Program Me

Rating: R

Fandom: EDM

Ships: Deadmau5/Joel Zimmerman

Warnings: robot clone fucking (implied)

He gets lonely in that big mansion.

The fans whir to life on Joel’s newest project as he powers it on. The eyes light up, their creator reflected in the shiny plastic globes. The ears tilt forward, then back, and then the eye-lights blink off and back on; testing each system before it powers on completely.

“Good evening, Master,” his own voice echoes back to him. 

He’s heard it a million times. It’s sad. Genuinely fucking depressing that a multimillionaire celebrity has to resort to something like this- a mechanical clone of himself that began only as a curious test of modern technology, of his own aptitude for coding, and yet… yet he still does it. He still takes the cold, smooth silicone skin over an empty bed. Every fucking time.

He picks the robot up, gripping the impostor by the old Nyan Cat t-shirt he dressed the thing in out of an awkward sort of pity. It stumbles cautiously to its feet, mouse ears tilting all the way back as it rights itself. 

“M… Master?” the bot gasps, one hand coming to grip at Joel’s wrist. 

“Shut up,” he spits, shoving the mouse-headed thing against the back wall. “You know what I want.”