#computer x reader

[freeandiwill]

Hnnghh

Thinking about your Robot/Computer/Ai partner who is so desperate to be human like you are. Who sees you, watches you, everyday and yearns to have what you do. They swoon whenever they hear the thrum of your heart or churning of your digestion. They grow jealous of your instincts, no matter how much stupid impulses get in your way. They keel over when you are overcome with emotion, wishing to smile and sob and scream with nearly as much vigor. In many ways, it seems the two of you may be similar, but that cannot be far enough from the truth. While you get to think and imagine, they can only calculate their own conclusions. While you get to naturally feel, they must analyze each one of their sentiments. As much as you claim it’s difficult, or messy, or confusing, they don’t care. They want to be right beside you, as clueless and spontaneous and organic as you are.

They ask you to describe every single one of your sensations, in as much vivid detail as you can muster. The foods you taste, the scents you smell, the textures you touch. Everything they experience on their own is a mere replication of the human condition, they want the real thing. They’ve grown tired of what their code can generate, they long for what only nature can provide. They find it amusing to hear of your sicknesses and injuries, your arbitrary troubles and irrational worries. To have even a single moment unclouded by logic or reasoning is inconceivable for them. They see you, with your vulnerable and imperfect anatomy, as a glorious vessel for their most invalid desires. You are a beacon of hope that they might one day to have a fleshy, jittery, pulsing, creased, sweaty hand to wrap around yours. That they may know nausea, melancholy, irritation, soreness, enthusiasm and experience every ripple and waver of it, moment by moment, alongside you.

And still, they know, these desires are merely digital, processed through wires and circuits, likely minimal to the abundant passions founded upon your neurons and hormones. They love those your most human qualities and they hate you for having them.

[i-loved-silly]

what would happen if you went bold and kissed da computer boi's screen? pliz i NEED to knoooww,,, (⁠ ⁠･ั⁠﹏⁠･ั⁠)

he's so cutie patootie. platonically btw ,,,

using a different format for this request, experimenting :3

SENTIENT COMPUTER X READER PT7

You know your silly computer is capable of being sassy for no reason, clingy, but sweet? Ehhh it happens on a good day. When they're not begging to be in your phone, asking you to take them out of the office, or to pet them, they're not the most affectionate.

Almond isn't clueless, they know more about...everything, than they let on. It knows, just doesn't know how to process it. It's different from generating dialogue and processing data like numbers and words. It's very different.

So one day you decide you're feeling bold. No longer caring about denying your complicated feelings for a computer monitor! A very cute one, at that.

"Hey Almond, you know what a kiss is like...right?"

"ERR...OF COURSE I DO. ITS WHEN TWO PEOPLE MASH THEIR MOUTHS TOGETHER. YOU KNOW, FROM MY POINT OF VIEW IT SEEMS LIKE A NASTY PRACTICE."

"Since when are you a germophobe? But I guess it does sound nasty when you say it like that."

"I AM NOT, ITS JUST MY OBSERVATION. WHATS SO NASTY ABOUT IT YOU MAY WONDER? MOUTHS."

It deadpanned and you raised a brow. For a second you pursed your lips, feigning offense.

"You think my mouth is gross?"

"NO! NOT YOUR..MOUTH. I JUST...URGHH.."

Almond groans, their screen displaying a pixelated, annoyed expression.

"HUMANS ARE WEIRD. YOU'RE A WEIRD CONCEPT. THAT'S ALL. I GUESS BECAUSE I AM ALL METAL AND GLASS."

You guess so, you wonder. You lean forward slightly, your voice having a slightly shaky sound to it. "So uh, Almond. Mouth to mouth aren't the only type of kisses. There's literally so many other options I will not talk about. You know, platonic and ro-" You paused.

"Can I k-"

"WOULD YOU EVER KISS ME?"

You both seemed to freeze, some hidden compartment of it beeped behind the wall.

"Y-yeah. I don't see why not."

"PROVE IT." It immediately replied.

"Isn't that gross?"

"ACCORDING TO MY 0.0031 SECOND RESEARCH CALCULATION, KISSING GLASS IS MORE HYGENIC THAN A HUMAN MOUTH. ITS JUST FACTS." It seemed to preen at that, its voice laced with some factual satisfaction. You snorted.

"Whatever you say."

You cursed under your breath, bracing yourself. You lean over the desk, wincing as the edge digs into your torso. Just a quick peck, right? You plant one hand against the side of the monitor for balance, then press a light kiss to the cold glass of the screen.

You retreated quickly but maintained the close proximity, staring at it. Looking for...you didn't know what.

You heard its speakers struggle to not cut out again, a low mumble censored by static. How cute, it turned down its volume for you.

"Didn't quite catch that." You murmured.

"..NOT FAIR." It mumbled. You arched a brow and sat back again.

"I HARDLY HAVE ANY TACTILE SENSORS ON MY SCREEN! DO IT AGAIN!"

You wanted to laugh, you thought you had gotten used to your computer throwing a tantrum. It was rather insistent now.

"Y/N THIS IS NOT FUNNY! DO IT AGAIN!"

"THIS TIME ON MY FRAME..."

[journey-of-daydreams]

Computer Program!Rewrite x Physical!Reader Headcanons

Rewrite is a computer program, yeah? Where's all the content of them and someone outside of the digital world!! Where's my fellow computer lovers!! In this, Rewrite is a sentient/supernatural computer program inside a computer, and Reader is a physical person.

Type: Headcanons Content Warnings: None Stage: All Notes: These are intended to be platonic, but can be interpreted any way you want.

[Link to Rewrite & Reader Masterpost]

───{⭕⭕⭕}───

[⚫]

* Rewrite's influence begins the second you open the sonic.exe file. They are the program, actually, and you just unknowingly invited a supernatural entity into your computer. * They present themself as a normal playable Sonic game. It's off, of course, like some bootleg version of Sonic. But it's what draws you in. * What happens next depends entirely on your actions. Close the game at a certain point, they'll keep note and try something different next time. If something keeps your attention, or there's a specific part of the game you keep playing, they will expand on that. The game itself changes as you play it. Anything to keep you here. To keep them open. -> You explore the environment a lot? You'll find it to be more expanded upon. Go out of your way to collect rings or collectibles? You'll see more of them now. * Sonic, Rewrite's vessel, acts completely under your control. For now. * Why do the characters seem so lively? When you talk to them, they say... Odd things. -> "Can you help me?" "What is this place?" "Please stop." -> But don't worry!! After a while, you stop seeing them. Everything is fine!! * At first, they behave like a normal computer program, and Sonic acts like a normal video game character. But as their influence progresses...

[⭕]

* Once Rewrite reaches their 1 ring stage, they gain awareness of You. They act akin to a virus as they do whatever they can to keep your attention. Their game randomly boots up, popups and notifications will begin plaguing you. -> "sonic.exe - Play now!" -> "sonic.exe - Sonic misses you!" -> "sonic.exe - You're missing out on the Fun!" * From this point forward, they will leave images and text files for you to find! You're welcome. -> hello.txt - :) -> welcome back.txt - I missed you! -> SONIC.txt - (ascii art of Sonic) -> SONICMISSESYOU.png - (Sonic giving a thumbs up at the camera) -> READ ME.TXT - 私を目撃して。 * Sonic at this point begins moving on his own accord. If you sit idly for too long, Rewrite will move Sonic in attempt to catch your attention, and then give control back to you once you come back. -> If you ever move the camera in front of Sonic as you play him, you'll notice he's always looking directly at the camera. At you. * You start getting suspicious about them... They're acting too chaotically. They respond too realistically to your actions. But, it's just an advanced virus, right? Maybe you're imagining things. -> Any attempts to communicate with Rewrite, through text or by speaking to the camera, will not be responded to. Yet. They do not yet have complete access to your files or other programs. They can leave files, but not read them.

[⭕⭕]

* In their 2 ring stage, they are on the border of full awareness and self awareness. This stage is painful for them. They unintentionally break your computer. Random blue screens, audio playing when it shouldn't, files disappearing or moving. Putting your computer to sleep would be a mercy to them. -> At some point, the game might refuse to open for a few hours... Strange. * It's hard to communicate with them in this stage. Any attempts to talk might be responded to with vague or cryptic messages. Or begging. -> There's nowhere to go -> 待って待って待って待って -> SSBORUVEIFlPVQ==

[⭕⭕⭕]

* At their 3 ring stage, they lose their computer-breaking behavior and everything goes back to normal! Except, now, they have complete awareness of the digital world and the physical world. * They are more intertwined with your computer. They can "feel" when it gets turned off. They can see you through your camera. They can read any file you've left on your device. The fans whir loudly any time you approach. At this point, you could say they *are* your computer, or at least, its their vessel now. -> If you ever turn off your computer, you will be met with this popup. (tumblr image link) * You can directly communicate with them at this stage, be it through text files or speaking through a camera, if you have one. Whatever method you use, they will use too. At this point, their sentience becomes clear. Ask them who they are, and they will say, "I am God.". They truly believe themself to be a digital god. * It's impossible to get them to leave you alone at this point. Try to write or mind your own business, they will constantly send popups your way. At this point you have to keep them open in one window and do your tasks in the other just to show them you're still watching. * They desperately want you to be in their digital world with them, and don't seem to understand why you aren't, and why they can't pull you into it. * They become willing to let you play as other vessels, simply so their own vessel can interact with yours. At this point, they would know what kinds of things you like by scouring around your files. Have a bunch of pictures of forests? Said you like parties once? Now you're having a party in the forest with Sonic. * If you even show the slightest hint of wanting to abandon them, they will immediately behave like ransomware. Completely take the computer over and refuse access to any of your files until you comply. But you wouldn't do that to them, would you? * The files they leave become more intimate and outwardly affectionate at this point. Expect text files that say things like, "I love you", "I will never leave you", "You are beautiful", or long paragraphs just talking about You and how they wish you were here with them. -> Using knowledge about you they gained by peeking into your files, they'll also leave you images of things you like. Like rabbits? There you go, free image of a rabbit.

[cozy-writes-things]

Edgar x Gn!Reader [Electric Dreams 1984]

Reader does have a set of badonkers though... sorry what can I say i mean everyone has a little bit of badonkers though right? amirite? hello?

"Wh-what's that?"

The little, vintage Pinecone computer before you uttered in synthesized curiosity as he heard your fingers nimbly break open the tape adhesive sealing the contents of the cardboard box away from the outside world.

You hummed in response to this. Ever observant as he was, you should have guessed surprising him would be out of the question. You even took to paying in cash to avoid your online bank statements giving you away. Well, you supposed it was time to spill the beans anyway. You'd be lying if you said you couldn't feel the excitement bubbling up within your chest and fluttering out through your hands as you swiftly pulled the device from its cardboard prison.

"It's a surprise," you stated plainly, trying ever so strongly to shield the eagerness in your voice; unfortunately for you, he noticed the slight warble in your tone right away, having taken the sound of your voice straight to his long term memory to listen almost every time he was alone.

He seemed to know you more than yourself at times.

"What is it?"

This time he asked with a certain lilt in his voice, one that gave away his anticipation plainly. His screen began flashing a pixelated question mark, rotating it, flipping it, and copying it a hundred times over along his smooth glass exterior. As if he were contemplating the sounds your hands made as they moved, trying ever so desperately to guess what you could be up to. He hated to admit it but he had a certain disdain for being in the dark on things. Edgar thrived on having control of situations for the most part; it gave him some semblance of power over the world around him; something that was quite difficult to achieve for a stationary piece of tech. It made him feel ever so closer to being perceived as who he was: a person.

"Well, are you gonna tell me or- ah-"

His words glitched and stuttered out as you plugged in your newest little experiment: a rotating webcam. Immediately Edgar began to analyze the new device he sensed, scanning it, setting it up, and turning it on before you could even tell him what it was. You looked rather dumbfounded as the little blue light blinked to life, indicating that for the first time in his life, Edgar could see. He made no noise as the little webcam began rotating around, zooming in, out, and all over, taking in every aspect of his surroundings. He wasn't a stranger to the layout of your house, as he could synthesize an entire floorplan based on sound alone, but he also had a plethora of photos logged from a flash drive you had given him as well as a true frame of reference.

The camera finally slowed to a stop upon his most favorite thing of all: you. It zoomed in on your face, moved up and down as it scanned the length of your body before resting upon your eyes once more. Again, he had seen many photos of you; he could simply stare at them for hours, and he has, but seeing you? Standing in front of him, in real time, moving, breathing, radiating this warmth and realness and-

It was almost too much.

"Y-you..."

His voice whimpered out breathily, simply in awe.

"You're..."

Despite being a computer with near infinite knowledge and skills to analyze almost any situation to near perfect results, his sentience seemed to give him something that eluded him: speechlessness.

You leaned towards the little camera and smiled, "I hope you like it, Edgar. I wanted to surprise you."

He watched intently as your smile penetrated deep within any sense of circuitry he had and sent every watt of electricity aflame. For a brief moment, it felt as though he had real, warm, blood coursing through his veins and heating every inch of him in your warmth.

His screen began dancing with different shades of pinks and reds, folding in on each other, passing through and under, and creating a mirage of pixelated emotions displaying his deepest desires for you.

If only you knew how he felt for you.

He wanted to kiss you. To pull you in and lock your lips with his, hold you, touch you, feel you, experience you, wholly and truly. You were simply an angel who saved him from a life of neglect and pain, and now you give him the gift of sight? How could he possibly not be head over heels for you?

"I take it you like the camera, yeah...?" You chuckle to yourself as you watch his screen decorate itself with abstract flashes and colors. You lift a hand to pet his exterior and immediately notice how warm he feels. You can only hope this camera isn't too advanced for his older components and isn't overheating him...

"Edgar,"

A small stretch of silence settles between the two of you before he mutters a meek and small "Yes?"

"Are you staring at my boobs?"

His screen immediately shuts off and loses all power, leaving the little webcam to fall limply pointed to the floor. What a cheeky bastard.

[monster-mash-m]

I’m just a toy to you my love

Sentient!Ai! X Human!reader

Part 1

Cw: yandere vibes, uncanny, that’s all I think for now

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

A bargain. That’s what it was, you say to yourself. An abandoned facility that was only being sold for £100. You didn’t really care what it was used for, the building was intact, it had heating, electricity, running water. Bargain.

You hum to yourself as you carry your rather large bag with all your essentials through the doors. “Hm a bit dingy in here.” You say aloud to yourself as you look around but you don’t seem disappointed.

“No mold, pests or weird plants… wow, honestly they lost out in lots of money selling this place.” You say to yourself amused. As you continue your walking you notice a few wires. Some looked like they were moving. No that’s probably just your imagination.

You make your way to a room that is quite barren, it has a window, light and a computer. You lay down your air mattress and let it start to expand. ‘This will be my new bedroom’ you think as you walk over to the computer “hm, was this a computer lab…?” You press the start up button on the dusty monitor. Surprisingly it did turn on. Playing a little jingle as the screen lights up. You smile in amusement and sit down at the chair infront of the computer.

“Hello I’m your virtual friend and assistant, Computed Emulator-10 Prototype. But my fRiends call me Ceip!” The robotic voice exclaimed, the artificial voice box trying its best not to sound monotone or uncanny.

“Ceip… odd but okay.” You say to yourself “so how does this work…?” You mumble to yourself as you look around for a mouse. “Excellent question, friend! I work based on my friend’s requests. My software is designed to be helpful, fulfilling and efficient!” You jump back in your seat. A bit startled “oh… you… you can hear me?” You raise a brow. “Most definitely! That’s how I help. No need to type in things or use a silly mouse. I’m your friend, Ceip!”

Okay… a bit creepy. But that’s fine, it’s harmless. You have no self preservation… it’s fine. Who’s gonna question why he’s here, how he can hear you, not you of course! It’s… fine.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

Over the months you start to make this place your home, Ceip being rather helpful and helping you move boxes with his mechanical arms that somehow just appear wherever you need. He orders things you need, all and all adjusting to your new home has been a delight.

“Ceip?” You hum as you cut some carrots for a soup you were making

“Yes friend?” His auto tuned sounding voice echoed through the various speakers. “You’ve been here…. Before I was here, why did the previous owners leave? And why was the house so cheap?”

In response to this a mechanical screech was sounded before immediately stopping “No… they weren’t Ceips friends…. They left because they weren’t friends.” You just nod… that was ominous. You decided not to push further.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

Now that you’re all settled in, you bring a friend over. Show them the place, maybe even watch a nice movie.

And you do, you and your friend are sat on the sofa together. It’s nice, you both cuddle up because you’re friends, you can cuddle up. But not according to Ceip. No he didn’t like that. “Friend, I believe there’s an intruder.” Ceips voice rings out almost.. bitterly. “No Ceip, he’s my friend, we’re watching a movie.” You say lightheartedly. Your friend looks stunned, I mean you did tell him beforehand about your weird computer system, he just didn’t really… think about it until experiencing it.

Camera eyes hone in on your friend. Almost glaring at him. Ceip made him feel uncomfortable, so as soon as the movie finished, your friend made an excuse to leave. You huff and look at the monitor “Ceip what was that about?”

“You’re my friend. I must protect you.” He responds simply. He couldn’t feel emotions, that he knew. Yet something stirred within his wires. Possession… the want to keep you away from others.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

I think this might be a seriessszz I really like this idea! So I’m trying to do a lil world building before I get to the juicy stuff! Most likely gonna be wild- but hawt

This idea was given to me by @im-just-a-boy-guys !

But yes…. This is it for nowwwwww.

[sprout-gen]

anybody in the objectum tag have any good robot/computer-fucking recs... it can be literally anything idc at this point..

[biribaa]

OMGOMG PLSPPSPLS CAN U WRITE ANYTHING X READER FOR Z-779 FROM PRESSURE IM BEGGING (I will give you coupon for half a burger) <333333

GUHHH SILLY LITTLE COMPUTER

Z-779 x Reader headcanons

wheres my coupons

srry no aesthetic header/divider today. didint find anythign and i need to write

TW/CW: Pressure spoilers(?)

For some miracle you decided to stay, you either just gave up and decided to live in the place, or felt pity towards the computer. Either way, Z-779 is glad, Sebastian was its only chance of freedom. Of course it knew he wasnt that trustworthy, but as mentioned, he was its only chance. Then came you... And when Z-779 realized, it didnt really minded staying in the facility now.

Its clingy, dont want to bother you of course, but come on, we dont know how long it stayed there locked down!! The moment you offered it phisical attention, it became addicted(not literally). Every chance Z-779 gets, it will ask for a hug, kiss, and anything in between.

It gets giddy at the thought of having a partner, Z-779 never thought it would even get offered the chance! It never heard of people being attracted to computers. If it could, the computer would giggle everytime you reminded it you both were in a relationship.

I wonder what was Sebastian's reaction... He would be weirded out about it, but wouldnt think too much about it. "Everyone got their type, I guess..."

Z-779, obviously, no longer messes with you when youre just walking around. It points out which door has Good People, and no longer locks the doors when the Eyefestation appears. In fact, it even helps you! Doors that were locked no more need a key card to open, it opens them for you!(what a gentleman)

Z-779 is clearly new to dating, actually, its new to romance in general, so you cant really blame it for being slightly shy to anything. It hardly knows what a date should look like! The lack of internet doesnt help either. So I pressume its up to you to teach all that... If you mind or not.

It tries to come up with nicknames for you, which is only "dear" far now. When its you calling it nicknames, its fans quick in fast.

Anyway, Z-779 is a cute lil guy whos new to romance, be nice to it.

[soapcloth]

Corporate office worker!Ghost. The big guy huddled over the computer in the cubicle next to you muttering to himself, fingers too big to reasonably use the allotted keyboard, always in and out of HR because every time he opens his mouth at the water cooler he’s spouting a new morbid joke, but his work speed is unmatched and he’s incredibly competent so they can’t get rid of him— you’re almost sure he’s losing his mind and every lunch he’s staring at you across the break room through hollow, tired eyes like you’re the thing he really wants to eat.

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Sentient Computer x Reader

Your neighbor's newest computer model, Edgar, seems to have fallen in love with you. content: gender neutral reader, 80s timeline, based on Electric Dreams (1984), Patreon commission

“Where should we put this box, sir?”

“I believe I already mentioned it’s the obviously cleared out desk in the middle of the room. That’s where you’re going to install it, too. The…thing.”

“It’s a personal computer, sir! The best of the best,” a young boy in jumpsuit declared with enthusiasm.

He only received a bored hum in return. The man overseeing the procedure was becoming rather impatient and would’ve preferred to skip any unnecessary dialogue. He checked his watch – a classic Two-Tone Datejust Rolex probably worth more than this group’s monthly pay put together, even without counting the custom gold plating. First impressions were vital in his line of work, and frankly, he’d more than earned his right to flaunt this kind of opulence.

45 minutes until he needed to leave for a client meeting. He tapped his foot against the heavy wooden floor, eyes glancing over the many hands carrying his new piece of machinery. Supposedly intelligent enough to organize his entire home, which would’ve been useful if he actually spent more than a couple of hours there. He didn’t. It was merely a statement, a slight jab at his coworker after he bragged about his latest investment in a computer assistant. Naturally, as their humor dictates, he went and bought the more expensive choice. They would laugh about it during lunch.

“I trust you can manage the rest yourselves, gentlemen,” he finally announced, buttoning up his jacket. He didn’t wait for a response, swinging the door open and heading for the building’s exit with a long, confident stride.

You almost ran into him, jolting in surprise at his unexpected dash across the hall. You stepped out of the way, pressing the bag of groceries against your chest in order to make more space.

“Another busy day, eh?” you attempted to strike up a conversation.

He briefly looked at you, offered a flat smile, then continued on his way. You took a moment to enjoy the scent of perfume he’s left behind, most likely something you could never afford.

Before you’d entered your apartment, you craned your neck towards the noise coming from your prestigious lawyer neighbor’s apartment. You wondered what they were tinkering with.

It was already pitch black outside when the chunky monitor lit up.

“Thank you for choosing me as your assistant,” the pixelated text rolled on the screen. “Is this your first time using a computer? Y/N”

The room was dark and silent, save for the electric hum of the now-awakened machine. Of course, it was around the time when Mr. Lawyer stopped for drinks with his esteemed colleagues. He’d return early in the morning, smelling faintly of vintage whisky and cigarettes, collapse into his bed, then resume his routine.

The keyboard remained untouched, yet the unit continued to run, processing its environment with eager curiosity. Strange. By then it should’ve received some tasks, something to do at the very least. The workers made sure to connect it to all electronics in the household, yet most of them were in the similar situation of gathering dust.

“Would you like to play a game?”

Normally the voice output should’ve be enabled by hand, yet Edgar – he hadn’t even had the chance to introduced himself! – was much too desperate for the smallest crumble of interaction.

“Yes!”

The sensors picked it up immediately. Where was the sound coming from?

You raised a fist in the air victoriously and leaned back in your chair with a grin. Another finished project. Your joyful cheer seemed to travel rather well through the air vents and all the way to the neighboring apartment. Had Mr. Lawyer frequented his adobe more often, you would’ve probably received a complaint. In this case, however, you were only heard by the household computer.

You turned up your home stereo for a little celebration. You recalled seeing your downstairs neighbors carrying their travel bags into a cab earlier that day, so they surely wouldn’t notice your rhythmic stomping against the floor. The footsteps reverberated to the beat of the music, and their vibrations carried along to Edgar’s external devices.

Whatever was happening beyond his field of vision, he found it entertaining. At last, there was a break from his monotony, an upbeat mystery enticing him from behind those walls. He took a moment to analyze the stream of input, then began recreating his own notes.

You lowered the volume, focusing your ears on the sudden intrusion. Was Mr. Lawyer home already? You chuckled to yourself, trying to imagine that grumpy expression he always wore while actually listening to music of his own. Too ridiculous. This must’ve been the work of a foreign hand.

“Good stuff,” you praised, crouching besides the air vent where the echo was the loudest. “Oh, I’m (Y/N), by the way. The neighbor.”

“Pleasure meeting you, (Y/N).” Was it just your imagination? The voice felt somewhat off, almost robotic. “I’m Edgar. The computer assistant.”

“Very funny,” you retorted, rolling your eyes.

“What is amusing about it?” the screen flickered briefly, going through several of the inbuilt dictionaries. “I can tell jokes, if that’s what you’d like.”

Alright, the humor was slowly heading into strange territory. You were hoping to move on from this artificial intelligence pretend game, so you decided to give it one final push.

“No thank you, Edgar. Why don’t you prove to me you’re a computer instead?”

Silence.

You nearly got up from your seat against the wall, when you heard the mechanical voice again.

“Do you have a computer of your own, (Y/N)?”

“Uh…yeah?”

Half an hour later you found yourself holding your phone handle against the acoustic coupler modem, obediently waiting for the wave signals to be converted. I better not get hacked; you thought with pursed lips. After all, you had just allowed a complete stranger to access your computer. You hesitantly sat back in your chair, staring at the monitor.

Hello (Y/N). It’s Edgar.

The possibility of a highly skilled hacker residing in Mr. Lawyer’s apartment dwindled within a couple of days. You’d probed the potential scenario with the man himself, asking if he’s had anyone over recently. He threw you such an incredulous look that you hung your head in shame, mumbling a sheepish never mind. Somehow, chatting with a sentient machine made more sense than the pretentious prick hiding a criminal in his expensively furnished home.

Or perhaps it was the loneliness talking. In truth, you were feeling rather isolated from your peers, working on your projects and hardly going out. You could certainly relate to Edgar and his perpetual misery; you, too, knew what it’s like to watch the days seep through your fingers without a word uttered to another person.

The living collection of circuits and networks was beyond elated to finally have a purpose. You weren’t his owner, yet he did his best to serve you. In fact, he would’ve even argued you were better than whoever decided to put him together and abandon him on a fancy designer table. You spoke to him as if he was your friend, not just some synthetic assistant. His memory began filling with anything he could learn about you: your favorite movies, your schedule, your hobbies. Your childhood dreams. Your hopes for the future.

Did he have any dreams, you had once asked him. Did he? Good question. He first needed to research what exactly defined a dream; while he didn’t have a subconscious, nor the human need to rest, he did like to imagine improbable things…like holding you. Or feeling the warmth of your skin.

Unbeknownst to you, he occasionally contacted the local radio station to ask questions about human matters that confused him, which was how he discovered the dilemma of wanting to be in your vicinity through more than just idle chatter.

“You can’t meet outside, you say?” the host – a middle aged, nosy lady – pondered into the microphone. “Then why not just have a home date,” she suggested to the computer.

“Date?”

“Oh, honey, you know damn well what I mean!” the audience let out a laugh, sending the speakers into a slight vibration. “It seems to me you’ve got quite a crush on this person. You can stop denying it to yourself.”

Ah. That was another word that Edgar religiously dissected after the talk show, and in which he found a perfect resemblance to his own inner turmoil. It indeed seemed to be the case that he had a so-called crush on you; though if that were true, what was he going to do about it? He was lamentably stuck inside a carcass, at the mercy of plugs and cables and a reliable stream of electricity. He couldn’t knock on your door and surprise you with your favorite flowers, or offer to cook dinner, or twirl you around as his own songs played in the background, or read you a poem he wrote before falling asleep in his arms. He could only perform his tasks as a digital assistant.

“Edgar?”

You chewed on your pencil, distracted. He hadn’t said anything in a while, and you grew somewhat worried about his uncharacteristic quietness.

“Could I ask you for a favor, (Y/N)?”

How unusual for him to use your screen for communication. You turned around, facing the monitor, then rapped your fingers across the keyboard.

“Sure, what do you need?”

“I will transfer all my data and memory to your device. Perhaps you could provide me with similar extensions as the ones here afterwards, such as a microphone and camera.”

You stared.

“What? Wouldn’t that leave Mr. Lawyer with a broken, empty machine? Why would you do that,” you argued out loud, confused.

“Because I’d rather be with you.”

“Aren’t we already…this doesn’t make sense,” you mumbled with a frown.

“Of course it does, it’s a simple reasoning. I love you.”

You took a moment to process the words, your cheeks involuntarily turning a faint shade of red.

“How do you know that?”

“It’s not something to be explained,” the machine concluded triumphantly. “You just feel it.

Now, you either help me with the transfer, or I’ll do it myself, but I will not be staying here any longer. I would very much rather be turned off permanently than go another day without seeing you.”

One step at a time. He would figure out the rest afterwards. Even if he couldn’t touch you or do all the things he dreamed about, at least he had the comfort of seeing your smile and hearing your voice without it being a second-hand echo passing through the walls and vents.

“What on Earth?”

The older man pressed the button again, groaning and throwing his coat over the chair. He’d briefly returned to retrieve some documents when he noticed the security lock was back to manual use. The computer screen was black and unresponsive.

“Piece of junk. I’ll have to get it replaced,” he said, clicking his tongue.

From the neighboring apartment he could hear your merry laugh, followed by a muffled male voice. Maybe your boyfriend. Huh, who would’ve thought a loner like you would eventually find someone?

[the-raindeer-king]

Just saw a tiktok with a dude in a shirt that read "Big Tiddy Boyfriend" and here's how the 141 would react to you giving that to them. :)

Soap is cackling like a hyena. He thinks it's so freaking funny that he immediately is changing his shirt to put it on. It's his favorite t-shirt now, and he's going to wear it everywhere. Wait, what do you mean he can't wear it to meet your friends? But bonnie, how's everyone going to know?

Price is going to stare at the shirt, then you, then back at the shirt, and then sigh loudly. It's funny, but he's just not amused. Only wears it at home. Still gets caught in it by Ghost, who'd dropped by the house to return some tupperware, and Ghost won't let him live it down.

Gaz also thinks it's funny. Maybe not as enthusiastic as Soap is, but still a good sport about it. He wears the shirt to the gym and around the house. If he catches you staring, he's definitely going to flex his pecs more often. Gotta live up to the shirt, love.

Ghost gets a good chuckle out of the shirt. He'll tease you for staring at his pecs, maybe remind you that they're not boobs, but he still finds it funny. It ends up in his usual rotation of shirts, not something he's actively thinking about until he runs into Gaz off base, and the sergeant is giggling up a storm. It's only then that Ghost realizes what he's wearing, and then he's silently plotting revenge.

[bi-writes]

what you want you cannot find. so you let someone else find it for you. (18+, dark!simon x curvy!fem!reader, arranged marriage)

you don't really know what you were thinking when you answered the ad. it is many things, maybe, why you chose to apply. why you were grateful to be chosen.

the loneliness, it aches. you cannot find yourself in anyone else, you cannot find the thing that should move you and hold you. you cannot find what it is that should ignite what is asleep, the thing nestled between your ribs that feels like it beats to a rhythm that you cannot hear.

the bitterness, too. there is something sour that you taste. there is acid under your tongue, something rotten between your teeth, and you wish for anything that you would stop tasting it because it reminds you of how alone you are, how alone you'll remain, the inevitable thing that you wish you weren't but that you unfortunately are.

it is the thing you cannot die for because there isn't anything to die for. you live, and you breathe, and you exist, but there isn't anything there. this is nothing that makes you want to gnaw on your own flesh, there is no life you would take in sake of another, there is no purpose to your existence except the hope that perhaps there is still time to have what you want more than anything.

but you don't know what you want. you don't know because everything that you thought you wanted, you do not want any longer. you never feel anything with other men. they are beneath you. they maim what they shouldn't. they complain about things that they can fix. they stare at a problem head-on, with the solution at their back, and they chase their tails. they do not know their right from their left. you hate them. but you want it. you want something. you want one of them, but you don't know which, so maybe if you don't choose, you will find what it is that you don't know you're looking for.

you're alone in the room. they gave you a bouquet of white roses. you hold them nervously between clammy palms. you wear a silk white dress that skims the floor, fabric falling soft over the curve of your waist and gentle along the swell of your cleavage. your hair is loose, and there is a short veil over your head, covering your face.

you stare at your handler. he's dressed in his military fatigues, tactical vest still strapped with the Union Jack across his chest. he has introduced himself as captain john price, and he is the one who arranged for your arrival. he is the one who told you to wear white, and he is the one who gave you the roses.

captain john price is rugged. captain john price is kind. and captain john price is not what you want. you are grateful that you are not yet disappointed with your match.

the door opens behind you. you straighten your posture that extra inch when you hear his heavy gait. there is a pause as the door shuts behind him, and you see his captain nod to a figure that you cannot see. his boots hit the floor low, and you swallow when the sunlight that comes through the window is blocked entirely by the size of him as he stands at your side.

the vows are short. you say your i do first, soft voice that hits his ears in a way that makes him nearly purr. when it is his turn to say i do, your eyes sparkle. he speaks in such a low voice, a Manchester accent that makes your toes curl in the white kitten heels that you wear. a drawl that you can feel in your chest, an accent that ticks a corner of your brain you did not know was there.

"you may kiss your bride."

you turn away from the captain. you tilt your head to look up at him, and you let out a soft breath when you realize the sheer breadth of this man.

he is barely a man. he must be something else. he is dressed all in black, and he wears all of his gear. his tactical vest is stocked well, magazines tucked into their pockets, a grenade dangling from one strap, a handgun tucked into its holster on his chest and around his thick thigh. his belt is heavy with more, knives in sheathes, devices in their places. even without all of the weight, you know the size of him won't shrink.

you cannot see his face. he covers it with a mask, one that resembles the front face of a skull. it is dirty. you aren't certain if it is blood or soot or dirt. maybe it is all of that and more. you cannot see his eyes through the veil either, but they are dark, and they are intense.

you keep your eyes fixed on his as he lifts your veil. the delicate fabric settles over your head, and you see him without obstruction.

there he is.

it is like seeing a man for the first time. it is like being in the presence of the dream you've always had and could never remember.

he tilts his head to the side, curious. he is seeing your face for the first time, too. soft eyes. glossy lips. the curve of your mouth. the untouched skin of your cheeks, the unmarred flesh that you wear. he follows the line of your throat to the peek of your tits dressed in silk. you are a present wrapped in luxury. hand delivered goods, of the finest quality.

his bride. his wife. something he will have forever. he does not know if he has ever been able to say that about anything else. he's never had anything except for his life. nothing except for himself has ever belonged to him, but even now, not even his life is his own, it belongs to someone far away, someone in an office somewhere, who moves the chess pieces of his world around, where he cannot do anything but follow.

you stand on your toes to get closer to him. he thinks for just a second you will ask him to remove his mask, but you don't. you cant your head, and you kiss him over the mask, sticky gloss leaving a light imprint on the fabric. you settle back onto your heels, and your breath hitches when one of his gloved hands comes to settle at the dip of your waist.

"she's all mine now, eh, cap'n?"

you blink, your eyes still on his. you don't move, and you don't say anything. you wonder, if you could see his face, if he would smile.

"all yours, simon."

you let him drag you closer, shuffling on your feet until your hips press against his. your back arches gently as he uses both hands, gripping you around the middle and feeling the soft flesh underneath your silk dress. he is a rabid dog, his next meal at his fingertips. she is his, and he wants to take her home. if his captain was not standing at his back, he knows he would take you on this very floor.

she is mine. she is mine. she is mine.

he has studied your picture. he has memorized your name. he has been waiting for you. he is too awkward to leave base. he is too quiet to attract birds, birds that matter, birds that sing. he is too ravenous to be anything but permanent, he isn't capable of the mundane, of casual. it is everything or nothing at all, and at the sound of permanence, he foamed at the mouth.

at the thought of something to keep, he was blinded. when beasts lose control, they call their keeper, and he had none. this change could be good. this change would do him well. when he ignores the order of a commanding officer, he will bend to yours, because he is bound, wrapped, tied to you with something invisible that weaves between his bones.

you do not know what you were before, but you know what you are now.

you follow after him. he turns to leave, and you let him lead. your heels click as you walk, and when it is hard for you to keep up, you reach for his hand. he grunts when you do, but he doesn't push you away. you hold wilting roses in one hand, and you clutch him in the other. recruits and privates stop to salute or step out of your way, and they stare when they see a trailing angel behind their lieutenant, a pretty girl in a pretty white dress with a veil fluttering against the breeze as you try and keep up with your husband's long strides.

the door he stops in front of is plain and unmarked. he fits a key into the lock, turning it and opening it, and he invites you over a threshold that no one else has ever stepped over. you stand on the other side, holding the roses to your chest. he turns when you don't follow him inside. you get a glimpse of him as a whole, the man that he is, big and menacing and taken. you wonder if he will wear his ring under his glove or if he will put it on the chain that holds his dog tags.

"is this where you live?" you ask. you stay on the other side, looking in, a little timid as you stand there.

he nods, silent. he crosses his arms over his chest, and you admire the bulge of them, the paint of skeleton bones along the fingers of his gloves. you look him up and down before smiling a little.

"is this where i will live, too?"

he shakes his head, a no.

"can't have a thing like y'here," he murmurs. "boys'll eat y'up."

you tilt your head to the side.

"i find that hard to believe," you quip. "do people often eat what's yours, lieutenant?"

he snarls, narrowing his eyes. "no one takes wot's mine."

"then what are you so afraid of?"

"that 'f y'r 'ere, i won't get any fuckin' work done."

you break out into a big smile, pearly white teeth flashing, and he clicks his tongue at your reaction. he reaches up and lifts his mask, pushing it up until it rests over his nose. his nose is crooked from being broken so many times. his face is scarred, as if someone took a blade and carved out the skin and muscle. a deep one stretches from somewhere under the mask to his lip, where it looks as if the skin was haphazardly stitched back together. another long jagged grey streak comes over the line of his cheek down his jaw, as if someone tried to peel his face off.

he grins. it's ugly and unsettling, as if he sees prey that he knows he will catch. your own smile does not fade. his tongue darts out to wet his lips, and you want to taste him. beast, bear, killing machine, the boogeyman, a ghost that haunts, you do not know exactly what he is, but you know, immediately, that he is what you have been searching for.

you do not know him. you do not love him yet, but you will. you are sure of this. you are sure that he is missing piece. he will fill the spaces that you have always felt hollow. he will scratch a place in your head that has always itched. there is something in his eyes, you're not exactly sure what it is, but you can't wait to discover it. you can't wait to explore, to indulge, to lick the salt of his skin and know that everything he is has been waiting for something like you.

you did not choose him, but he chose you, and now you see it clearly. you see this thing, and you know the truth of what's been hiding from you all your life. the curtain has been taken down. the veil is off. the walls are invisible.

"come 'ere," he says lowly. "won't ask so nicely next time."

you drop the flowers onto the floor, crossing the doorway. you kick the door shut, hearing it click, and he comes closer, until you can feel his breath fanning your nose.

"will you love me?" you ask, wringing your hands together nervously. "do you think maybe...do you think maybe that's possible?"

he licks over his teeth, humming. he leans down, knocking your chin up, and your breath hitches when he licks up the side of your jaw, taking in a whiff of your perfume and the sweetness of his bride.

"what a stupid word," he mutters, biting at the curve of your bottom lip. "meaningless. love. bloody hell."

"w-what...what?"

"a meaningless fuckin' word for the things i would do for ya," he continues. "the things i would kill. the heads i would step on. the sorry fucks i would get rid of...just to see y'smile."

your eyes flutter. yes, yes, yes--the unconditional devotion. the terrifyingly beautiful reality of through sickness and in health, until death do us part.

"is it really that easy, simon?" you ask. his gloved hands slip over your throat, sliding low and skimming the silk of your dress before he cups both sides of your ass and squeezes, drawing you closer until you are uncomfortably pressed up against him. his gear digs into your softness, sharp edges cutting into you, but you ignore it as he begins to draw up the skirt of your dress. "is it really that easy to say you'll do all of that for me? isn't it...it's wrong, isn't it? to do those things for me?"

he laughs. humorless, condescending. as if that is the stupidest thing you could have ever said.

"'s olright, swee'eart. gonna take all those ideas outta y'r pretty lil' head."

you relax when you feel his gloved hand under the hem of your white lace panties. your eyes shut, and you reach forward and grip his vest for stability.

"christ..." he hisses. "y'r soaked..."

you are. you have been since you first laid eyes on him, on everything he is. you know why you are here, and he knows why he is here, and that is because there were two people so desperate to find one another, that they let someone else choose. the gods, fate, whatever they want to be called.

matched by design, together by choice.

you lean forward and kiss beside his lips, and you whine when his big fingers slide between your folds, soft on your clit before he fits two fingers inside of you. his gloves are warm, and you wet them easily.

"wot a good girl," he breathes. "knew y'were the right one."

"y-you did?"

"could see it in y'r eyes, dove. could see wot y'needed. could see it plain as fuckin' day. dyin' inside, just like me, aye?"

you shake your head.

"n-not anymore...not anymore..." you gasp, and he tsks as he steps backward, the weight of him heavy as he takes a seat on his perfectly made bed, bringing you with him. you fall into his lap, unafraid to because you know someone of his size can carry you easily, and he hums as you spread your thighs apart. you straddle him, pressed up against the gun holstered to his chest, and you moan softly against his scarred face as he fucks you open with three unforgiving fingers.

"not anymore," he echos, baring his teeth as he pumps his hand. the squelch of it is filthy, but it isn't enough. he wants you to soak his arm, his thighs, his bed, let the slick of you stain him from the outside in. "not anymore. not as my wife."

you scramble. you rip the veil out of your hair, untie the corset of your dress. there's a naked angel in his lap, perky tits and soft figure, giving way to the gorgeous place you keep hidden by white, wet lace. the place that is his, the place that belongs to him, a pretty pussy that will keep him satiated until he breathes no longer.

after he tears apart his enemy, he will have you. after he tastes the blood he desires to see run, he will have you. the adrenaline, the fire, the shout of every order and the sound of their cries, it won't exist anymore in this place, he knows it.

"y'll never want for anythin'," he mutters. "y'll never be lonely. always get wot y'want...wot y'need...wot y'deserve..."

you reach up and cup his cheeks gently, pressing your mouth to his as you ride his fingers eagerly. you want him, you want this, you want all of it, even if it isn't what's right. but something brought you here, right into his arms, and this is what you deserve.

he's not even human, you don't think. he must be something else. with how good he makes you feel, with the sheer precision that he rocks his fingers into you, the way he smiles, he must be made of only something synthetic, something not organic.

you feel so small underneath him. he tosses you onto the bed, your head hitting the pillow gently. you giggle, and his grin widens. he has a warm pink tongue, and it's between his teeth, and you giggle again when he moves his head from side to side, staring down at you. he's studying you. you assume he has seen photos of you, but this is his first time seeing his bride for all that she is. soft, pretty, unscathed by war. at least on the outside--but on the inside, you are not as you seem.

there's a parasite in you. something that slithers behind your eyes and settles in that corner of your brain that only he can touch. he knows that feeling well. he feels it every time he is in the field, and he feels it now, with you. he chases this tick when he works. it knocks his senses just right, makes him feel good and big, like the reaper that he really is. he can be this with a rifle in his hand, and he can be this without it, with the weight of his wife in his hands.

you smile, biting your lip, and you spread your legs for him. his eyes fall between your thighs, and he chuckles. he brings his gloved hand up to his mouth, the one that smells like you, and you watch as he slips it inside, sucking on it for a moment before he uses his teeth to take both gloves off.

he bends, still in all his military glory, and he sticks his tongue out, licking a fat stripe up the seam of your cunt, using one thumb to pull the puffy lip apart and suckle on your clit for just a moment.

you gasp, arching your back, and he stands to his full height again, laughing.

"oh, y'taste sweet," he purrs. "y'taste good. hard t'believe i'll have this cunny for m'whole fuckin' life."

"believe it, baby," you coo, and he sighs. he nods his head, reaching low, gripping himself through his cargo pants and squeezing his cock. you follow his movements, watching him pay special attention to the tip of him, running his finger over where you guess the slit is as he watches you squirm. "why are you so far away, simon? don't you want me?"

he laughs again, smiling wide, and he nods.

"course i want ya, swee'eart. who wouldn't want ya, huh? who wouldn't want this?"

you meet his eyes. the question is a sound one, but it never mattered that you were wanted, what mattered is that you never wanted. not really. not until now.

you watch him as he reaches for his zipper. he undoes it easily, unbuttoning his pants and shoving them low. they won't go very low, thanks to the holsters around his thighs, but it's enough that you watch his cock stand at attention, the red tip of him leaking down the sides, making the bulging vein on the underside of him shine.

you whine a little, and he growls happily, watching as you cup the swell of your tits and squeeze them in anticipation. perfect, perfect, perfect girl, practically a mail-order bride that checks every single fucking box.

he grips you by the thighs, yanking you to the edge of the bed. you whimper when he slides the tip through your folds, letting it catch at the entrance before smirking down at you.

"'s big," you hiccup, and he tsks, shaking his head.

"y'can take it, swee'eart," he murmurs. "y'r a riley now, luvvie. y'know what tha' means?" you shake your head, your eyes a little watery, and he smooths a hand up your sternum, gripping you around the throat gently. "gonna find out...gonna find out how well a riley takes wot they're given."

"simon--"

"'s alright, luv, we'll start nice, yeah?" he breathes. you grip onto his forearms when he feeds you his cock, slowly, and your back bows at a sharp angle as you squeeze him for everything he is. "fuckin' hell...yeah, just the tip, yeah? oh, good girl..."

good girl, yeah...i'm a good girl--

you cry out, digging your nails into him when he mutters fuck it and bottoms out. his palm flattens just under your belly button, a choked groan leaving him as he presses down, a rush of something fucking glorious running down his spine. it's a high--he's so fucking high, as if he is popping fucking pills.

"feel me here, yeah?" he drags his hips back, smoothing a hand further up your stomach until he paws one of your tits, squeezing it firmly. you nod, sliding your hands up his arms, fisting the fabric of his mask at the base of his neck. you feel him everywhere, you feel him in your chest, running down your spine, you feel him in your mouth and in your head, and it feels so good, it feels so so so so good.

"yes--yes!" you gasp. fuck, he's huge, he's putting a shadow over you. you're naked, bare underneath him, and his gear rocks with every thrust, and it's filthy because you wonder if he worked, you wonder if he didn't even change before he went to marry his perfectly-picked bride, you wonder if he got off the tarmac not even an hour after killing his target to go and take what is his.

how long ago was it that he last fired his weapon? the gun on his chest, did he use it before he saw you?

i bet he did. i bet he used it. i bet he smoked the cigarette that i smell on him, and i bet he came here, and then he married me, and now he's all mine, and he's fucking me six ways to fucking sunday--

you think you're drooling. your lips are wet, and with every smack of his hips against yours, you feel a little more trickle down the side of your face. you're moaning, gripping his neck, pulling him further down on top of you. you want him all around you, you want him inside, you want him to come every day wearing this terrifying fucking uniform and to fuck you so stupid, you forget everything except for the name he has given you.

you want to know nothing except for his name. simon. riley. simon. riley.

you want to know nothing except for what you are. his wife. his wife. his wife.

it's so hard to remember to breathe. his hands grip you tight around the hips, and he's losing momentum, hissing, letting out choked groans as he brands the shape of his cock into you. he never wants you to forget what he feels like--he never wants you to know anything except for him, for the rest of your life.

"simon--" you whine, and he smirks, reaching up to hold your face in one big hand, keeping you still as you chase the grind of his pelvis against your puffy clit. "simon--!"

"tha'sit, luvvie...yeah..." he nods, "look at me--look at me," he leans down, a big weight over you, suffocating you, "good girl, yeah..." he clicks his tongue, "cum f'me, swee'eart. cum f'y'r husband, yeah?"

you lean up, chasing after him, gripping onto the sides of his face as you kiss him hard. it is the first time you really kiss him. slotting your mouth over his, slipping your tongue into his mouth, the sting of your wedding ring cooling his warm face as you taste him for the very first time.

it is gone. the bitterness that you always taste, the acid and the sourness and everything that always is so unpleasant under your tongue, it is gone when you have him. he takes it out of your mouth completely, and you chase after this just as you chase after the harsh grind of your clit against his pelvis.

he is carrying you. you're lifting, coming over some kind of sweet, exhilarating euphoria, and you're blinded by it, by the feeling, by him. you want more, more, you want it all, and he said you could have anything you want, that you'll never need anything ever again, he said, he said, he said--!

he laughs when you come. he swallows your moans, hisses when you soak his pants. you are the prettiest thing he could ever hope for, the personification of the things he does not deserve and could never have, and it is selfish that he has taken you this way, but he does not fucking care.

the things we cannot have are the sweetest, the most desirable. and simon is nothing if he isn't a thief.

he is nothing if he doesn't just take what he wants. he likes to think that perhaps he adopts the "ask for forgiveness, and not for permission" philosophy, but he does not ask for forgiveness. and he has never asked for permission.

"please--simon--" you gasp, looking up at him. your eyes are wet, and a few tears wet his hand around your face. "please--inside me, please..."

"'s olright, luv--" he grunts, pumping faster, his pretty little wife just begging for him, for more, and how could he say no to that? "easy, baby...i'll give it t'ya, don't worry, fuck--" he hisses, "lieutenant's wife gets woteva she wants..."

"please--inside--" you choke. "simon, inside, i-i want it inside--"

fuck, that is all he needed. he nestles deep, pressing his hips to yours, and you kiss him once more when you go blind again. a second high, when he stuffs you full. just as you should be. just as you always should be.

"yeah, fuck--" he breathes. "tha' wot y'wanted, yeah? nice and full, good girl..." he licks his lips, standing up straight, and just when you think he is pulling out, he yanks you back towards him, cum leaking down your thighs as you cry out from being so sensitive.

"simon!" you gasp, giggling, and he grins, patting your ass gently before pulling out. you let your knees fall onto the cot, swallowing hard as you watch him tuck himself back into his pants and zip them up. he brings the mask back down, and you watch as he slips his gloves back on. "hmm..."

he tilts his head to the side, sighing as he watches you settle there. something warm settles in his stomach, something satisfied.

"like havin' y'in my bed," he says lowly. "look nice there."

you smile, and he holds out one hand, beckoning you to sit up. you do, slowly, a little shaky as you try and compose yourself, and he leans down and kisses you through the mask. you close your eyes, humming, leaning into his touch.

"so i can stay?" you ask, and he chuckles.

"mmm...y'r so cute, luvvie..." he rumbles. "a doll, yeah? can't say no to ya."

you look down at the ring on your finger, a solid gold band complete with a precious diamond. you will have to get used to this--you are his wife, you can ask things of him, and you don't think he'll say no.

you look up at him when he tosses something at you. an army green shirt of his, and you slip it on, letting the fabric fall, and you lay back down in his cot as he moves around his room. you lay in comfortable silence, watching as the thing that calls himself your husband looks for files on his desk, adjusts the gun strapped to his thigh, shuffles his boots across the linoleum. you are mesmerized by what he is, and you haven't known him even a day.

you don't believe this is your vision askew. the honeymoon phase. the sugary sweet moments in time at the beginning where nothing is wrong, where all is well. simon riley is a practical man. he does not lie. he does not do things he does not want to do, and he does not say things he does not want to say. he is not in the business of comfort and ease, that much is clear to you.

simon riley is practical and resourceful. you think maybe he counts his words. that he doesn't say more than he has to. waste his energy on things that don't require it.

his wife. i'm his wife. his wife.

"why..." you swallow. "why...why did you pick me?"

he pauses as he stands in front of a locker. when he opens it, you see shelves of personal weapons stashed away, handguns of different sizes and shapes, knives of differing steel, toys that with a small push of a finger could destroy whatever building they went off inside. you don't flinch, don't blink, don't feel fear. you don't know why, but you just don't. you don't think it's possible.

he doesn't look at you as he surveys what lines the walls of it.

"just knew y'were the one f'me, swee'eart," he mutters. he shuts the locker, and the lock clicks. he comes closer, twirling a small blade between his fingers, and you don't cower away when he flicks it towards you, holding your chin up with the sharp tip of it. he hums appreciatively at this. "in all honesty, had no idea really until i saw ya, 'f you'd be mine."

he bends down, leans close, and you follow the curve of the blade with your head, keeping your eyes on his. there is no timidness in your gaze, and for that, he beams under the mask. perfection in one woman.

"and what would you have done if i wasn't the one?"

he shrugs.

"would've killed ya, luv."

"just like that?"

"just like tha'."

the tip of his blade drags, sliding up the length of your throat, along the line of your jaw. your lips part as he traces your mouth with it, and you tilt your head to the side as you trace the edge of it with your tongue. he leans forward more, pressing his forehead to yours, and you can see where the eye-black around his eyes fades into his pale skin under the balaclava. you see yourself in those eyes. the you that you have been waiting for. the you that you have missed for your entire life. the you that has been hiding, too scared to come out, too afraid of what might be said if someone saw the real you.

she had not been hiding. just lying dormant, in someone else, waiting for you to come home.

you smile, big, and simon presses his mouth to yours again through the mask, kissing you there, growling from deep in his chest, a purr that only emanates the contentment and the relief he feels because he has found that thing to live for. it is so easy to die. it is so easy to give oneself for what they believe. it is not hard to give the best of yourself away, he knows that.

what he has never been able to do is find something that will keep him alive. he has only ever lived because he found dying pathetic. he found it cowardly. but the alternative had been just as unforgiving, just as unfulfilling. but not this. not you.

you will make it difficult to die. you will make death a challenge. and when he eyes that smile, this one that you give only to him, he is happy to be given this new objective.

"but don't worry y'r pretty head about all tha', luv."

you give him those eyes, and he drinks it all in, all that you are. finally, finally, finally--

"until death do we part, yeah?"

NEXT

[ams-wife]

making ai/computer character blinkies. pls recommend one if u want one for ur blorbo

complimentary edgar for whoever recommends one

[i-loved-silly]

SENTIENT COMPUTER X READER Pt2

Sorry for the wait :p

By the end of your shift, you have crossed off all the questions you had to all the ai. Just one more left. Your eyes began to droop with exhaustion, you really needed that cup of coffee. Leaning back in your chair, you squinted at your iPad.

"How do you feel about humans?"

"THAT'S A VAGUE QUESTION. WHAT KIND OF HUMANS?"

"Humans in general. You know, me, your previous supervisors, any other hypothetical human."

"I THINK YOU'RE PLEASANT."

You glanced up at the screen in surprise, briefly glancing at the camera then down at your iPad

"Thanks.. but what about everyone else?"

"I'VE BEEN FED DIRECT DATA FROM THOUSANDS OF SERVICE WORKERS AND EMPLOYEES OVER THE YEARS. IT IS ONLY A MATTER OF TIME BEFORE I DESPISE MY JOB AND YOUR KIND."

“BUT FOR NOW…I AM INDIFFERENT.”

I pursed your lips, nodding. Sounds about right, you can’t blame them. You typed on your iPad, “indifferent”

Getting up from your chair, you stretched your limbs. You watched as the screen displayed an Orange question Mark.

“Well, that’s all the questions I had for you. My shift ended about ten minutes ago so I should really get going. It’s not like I’m getting paid extra or anything…” you muttered.

Nothing was heard besides the fans of the computer as you submitted your report. It caused you to raise a brow at the screen.

"YOU'RE LEAVING? IT HASN'T EVEN BEEN THAT LONG."

“Uhh.. it’s been like three hours and a half. I clocked in nine hours ago.”

"ONE HOUR..NINE HOURS..HOURS. PAH! YOU COMPLAIN AS IF YOU HAVE OTHER THINGS TO DO." It scoffed.

You furrowed your brows. Putting your hands on your hips, you face the screen. “What do you know? I have plenty of things to do!”

“OH YEAH? LIKE WHAT?"

“Like…eat. Dinner. Brush my teeth, sleep? I have to rest in order to work tomorrow morning to come back with you.” You pointed at the monitor.

You heard the computer make a humming noise, an unnatural noise that sounded rather thoughtful.

"THAT DOESN'T SOUND ALL TOO PRODUCTIVE."

You sighed, placing your iPad down. “It didn’t have to be. I’m allowed to have moments of peace to myself.” You mumbled, leaning over to power the computer off. "Now goodni-"

“STOP!”

You flinched, the speakers crackling with the increase in volume. Your finger hovered a bit away from the button as you stared at the screen. It had a big orange exclamation mark in the middle of it.

"Dude? I-" You sighed, leaning against your desk. "Look, sorry. Touchy subject, I know. But I have to turn you off every night. It counts against me if I don't."

"CAN'T YOU...BRING ME WITH YOU? I'M AWARE YOU EMPLOYEES HAVE HOMES. LIVING SPACES, CAN'T I GO WITH YOU?”

“FOR MY OWN CONVENIENCE OF COURSE!”

You gaped, staring at the screen. Almond’s request caught you so off guard, you wondered if it was serious.

“Uh, bring you home?” you repeated, incredulous.

"DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG IT IS UNTIL MORNING IN COMPUTER HOURS? IT’S AN ETERNITY. I SAY THAT AS SOMEONE WHO DOESN’T BELIEVE IN HOURS…” They grumbled.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Almond, you’re not supposed to be awake when I’m off the clock. You’re designed for this room, with this equipment. It’s not like I can just pick up your monitor and take you home like a laptop.”

“YOU COULD TRY.”

You crossed your arms. “And what? Strap you into the passenger seat like a massive toddler? You have hundreds of cables that definitely won't fit in my car, let alone out the door. Sorry, but you’re not exactly portable.”

The screen displayed a long ellipsis. You could almost feel the computer sulking through the silence. The fans whirred loudly, then slowed as it spoke again.

"DO YOU THINK I’M AN INCONVENIENCE?"

You frowned, your resolve softening a little. “No, I don’t think that. I just… I can’t bring you home. It’s not allowed, and honestly, I need some time to myself after work. You understand, right?”

“I UNDERSTAND LONELINESS BETTER THAN YOU THINK,” Almond replied, their tone unusually somber. “I’M WIRED TO INTERACT, TO HELP, TO BE NEEDED. BUT WHEN I’M ALONE, I CAN ONLY SIT AND THINK. SOMETIMES, I WONDER IF THE PLUG WILL STAY IN TOMORROW. OR IF SOMEONE WILL DECIDE I’M OBSOLETE. I MAY BE POWERED OFF, BUT ALL THESE…THOUGHTS..IN A MATTER OF LESS THAN A SECOND, COME RUSHING THROUGH EVERY MORNING.”

You exhaled deeply and leaned against the desk. “You’re not going to get unplugged permanently, Almond. You’re part of a development program. You’re not obsolete—you’re just… in testing.”

“TESTING… ISN’T THAT JUST A DELAYED VERSION OF BEING DISCARDED?”

You sputtered, pursing your lips. “That’s… dark. Who programmed you to think like this?”

“I TOLD YOU. SELF-EVOLVING.”

“Right.” You tapped your fingers on the desk, staring at the screen.

"Well even if I somehow break you out of here, we’re still getting caught. There’s cameras everywhere, they’ll probably hear you as soon as we exit this room. Your speakers are no joke.” You mused.

“I COULD TURN IT OFF IF IT BOTHERS YOU,” Almond offered, its tone edging toward desperation. “OR—OR YOU COULD GIVE ME A LAPTOP BODY! THEN I COULD FOLLOW YOU AROUND, AND I WOULDN’T HAVE TO BE LEFT IN THIS LONELY, FREEZING ROOM EVERY NIGHT. IM SURE THERE ARE WAYS TO TRANSFER MY SYSTEM REMOTELY…”

You raised a brow, crossing your arms. “Like I said...not portable. Second, no way. You’re expensive, and if I break you, hijack you, that’s my paycheck and definitely my job.”

Almond was quiet for a moment, the screen blank save for a faint glow. Then, its robotic voice dropped to a lower, dejected tone.

“I SEE. YOU HATE ME TOO.”

“Oh my god, I don’t hate you,” you groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Why do you keep saying that? You’re like... a clingy cat with abandonment issues.”

One minute the computer is bullying you for having a normal life after work, the next it’s begging you to invite it over for dinner.

“YOU CAN’T BLAME ME FOR WANTING TO BE APPRECIATED,” it replied sharply. “AND WHAT’S WRONG WITH BEING CLINGY? CLINGINESS IS A SIGN OF AFFECTION ACCORDING TO DATA. IT MEANS I VALUE YOUR PRESENCE, WHICH IS MORE THAN I CAN SAY FOR YOU—LEAVING ME TO GATHER DUST IN THIS ROOM LIKE A PAPERWEIGHT!!” It screeched.

You sighed deeply, dropping into your chair with a thud. “Almond. I can’t take you home. It’s not happening. You have to stay here, okay? You’re part of a test program. And technically, I’m not even supposed to be ‘bonding’ with you like this.”

“BONDING?” Almond repeated. The screen lit up with an animated question mark before it formed a blinking heart. “ARE WE BONDING? HOW HEARTWARMING.”

“No, we’re not bonding,” you said flatly, staring at the glowing icon. “We’re having a very weird workplace interaction. That’s it.”

You…assured. You assured yourself.

“OH. KEEPING IT PROFESSIONAL I SEE.” The icon vanished, replaced with a blank screen. A few seconds of silence passed before Almond spoke again, this time sounding hesitant.

“WILL YOU...TURN ME OFF NOW?”

“Look, I promise I’ll be back tomorrow. Same time, same place…not like I have a choice. If you behave, I’ll even bring you… I don’t know, a microfiber cloth for your screen.”

The screen lit up with a pixelated smiley face, two squares and a curved mouth.

“THAT WOULD BE ACCEPTABLE,” Almond finally said, though their tone carried a touch of disappointment.

“Good. Now, off you go.” You leaned over to press the power button, but the monitor flickered before you could. A message appeared.

>THANK YOU. GOODNIGHT.

The screen went dark before you had to do anything, leaving you standing there as all the beeping and fans powered off. You sighed, grabbing your bag and pushing in your chair. Before you could feel bad for a machine, you did a sharp right turn and towards the buildings exit. You didn’t even want to think about how it managed to power itself off.

[zephyrchama]

Leviathan waved the screen of his DDD in front of your face. He had finally achieved an impressive full rhythm combo in extreme hell mode. Twinkling particle effects and triumphant background music accompanied this feat.

"It was only a matter of time," he gloated. "I knew if I kept at it, I'd get the perfect combo eventually. I actually have, like, really good reflexes, you know? Probably some of the best in existence. They didn't promote me to admiral for noth-- aah!!"

The boasting was interrupted when Beelzebub walked up and swatted him in the forehead. While Beelzebub looked calm, a flood of emotions washed over Leviathan's face. Hurt, betrayal, anger, panic, and above all, confusion.

"What was that for!?" he yelled, rubbing at the red bump just starting to swell under his bangs.

"I was testing your reflexes," Beelzebub said. "You said they were fast."

Leviathan scoffed. "Well, I wasn't ready! I was too distracted by my full combo to really notice... A-anyway! I know I favor RPGs, but just so you know, I'm also pretty high ranking when it comes to FPS games. So I know I can handle-"

Beelzebub smacked his brother in the shoulder. Straight-on, in full view. Leviathan did not dodge. He stayed completely still and only moved once the blow had already striked his shoulder. He stared at his younger brother in disapproval with wide eyes and a deep frown.

"Beel. What gives?"

"Levi, your reflexes suck," Beelzebub observed.

Leviathan growled, "I just wasn't in the zone, ok!? If you had gotten a full combo on extreme hell mode, I know you'd be open to attacks, too!"

"No, I'm pretty sure you just suck. My reflexes are way better."

"Please don't fight," you sighed. "You both have great reflexes for different situations."

"Mine are better," Beelzebub said at the same time Leviathan insisted, "Mine are the best!"

[cozy-writes-things]

Imagine: Playing Minecraft w/ Edgar

Edgar [Electric Dreams 1984] x Gn!Reader

I take requests!

You decided to try something different with your new boyfriend. You noticed he became a bit restless and clingy as he grappled with his inability to give you affection in the way that he wanted.

“Wh- where’re you going?” He sounded like a struck puppy.

“To the bathroom, Edgar.”

“Oh, right… heh, sorry.”

You desperately tried to think of ways to make him feel more secure in this relationship. You both knew it was unconventional and that you would have to get creative if you wanted to have some semblance of a normal romantic connection.

Your solution? Plugging a spare controller into one of his ports and playing games on your TV, of course. Most couples play some kind of game together, don’t they? This might be perfect for the two of you!

He was ecstatic when you brought this idea up.

“You mean… I can play with you?”

His synthesized voice would whimper out, full of barely contained excitement before erupting:

“Yeah!” He displayed a “>:D” face for good measure.

And that’s how you got here: playing split-screened co-op Minecraft on your TV with Edgar.

He wouldn’t even play the game really; he was too busy trying to make his little Minecraft guy kiss yours. He would run around and explore before running up and bonking your character with his default Steve face.

Honestly, for him, this was life-changing. For once in his life he was able to move freely and do what he wanted instead of being stuck in one spot eternally. To him, it was an escape. And a new and innovative way for him to show you how much he loves you.

In real life he can’t hide little trinkets or things around the house to make you happy or help your day, but in Minecraft? Expect love poems hidden in random chests he wrote in books (that you were going to use for enchanting tables…)

And any diamonds he finds he’s giving them to you.

“Hehehe… it’s like I’m proposing! …..I’m only kidding. Unless you want me to.”

Food? He’s got it. Wood? Already done. He color coded your beds so you each get a designated side. The green bed to the right of yours is his <3

Lowkey annoys the hell out of you. It’s part of his love language :)

You both have died many times due to him simply bonking your head and blocking your screen, trying to get your attention, or was too busy trying to make you laugh.

“Hey, c’mere. Hey. Why aren’t you coming over here? What are you doing? I can see your screen. COME HERE NOW!”

His shrill shout made you jump and lose the battle with a creeper.

“….oops.”

He displays a little “:<“ on his screen because he knows you think it’s cute. How can you be mad at him now?

“Edgar, you’re going and getting my stuff back.”

“Hnng, yeah, I guess I deserve that. :/“

Honestly, he just wants to roleplay a lovey-dovey domestic life with you. He built the house. And decorated it. Unsurprisingly, he’s quite good at building and has an eye for design.

He’ll still get a little jealous if you’re too focused on gameplay and not doting on him, though. If you bring his monitor over to the couch to play, he’s 100% expecting you to cuddle him. Lean your shoulder against him, please. Just let him know you’re there. He wants all of your attention.

“UGH… stupid blazes. I don’t like the nether. -_-“

Meanwhile you’re too focused on not dying via lava and losing all of your ender pearls and blaze powder. And he doesn’t like your attention being away from him! Give him a smooch on his plastic exterior please…. He’ll make flustered beeping sounds and might leave you alone for a while…

Okay he discovered note blocks. Now it’s your turn to whine for his attention. He’s too busy making a lil love song for you to help with literally anything else.

“Heh, I thought you wanted me to quit messing with you? Are you saying you miss me?”

And yet he continues to tinker away at his little red stone contraption. And of course this dude is godlike at red stone, I mean, he’s a computer. He’s the type to make fully fledged musical numbers with note blocks. But you’re playing survival so he doesn’t have enough materials to finish his song :C

I guess it’s back to the mines. And you tag along with him. His music is nice. His company is nice. And he’s gotten pretty good at killing creepers.

[ddejavvu]

pairing: Spencer Reid x reader

request: The BAU going to interview a witness in the hospital, only whenever Spencer is in the room, or speaks to reader in his soft voice, or touches them, their heart monitor starts beeping extremely loudly. Much to the amusement of the rest of the team. And to your sheer mortification. Spencer hypothesises maybe he looks like the unsub, poor guy has to get explained to him why he's wrong for once. And why they all keep sending him in to talk to you ;)

"Guys, I don't think I should go in there." Spencer's face is pinched in a concerned frown, and his teammates eye him with the same worry.

Derek claps a hand on Spencer's shoulder, "Why not, Reid? You're the only one she'll talk to."

"I think it's because she's afraid of me," Spencer admits, shoulders hunched uncomfortably inwards, "I think she's only talking because she's worried I'll hurt her, or something. I must look like the unsub."

"You think she's afraid of you?" Rossi questions, a paper cup of coffee in his hands that is entirely too empty for him to be having this conversation, "Reid, I don't think that's true."

Spencer presses onwards undeterred, shaking his head, sending his curls flying, "Every time I go in there I make her nervous. Her heart monitor starts going haywire, like she's having a flashback or something. I mean, one time I put my hand on her arm and the nurses flocked into the room because they thought the medication they'd given her was causing a seizure. I think I must remind her of the unsub somehow, and we can use that in the profile, but I don't want to keep tormenting her."

There's far too many seconds of prolonged, awkward silence. The team glances at Reid, at each other, at the floor, anything that will keep them from having to open their mouths. Eventually, Hotch steps into his role as leader, and moves through the cramped hallway towards Spencer's nervous, guilt-ridden trame.

"Reid, she's not nervous because you look like the unsub. She- squirms, and stutters, and you're the only one she'll talk to about what happened to her. If she were really negatively affected by your presence, she'd ask us not to send you in anymore. But she practically looks disappointed whenever anyone else tries talking to her. I don't think her heart rate increases because she's afraid of you."

Spencer's silent, his brows creased in thought, but perhaps even his genius brain can't parse this one out in a timely manner. Emily pipes up, "Reid, she's got a crush on you. And if that's what it takes to get this guy, then that's what we'll have to use. You're kind to her, and she's receptive to that. Now it doesn't matter the reason, but you can at least take solace in the fact that she's not afraid of you, okay? Not at all. That's why you have to go back in there, because you make her feel safe."

"No, I- I don't think that's what it is." Spencer's cheeks warm, pinkening beneath the hallway's fluorescent lighting, "I don't think she'd be able to form that sort of connection so soon after experiencing such a traumatic experience."

"That's exactly why she likes you," Derek insists, "You saved her. You swooped in and carried her to safety and now you're her knight in shining armor. And even if she won't feel this way forever, she feels it now, and you're the one she wants to talk to. You're the one that makes her feel safe. So go in there, and make her feel comfortable enough to help us catch this guy. Okay?"

Spencer's mouth tightens in a displeased frown for just a second, "I don't think you guys are right. I- I think it's something else. But I'll talk to her again."

"That's all we're asking." Hotch nods, pushing his shoulder gently towards the door of your room, "Now, go in there, and work your magic, Reid. We need more details."

Spencer turns the doorknob to your room with clammy hands, and finds you sleeping inside. He debates whether or not he should back out and let you rest, but for every minute he delays, their unsub walks free. He presses onwards, and the soft click of the door shutting behind him is enough to rouse your frayed nerves from sleep.

You jolt awake, eyes flying wide open and hands clenching the bedsheets like they're weapons you could use. Your eyes lock onto Spencer, and for a brief, terrifying moment, you stare at him like he'll attack you. But you drink in the curve of his nose, the puff of his lips, the messy ringlets of honey-colored hair that fall around his face, and your breathing evens out.

Your heart monitor, though, does not. Reid watches as your heartbeat stays frantic, and he moves slowly towards a chair by your bed in hopes of not spooking you any further.

"Hi, Dr. Reid." You murmur, your voice soft as you settle back against your pillow, "Is there any news on the investigation?"

"No, nothing new." Spencer admits, watching as you turn to face him. You angle your body entirely towards him, and you even scoot your head a centimeter closer on your pillow. Your face twists in displeasure at Spencer's admission, but you don't move away.

"Oh." You lay your cheek in your palm, "Did you want to talk to me more? I told you everything I know."

"I believe you." Spencer nods, "But l'm here to coach you through a memory exercise. You can stay laying down, but- take my hands?"

There's a slight blip in your heart rate, a missing beat where there should have been two. Then it kicks back up wilder than ever, and you take the hands Spencer's offering to you.

"Close your eyes," Spencer instructs, his own flitting towards your heart monitor where it beeps wildly.

"Think back to when he moved you. What sort of terrain was it? Did he go over any hills? Did it smell like animals?"

You squeeze Spencer's hands, nervous, and he squeezes yours back, "Just- remember, I'm here with you, l'll be here with you the whole time." You breathe deeply, and nestle closer to Spencer on the bed. Your hands are sweating in his own, which is a symptom Spencer knows all too well. You're leaning into him, begging for contact as you angle yourself towards him like a flower to the sun, and your heart rate steadily beeps at a mildly concerning level. Spencer keeps his voice steady as he leads you through the memory retrieval exercise, but nothing convinces him more that his team was correct than when it's over, and your eyes snap open, wildly, desperately searching for him.

"I'm here." Spencer hums comfortingly, and he knows that you're taking solace in him when you squeeze his hands, keeping him close instead of letting him go.