The only difference is that everything Stephane is, Rahl is the opposite of."

You had to sit down. You knew this was a possibility, but to have it be validated was overwhelming. Stephane had what you would know as...D.I.D. Dissociative Identity Disorder, otherwise known as a split personality or an alter...but who was the true identity? At least now you knew Stephane wasn't being held captive somewhere...or dead.

"So...he...he lied to me..."

"Wouldn't you? Lie about it? It's not something he is proud of, nor did he want it. Rahl has done evil things, like Harker and Jareth. Some he recalls, some he does not and Stephane is ashamed and certainly would not want you of all people to know, in fear of what you would think of him. My brother was never perfect. He had his own bad side when he was crossed. You've seen it. He punishes the evil, but he is not a cold blooded killer like Rahl."

"I...I suppose I understand that, for I was able to talk him out of doing some horrible things and I don't feel I would have succeeded if he did not have goodness in him. I..I'm just trying to process all of this. Referring to one body by two different names. I know it's a real thing, I just have never encountered it."

"Rahl is his second given name, after our father. Our father, who I believed caused the split by making him do despicable things as an adolescent. Stephane wanted to be good...of light. Not dark like our father, but our father expected more from him, being the oldest and he placed a very heavy weight on him to follow in his footsteps and that's exactly what Rahl did."

"He...he told me Rahl had your father killed, by that man Stephane fought and killed in the gambling tournament to the death."

"Yes, but it didn't quite go as planned. That man, Theodore, was his good friend whom he met because of Catherine. He was her husband, King Henry's brother. Rahl tricked Theodore by morphing into Stephane's image and offered him a very large sum of money to kill our father. He was full of greed just like Theo, so he knew he could get him to do it and not have to get his own hands dirty, possibly due to his subconscious, which I think was Stephane trying to fight him. But that quickly changed. Before Theo arrived that night, an argument revealed the our father had killed our mother and despite his blackened heart, Rahl loved our mother, so he killed our father first. Stephane didn't remember it right away. I think the trauma caused the memory lapse and when he did recall the events years later, that's when he set out to kill Theodore and end Rahl himself. As I said, our father did terrible things and made him do the same, but to Stephane, he was still our father whom he did everything to please....and he hated himself for what he had done, although sometimes I wonder if Stephane possibly wanted our father dead too. It would be a lie if I said I did not have similar feelings. I still stood by my brother though, because I knew of the things our father made him do. I tried to help him but I could never get through to him. There was nothing I could do. Rahl was too strong and powerful, even more so than Stephane. I never blamed Stephane for the things he had done. It wasn't his fault. I believed his hand was forced and his mind was ill."

"And he did all this for the crown? Stephane said his father didn't want Rahl to have it."

"He did at one time, but that was before he noticed the new change in him, the good side, the real Stephane, the one before our father's dark influence consumed him at a young age, altering his mind and that's when things went sour. Two others knew about his condition. One being your father Julian who tried to help him. That book you seek, the one Julian has hidden, it has the spell to lock the alter away in his mind and it also has the power to release him. Your father banished Rahl before he hid the book away to keep it out of Jareth's and other evil one's hands....including your mother's....because your mother, Caroline, who was the other with the knowledge of my brother's illness...she's the reason our father was killed."

"Wait...w..wh..what????"

"When Julian took Ashmole from his mother Jadis to undo Jareth's death, Caroline got her hands on it temporarily. When your father unknowingly slept with her twin Carrie, she punished all who knew and kept it from her and that included my brother. She brought the darkness of Rahl out of Stephane to a diabolical head... in a way no one had ever seen and hence, Darken Rahl was born. More wicked than our father could perceive. More wicked than he. Our father believed he would destroy all he had built and he denied him his right to the throne, so Rahl chose to take it, which is why Stephane has never called himself a King. In Rahl's short years of reign, even then he strangely was addressed as Lord Rahl, for again, I believe Stephane was somewhere inside of him, very much aware."

"God...my mother, even dead, still destroys people's lives. I've always known there are many things I don't know about that she's done and I'm sure this is only a fraction of it and...."

It just hit you. Something that you should have realized long before.

"Oh dear god Bash."

He tilted his head and stepped towards you with questioning furrowed brows.

"My lady?"

"My mother! What if Jareth....could he have brought her back as well?? And could she have awoken Rahl again?? She wouldn't need the book, for I am certain she would remember the spell...or...or did Jareth wake him up???"

"I suppose either or both are possible, but I hope for your sake, your mother was not one of the resurrected. I have never met her but her wicked reputation certainly precedes her in all of middle earth."

"Damn it. Why did my father have to go back for those pages?? Harker would never have gotten his hands on them if it weren't for that and my father would not have been converted to darkness. So now, what do we do about all of this without the book?? Because if you know about Rahl, then surely you must know about his animal form, the fucking gigantic jaguar I encountered earlier."

"You saw that?? That means....he is closer to surfacing than I realized."

"I not only saw it, I was scratched and it burns like hell. I tried the healing water, but it intensified the burn." you explained as you held your bandaged and trembling hand out.

Bash tried to hide his growing concern as he took your hand to look it over, but the light tremors in his fingers told on him.

"The water won't help it. It's like adding fuel to the fire. His claws are poisonous and his bite is venomous, both like no other. As I said, Rahl and Stephane are opposites even if they share the same body. Rahl propels poison, Stephane repels it. The Rahl that Stephane created is not the Rahl your mother conjured in the past and the one brought forth now will only be 3 times worse. It's like a pain scale of mild, moderate and severe."

"Third time is definitely not a charm. So what is it going to do to me?? And how do I get rid of it...and is that even possible?? Stephane, he repels poison yes, well, except mine for some reason, possibly because it was not him I cast the silverbane upon??...and his peppermint scent...it heals poison. He healed me from the dark forest and from wolfbane, so can he not heal me??"

"The question is...will he? Unless you can get Stephane to resurface, there is not much time before you will suffer vivid hallucinations and pain, and your powers will be completely useless. You will also be at Rahl's mercy. You will need Delphine, a witch doctor, for she has the only known antidote. She resides near the city. After the party tonight, I will go and try to locate her. She doesn't trust anyone but me."

"Stephane...he...he was still himself...right after he shifted back and realized what happened and what he had done. He was extremely worried for me...but then...his personality quickly began to change and when I last saw him, well...he was definitely not himself."

"The rapid change...It's because of the shift. After the cat appears, he is all Darken Rahl."

"It's my fault. I...I accidentally brought the beast out by shocking him...god...I need Garrett!! He can heal me, I know it. BUT...he is off doing who knows what with his former mate that Jareth revived. Bash, you must be very careful. Her shock is far worse than mine and let's not forget Harker and what he has already done to you. And I know Aragorn, Bard and Gimli went looking for Haldir, but please, if you see him, tell him I'm so sorry and that I miss him."

"I will...Josie...It's not your fault. You couldn't have possibly known. I will find Delphine and I will even be on the lookout for Garrett and the newly remodeled Kate. I will tell him you need him. I do not fear her nor Harker. Stay close to Legolas this evening and I will keep my eye on my brother. You should go now, before he finds you in here again."

After you left, you went back to your room to find a note from Lola on the vanity stating she, Legolas and Leean went to the dining hall to wait for you and that Boromir was anxious to speak with you. You had forgotten all about him and that he had come all the way there to inform you of something quite urgent, almost dying in the process.

You then went to the dresser to find some lace gloves to conceal your hand and as you did so, you caught your reflection in the mirror. Tears instantly formed at the mess you had become. Not on the outside, but the inside. It was a moment when you had felt more alone than you ever had.

You had to turn away, for you feared you would see Garrett again and you didn't need to be reminded, as if you'd ever forget, that he abandoned you and chose to be with a demon summoned from hell. All you had now were Leggy and Lola. All were gone, even Narcisse...even your letter to Thranduil that mysteriously vanished and you really wanted to read it again to feel close to him.

You sat on the bed, lost in the thought of your King, for he is all you truly wanted...and that's when the full blown tears came.

"Thranduil?? My love.." you squeaked. "I...I don't feel you anymore and I'm scared. I'm so scared and I'm lost and...I'm in trouble and I...I just need you...please...somehow, please come back to me...please my King, come ba...."

You loudly gasped and sprung to your feet and your heart paused and dove into your gut when you realized something else. Something horrifying, yet miraculous. Something even you wanted to do once.

Your words then came flooding out of you, choking away your air.

"Oh my god...could Jareth have done it?? Is...Thranduil alive too????"

@redeemer46

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rosemultitargaryen · 1 year

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BodyGuard

Warnings: Dry humping, stalking?, breeding kink, oral (m receiving), oral (f receiving), fingering, degrading, bondage, semi-public sex, praising kink, breeding kink.

Pairing: BodyGuard!Aemond Targaryen x Princess!Female!Reader.

Summary: You're assigned a new body guard, what your father doesn't know is that your new Body Guard is particularly good at his job...and a little more. (See i'm being nice and adding plot for once).

Word count: 1.7k

"So tell me Aemond, what makes you want to guard me?" You ask, curious as to why he took the job of being your sole protector.

Aemond's hands are clasped behind him, head tilted down and sword pinned to his armour. His hair is in his signature style, eyepatch the same colour as his shoes; a neat brown.

"I thought it would open my eyes." He simply states, picking up the pace of his walk.

You job slightly, catching up to his long strides; making your height difference evident. Your eyebrows furrow at his bleak answer.

"Open your eyes? What do you mean?" You question and he chuckles.

"Nothing sweet girl, now, is it off to your chambers or are we going to be getting more exercise." Aemond trails off as he looks you up and down slowly.

"You know...if you keep undressing me with your eyes, i could get a cold. As my bodyguard you wouldn't want me ill now would you?" A smile tugs at your lips, the liquor from the gathering earlier taking full affect.

"I...Sweet girl enough with your tainted words." Aemond clears his throat; his Adam's apple bobbing as he does so.

Confidently; you walk past him, close enough for him to get a smell of your newly made fragrance. You had the maids make it for you, it is a unique earthy scent that is to die for as Aemond would so describe it. Your hands are clasped behind you, walking through the gardens.

You're too distracted to notice a young boy running toward you with a flower. The boy knocks you and Aemond is quick to dive in; grabbing the boy by the arm you see tears prick at his eyes.

"Aemond that is enough!" You speak firmly and Aemond reluctantly releases the child.

You kneel down, taking the boy in your arms and wiping his tears.

"My lady, I just wanted to give you this pretty flower." He sniffed and your heart melts.

"Oh it is the prettiest of flowers." you put it in your hair and kiss the boy's head. He smiles and runs off.

Aemond helps you to your feet and you brush off the dirt that had gathered on your dress from kneeling. A sigh leaves your lips and you walk off to your chambers, Aemond following you like a lost puppy.

"Aemond, thank you for your assistance but i am alright with getting to my chambers safely." You state and he frowns slightly.

"Princess, I am to stay with you throughout day and night." He states and you look up to him.

"I said I am fine, take your leave early. I will not ask again." You close your chamber doors and dress into some nightwear.

You decide to sit at your balcony, watching as Rhaenyra flys Syrax beautifully in the night sky. You had often found yourself late at night, sitting at your balcony and counting the stars to guide you into a sleepy state. Usually Aemond would read some high valerian book to you, however you cannot get over the grimacing look he gave that child. Something in you stirred.

You start reflecting on the event and realise how cruel and cold you seemed to him. You stand from your seated state and go to your doors, opening them to find...

"Aemond?" You ask.

"I cannot rest when i know you are alone, i am truly sorry for my actions it won't happen again i-"

Your lips cut him off.

His hands are quick to hold your face as he pushes you inside your chambers, making sure to shut the doors behind you both with his foot. He pushes you against the wall beside the door, his hands trailing down to your neck. You both break for air, pupils fully dilated with lust and want for one another.

Aemond drags his thumb down your neck, licking his lips slowly. He bends down and kisses the soft flesh of your exposed collar bone. A moan erupts from your lips as you move your hips towards his to relieve some friction building up in your core.

"Aemond...please." You shamelessly whine.

Aemond looks at you in disbelief for this had be a moment he had dreamt about. When he heard of this role being free he jumped at the opportunity. Many nights he had spent thinking grotesque thoughts of you while stroking his cock wishing it was your hand. For many nights he had watched you from afar, thinking what it would he like to breed you.

You grip his armour, becoming impatient while you try undress him. Aemond chuckles and unclips his chest plates while you work on the rest. Finally, you get to his undergarments and revel at the bareness of him. Your hand's instinctively trail down his broad chest to his undergarment. You ghost your hand over his clothed cock, yearning for it to fill you.

You drop to your knees, looking up through your brows. Aemond reaches and grabs your chin softly with a smirk on his face. You take away the last piece of clothing separating you from him. Your tongue darts out, wetting your lips in preparation. The sheer sight of his bare cock makes you weak, makes your arousal pool in your panties and your stomach churn with need.

"Come on darling, take it." He purrs and you lick a strip up his member.

A subtle moan leaves his lips. You look back up at Aemond, taking his tip in your mouth. You swirl your tongue around it, collecting the pre-cum as you watch the man shudder under your touch. You take as much of his cock down tour throat as you can, using your hands for the rest.

Aemond props himself up against the wall with his arms, caging you in as you take him so well. He reaches a hand down, taking a fistful of your hair as your head bobs slowly. Tears prick your eyes as he forced more down your throat, the burning sensation making your lungs feel as if they are aflame.

"Nghh...fuck." He groans and you feel him twitch in your mouth.

Aemond releases in your throat and you whine, spitting whatever he offered you out. He slaps you across the face and grabs your throat, pressing his hips into yours.

"Did i say spit? You filthy little whore." Aemond spat and you whimper, the slur only making your thoughts more promiscuous.

Aemond grabs the back of your neck, dragging you to the balcony along with some rope and fabric. He begins with undressing you, taking off your night wear to reveal your body. He looked to be a deer in headlights; taking you in, admiring you. Aemond takes his time to look at you properly, feeling the way your hips tense at his presence. Seeing the way your chest rises and falls as your breathing quickens with anticipation.

"Aemond please, I beg of you." Whines and whimpers leave your lips and he relishes in the submissive state you're in.

"Oh but i do love to take my time, especially with you." He knees down, levelling with your soaking cunt.

Aemond kisses your clit, smoothing his tongue up your slit before pushing his pointer finger within your sopping hole. Your eyes screw shut at the intrusion. Aemond's lip attach to your clit sucking delicately, finger pumping slowly but harshly. Your core tightens, feeling your release nearing.

Aemond takes what you have to offer, lapping it up like a kitten with milk as you come down from your high. He stands up, leaving you limp against the balcony. Aemond wraps the rope around your arms and the balcony, keeping you in place. You moan as the rope starts to burn you from the restriction. You squirm and feel him behind you.

"You are going to be good, like the slut you are." Aemond coos, landing a harsh slap on your arse.

You moan again and feel the tip of his cock nudging at your entrance. It hit you then, there are people who could see you; you are on the balcony after all. You close your eyes, bracing for the impact as he lines himself up with your soaking cunt. Aemond kisses your back before pushing in forcefully into you tight entrance.

"Oh issa, ao feel sīr sȳz." He groans, keeping within you for a few moments while your walls adjust to the size of him.

Moments pass and he becomes impatient, slowly thrusting in you. The burns run through you, making your eyes screw shut and your hands fighting against the restraints. His thrusts quicken, knocking you forward each time.

"Nnnghhh," you groan as he grabs your hair, his thrusts becoming animalistic as he chases his release.

"Oh...sweet girl." Aemond praises and you whine, thrusting back onto him.

Your core tightens. The strength of your release taking your a toll on your whole body. Aemond keeps hitting that spot within you deliciously, his release also nearing as beads of sweat form on his forehead and chest. Your breathing is quick, chest heaving as you crave to reach your climax.

"Aemond please let me.." you pant and he grunts, reaching under you to rub your clit.

Your back arches and the coils snaps, Aemond groans as he feels you convulse around his throbbing cock. You moan from the overstimulation while Aemond continues to fuck you until his release comes.

"Aemond...oh fuck." You groan, pulling at the restraints.

Your legs go numb and limp, resulting in Aemond having to hold you up. His thrusts become sloppier and you feel him twitch before releasing inside you. He fucks his cum deep within you, making sure every last drop is not put to waste.

"Fuck." He groans, kissing and nipping at your back.

"I guess...I guess you are a good bodyguard." You pant.

#aemond fanfiction #aemond smut #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond imagine #aemond x fem!reader #house of the dragon aemond #house of the dragon #smutty #dark smut #dark fiction #wattpad author #wattpad #foryou #foryoupage

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elysianmadness · 2 months

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It's laughable when I see people saying stuff like "writing dark fiction isn't a healthy coping mechanism!" or "your therapist should have their license revoked if they support you engaging in kinks such as ageplay or CNC!"

I'm going to trust the three licensed therapists I've been to with these issues over a 14 year old named Hayden on Tumblr with the world's most eyestrainish Carrd or Rentry. I don't care if your friend who took one high school psychology class said that coping through dark fiction isn't healthy. Still not one of the many licensed therapists who say that it is.

DO NOT REBLOG MY POSTS IF YOU DO NOT HAVE AI SCRAPING DISABLED ON YOUR BLOG.

#venus.txt #dark fiction #freedom of fiction #proship #pro-kink #pro-survivor

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running-with-kn1ves · 8 months

Note

Hi! Can I request a Officer x female!Nurse reader during a zombie apocalypse? The Officer would be the stalker-ish, possessive type who’s made it clear he’s protecting her from the others because she’s one of the best at her job. But in reality, he’s just making excuses to be close to her—always hovering when not patrolling the hospital. Could you possibly add like…non-consensual touching/kissing, definitely power imbalance, manipulation in the form of comfort. Maybe nsfw if you can?

A/N: started this a while ago but only just now got around to finishing it in a... "semi-decently" way.

Synopsis: you're a nurse healing those still alive after the start of the apocalypse; unfortunately for you, a certain annoying guard has made it his mission to have your undivided attention.

TW: noncon kissing, touching, feeling up, etc., intimidation, power imbalance, general sexual assault warnings, zombie apocalypse/infected theme

WC: 3600

“Oh come on now, I didn’t hit him that hard.”

“You literally pummeled the man to the ground!” The underwhelmed attitude of the guard trailing behind made you dig your fingers into your temples. “He lost his front tooth, Kain. And the guild wants MY head for it.”

Pacing through the halls of the abandoned hospital, you make your way to the opposing wing, Kain following quickly on your heels.

“Don’t honestly tell me you’re worried about the ‘guild’. " Kain speaks, creating quotes with his fingers. “You’re the only nurse they got who’s actually qualified enough to do a damn decent job.They can’t get rid of you, they need you too much.”

You make a sharp turn into an old hospital room, throwing Kain off. He stumbles over himself to follow, while you quickly distract yourself with the limp body resting on a raised bed in the middle of the room. You hurriedly picked at the bloodied bandages of one of your fellow survivors, the mangled man out cold under the wool sheets as you began to inspect him. The process was like clockwork, being what most of your job had become now that you were stuck with flesh-eating monsters and a third of the human population left, most of which was crippled in some way or another.

Kain peeks up from behind you, irritated yet curious as to what was more important than responding to him. His head popped up next to yours as he looked at the bandaged man, giving a bothersome frown.

“You shouldn’t have been talking to anyone about me, period. This all could’ve all just been avoided, Kain.”

Kain opens his mouth to speak, looking like an awed fish as you berate him.

“Who in their right mind cripples one of their own men?” You mumble under your breath, hoping he wont hear lest he throws a fit. "Now, can’t you see I’m working here? You’re getting in my way.”

You push past him to throw away the old gauze and stained bandages.

Kain’s constant look of mild amusement faded.

“Ya should’ve heard what he was sayin’ about you. Then, you might not feel that way.”

You avoided Kain’s sharp stare, pretending to not listen as you pulled open a drawer beside the hospital bed.

Lifting his eyebrows in suggestion, Kain rested his hands on the front of his patrol vest, continuing to chew his gum with feigned nonchalance. “Like a piece a meat…” He muttered.

Clearing your throat you ripped open a new package of gauze with your teeth, avoiding Kain; Maybe it’d be best if you changed the topic.

“Well… What are you still doing here in the first place? I thought you were supposed to be at your new transfer by this morning…”

You remembered primarily because you thought it’d be your first day of freedom.

Kain rubbed his nose with his thumb, trying to hide a wide grin that showed his dimples.

“I’ve been stationed to protect the hospital for another six months.. Just found out this morning. Some other guy wanted to go and…the guild commander thought my talents would be better off here.”

Your face dropped. The sliver of fragile hope you held onto, shattered. Finally, you thought, you’d be rid of the overbearing coos and humiliating social teasing, his invasive bullying-- the dream seemed to fizzle out like the end of a candle wick, slow and sad. You began to rewrap the survivor’s wounds, hands on autopilot while your stomach sank.

And like a switch, your annoyed tone was spat back at him.

“Okay?” You shrugged.

You had been Kain’s prime victim when picking meaningless fights for the past eight months, his presence like a wall of muscle in your path. But no more, you wouldn’t sit and entertain his bullshit for another half a year.

“If that’s true, then nothing’s changed. Don’t you have better things to do than annoy me?” You swat Kain away with your hands like a fly. “Go stand guard or something. Be useful.”

You pinned the end of the final bandage, rearranging the patients scratchy bedsheets. Without another word you began to walk away.

Kain grunted in annoyance, watching you turn into the adjacent room across the hall to leave him in the dust.

“Well, you never know,” Kain shouted, running after you across the hallway. “You might come up against a stray infected. I know you haven’t had this set up for long, the doors hardly do anything to keep a draft from blowing through. What happens if I’m not there quick enough? You’d need someone much bigger, and much… stronger than you, to protect you.”

You let out an exasperated noise, recognizing the insult in his words. But Kain didn’t mean it as an insult; he was thinking of other… things.

“Besides, you need protecting just from the things in here you can’t handle, and I decide to offer my assistance-- at a zero cost.”

You scoff again. “What do you mean ‘things I can’t handle’?” You copy his previous quotation movement, half distracted by rummaging through a large cardboard box of old medical supplies.

Kain follows you inside the room, seeing your back turned to him next to an empry hospiral bed. A lightbulb went off over his head, his printless fingers grabbing the privacy curtain and pulling it. The curtain surrounding the bed, you, and him-- clouding the fluorescent lights from the hallway. The ones inside the hospital room flickered, barely making the guards face visible.

“Something like this.”

An arm traps you from behind, one of Kain’s scarred palms leaning on the wall next to your head. You turn around to look at him with a scowl, not yet realizing what he was trying.

From the corner of your vision you saw the mean glint in Kain’s eye.

A smug, egotistical smirk rested on his face.

“I can see it now…. some band of other survivors coming in, raidin' what they could and stumbling across you,” He pushed his dirty blonde hair back with his free hand, calloused fingers sticking out his glovelettes. “So helpless in your dirty scrubs, scared and alone….What would you do? Would you even be able to defend yourself?”

He watched as your eyes shifted, trying to avoid him as you attempted to shove your way out. But he was a wall of muscle and pheromones, a light slap telling him to knock it off wasn’t going to cut it this time.

And this, was exactly what you were trying to avoid.

Kain shoved your shoulder against the wall, pushing his nose against the sensitive front of your neck; it nearly made you grunt from surprise.

“Ah…” You felt him exhale, licking his lips against your jugular. “What a cute bitch…You smell so fresh, So different than all the rotten corpses in here. Maybe we should take this one to go, huh boys? I’m sure they’d all like a turn.” Kain said to himself.

You try to swat at him again but he catches your other arm, wrenching it back behind you. "That's not funny, asshole!”

Kain gave an angry laugh, your stubbornness testing the edge of his limits. His harshness and your violent panic ruined any playful mood left.

“You know, you really don’t understand how lucky you are; how much I care about you. Just trying to-- protect you.” Kain struggled to keep you compliant, and to keep his urges at bay. his eyes wildly flit between staring at your lips to your soft exhausted body, the one now in his hands, bulging from his fingertips. For a moment his attention seems to linger on the shallow movement of your chest, falling and rising with each worried breath. But it soon pulls back to your rageful glare, a harsh swallow coming from his throat.

“Why won’t you just take my help? I want what’s best for you, Don't you understand that...” He couldn’t stop looking at your sweet lips, downturned into a frown-- a frown he wanted to kiss away.

In his mind, when he imagined kissing you he thought you’d be stunned at first-- but would quickly fall into his arms, holding onto him as if he was your lifeline.

“Fuck it..” Kain murmured under his breath.

He didn’t spare any time, knowing you'd put up resistance no matter how well he tried to swoon you. Leaning down to get his first taste of you, sweet kisses lapped at your lips before you came to realize what was going on. The curious, self-interested pecks to your lips were so cautious at the start, until Kain’s mouth began to grow lewd. He took your slack jaw as permission to greedily devour your tongue to the fullest. His mouth seemed to fit like a puzzle piece against yours, twisting upward to savor your mouth. You were surprised but not all shocked-- though, this was the first time he had tried to kiss you directly.

“Kain,” He let go but swiftly kissed again under your chin, gliding down your jawbone to your ear. “For the last time-- don't make me fucking hit you--!”

Kain drug his tongue up your skin, pinning your arm behind your back to shove you further against the wall; any closer and you'd be a part of it. He took in deep whiffs of your homey smell, of the sensation of your warm skin and its smoothness on his.

"What're you going to do about it? Gonna fight me off?" The thought made him give you a cheeky grin; it was almost too easy.

When was the last time he touched something so plush… so calming compared to the flesh wound that was what was left of the world? Even the sounds of your labored breaths made Kain…excited. When it came to your body pressed and aligned with his, he couldn't help but feel overly eager in wanting to push and press you flush against him.

“Stop-! You can’t do that here-- ”

But with your writhing body and fingers digging into his scalp, he realized that doing such a feat would be harder than he imagined. Your days of carrying injured survivors into their beds and helping unload traincarts of medical supplies made you nearly a worthy rival in strength.

"Can't stop now…" you heard him mumble, a big, warm hand coming to grip your chin. He was above you, caging you in with the biceps you mocked were more well-formed than his brain. Your hand was still pinned behind you as he pushed his squishy chest against yours.

You dug in your pocket for one of the two needles you always kept on hand. You pulled out the one with a peeling sticker-- its purpose for telling the difference between the two. This particular syringe held enough to sedate a horse-- which, you complemented to Kain’s large size.

You held it up like a knife, test-squeezing a little bit of the serum out.

Kain was busy nestled into your neck one moment, and the next he wasn’t. You were so sure he had forgotten about the hand you were raising, that you paid little attention to the one pinned behind you.

Without notice that he had even caught you, the guard tugged at the wrist behind your back, twisting it against the wall unnaturally. Your breath caught into your throat, body tensing as your forearm let out a crunched pop. A weak moan of agony came from your mouth, Kain’s hand that was once petting you possessively, now slowly taking the needle from your shaking fingers.

You tried to fight him, attempting to stab him then and there. But you were no match, not when your right arm was continuing to be crushed, the longer you tustled him for the syringe.

Kain lets out a triumphant laugh, throwing the needle behind him.

“Nice trick; I didn’t know you were such a flirt, nurse. How did you know I liked a little fight?”

Kain doesn't hesitate to dig both hands into your back pants pockets, allowing you the grace of cradling your throbbing arm. He felt up what he could while removing the other syringe, and keys from your pocket.

“Now,” He started, pulling your head back toward the wall with a grip on your hair. “Let’s see this pretty mouth do what it was meant for.”

Kain practically suffocated you with his body, pinning you back as he slowly pushed his thumb into your mouth.

"Ahh-thole!" You tried to sound out.

Kain watched your plump lips open around his finger; you attempted to bite the digit invading your personal space, but Kain yoinked down on your lower jaw first. The officer pushed the pad of his finger against your tongue, sensations of the muscles smooth wetness making him shudder; your startled sounds of awe only spurring him on, the glint of drooling interest in his eyes shifting to one of excited admiration.

Your stomach sank as you saw the shift in his expression, the peak of his interest making him look like a dog in heat. You were afraid he might miss your lips and smash straight into your cheek. Kains thumb was quickly replaced with his tongue, slowly gliding against your lips as he bit their fullness. He tasted bitter, like thick smoke and faint tobacco.

Kain on the other hand, was finally…finally, getting to experience the sensation of your arousing mouth, the one he had fantasized about so many times. He fantasized about how they'd taste during your first kiss, while he ran his fingers against the dip of your back, how they'd look around his c--

Your relentless teeth made blood trickle from his bottom lip, surprising the guard as he let out a pained groan. But Kain was too stubborn, he wouldn't let you go just like that! He had gone too far now, he couldn't go back to the way things were-- he needed you, needed this.

But you felt so lewd, Kain’s forced kisses making a slew of wet sounds as he occasionally slowed to pull at your lips with his teeth for payback, leisurely grinding against whatever he could press up against. Lord, it was like a high from the heavens for him; your body, your smell, it was enveloping him in a joy he hadn’t felt since... Well, since he could last remember.

Your knee came to push deep against the officer’s crotch. You could feel the shift in between his legs as you shoved as hard as you could.

Kain let out a muffled groan, separating from you for a moment. But he only returned with a bitter laugh, kissing you between revengeful bites.

"Sweet little nurse," Kain singsonged, looking at how you winced at the burn of raw bites left on your lips. Your feet shuffled underneath, twisting and turning to wriggle your knee deeper into his crotch. "How're you gonna fight off the big bad officer? Hm?"

Kain’s leg rammed between your thighs, forcing them apart. He dug the toe of his boots into the wall, positioning so you were practically sitting on his leg.

"Fuck you," you spat, hating the way he pulled at the back of your collar to lift your head back, making it easier to kiss you. "Eat shit and die, Kain. I'm not your fucking toy-!"

The officer giggled like a schoolboy, feeling a painfully intoxicating sting from your words. The anger and yearning made it harder for him to see straight.

"We'll see about that…!" He huffed, lifting your jaw to the sky. A long, wet stripe made its way down from your chin to your ear, a shudder leaving Kain’s mouth as he swallowed the salty tang of your skin.

You heard low chatter from the radio attached to his hip, his name repeated by a deep voice.

“Officer K..ain.. four..… intruders…4--” The voice was cutting in and out, static making the message hardly discernible.

“Shit…” Kain huffed, kissing through words as the corner of his lip became smeared with blood. “Why now-- for mm.. fuck’s sake….”

Kain’s head fell low as he left your lips, hanging in frustration. You were gasping for breath as you turned your head to the side, dizziness coming in a small wave.

The surface of your skin felt hot, a sharp taste left in your mouth from Kain. The officer was currently licking over his lips, tasting the remains of your sweat and his own blood.

Your head throbbed; the sterile stench of the hospital clung inside your nostrils, thick coughs coming from the room over, your 'patient' likely still feeling the twinge of his insides bleeding out. How could you still be dealing with Kain's bullshit, while the world around you was continuing to be mauled and raped by the disease plaguing your species?

The officer was an effective distraction from your nursery duties, his grating voice interrupting your thoughts as he still clung to you.

“Nurse, help me out,” He whined. “I can’t go out there looking like this!" Cain threw his hands down, letting you go to your surprise. "C’mon what do I do? You're the expert.”

You saw what kain was referring to, his hand covering a bite of retaliation you left on his neck, and the crotch of his black pants billowing out in a restrained fashion.

“Dear g-- Kain!” your immediate reaction was to shove kain back away from you, But the guard held a hand to his forehead, hardly lurching backward from your assault. You hit him afain, repeatedly punching at him to get him back for all thar had transpored. But kain merelt pushed his hair back to show his glistening forehead, barely holding up a palm to protect himself.

Kain chuckled wryly, groping at himself in a futile effort to make his erection less noticeable.

“This is all your fault--! Fucking…Asshole--” You grunt, mumbling curses as you pushed at the man again. “You don’t have the time, anyway. Get out of here, go do your damn job.” Wiping your mouth, you look at his radio.

You were tempted to chew him out as he stood still, but Kain got to you first. Rubbing at your neck to get rid of his love bites, you fell prey to Kain’s harsh shove of your shoulders against the wall. He seemed to throw you around like a stuffed animal, his strength

Kain grabbed your shoulders, shoving you against the wall again. You let out an involuntary “umph”, as the officer pressed his flushed forehead against yours. His fingers reached for your chin again as you tried to jerk your head away.

“Look at me-- before I go,” His voice grew low and harsh as he whispered, the clear stomps of other officers clicking outside the patient room. “I suggest that if you don’t want to be reprimanded by the guild--” Kain stopped momentarily, grinning as he imagined in his head. “Come to my room. Tonight.”

“...Room?” You questioned. Ah right, all the officers got rooms to stay in, while the rest of you measly survivors had to sleep close together in tight quarters. "Like hell I'll do that. You're the reason they're on my ass, they think I told you to defend me!"

Kain frowns, dissatisfaction making him furrow his eyebrows.

"What was I supposed to do? Let that guy practically violate you with his words? I couldn't stand letting him do that." he clicked his radio off, annoyed by the continued static call of his name. "You, wouldn't have allowed that either. I know you, you would've unleashed far worse than I had; but, I saved you the trouble, and the ass beating."

"But--"

"I know i know, you're still being 'reprimanded'," Kain gagged as he scrunched his fingers. "However, i could easily sway the guild council's opinion as a leading officer… in return for something, of course."

Your eyes narrow.

"And how would you do that? You're the one that caused this whole mess in the first place!"

Kain’s mouth was left lingering open against your cheek as he tried to hold himself back.

"A few of the council members owe me some favors… I wouldn't mind cashing one in if it meant, a night with you."

The guard’s breath hitched, his damp cheek pressing against yours as you winced in disgust.

“Seriously? You're willingly playing into their corruption; disgusting.”

Kain dug his hand into your hair, taking a deep inhale of it, ignoring your criticisms. He tried to press you up against him, as if your body wanted to give him physical affection.

"Take it or leave it. It's a much better choice than the tunnels, hm?"

That made you shudder. You doubted they'd throw you to the tunnels and catacombs of the city for something like this, but who's to say you're not one mistake too close to being zombie bate.

You were too stuck in the dread of what he was asking for. You knew he wouldn’t be satisfied if you let him have you, even if it was just for a night; he’d always come crawling back for more, until he completely consumed you. But did you really want to deal with his bullshit if you didn’t show up?

The radio chimed again, and Kain caught himself before he lashed out again, merely letting out an annoyed grunt.

“Got it?” He asked, pressing his knuckles against your jaw.

The guard didn’t wait for an answer, instead squeezing your face with one hand and pushing a multitude of kisses on your bruised lips. You tightened your lips shut, trying to turn and grunting as he kissed and kissed and kissed, not a thought of pulling away-- until the radio snatched his attention again.

All of a sudden Kain’s hands were off of you, his bulky body had pushed past the privacy curtain, leaving it closed. You heard the door shut as he stormed out; shutting the door with a tight firmness that irked you. Letting out an exasperated sigh, you listened to his heavy military boots trudge down the hospital corridors, waiting for them to be completely silent.

That silence was quickly filled once again however, your mind snapping back into work mode as the dying man in the adjacent room’s hospital bed began another violent coughing fit.

You shut kain out of your mind-- but in the back of your head, you mentally played what you felt would happen tonight if you took up his offer. Hell, what were you going to do with him?

Murder was starting to sound real tempting.

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jaytipede · 10 days

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#oc lore #oc #original art #original character #2000s #doodle #dark fiction

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anchoeritic · 2 years

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「 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐞, 𝐢 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐭. 」

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: stepdad!sam x fem!reader x stepdad’sbestfriend!bucky

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ only // minors dni // nsfw content, dark!fic, cnc kink (dubcon/non-con), step-cest, angry/possessive sam eek(he has reasoning shhh), daddy kink, spit kink, overstimulation, ddlg dynamics, slight bondage, oral (male receiving), deepthroating, choking kink, face slapping, manipulation, degradation kink, anal & vaginal fingering, ass play, dacryphilia(crying kink), hair pulling kink, the pet name ‘peach’, voyeurism kink, them basically fighting over you, squirting. if you are upset/easily triggered by any of these warnings, go ahead and click off.

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: "your body is mine to use, mine to control," pressing a soft kiss to your wet cheek "mine to share."

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this is a repost of one of my older dark fanfics, but do feel free to send in new ideas for future fics! reblogs and feedback are always appreciated, thank you. <3

a breathy chuckle left from his lips as his gaze moved back to your trembling body. your legs were still shaking from the previous orgasm, wrists all scratched up from the many harsh attempts at trying to escape from him.

the light in your eyes no longer showing, replaced with the shade of lust; dark red. your pupils were wider than usual, it was like you were under some spell. his spell.

"little girl, you knew the consequences," placing a finger under your chin "yet you still tried to fuckin' play with me." he ended the sentence off angrily, jerking your face the other way.

you broke his rules again. it wasn't entirely your fault. you couldn't help but feel something whenever your stepfather's friend came by.

he was tall, had broad shoulders, patchy face with the littlest bit of fuzz around his rosy lips. the most intimidating eyes; if he looked long enough, you swore it would pierce through you.

his presence was enough to send chills down your spine. every time his truck drove up to your driveway, your thighs would rub together, the place between your legs starting to ache out of desperation. neediness.

it was wrong to feel something towards your stepfather's best friend. your daddy's pal from work. to imagine his face between your thighs, to wonder how your fingers would feel tangled up in his hair.

to feel your pussy throb whenever he called you 'sweetheart', imagining him balls deep inside your cunt, thrusting into you at an intimate pace.

to hear his praises, to listen to him call you his good girl after you creamed all over his cock.

to taste him.

if it was so wrong, then why did it feel so good?

"you can never keep your legs shut, can you?" he growled, laying a light smack against your cheek. "thought you were daddy's girl," cupping your jaw roughly, bringing your face right in front of his "seems like you're not daddy's at all after all, huh?"

"just a little slut who can't follow rules." you whimpered, starting to tear up at the increase in volume in his voice.

you had him angry. you got him furious this time.

"i-i'm sorry, daddy!" you babbled out. "didn't mean to, didn't mean to!"

he laughed, tilting his head back a little as an evil grin spread across his lips. it wasn't usual that you were a brat, especially towards your daddy. and he knew that, he knew his little girl. but today, you were in for a ride.

the grip on your jaw tightened. "didn't mean to? is that your excuse?" his foot tapped your pussy slowly, making your legs open up. a quiet cry fell from your throat as the tip of his leather shoe went on to assault your overstimulated clit.

"you think you can trick me, little girl?" he tested you, chuckling at the thought of you trying to lie to him.

you shook your head quickly in response, the tears in your eyes threatening to spill out at any given moment. "never-- never, daddy!"

sam smiled darkly, pulling your face impossibly closer, his warm breath fanning over your face.

"listen here, girl--" you whined, trying to get out of his grip. "stop fucking moving!" he spat. the hand around your jaw was no longer there, but slid down to your throat, choking you aggressively.

"you fucking listen to me right now, i'm not going along with your stupid attitude anymore." sam mumbled through his clenched teeth. "i make the rules here, i rule over you," practically spitting on you now "you are my puppet. you are for my use. you go under my rules, girl."

his foot tapped your bare cunt again, causing your body to jolt up out of sensitivity. "understand?"

you nodded your head, obeying him. "just daddy's silly little puppet." you repeated, blinking.

your glassy eyes broke into shards, the hot tears falling down the palettes of your cheeks. his puppet. he hummed in response, confirming.

"your body is mine to use, mine to control," pressing a soft kiss to your wet cheek "mine to share."

share? you thought, confused. not once had he brought up the conversation of another person in your relationship. the thought of someone else fucking your his pussy always got him worked up and angry. so what was he talking about?

who was he talking about?

the door swung open, a tall figure coming into your view. broad shoulders, tall, leather gloves, strong jaw structure.

"hello again, peach" the voice called out, walking closer towards you two. "don't tell me you already forgot about me."

it was your stepfather's best friend; bucky barnes.

bucky laughed in amusement, the sight of you all teary-eyed making him pity you. "had you crying for more a few days ago, peach"

"i'm sure you remember."

sam cackled, removing his hand from your throat, letting you fall forward. “oh, i’m sure she does” licking his lips “don’t you, peach?” he mocked, shaking his head at you.

“i-i—“ you stuttered, looking up at bucky with widened eyes.

“shall we take a trip down memory lane, sweetness?” bucky offered, swiping his thumb over your cupid’s bow gently. you hummed, biting the insides of your cheeks. “hm, good.”

his thumb fell down to the slit of your lips, the tip of the finger sliding between the pair. he leaned down beside you, lips beside your ear. “show him how you scream for me, peach”

“i know you want me. you crave me. show him how much you need me.”

a bright smile spread across your lips as you heard his words fall from within. you sure did want him, and you definitely craved him. but how much were you willing to risk for your stepdad’s work pal?

the zipper on his pants flew down in an instant, bucky being too impatient to wait for your confirmation. he wanted to be inside you already. whether it was down your throat or sunk in your tight cunt; he was just as desperate as you were for him.

your touch was different. you were on the gentler side, soft side really. you weren’t like the other older girls he usually slept around with. you were warm, you had something within you that made him want more. was it the risk? the thrill?

both? one may never know.

pumping himself in front of you, he moaned at the sight of you on your knees for him. it was a scene he couldn’t take off his mind. it was forever engraved inside his little box of thoughts. dirty thoughts.

bucky was fucking his best friend’s stepdaughter. how much more dirty can this be? your hands were tied up behind your back, you had tears streaming down your face, he walked in on you getting put in place by sam, how much dirtier can this be?

“open up, darlin’,” he instructed, tapping his tip against the heart of your lips. “promise it’ll fit, don’t you worry, peach.”

“mmm..” you opened your mouth, letting his cock fill your throat entirely.

bucky groaned, throwing his head back. “see, you’re doing so good” rocking his hips to meet your bobs “just like how i remember; so damn perfect.”

your pussy throbbed at the praise, he knew what his words did to you, what the pet name did. your panties dampened, the wetness between your legs increasing.

he placed his hands on the top of your head, pushing you down. your eyes stinging with tears as you took him deeper down your throat, the bulge of his cock starting to show. saliva dripped from the sides of your mouth, spilling everywhere on the floor.

“peach, you really are my cockslut, aren’t you? you love taking my cock down your throat, don’t you?”

sam scoffed from behind, looking away from the two of you. jealous? yes. but who’s fault was that? he was willing to share you and your body, he’s the only one to blame. guess "mine to share." wasn’t an honest statement after all, huh?

“fuck, i’m about to cum.” you began to bob your head faster, trying to quicken up his climax, only for him to pull his hips away from you.

the fingers that were tangled in your hair pulled you backwards unexpectedly, causing you to start coughing from the sudden wind of air shooting throughout your air ways.

“as much as i’d love to cum in your mouth,” cupping your cheeks “i’d rather cum in that pretty pussy of yours, peach.”

bucky smirked, leaning down to kiss you sloppily. “gotta get you ready for me first, okay, peach?”

you giggled, kissing him back. “mhm..”

he laid you on your back softly, spreading your legs open with his palms. sam walked closer to you, crouching down beside your sprawled out body.

sam started “isn’t it odd that you call her peach yet love to play with her pussy, barnes” slapping the inside of your thigh.

“shut it, sam.” he grumbled, swatting his hand away from you.

sam raised his eyebrow, placing his hand back on your thigh. “remember who’s she is, buck.”

he ignored him, running his metal hand down your sex. his fingers gathered all the wetness around your cunt, using it as easier access to your holes. bucky’s finger circled around your clit in figure 8’s, smiling evilly as he felt your body spasm.

your chest heaved up and down heavily, flashes of red coming into your view. “b-bucky, fuck, bucky…” you cried, hoisting your hips up.

he dipping his cold fingers into you, sinking them deep between your velvet walls. he pumped his fingers into you at a pleasurable pace, keeping the rhythm slow and deep.

“cry for me, peach. fuckin’ sob for me.” he whispered, curling his fingers inside of you, making your orgasm impossible to avoid.

he was really stretching you out this time. preparing you, as he calls it. making sure you’re tight enough, ready enough for him.

“‘m gonna cum, i-i’m gonna cum!” you chanted, rolling your eyes back.

“cum for me. cum all over my fingers.”

your orgasm goes by quicker than expected, the curl of his fingers tipping you over the edge. a wave of pleasure ran over you, sending violent chills all throughout your body.

a broken cry escaped from your lips, your eyes seeing starry skies. blanks of white and black, tiny sparkles taking over your sight.

he watched in satisfaction as your eyes rolled back in pleasure. your thighs trembled, attempting to close shut on his arm. fuck, you were a work of art.

the face of an innocent angel, body of the dirtiest sinner, you were practically made to take him. to take both of them. your beautiful lips wrapping around his cock perfectly, the pretty sound of your moans were like music to his ears.

the soft jiggle of your breasts when he would thrust his fingers into you, the way your lips parted when you were about to cum.

they were obsessed with you.

sam snickered, running his hand down your thigh, pushing them apart. “nuh-uh - we’re not done, little one.” smirking.

“open up again, baby.”

you obeyed, spreading your trembling legs apart slowly. if it wasn’t for the support of bucky’s hand on your ankle guiding you, your leg would’ve been down on the ground already.

“she has such a tight pussy, doesn’t she?” sam asked bucky, pressing a kiss to your knee.

bucky nodded, discreetly licking his lips. “the tightest.” making your cheeks heat up.

sam’s hand slid down the inside of your thigh, his fingers brushing over your used cunt. “tightest pussy, hm?”

“let’s see how tight that fuckin’ ass is then.”

your eyes widened, “but daddy, i can’t—“ his other hand came at your throat for the second time, rougher than it was before. squeezing the sides of your neck, he had you looking back up at him with glossy eyes.

“you can, and you will.” he growled. “remember who fucking owns this body, little one.”

gulping, you nodded your head once again, convincing him to drop his hand from your neck. “s-sorry, daddy.”

his fingers circled over your second - most forbidden hole yet, using your previous orgasm as lube, and spreading it around.

with a quivering lip, you moved your gaze back onto bucky, looking at him with scared eyes. he grinned softly back at you, placing his hand on your cheek, starting to caress it.

he was trying to comfort you. “shh… you’re going to love it, peach. i promise.” you understood, blinking your eyes. “you promise, buck?” whispering; voice coming out a little exhausted

“i promise, my peach.” his thumb smoothed over the top of your cheek sweetly.

it was now sam’s turn to pull down his zipper.his dress pants fell down to his ankles as he loosened the belt that held it together, pulling the end of the leather out from the metal loop. he folded his belt, holding onto it with one hand.

"peach, peach, peach, huh?" sam mocked again out of jealousy, shaking his head. "keep that shit to yourself, barnes. you're nothing compared to me."

his finger sunk into your tightest hole, stretching you out in the slowest way possible. the feeling was foreign to you, you had never experienced anything like this. getting fucked in the ass was always a dream of yours, but you were never brave enough to ask, let alone, try it at all.

he wiggled the tip of his finger, moving it in and out. "daddy," you gasped, raising your head up high to try to see the way his digit disappeared into your ass. "i-it feels so good..."

sam raised an eyebrow "who's making you feel this good, baby?"

"you, daddy." you breathlessly confessed.

bucky clenched his jaw, kissing his teeth. "don't you get it, barnes? i'm the one she runs back to every night." anger rose in both the men; the pace of sam's fingering starting to quicken up, bucky tightening his fist.

"you know the way to her heart, but you'll never know the way to her limit like i do."

"you got her to break my rules, but you'll never get her to obey you like she does with me. i started with her," your cries getting louder, the pain of the stretch turning into pure pleasure "and i will fuckin' end with her."

"shut the fuck up, sam." bucky snarled back, slipping his hand down to your pussy. the pad of his finger came in contact with the sensitive nub of your clit, brushing over it gently.

your body shook, legs trembling; struggling to stay up any longer. "i can't- too much!"

"or what?" sam challenged bucky, scoffing "she's my little girl."

bucky pinched your clit, "your little girl? you can barely keep your "little girl" under control around me" causing you to squeal "she can't help but always spread her damn legs, wilson."

another orgasm was building up inside you, your stomach bubbling. the pleasure was so hard to try to ignore. bucky playing with your clit, sam fucking you in your ass; it felt too good, you couldn't hold it any longer.

"daddy- bucky!" you called out, trying to shut your legs together, only for them to each push a thigh down with their free hands, pinning your knees beside your head.

"when did i say you can fuckin' talk, little one?" sam shot at you "the adults are talking, peach." bucky quickly backed him up.

"b-but--"

"no but's. stay quiet." sam ordered, bucky smacking your cunt lightly causing your body to jolt.

the more he threw you around, the more they used you, the more you felt. the pain, the pleasure, the thrill, the bliss. you felt it all, it had your insides churning.

you were just a silly little puppet. their toy. they were fighting over you. your body. like you were the last one on the shelf.

letting out a loud wail, another orgasm crashed on you; the most powerful one yet. you were shaking violently, your thighs vibrating. you swore you felt your soul getting ripped right out of you.

"no more, no more!" sam and bucky's attention got back on you, the sight in front of them causing their pants to grow tighter, their cocks stirring in desperation.

you were cumming hard. squirting. you had tears streaming down your cheeks, fluid squirting from your pussy. you were a sight for sore eyes.

"daddy!" you whined once more, arching your back off the floor. "good, too good!"

bucky licked his lips, swatting your clit faster. he knew what he was doing to you. you knew what he was doing to you. he wanted more.

sam's eyes darkened, a smile spreading on his lips in amazement.

"c'mon, peach, i know you got a little more in you."

your eyes stung, "no, no!" only making him go faster. "one more for us, baby." sam spoke.

"i know you can do it, my sweet girl."

a broken sob fell from your lips, the last one of the night(or so you thought). you were cumming hard again, the immense amount of pleasure not being able to stop your body, only encouraging it to go harder.

you were out of breath, numb. you couldn't feel your throat anymore; your screams ruining your vocal cords. your thighs wouldn't stop shaking, it was like the pleasure wouldn't stop. it was like torture in the most pleasing way.

"there ya go, peach. so good for me." bucky praised.

you were all over their clothes, your fluids coating the entirety of bucky and sam's hand. "p-please no more." you hiccuped.

the two men sent each other a side-eye, the evil spark in their eyes causing them both to smirk down at you.

"who said we were done with you?"

"i-i just-" you started, interrupted by sam. "i make the rules here, sweetheart. don't get it twisted."

"my body, my pussy," he leaned down, coming face to face with you.

"my puppet to use."

#bucky barnes x reader #sam wilson x reader #bucky barnes #sam wilson #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes smut #sam wilson smut #sam wilson x you #sam wilson x y/n #dark fiction #dark fic #dark!sam #dark!bucky x reader #stepdad!sam #dbf!bucky

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ctrlsht · 6 months

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Fragment of the Past 01

pairing: patient!jungkook x psychiatrist!reader genre: thriller & yandere au

chapter summary: As you get to know your patient, Jeon Jungkook, you begin to notice that something is wrong with him, until the day he confesses to you what really happened during the night of the incident.

chapter warnings: mention of PTSD and depression, mention of hatred towards the family, mention of murder. This chapter is the only chapter that isn’t too heavy. word count: 8K

note: This fiction will contain multiple mental disorders and psychology facts. I conducted my own research to avoid spreading misinformation, but there may be aspects I've overlooked, so I am open for any corrections.

"Dr. Y/N, your next patient is already waiting outside. Shall I invite him in?" Soyeon asked while holding the doorknob, your office door slightly ajar. You leaned back in your swivel chair, glancing at the clock hanging beside the door. Soyeon stood patiently, awaiting your response.

“It’s still 2:30 and my next session is 3 o’clock. He arrived early?”

“Yes, he did. In fact, he already arrived at 2. Although he mentioned not informing you since it’s still early.”

You looked at the clock once again and contemplated your decision. You still have 30 minutes before the new session starts but you’re not going to do anything, anyway. Just like your next patient, you’re just waiting for the clock to strike at 3.

“Let him in. We’ll just start early.”

After a few moments, the door opened once again and a tall muscular man entered the room. His movements are slow like he has all the time in the world and when he faced you, his eyes sparkled, and he offered a subdued smile without revealing his teeth. He removed his black ball cap and extended his hand, presenting you with a box of cake.

“Good afternoon, doc. I’m sorry I’m too early from the original schedule but I got you a strawberry cake. Heard that you love them.” He said.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind. Thank you and it’s nice to see that you’re in a good mood, Jungkook.” You smiled and reached the box of cake that he gave you. He smiled even wider as he removed his leather jacket and you immediately saw his full sleeve tattoo on his right arm. They were beautiful. It perfectly suits him.

“Thanks, doc. I’m happy that I didn’t dream about ‘that’ nightmare and I believe it’s because of the medicine that you prescribe me. You help me a lot.” He responds, sitting on the white sofa facing your desk.

When he is settled down on the couch in front of your office table, you press the ‘record’ button of your phone. You record your session with your patient for your advantage. It helps you review and recall the discussion that you had with them, and it’s useful whenever you’re writing a book. Having the recordings allows you to convey your words more precisely.

Of course, you always ask for their consent to record the conversation. However, there are patients who do not agree with it, and in such cases, you still record them. They wouldn't know, would they?

“Well, that’s good to know.” You said and got the folder placed on the side of your table and opened it. It’s the record of him for you to easily navigate his diagnoses. “Are you still visiting the gym like I’ve recommended to you?”

“Yes I do and it helps me to distract my mind to what happened. Going back to the gym helps me a lot, honestly. It’s hard to push myself to go back at first but as I was in there, it became easier.” His smile is like a pill that can light anyone’s mood. It is so bright and contagious. No one will guess that he suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder. He witnessed how his mother died in front of him exactly six months ago and he suffers a lot. He’s unable to talk for weeks after the incident happened and was advised to attend psychotherapy.

Right now, he has made significant progress, and you're glad about it. Throughout your sessions with him, you've observed how he copes with his trauma and understands what's going on in his mind. It's a major trauma for him to witness what happened to his mother. According to studies, women are more likely to develop PTSD than men, and you've handled multiple cases with women experiencing PTSD. However, in your years in this career, he is the only man you've treated with this specific diagnosis. It's a new experience for you, especially since it's your first encounter with a male patient with this condition. You've conducted extensive research, but there are still things your patient does that contradict what you've read.

“During the weekends, I spend all night reading your book, Dr. Y/N and it helps me so much. Plus, it’s good and I love it. I can’t wait for you to release the book that you’re writing right now. When did you plan on releasing them?” He crosses his legs as he looks at you with so much adoration.

“I haven’t finished writing it so I haven’t planned the date of release.” you replied, turning your attention back to the folder in your hand. “I’m glad that my books help you. Do you think that you’ve already overcome your trauma with the event that happened?” You looked at him and the smile that he had seconds ago was gone. His lips were formed into a straight line and he stared at you. It only happens for seconds and he immediately brings his bright expression once again.

“I’m not quite sure about that, Dr. Y/N. I may be happy right now, but later on, I’ll remember the tragic event once again.” He responded.

“It’s okay. It really happens. Healing from your trauma doesn’t happen in a short period of time. But eventually, you’ll be okay. It may not be right now nor tomorrow but one day,” you assured him.

“Will you leave me after I completely heal, Doc?” he leaned forward, his gaze intense. You didn’t respond right away and waited if he’s about to add more with his statement but turns out, he’s also waiting for your response.

“Well, that’s quite the opposite, Jungkook. You’ll be the one to leave me after our final session comes to an end.” You tried to smile. “And as your doctor, I genuinely want you to heal and move on to continue living with your life.”

“Then I’m not quite sure if I’ll be happy for our final session to come to an end.”

You achieved success as a psychiatrist and book author within just four years of your career. Your excellence in your work is a result of the praises you've received from people. You've built a strong reputation and you're determined to maintain it. While you may be at the top now, you know there's still a long road ahead. You're committed to continuing to excel in what you do and to break numerous records..

The day has finally ended and you are still inside your office room as you continue on writing your ongoing book. The paradox of choice. You’ve released three books and this is going to be your fourth one. You’ve been pouring your blood, sweat and tears in every book that you’ve released resulting in its success and you’re confident that this ongoing book will be the same.

You have nothing else to do except to work 24/7. You’ve been doing this for the past four years already and you have no problem with it. In fact, you love everything you do. But there are people who’s against your life cycle.

As you type on your laptop, your phone chimes, seeing a notification from your friend, Taehyung. He's been your friend since you were in diapers.

Taehyung: You’re not at home. Where are you?

You: Clinic. Why?

Taehyung: what the. At this hour?

You didn’t respond because you figured out that he doesn’t have anything to do but to disturb you and honestly, you don’t have the time for that.

Taehyung: Join me for dinner. It’s on me.

You: Can’t you eat by yourself and you have to treat me just for you to have dinner?

Taehyung: You talked as if we’re not friends. Come on, Y/N. I know you love your job but don’t wait until you are the one who becomes a patient.

Taehyung doesn’t understand you. You’re doing what you love and you don’t have a problem with it yet he thought that you were drowning yourself with work. You can choose what you want and you choose to burn yourself from work. You don’t have any problems with it.

You decide to fix your things and get ready for Taehyung to pick you up. As much as you love your career, you also cherish your friendship with him. He's your only friend, and you don't want to lose him. You've come to consider him as family.

“My father is asking me again if I can now run the business in New York." Taehyung said as he got the pork belly from the grill and placed it in his bowl of rice before he put it together in his mouth.

“Tell him you haven't decided." You respond subconsciously while wrapping the pork in the lettuce and eat it.

“What amazing advice coming from a therapist herself.” Taehyung smirked.

"What is your decision then?"

"I don't really know, Y/N." He released a deep breath and continued. "I do want to manage it but I can't. I love what I'm doing right now."

Since his teenage years, Taehyung has been destined to inherit his father's assets, including the family company. However, Taehyung chose a different path and became a successful musician and artist. He's content with his career until his father reminds him of his obligation to take over the family's oil company in New York. He has been wrestling with this difficult situation for years and has yet to find a solution.

“Try to do both.” You suggest while having a mouthful of pork belly.

“I don’t know if you’re fucking with me or what but damn, Y/N. If you’re my therapist, I’ll immediately leave your clinic and find another one.” Taehyung rolled his eyes and you tried not to laugh. "I can't choose both and you know that!"

You do want to help your friend to get out of this situation but the only thing you can do is give emotional and moral support because you don't have control over his family. You do feel sorry for him but you can't do much.

"The conflict between personal desires and altruistic choices has been common in dealing with ethical dilemmas. Choosing a decision between what you want and what your father wants that will be beneficial for the majority is quite a difficult situation and you need to weigh them according to how you see it. Your father has been there for you and in return, he wants you to handle his business not only for the benefit of him but also for you." You pause and take a bite of kimchi before you continue. "But you wanted to keep pursuing the career you have right now. It's a personal gain. It's up to you if you become selfish or selfless."

Many researchers have presented real-life ethical dilemmas and case studies to understand how people navigate decisions that involve personal desires and the welfare of others. These studies often highlight the complexity and context-dependency of such choices which is what Taehyung is experiencing right now.

If you were to decide with his situation, you'd choose to continue with his career that he has right now. Life is too short to become selfless. What society makes people believe can result in each and everyone's failure.

If he chooses to do what his father wants, it won't guarantee success, as he has no clue about running their business. And even if he manages to muster the passion to understand how it works, he might not only fail himself but also disappoint his father.

You ended the night with Taehyung bringing you back to the clinic to get your car. It was nice catching up with him once in a while and hopefully, it won't happen often. Taehyung has known you since forever and he knows that even if you love him, you will still choose your work over him.

You were about to open the door of the driver seat of your car when you felt something. Or more of someone.

You don't hear any noise coming from afar or nearby and you're certain that you're the only one who is at the parking lot in front of the clinic but you feel like there is a pair of eyes that's watching you. You're facing the two-story building of the clinic and catch sight of anyone but the only thing you see is a light coming from the entrance and nothing else.

You slowly turn around to see the surroundings and the only thing you see is a quiet night street illustrated by a few streetlights. There is no one, yet you can still feel that pair of eyes looking at you.

You weren't sure if it's because of overworking or the alcohol you've consumed tonight but you're certain that one of it is the reason why you are having this kind of imagination.

—

“Good morning, Yunjin. You look pale today. What’s wrong?” You looked at your patient that’s seated across the sofa in front of you. Her lips were paper thin and she continuously blinked her eyes. Yunjin is a 25-year old diagnosed with persistent depressive disorder and she's been your patient for a year already. Being diagnosed with depression can cause a lot of factors including imbalances in brain chemicals like serotonin and norepinephrine. These imbalances can occur in anyone, regardless of their external circumstances. In Yunjin’s situation, it’s caused by her genes and hormones and most likely, she inherited from her family.

Yunjin came from a well known family and her life is what every person dreams to have. She already has everything yet she still suffers with depression.

Not because a person has a wealthy and happy life doesn’t mean they do not encounter problems.

“It’s happening again. I’ve lost track of my motivation to continue painting.” She speaks hoarsely. “Last week, I’m pouring all my hardwork and energy into what I’m working on but now, I’ve messed up. And I don’t even know why I am doing this because my work is mediocre in the first place.”

“You know that’s not true, Yunjin. Your paintings are amazing. I love them so much, especially the one you gave me.” You said carefully.

“No, you don’t understand. My works are trash compared to others.” Her voice is already trembling—on the verge of crying.

“Everyone has a unique and creative way to express their works. Not because you think that the works of others are more creative means yours are not. Your paintings are a masterpiece, Yunjin and I won’t get tired of reminding you about that.”

Yunjin is one of your patients who is incredibly transparent. She is consistently honest and open about her feelings, and you have played a significant role in nurturing this honesty. Over your years of being a psychotherapist, you’ve encountered thousands of patients with different problems and diagnosis. You’ve known the ins and outs of them and you’ve mastered the meaning of every action they’ve made and words they’ve said. You also know if they’re telling the truth or not and you can spot it within a single session.

That’s what you’re known—for being an excellent psychiatrist.

However, you’re not yet perfect and still working with your skills. You know that you’re already great but there is still room for improvement.

Not because you’re confident with how you read your patients means that it’s the truth. Sometimes, they deceive you and that’s a case that you have to improve with yourself.

It’s almost five and a few moments from now, you’ll have your last patient for the day. The truth is, you’re already exhausted with all the work you did today and given that it’s friday. Tomorrow, it’s a rest day, therefore, things should be done until today if you want to enjoy the weekend. But in your case, you’ll most probably work with the book you’re currently writing.

Jeon Jungkook is your last patient for the day and hopefully, after the session, both of you will feel relief.

“Hello, Dr. Y/N. You look so tired. Are you okay?” Jungkook asked you as he removed his bomber jacket revealing his full sleeve tattoo. He has a taste in fashion and it suits him so well. With his tall and muscular body, he can wear anything and still look stunning. Beside his body build, Jungkook is handsome. With his beautiful doe eyes and perfect smile, he can captivate anyone. And it’s something that you should be cautious about.

“I’m fine, Jungkook. You don’t have to worry about me.” You slightly smile and insist him to sit on the sofa. “Please take a seat. How are you?” You try to energize your voice to hide your exhaustion.

"Today was supposed to be great until one of my employees messed around at work. His name is Bryan, and ever since he got hired, he's been getting on my nerves. If it weren't for the fact that he's my uncle's son, I would have fired him right from the beginning," he began, settling into his seat.

“What happened?”

“He lost the memory card of the camera I used from the photoshoot yesterday and now, we had to redo the shoot.” His eyebrows scrunch as he tightens his lips.

“Your feelings are valid, Jungkook. It’s okay to feel that way. What you can do to control your emotions when you’re in that situation is to leave and take a break where you can breathe.”

“You’re right. But now, I feel okay. Relief even. I just fired him from being incompetent. Someone like him doesn’t belong in my studio, anyway.”

You take a pause to look at him. He looks at you with a blank stare and when he does that, he’s unbothered or doesn’t care. You admit that he’s not easy to read but you’ve learned to master his gesture and there is something about him that feels off.

“Can you tell me why his action results in you firing him?”

“Because he’s useless and I don’t need useless people in my team.” He responds like the answer is already obvious.

“Don’t you think that he can improve?” His gaze intensifies and after a moment, he smirks.

“My studio is not a training ground, Dr. Y/N. It’s a place where you should already master what you’re doing.” His fingers move in his lips to play with it, eyes still bore at you.

“I’ve established my business from the scratch and I’ve poured my blood sweat and tears just for my business to be in where it is now. Perhaps, I have the right to do anything that's better for my studio. I know what my worth is. Don’t you think, Dr. Y/N?”

He’s full of himself. But you didn’t say that.

“Well, you have a point, Jungkook. But you’re the one who said it. Your studio is made from scratch and perhaps, you know what being in your lowest point feels like.” You try to smile genuinely. “It’s okay to know your worth and at the same time, look back where you came from.” You looked at his medical records and proceeded. “How’s your condition? Are you still experiencing anxiety?”

“30 minutes ago. When I was traveling to get here.”

“Why? What’s running in your mind?” He wiggled his ankle and continued to play with his lips, thinking of the answer.

“I was nervous during the ride. I don’t know but sometimes, you make me feel nervous.” He let out a playful chuckle.

“Why?”

“The fact that you knew everything about me makes me feel something. You’ve known everything about me yet I don’t know a single thing about you.” You don’t understand what's his point so you try to laugh to ease the heavy feeling you feel right now.

“Of course, you knew me, Jungkook. You’ve mentioned that you knew me even before the session started.” You give him a smile and you put down the folder that you are holding right now.

"Yeah, I know you, Doc. Everyone knows you. I'm aware of everything that's public about you. What I want to know is who Dr. Y/N is without her MD and PhD. What do you do during your days off, and what are your hobbies besides helping people with their problems?" He glanced at the wall beside you, where a painting of you hangs. It's a picture of you that people can see in your books, a gift from Yunjin.

You’ve known Jeon Jungkook with his traumas and all however, you don’t know what he’s up to right now. He entered your clinic being a fragile person with his traumas and right now, it felt like you’re talking to another person. Maybe because this is him without his diagnosis.

And you don’t know how to feel about it.

—

It’s a photoshoot day for a magazine featuring you as a doctor and an author as well. It’s a media organization focusing on psychology and human behavior and you’re delighted to be featured for the upcoming magazine. You’ve already featured in some magazine but this time, it’s different because it’s ‘Psychology Today.’

You’re now on your way going to the studio with your team along with your agent, Kim. You seem to look calm and relax but deep down, nervousness is wrapping your insides. It is by far the biggest media organization where you will be featured and it’s another achievement of yours.

As you get out of your car, you weren’t surprised that the location where the photoshoot is going to be held is this enormous. It’s a four-story building located at the center of the city. You’re not sure if the media organization also owns this but as you looked at the name of the building, it looks like it isn’t.

GCF Studio

As you enter the building, you are greeted by enthusiastic guards and staff, which motivates you even more for this shoot with them. The interior is minimalist, with the entire first floor being plain white. When you walk through the glass door, the first thing you see is the reception desk. To the right, there are couches and a coffee table where people can wait, and to the left, there's a cafeteria. You walk straight ahead toward the elevator, and one of your assistants presses the button for the third floor.

As the elevator door opened, you were greeted by a hallway with various doors, clearly indicating it's a working area where the shoot takes place. You walk a few steps before entering through double doors, where you find a bustling room filled with people busy at work. It resembles a dressing room but on a larger scale, with various outfits hanging, and several vanity mirrors where people can prepare for their shoot. It's fantastic.

“Good morning Dr. Y/N. Before we proceed with the shoot, I’d like to discuss with you what look you’ll be having for today. You also have full control of what you would like to look at and we’re here to assist you.” You are greeted by a young male with full of feminine energy. He’s tall and petite wearing a white blouse and a sweater that is hanging on his shoulder. He leads the way and you smile before you follow him.

You’ve thought that this photoshoot will only take an hour of your time but you’re wrong because an hour just passed and they were still dressing you up. You didn’t feel uncomfortable because everyone is approachable and enthusiastic. They made you feel that you’re indeed their client.

After an hour and a half of preparation, you finally entered the photoshoot studio, and once again, you found many people inside. You're not entirely sure about each person's specific role here, but everyone is clearly occupied.

But the atmosphere immediately changed when the door swung open. It was chaotic seconds ago and right now, everyone is silent looking at the person who just entered.

You saw a familiar figure. His tall and muscular figure is very familiar to you. He’s wearing a black slacks and a casual long sleeve polo that’s folded up until his elbow where you can clearly see half of his tattoo while his hair is pulled back.

Jeon Jungkook is undeniably handsome and he knows it.

“What’s this chaos? I told you that once I’ve entered the studio, everything should be ready.” His voice was threatening as he spoke with authority. A side of him that you’re not surprised to see.

What surprised you is the fact that he’s inside of the studio.

What is he doing here?

Everyone works silently as if they were being oppressed in their workplace. They were enthusiastic and approachable seconds ago and it all changed when he entered inside.

“Good morning, Dr. Y/N. It wasn’t obvious how you look surprised to see me here, aren’t you?” Jungkook gave you a boastful smile like he doesn’t look threatening a few moments ago.

A sign of bipolar disorder.

“Welcome to GCF Studio where there is no room for failure.”

You will be working with one of your patients and you’re not even aware of that.

Ethically, there is nothing wrong with working with your patients outside the session but you aren’t fond of that. The idea of working with your patient outside the session doesn’t suit you and particularly with the patient that is in front of you right now.

You haven’t thought of the reason why but you just don’t.

Everything is already set up, and you are now behind the backdrop while Jungkook is holding the camera, ready to capture everything. You're confident in the outcome of this shoot, but at this moment, it feels like everything is crashing down at your feet. Everyone is looking at you with high hopes for the result of this photoshoot, and you wouldn't want to ruin it.

“Smile for me, Y/N.”

—

You don’t know how you manage to end the photoshoot smoothly knowing that Jungkook is making you uncomfortable. You were mad at yourself because you don’t know why you felt that way. He isn’t doing anything but to do his job in taking a photo of you.

Now that you're home, you don't have anything to be distressed about when thinking about what happened during the shoot.

You have to admit that there is something wrong with his words and actions. There are signs that he’s becoming manipulative and a sudden change of mood. He's self-absorbed and lacks remorse for others. You’ve been thinking that there are other diagnoses with his actions and behaviors however, you cannot suddenly show up and tell what other illness he has. You still have to observe your sessions with him.

You have now freshen up and are ready to rest but you decide to visit your office to check your schedule for tomorrow and the following days. You only have one patient for tomorrow and most of your schedules are meetings. Before you log out, you glance at the folder of Jungkook in your patient list and you click it subconsciously.

Jeon Jungkook, 31-year old male who suffers from PTSD, after surviving an extremely traumatic incident.

He witnessed his mother die in front of him and aside from that, he was also shot in his left thighs twice. And it happens in the comfort of their home.

The suspect? A loan shark who’s coming for his mother.

There are a lot of questionable things that happened during the incident and one of them is how come that he always claimed to have a successful business while his mother is buried in debt? He also claimed that he doesn’t know about the debt of his mother. There are several inconsistencies in his story but the bottom line is, the loan shark surrendered and is now in maximum security prison for murdering his mother.

You transfer the recordings you made over the following days to your computer and listen to one of them, specifically the conversations you had with Jungkook.

You have 12 sessions in total with him and you have 5 more sessions left before it finally comes to an end. You don’t count the remaining number of sessions with your patient until now.

—

You love to read books during your free time, However, it most likely does not happen due to your busy schedule. But right now, you take a break from everything and decide to go on a date with yourself. You don’t normally take a break but you’re becoming busier than usual and you don’t want to risk your health because you know that there are a lot of people that need you.

You’re not a fan of going out and you prefer to stay at home and rest but getting out of your comfort zone won’t hurt you. You decided to visit your favorite cafe and do your thing there. You dislike rowdy places, that’s why you went early in the morning where people are still in the comfort of their bed.

You underestimate the morning and how you’re used to people getting up mostly before lunch yet there are people who also like you—waking up at 6 in the morning to get a morning coffee in their favorite cafe.

“Dr. Y/N! You’re here!” You lift your head to see Jeon Jungkook standing in front of you with his bright smile while holding a cup of coffee.

Among all the people you could meet here, you don't understand why it had to be him.

“Jungkook. I didn’t know you’re here.” You try to return the smile and you almost fail when he sits in front of you.

He’s wearing a casual polo shirt and a pair of ripped jeans. Unlike the last time you saw him, every strand of his hair is falling into a harmonious arrangement. It looks so soft and suits him well. He looked effortlessly handsome as usual.

“Just grab a coffee and then, I saw you.” He smiles sweetly before he gazes down at the book you’re reading. “I don’t know why I am surprised that you like reading books even for the fact that you’re an author.”

"I read when I have time," you respond. "How are you?" you add, trying to steer the conversation away from yourself.

“I’m doing amazing. I’m continuing to write in my journal like what you suggest. It does help me a lot, Dr. Y/N.” He takes a sip from his coffee as he gets comfortable in his seat. He’s not leaving any moment now.

“That’s good. Journaling really works.” You just said whatever is in your mind because you’re thinking of an excuse to leave.

“That’s right. But we’re not in the session right now, Doc. We don’t always have to talk about me.” He leans backward as he glances at your book once again. “The four agreements. I’ve read that book before. It’s good. You’re really into self-help books, aren’t you? You like to write and read about them.”

“Yes. It does help me to improve my writing. How about you? I didn’t know that you also read nonfiction books.”

“I started to read because of your books, Doc.” He looks at your eyes filled with tenderness, traced the curves of your face as if he's memorizing it.

He’s been looking at you like that lately as if he wants you to drown with the way he stares. The way he looks at you carries an underlying tone, and truthfully, that's one of the reasons why you've become uncomfortable around him.

“I’m glad that I’ve encouraged you to read books.” You answer while looking at your wrist watch hoping that he understands that you wanted to leave already.

“Your photos from the last time were amazing. Our team has already sent you the soft copy. Did you receive it?” You do but you didn’t tell him.

“I haven’t seen it but I’ll check it out later.” You looked at your wrist watch once again.

“Yeah, you should. They were amazing. You’re stunning as always.” His eyes twinkled but you didn’t notice that.

“I want to thank you and your team for working hard on this shoot. I do appreciate it so much.” you smile and look at your wrist watch for the last time. “I’m afraid that I have to leave you right now. I already have to go home.”

“That fast? We haven’t talked a lot, Doc.” He fixed you with a steadfast gaze and you were caught off-guard. You’re thinking of what to respond but you were out of words. After a few seconds, he chuckles. “I was just kidding, Doc. I know how busy you are and I understand that.”

You let out a nervous laugh. “I apologize, Jungkook. There are a lot of things that I have to do. But I’ll see you on tuesday.”

“You don’t have to apologize because I understand. Yes, I’ll see you on Tuesday, Dr. Y/N.”

—

Tuesday came and you just woke up yet you already wanted to end this day. It’s strange that you haven’t properly started your day but you already feel heavy to move forward. Yesterday was exhausting for all the work you’ve done and you didn’t get home until 10pm, however, it doesn’t justify your heavy feeling right now. You’ve experienced worse so you don’t understand why you feel this way.

As you make your way to the clinic, you receive numerous work-related calls, and you're already feeling tired from answering them. However, you have no choice but to attend to them.

“Good morning, Dr. Y/N. Your first patient has already arrived. Do you want me to let him wait inside your office or here in the lobby?” The receptionist spoke on the other line.

“You can let him in. I’m almost there.” When the traffic light turns green, you already move. “Is it Mr. Park?” You asked.

“No. It’s Mr. Jeon, Doc.”

Damn. That’s why the morning feels heavy.

As you arrive inside your office, you spot Jungkook in the corner looking at the frames that are standing in the chest drawers. The air conditioner is already on–Soyeon the receptionist must have turned it on. He immediately turned his head towards you when you opened the door and greeted you with his charming smile.

“Good morning, Dr. Y/N. I thought you'd take longer to arrive because the receptionist already let me in.” He greeted and walked his way towards the sofa–where your patient normally sits.

“I was stuck in the traffic. You know, morning rush hour.” You responded as you placed your things on your office table.

Jungkook is a punctual person. He may arrive early or on time but he is never late. If you count the things that you like about him, you’re counting nothing because that’s the only thing you like about him.

“How are you?” Is the first thing you asked him when you get comfortable with your seat. You press the record button on your phone that's hidden from him.

“Bad. I met my father last night and I wish I didn’t.” He brushed his hair back and slouched on his seat.

It's the first time he mentioned his father at the beginning of a conversation because he never does unless you ask about it. From his descriptions, his father seems like a terrible person. He never fulfilled his role as a father, often creating conflicts with his mother. His family life seems chaotic, and you believe it might be one of the reasons he's become the person he is today.

“Why did you meet him?”

“He just showed up to my house without permission to talk about bullshit. My life is already at peace and he’s ruining it.” His jaw tightened.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Your eyes locked into him as you try reading his mind. You know that every patient that walks into your office has different problems in life and they are sometimes hard to predict but this man in front of you is something else. There is something in him that you couldn’t understand.

“No. He’s a waste of time. He’s really… Okay, I’ll talk about him briefly. He’s a horrible person and he doesn’t deserve to be a father to me. I never got to experience the love from a father because the only thing that he gave me is hatred. He always gets drunk and gamble and he cheated with my mom multiple times. I’m not going to be surprised when I find out that I have other siblings from different mothers. He’s the worst person I’ve known.”

You find his explanation vague but you didn’t think much about it and you let him continue.

“Do you have other instances where you see the different side of your father? Something that makes him a person to you?” You asked.

“None. Even during childhood. Especially now that he only wants money from me. He and mother are very similar to each other. Maybe that’s why they end up together. They both pissed me off and even though my mother is not here anymore, I can remember her because of my shitty father.”

You were taken aback with what he just said. He never badmouthed his mother until now. When he discussed his mother, there is nothing else he said rather than how he misses her and how she’s a great mother to him.

But you didn’t say anything about it and let him elaborate what he just said.

“Do you think that your parents do the same thing?” You asked–hoping that he doesn’t suspect your question.

“Yeah. They may be doing it in different ways of being a shitty person but they are the same for being useless parents.” He puts his index finger on his lips and slowly rubs it while resting his elbow on the arm rest, looking at you with intensity.

You’re finding a word to say but you found nothing. You wanted to look away but it would indicate that he caught you off-guard.

You saw a glimpse of his demonic character for a second. His eyes that had once been warm and inviting, now bore into you with an unnerving intensity as if trying to peer into your soul.

He spoke once again and his voice took on a low, whispery, and the words that slipped from his lips sent chills down your spine.

"Maybe that's why she died. Now, I wonder when my father will be next."

—

You're standing on the side of the street embracing the subtle chill in the air as the city lights painted the night with different colors. People are walking by and snippets of hushed conversations drifted on the breeze while the flow of traffic added to the scene with vehicles weaving through the crowd.

You don’t know why Taehyung is taking so long to arrive. You’ve been waiting for him on the sidewalk for 10 minutes already when in fact, he should have been here 30 minutes ago. You’re going to come with him on his event show because he’s been annoying you for the whole week to come with him and for him to stop, you just agreed.

What pisses you off more is that he's running late, and your stomach is growling. You haven't had dinner because Taehyung assured you that he'd swing by the drive-thru to grab something for you to eat.

You're waiting for Taehyung, but someone else showed up in front of you.

“Dr. Y/N, hi!” You met Jeon Jungkook’s eyes with his bright and warm smile. He’s wearing a gray hoodie and skinny jeans that fit him perfectly. You looked in the surroundings of him if he's with someone and it seems that there’s none.

“Hello, Jungkook. You’re heading somewhere?” You gave him a warm smile that hopefully, doesn’t look like it’s forced.

“Yeah. I’m going out for dinner. I was actually in that building,” He pointed out the building behind you and it looked like a law firm office. “I already saw you when I entered there but I didn’t have the chance to greet you because I’m in a hurry and now, you’re still here.” He glances at the road and returns his eyes to you. “You’re waiting for someone?”

“Uhm, yeah. I am.” You looked at your phone to see if Taehyung had a message but there’s none.

“You’ve been here for a couple of minutes already. Are you sure that they are still going to make it here?”

“Yeah. Maybe they—

You were taken aback when your stomach started to growl and heck, it’s so loud that you want the grounds to eat you alive. You were sure that your face was burning red and you couldn’t bear to make eye-contact with him as your gaze fixed elsewhere.

You glance at him as a soft chuckle rumbles in his throat. “I already hate the person that keeps you waiting in hunger. You know what, I’d love to treat you for dinner with me and drive you to your destination afterwards. Or we can just go to a drive-thru.” If he’s someone else, maybe you will consider his offer.

“No, it’s okay Jungkook. You don’t have to do that.” You glance at your phone to pretend that someone messages you. “My friend is already on his way. You can go.”

“Your friend of yours is really something else. What kind of man is he for making you wait for so long on the street with your stomach empty?” His voice took on a sharp edge as his eyebrows knitted together.

“I’m really fine. You don’t have to think about me.” You force a smile as you bite the inside of your cheeks.

“I insist, Dr. Y/N. I really want to treat you for being there for me during my worst days. You help me a lot and I want to get you something to show my appreciation. It’s nothing big and I will be guilty if I just leave you here.”

“I really appreciate your gesture, Jungkook, but I have other plans. Maybe next time?” You smile hoping that he understands that you don’t really want to go with him.

“With the same guy that made you wait in the cold air? Oh come on, Doc. You know better.” He spoke in a pompous tone, as if he proved that Taehyung is a horrible guy.

“You can make up to me some other time. I’m really–

You haven’t finished your sentence when Taehyung’s audi arrives beside you and he instantly gets out to meet your gaze.

“Y/N! I’m sorry for keeping you waiting. The traffic is so heavy.” He didn’t notice Jungkook until he opened the passenger’s seat and slowly glanced beside you. Jungkook released a sarcastic laugh and glared at Taehyung.

“What a surprise that Kim Taehyung–a famous musician and artist let a lady wait in the cold breeze with an empty stomach. I didn’t know that you’re such a gentleman, Taehyung.” He spoke in a mocking tone as Taehyung looked at him in confusion.

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

“You wouldn’t want to know.” He arched a brow before he returned his gaze to you. “If you really insist on being with this guy, then I’ll leave you already. I just hope that he won’t completely ruin your precious night.” He said before he finally turned around and walked away–placing his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. When he’s already out of sight, you turn your head to Taehyung and glare at him.

“What?” You suddenly smack his chest before you hopped in the car.

“Damn you.”

—

It didn't take long before Jungkook was back, sitting on the couch in front of you. You’ve realized that your day always feels heavy every Tuesday of the week and that is whenever you’re going to have a session with him.

You've tried to shake off the discomfort you feel when he's in front of you because you regret thinking of him differently from your other patients, but every time you try, he makes it worse.

“Are you taking your medicines I’ve prescribed you?” You scan his record file that you’re holding.

“Yeah. I consistently take them, Doc.” He responded as he smugly looked at you and before you think of negative thoughts of him, you already returned your gaze back to the folder.

“Are you still having nightmares during your sleep?” He didn’t instantly respond like he’s thinking about the question carefully.

“I do. I still do, Dr. Y/N. But it wasn’t worse, unlike what I have for the last months.”

“Then it’s a good sign. You’re now improving. Are you still thinking about the incident?” You give him a genuine smile while he slowly crosses his legs and places both of his arms on the arm rest.

“Yes, but not as frequently as before. I love my mother so much but I’ve learned to let her go and accept the fate she has. Afterall, it was her fault.” He was looking at the painting that Yunjin had given you as he answered. He doesn’t have much of a reaction but his last sentence caught your attention.

“Why do you think that it’s her fault?” You ask in your soft voice.

“You see, my mother isn’t the perfect mother and she has her mistakes and sometimes, she doesn’t learn from them. She keeps doing the same thing until she has to pay for it and that costs her life.” He responded.

“Do you want to talk about the mistakes that your mother made?” He smiled and played with his lips once again. You’ve noticed that he’s doing that if he finds something funny or there are things that he knows and you don’t.

“But we will take forever if we discuss it right now, Dr. Y/N. But if you’re really interested, we can talk about it over dinner. You promised me last time that you’ll come with me for dinner.” You mentally rolled your eyes with his statement. Here he goes again.

“Not right now. I still have a lot of things to do but we can talk about other things like how great your mother is.” You said and he laughed—as if your statement is absurd. You try to not raise your brows with his action and behavior.

“Let's not talk about that, either.”

You were doing your best to understand his actions and statements but there is something in him that you haven’t seen. Something that will answer everything

“But I will tell you how I see my mother during the incident.” He leaned forward and intertwined his fingers “When my mother is kneeling and begging for her life, I was thinking that ‘damn. It’s really happening, isn't it?’. And when the trigger was pulled, the world stopped. And after a few moments, I felt a sense of relief and before I knew it, I was shot as well.” His voice was soft and light as if he’s confessing something that he should have confessed before.

You felt a shiver down your spine as the creeping horror crawled along your arms, raising goosebumps. You held unflinching eye contact, determined to keep your composure and hide the discomfort and fear you felt.

“Where were you when your mom was being shot?” You asked as you held your breath.

This question is already asked during the investigation. ‘I’m in the living room, 10 feet away from her. When I saw her position and situation, I immediately ran towards her but it was too late because before I even reached her, she was already shot in the chest. It didn’t take 10 seconds of my life before I was shot as well’.

But you still ask him once again. Away from the detectives.

“I was there, I told you.”

“Yes, but in what position?” Your hands are already trembling.

“I was standing,” He took a deep breath before he continued. His next sentence didn’t surprise you because it was something you already expect but trying to deny it to yourself, and it terrifies you, so much that you thought that this may be your last day.

“After I was shot, I collapsed, along with the gun I was holding.”

a/n: I'm almost done with the whole series so I've decided to post the first part. I hope you'll like this new fic because I enjoy writing it! I am open for comments to further improve my works. Have a nice day everyone!

taglist: @iloverubberduckiez-blog @kingofbodyrolls @fangirl-death-rose @looneybleus @softie00

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