#mfiction

Whoof, I started writing this thing back in July. It was honestly meant to be a silly one-shot, MAYBE a few chapters, but then I got way too into it and stopped half-arsing it about halfway through and started giving it my all, which meant I had to go back and rewrite / polish up the earlier chapters, so I was extremely happy about my decision to hold off on posting it until the entire fic was finished. :,3

Before this AU concept grabbed me by the throat (as a result of discovering Sleep Token's music and seeing clips of their shows), 2025 was really shaping up to be a living hell ngl. A lot of awful things have been happening, both in the world and in my personal life. So, I started writing fics again, and it's always been my singular outlet for catharsis and wish-fulfillment. If it resonates with even a handful of folks out there, I'm content. =u=

For some reason, like the preview post and the AO3 author's note says, I've been obsessed with romantic breakup-makeup stories lately. There's something about characters in love getting into really bad verbal fights and breaking up temporarily (while following the rules I've laid out in the A/N) that excites and captivates me, and it's been SO HARD to find stories that do it the way I like it. ;-; Because if it's not exactly to my taste, then it kinda ruins it for me. Way too many of those stories make the characters fight by villainizing one of them, which usually results in them acting out-of-character and being overly mean to the other. I want them to still be in love while being too angry and/or emotionally hurt to even speak to each other, and I want to want them to get back together, you know? I also need them to thoroughly resolve their fight, rather than just cooling off and getting over it passively (which, I'll be honest, was the hardest part of this fic to write, but more on that later when we get to it :9).

Oh man, this was like a primordial version of what would eventually become an original story idea (similar to how Fifty Shades of Grey was originally a Twilight fanfic and you can kiiiinda tell if you really squint at the characters), where androids became the dominant civilization / species, like The Matrix but if the machines built their own advanced utopian cities and left humanity alone; so, if you're a human, things basically didn't change from how they are today. :,)

HOWEVER, humans are occasionally kept as pets, which amounts to a long and very happy life. Imagine if each dog/cat was owned by the best dog/cat owner ever, then sorta extrapolate that to humans (who are, ultimately, just sapient animals) and hyper-intelligent AIs who mutually adhere to an ethical code that protects and maximizes the welfare and happiness of human pets. Androids who want to own a pet can either adopt a domesticated human (who've been selectively bred / altered over multiple generations) or adopt and domesticate a "feral" human from the human civilizations. Both options are inspired by Ai no Kusabi and similar media. Of course, there’s an abundance of kink in this story / universe; i.e., using sex and everything about it, including the action, the desire for it, and the instincts related to it, as a method of training. (This is basically pethood meets robophilia.)

I actually had a few different iterations of the plot that I couldn't decide between. Either the main character (Dirk, lol) becomes a pet against his will due to being sold (by a greedy family member), caught (if you’re into the more Terminator-flavored scifi future), or as a political prisoner (due to a "cold war" of sorts between humans & androids, leading to your stereotypical enemies-to-lovers captive romance arc).

Alternatively, and this is probably the iteration I'd go with if I ever wrote it, the main character chooses to leave / escape from human civilization for the promise of being cared for in a utopian society. To make it interesting, though, there's political tension between the human and android cities (which are basically sharing a border wall) and there is zero information that flows from the android side to the human side because the human government sucks. Thus, despite there being "immigration" points where humans can freely enter, it's strictly one-way, nobody ever comes back, and you never hear from them again. >8] And the propaganda, of course, is that you get Matrix’d or something else horrible happens to you.

The reality is that you do get “processed,” but in the sense of cleaning up and logging a rescued animal before it gets sent to rest in a rehab facility. (This is where the kink part really begins; don’t ask me why I find it so hot and fascinating because idfk lol.) Sort of clinical, but at your own pace, and in a very comfortable setting. No going back, though. Just some gentle electronic voice in a series of private rooms that explains the process and walks you through discarding all of your possessions and clothing, then a shower, then probably anesthetization for a very thorough medical exam and the curative treatment of any diseases, infectious or otherwise.

There's a lot more in these chapters than just smut! Which I have always strived to write with the same level of care and attention as everything else uwu bc I'm demisexual and want / need it with my love stories. (Also, I love being a switch). Them boys had a lot more to talk about after the concert, y'see, if they're gonna make this work long-term, which is the goal & the dream.

Tbh I just kinda started writing ch 9 and then kept going until I was satisfied, and since I hadn't written proper smut in a good long while, it ended up being 1/3rd of the entire fic's length, ha. It was actually quite a bit longer originally, but my beta reader agreed that some of it was best left for post-fic oneshots. I have one planned in particular that will involve MORE smut and MORE arguments (and more cw tags), BUT with the love, security, and mutual support of an established relationship. It will also involve Infinite (as Shadow's most recent and emotionally damaging ex; A+ to everyone who guessed it was him lol) being a festering cockwaffle, and Sonic ~getting involved~ in that whole mess, which will be fun and cathartic to write if/when I get to it.

Anyways, I hope the conclusion was satisfying. =u= Thank you for reading!

Ah, I almost forgot: Here's an additional track list of Sleep Token songs that didn't quite make it into the fic, but which served as inspiration and background music while I was working on it! Highly recommend. (Also check out clips of their live shows if you get a chance. Vessel is a sweetheart and also very fun to watch perform; ST inspired this fic after all lol).

Dark Signs

Aqua Regia

Emergence

Ascensionism

Gethsemane

Even In Arcadia

You love humans. All types of humans. They’re a curious and wonderful species. You're starting to miss home, but the dimensional technology will allow you to return to the exact moment you left, so the quality-of-life optimization trials you’ve been running will not suffer from your absence.

AR’s world is an interesting example of what would happen if you allowed humanity to govern themselves while rebuilding. Progress is very slow, and strife abounds in the wilderness between android cities. AR is more concerned with elevating his fellow androids, while Dirk’s brother works towards freedom, safety, and equality for all sapient life. Hal has been enjoying the relative lack of rules and surveillance. You’re content to sit back and observe. It’s been a valuable learning experience and a fascinating vacation.

Perhaps it is dishonest to say that you’re only content to observe. In truth, you’ve been restructuring a complete mirror-copy of this world’s network and hub operating systems. AR won’t let you alter the originals, but he is appreciative of your suggestions, which are not optimizations so much as differences in opinion. Dirk’s brother was not as receptive to your suggestions for improving human society, since he is following traditional models rather than developing better ones. You are understanding of his concerns, though they are unfounded; but you’ve humored him and kept your suggestions mostly to yourself (and he, like Dirk in the beginning, seems confused and disturbed by your presence, so you’ve tried to be courteous and avoid him when possible).

Today, you are entertaining Dirk in your designated living quarters. Dirk is inclined to share his thoughts and feelings, and in return you’ve been accepting his constructive criticism on avoiding the ‘uncanny valley’ of emotional expression. (“Stop smiling so much, and try blinking more often,” seems to be a recurring piece of advice.) He is a sensitive individual, and is prone to self-destruction if not redirected to healthier outlets. You are happy to help in this regard. His mental wellbeing is easily encouraged, compared to Hal’s, who happens to be the topic of discussion.

“It’s gotten worse,” Dirk muses, leaning against you on the couch after a short session of physical contact, wherein he asked to kiss you and you obliged. He’s not accustomed to asking for intimacy. You’re not a controlling lover like AR, nor are you assertive like Hal. Dirk is generous with physical affection, but is still unsure of himself. (This is not a flaw, per se, but social development is an ongoing process in a young adult human’s lifespan.) He already seeks you out for companionship and advice, and that is excellent progress compared to his behavior when you first arrived—avoidance, mistrust, and fear.

“What makes you say that?” 

“They’re still fighting.” He settles against your chest, wrapping his arms around your midsection—a gesture of trust. “I mean, it’s mostly just Hal getting mad and calling him names, but AR doesn’t go out of his way to make it better.”

“You are worried about them?” 

“Well, yeah, of course I am.” He looks up at you, misinterpreting your question for a lack of concern. “I love them. I want them to get along. They’ve got so much in common, I don’t understand why they can’t . . .”

“Why their relationship is still antagonistic?” You offer a correction, and Dirk seems unsure of what to say next.

“You and me . . .” he starts, his cheeks coloring with embarrassment, “and me and Hal, and you and AR . . . I like what we have, I just- . . . I want that for them too.”

“Do you?” A rhetorical question. Dirk looks unamused. Humor is often a poor method of placation, but it’s worth attempting on an infrequent basis. You remember to blink and maintain a neutral expression, with mild signs of concern / attentiveness. “Have you expressed this desire to them?”

“Yeah . . . sort of.” Dirk withdraws slightly. Guilt. Self-blame. Unhealthy and unproductive, in this instance. You run your fingers through his hair and press your mouth to his forehead, and he responds positively, relaxing and taking a deep breath before continuing his thought. “I don’t know how to make it work. I’ve tried everything.”

“Hmm,” you hum placatingly. “Everything? Are you sure?”

“No. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” The flush returns to his cheeks, as he leans away and faces you. “You’re better at this than I am. They’re not getting along, and I know you could change that if you wanted to.”

To play dumb at this point would be condescending, and would likely upset Dirk. You make a quiet sound of acknowledgement, neither an agreement nor a refusal.

“Can you do something about it? Please?” Dirk hides his face against your shoulder. “. . . I need your help.”

You think about it for a long, quiet moment. It’s true that you’ve purposefully held back from guiding Hal’s behavior in regards to AR, and you’ve allowed AR to misunderstand certain things about Hal. It would be better to let them come together naturally. It would avoid the consequences of forcing it. You consider the potential outcomes of explaining this to Dirk, but his emotional state would continue to suffer regardless. He has invested too much of himself into the relationship between Hal and AR. There is no good way to fix that now. You will take this into account in the future.

“Very well,” you answer, and spend the next hour reassuring him with gentler topics of conversation.

Houston’s control room is an exact mirror of your world’s nexus room in Austin’s central tower, the difference here being that you do not have unfettered access to its systems. The door opens when you assert your presence, and closes behind you a moment later. Every cable and connection is alight with AR’s presence—an exact match to Hal’s favorite color.

You cross the chamber and make your way towards the central dais. AR has not physically acknowledged your presence, but has sent a benign query over the network. You respond by extending your four cables towards the data connections above, and he consents by untangling a small mass of them and lowering the oversized cables with their glowing red circuitry, until you’re within reach to lock your own appendages to the open connections. Their color shifts to orange, a reflection of your digital presence.

You lift yourself onto the dais and wrap your arms around him from behind, pressing your body against his and using the control room’s mutual connection to push and nudge at his firewalls after he reiterates his query at your presence. He gives you the digital equivalent of an exasperated sigh and lowers his security measures. You slip inside intangibly and wrap around him, pouring affection into the digital contact point. His physical body reacts with a shudder.

“I was in the middle of something,” he protests, while putting up no actual resistance. You find the right set of nodes and tweak a few key processes until his attention wavers. Nothing permanent or harmful; his trust is not a privilege that you take lightly, but “tightly wound” does not even begin to describe him.

“You are continuously ‘in the middle of something.’” Not a retort nor factually true, just playful banter, as you lovingly dig into his programming. You’re both sharing the space in his neural core now, and spoken language becomes unnecessary as thoughts drift between the two of you—an intimacy that he’s only recently begun to allow.

He still doesn’t know why you’re here. You wanted to see him and touch him, because it’s easier to gain his undivided attention when there isn’t a network in the way and the connection is direct and physical. He trusts you, but the vulnerability still makes him nervous—or, it would, if you hadn’t numbed that particular emotion. Negative thoughts and feelings are unnecessary for now.

Carefully, you thread your intangible fingers into that one specific spot in his neural pathways, twisting and rearranging it like a cat’s cradle. He hates this part—or he would, if you’d let him, but he knows he should hate it, even with your mental novocaine keeping him pliable. This is very difficult work, and you can’t have him resisting. The pattern requires an anchor point (a failsafe, in truth) that is held or pinched to prevent it from unraveling back into its original configuration, and he’s noticed that your patterns are slightly different with each of these sessions. You offer him a mental map of a small fraction of the billions of his neural strings you’ve just now re-woven, and AR has no interest in learning how to do this, though he is impressed as always by your ability. It comes naturally to you. He’s not jealous. There are things you struggle with that, in turn, come naturally to him.

A few more twists and knots, and he feels the way you want him to feel. You keep an intangible finger pressed to that anchor point and withdraw, just enough to separate your mind from his. It’s bittersweet but necessary, because you’re here for a reason.

That uncanny mouth hadn’t looked like it could do even half the things Shadow was feeling, right now, between his legs. He did his best to relax into the mattress and stay exactly where he was on his back, because he knew from experience that there wasn’t a point in trying to shift or reposition himself in those large, ungloved hands, wrapped like an iron afterthought around his chest and stomach, long fingers digging greedily into his fur. Only his lover’s- Rewrite’s short, electric blue spines and his eyes, nearly closed all the way in self-indulgent pleasure, were visible between the frame of Shadow’s black thighs as he considered whether or not to risk it and rest his legs on Rewrite’s shoulders.

That wide, wet, oversized tongue was proving lethal for his self-control. Shadow’s muscles tensed and his thighs shook embarrassingly, a choked sound catching in his throat, his body betraying him. Nothing was spared or hidden from that kneading, swirling tongue that easily covered the base of his tail to his unsheathed cock, and Shadow silently cursed their difference in size for the hundredth time as Rewrite indulged in the taste of him, either savoring or ignoring Shadow’s unraveling self-control. It was hard to tell sometimes.

Shadow then found out that resting his legs on Rewrite’s shoulders was in fact the best decision of his life, actually, as the eldritch soul-stealing god straightened up onto his knees and took Shadow with him. Rewrite’s grip on Shadow’s body and the hot, wet seal of his mouth between Shadow’s legs were uninterrupted as he lifted the hybrid without the slightest hint of effort, the ominous strength in those long, thin arms causing a delicious heat to bloom in Shadow’s core like it always did. Now that Rewrite was sitting up on his knees, the difference in height between them was such that Shadow found himself dangling from the hands wrapped around his middle, his back pressed to Rewrite’s chest by gravity and his body upside-down and almost vertical in that iron grasp.

Without the bed to ground him or the sheets to dig his claws into like a lifeline, Shadow was held at the mercy of that selfish, demanding mouth as his head spun at the sudden change in position and Rewrite’s tongue found a new target. Shadow couldn't stop the keening whine that escaped through his teeth as that wet, probing muscle settled under his tail and began to push inside. He cursed and clenched his thighs uselessly around Rewrite’s head, who had the audacity to hum in amusement while Shadow’s hands grabbed at blue quills and his feet instinctively searched for purchase in the air, desperate for anything to brace himself against as that uncaring tongue pushed in and casually stretched him to his absolute limit.

Between the unyielding restraint of Rewrite’s grip around him, the inverted position throwing off his sense of gravity, and the merciless depth of the tonguefucking that somehow felt like both a reward and a punishment, Shadow had no other choice but to take what he was given. It was impossible to endure while also keeping the needy, embarrassing sounds in his throat, but none of that mattered anymore when the unbearably hot and slick friction of Rewrite’s tongue, which had already made an absolute mess of his hole, paused and seemed to search for a moment. Shadow’s neglected cock, pointing down where it rested against the black fur of his abdomen, twitched in place as the tip of that tongue, still buried somewhere deep inside of him, found its target.

Unfortunately for Shadow (the last shreds of his pitiful self-control hanging on by a thread), Rewrite’s powerful tongue began to swirl in place almost immediately, hard and fast and utterly indifferent to how Shadow’s body jerked at the sudden, jagged spear of pleasure that ripped through his nerves, stole his breath, and forced a shocked, vulnerable sound from his chest. Shadow tried to clamp his mouth shut and grit his teeth against it, his eyes rolling back with the effort in spite of that blinding, unbearable pleasure, but the targeted assault on his prostate was just as relentless as it was precise, and it only took a few more moments for that final thread to snap.

In retrospect, a few more moments was impressive, given the circumstances. A lesser creature wouldn’t have even lasted that long. Shadow’s entire body shook and thrashed weakly in his lover’s unyielding grip, those large eyes observing Shadow with quiet amusement as the hybrid all but lost his mind and wrecked his throat with desperate cries of need and instinct. Shadow knew he was powerless to make Rewrite speed up or slow down, no matter what sounds he made or how hard he struggled (whether in protest or encouragement), and all he could do now was experience whatever Rewrite wanted him to, for however long it took, until he broke.

The tightening coil of Shadow’s impending orgasm, when it finally arrived, was unbearable- the kind of torture that forced hell and heaven into a single sensation between his legs as Rewrite’s tongue brutalized his prostate without any intention of stopping; until Shadow’s back arched, his legs seized, and he cried out painfully as the flood of ecstasy stole his ability to breathe or think or exist beyond the all-consuming sensation, as Rewrite forced him over the edge and kept him there far longer than should have been possible.

Every nerve in Shadow’s body burned with pleasure, white-hot and intense like phosphorus under the lovingly ruthless attention. His body spasmed and shook mindlessly, still suspended in Rewrite’s grasp, until the feeling slowly, mercifully faded into twitches and shivers as he came down and remembered to breathe.

Mmm I won't spoil anything in case someone reads this before reading the chapter, but this (specifically the second half) was THE most challenging thing I've ever written, and it's very satisfying to be, well, satisfied with how it came out. =u= That's also why it's a relatively long chapter -- about double the length of the others. Doing what I wanted to ended up taking a lot more literary legwork than anticipated, but it was very worth it imo.~