#unplug from the system

[dosesofcommonsense]

If you’re still watching the Corporate Media Machine, turn it off and find some independent sources. I’ve mentioned quite a few on this blog.

Can we all agree that pedophiles are mentally ill, highly intelligent people who’re delusional and losing a spiritual war?

They are using the mentally ill, spiritually bankrupt sheep to fuel the trans movement. The LGB community was hijacked, just like the original feminist movement. The pedos are using the trans narrative to take the fight to parents and the remaining Christian bulwark of Western Civilization.

As broken as the cultural moral compass is, it’s still better than an amoral culture where you can openly sacrifice kids (abortion), encourage rape culture, mutilate our bodies (change the avatar not the dna), and exploit the mentally ill to further a spiritual war between the rulers of this world and the one and only God of the universe.

If we lose our moral compass, which is crumbling, then we are spiritually bankrupt…and that’s a YUGE problem.

We are fighting a spiritual war in real time. It’s high time people realized that, and - no - the demonic propaganda team of the Corporate Media Machine isn’t going to tell you about that otherwise they’d expose themselves. And while they have no problem exposing themselves for pleasure, they have no desire to pull the wool back and let you see just how dark and evil they are.

[maythedreadwolftakeyou]

im like TWO MINUTES away from finishing Tresspasser and my tv screen keeps getting horrible MYSTERY STATIC right down the center to ruin everything

[givemethedamnflowers]

The way i can't be productive more than 1h a day

[deadc0py]

I now follow something like 30 total ppl on tumblr. 20 or so aesthetic blogs and the rest are my bloved mutuals from cohost or elsewhere (hi siveine & cohost user g-gundam & barbarawolf & others)

[nerice]

leah's birth is the most important event in the story. without leah, angel hell wld never resolve. leah's birth is also the most screwed up strange unlikely wormed corner bc. arianna never wanted children due to the songhost inheritance dilemma. in fact she almost kills leah with her reckless attempt to prevent her from aging (which in itself... is what causes leah to be put in stasis and allows for her to grow up around the same time belle also rly needs a friend) but that's not what kills me most here what rly kills me most. is. for the universe core to be mended leah's existence is vital (but the one variable faye is unaware of/not involved in at all) that leah is such an accident except (soul birth means no child is born unwanted. rotate that on 🐇 but i digress. except this is exactly what this is about) the only reason arianna softened on the idea of raising a kid of her own nd then got stuck with one is. bc of sky. because for as ill-equipped that she was to handle sky at her worst most ptsd-riddled, taking care of her with jumie, training her being the vital influence that taught sky to temper her strength, a child of her own doesn't seem so bad suddenly. and so we get leah, as messy as that is. bc for sky to end up in the palace as she was......... r*bbit hell. gray at his worst. a direct consequence of his existence, his daughter an inevitability in many ways (in others, a similar accident) soulless the symptom of the broken moon core, the thing faye so desperately attempts to fix.... and she succeeds... through this extremely fraught line of events that results in leah being born, leah's aging being fucked up beyond salvaging (the fight arianna and sky get in over this.... arianna's death) sky left with the burning need to do right by leah, to not keep her confined in the depths of the palace (oh the cruelty of raising a child underground... :)) and thus sends her on raiu's little group project 2 go nd save linn. where she meets belle in the process. predestined? PROMISED, EVEN

[starlightbright]

RIP Ricky September they had to kill you because it would have been unrealistic to not keep you on as a companion 😔

EDIT: I've noticed some people taking this post really seriously, so to clarify: no, I don't think Ricky was literally a perfect uwu anti-racist angel. This post was mostly a joke about how he was running around doing companion shit and, most of all, how the Doctor and Ruby both thought he was a hottie. My actual feelings about Ricky are that he's a complacent white liberal. Character reading under the cut if you want an explanation.

I do think the implications of making him unplugged from the racism bubble, paralleling him with the Doctor (man who shows up with knowledge about history and technology and guides the other character through dangerous situations), and directly contrasting to Lindy (including being open to trust the Doctor without second guessing him the same way Lindy and all her friends did) are supposed to be that he wasn't like the other people there and is thus LESS racist since racism comes to be what defines their society. I've seen some people basically ask "then why'd he move to White People City?" but within the text it's actually Rich People City; the reason everyone there is white is because systemic racism financially benefits white people. Making him LESS racist is NECESSARY to giving his death any meaning - because if he definitively would have called the Doctor a slur and walked away, then the Dot killing him quickly was a mercy kill because we KNOW all the other residents are going to die in the wilderness.

THAT SAID, I also don't think he was a progressive anti-racist. Do you know what Ricky actually is? A white liberal. He might disengage from the White People Bubble, he might not be outwardly cruel to black people, but he's still surrounded by people who are and benefits from a system where ONLY WHITE PEOPLE ARE RICH. The culture might be fucked, but he still benefits from it without doing anything to actually fight it. It's like how many a white liberal will read about the history of slavery, feel sad about it, and then be uncritical of prison labor. If Ricky was meant to be progressive, there'd be something, ANYTHING in the text about how he's tried to educate his followers on their society's problems, but it got deleted. He is COMPLACENT.

That's sort of the point, I'd say, since the theme is about how priviledged white people put themselves in a bubble of people like them and choose to look away from what's wrong in society. Those people become complacent at best with no effort to actually speak out or change things. Hell, even within the text, Ricky SEES a problem others are looking away from (the slugs eating people), but only tries to fight it by making a TikTok about it and becomes complacent again, accepting that people are just going to be eaten.

So tl;dr: no, I don't think the white liberal kid literally would have been a companion. I think if you stuck him in the Ood episode, for example, he'd have shaken his head when he found out about their plight, maybe made a TikTok with sad music playing over footage of them, and then said "welp, nothing else can be done." I think it's FUNNY to imagine another companion that the Doctor and Ruby both are giggling like schoolgirls over.

Also I kind of thought he was ugly - no offense to the actor but the makeup they had him in combined with the lighting and closeups made him look way older than 27 so he gave off this uncanny "how do you do fellow kids?" look.

[gaddaboutgriffon]

Super Ghostly Farming

During their times exploring the infinite realms Sam had discovered ghost plants. And that the Fenton’s Ecto-dejecto makes them solid enough to grow in the mortal realm. The real surprise is that produce living seeds since they absorbed actual nutrient matter from the soil. No one is surprised she makes her mission to revive extinct species. Or that she accidentally mistook ghost plants from other universes as extinct plants to revive.

During this time Jazz found out about Dan and had Danny dig up the thermos so she can make sure the poor time displaced ghost can get some therapy. Danny was both shocked and relieved the therapy actually managed to reform Dan. The real turning point is when Dan’s escape attempt led to a good reveal with Jack and Maddie. However since his timeline was impossible now he started destabilizing. It was only thanks to being fused with another secret clone project Vlad was working that he was saved though now he is a halfa instead of full ghost.

But of course things can’t all be good. Due to her suit and all the time fighting ghosts Valarie has become ecto contaminated enough that she is now coming up on the GIW’s sensors. This leads to Danny rescuing her from them and red huntress officially reconciling and joining team phantom.

The GIW are also becoming even worse of a problem. Their Ecto sensors are getting more accurate and they have begun traffic stops as a first measure to quarantine the town. Dani had been caught but thankfully Tucker had hacked the GIWs communications system a while ago. Danny rescued his clone but damage had already been done and she had to retreat into her core. It it the size of a ping pong ball and looks like a glowing Pearl. Danny keeps it in a little pouch with him so she can feed off of his ecto.

Loosing their catch to Phantom was the last straw for the GIW. The now plan to nuke the city. In preparation they have all the roads blocked off and are going door to door with ecto scanners. Anyone with a low enough contamination are given a day to pack one bag each and they will be bussed out the next morning. This who set off the scanners are taken to a holding cell in town.

Green sticky note suddenly appear appears before Danny telling him to pack and get his loved ones into the specter speeder and flee into the infinite realms for a natural portal to another universe. There is no stopping tragedy if they stay.

Danny passes the messages to Sam, Tucker, and Val by text. Jazz however was shopping with Dan in his human disguise when the text went out. And they had been spotted by GIW agent. Of course with the amount of Ecto signals Dan and Jazz gave off it was shoot first. Dan protected Jazz from the worst of the blasts and flew her home but he was severely injured and reverted to core.

Meanwhile Sam has gotten her go bag ready (with an ecto thermos full of ghost plants and a bag full of revived plant seeds). Tucker and Val are also packed but they take a little extra time to execute a plan he had for a while. Val stealthed into a GIW computer survey and inserted a drive giving Tucker wireless access which he used to upload a virus that would delete the entire copy and send all files and programs to his PDA and the delete the original system before crashing it. As soon as he got the files and the virus uploaded she unplugged the drive and went to the Rendezvous point. Unfortunately that took a little too much time and the GIW were at his house.

Tucker hears them talking to his parents downstairs and thinks fast. He hides his bag and PDA on the roof and text Valarie to pick it up for him and to have her and phantom come rescue him from the holding cells down town he found from the files. Cause there was not enough time for them to get there because the GIW were breaking down his door . He just manages to smash his phone with a hammer so they wouldn’t know of the text before the GIW are in the room with their scanner screeching.

Danny was helping his parents get the speeder loaded up with his family’s and s Sam’s luggage, when Val arrives with her and Ticker’s stuff. He is in ghost form and flying the to the holding cells before she is finished explaining. Interesting Danny’s family, Sam, Tucker, Val and Vlad are the only ones contaminated enough that it would set off the sensors so Tucker and Vlad are the only prisoners there. The fight is only against robots and automated guns and won’t long but it is now morning and all the civilians and GIW agents are being bussed out of the danger zone.

Danny is opening Tucker’s cell and Val is getting Vlad out When there is a flash of light and sticky note.

“I will try to slow time down enough for you to get back to the realms, but the missile is laced with ectoplasm and I can’t stop it completely. Hurry.”

Danny’s time medallion makes him immune so he grabs his two friends and vlad and flies them to Fenton works watching as the missile in the sky is flying towards them at a pace he may barely outrun.

He gets to the ready speeder in the basement aimed at the portal and sees a very concentrated Clockwork holding his staff aloft with a bright purple glow. They pile in and zoom into the portal with Clockwork right behind them they just clear it into the ghost zone when there is a large blast behind them propelling them forward. And suddenly the hole in the realms is now closed. Danny exits the speeder and pulls Clockwork’s glitchy fading form in.

“I can reform from my core in my lair. ButI must see the infinity map.” Danny pulls out the map and hands it to the shaky ghost he marks two locations. One is his lair the Long Now, and the other seemed random. Then he shrunk into what looked like a golden gear with a round purple gem inside.

Danny made sure he put Clockwork’s core into the lair. The places seemed to be one single room with a pillow on a stand in the center. Very different from the maze of clocks and gears from the last time he was there. He placed the gear on the pillow and thanked clockwork even if he wasn’t sure he could hear him. When he left her doors automatically closed behind and chained themselves shut.

The second location was a natural portal to another universe. Danny guessed that was going to be their new home. But it was rapidly getting smaller. They flew the speeder through it soared over a lake and small forest before coming to a crash landing in a field on the Forrest edge. They get out and see road sign that says “Smallville ahead. Five miles.”

——————

Ok that is the most of the set up. Of course they landed in the Smallville area. Sam was smart and also stole some of the gold bullion her parents had and didn’t know she had the safe code. That is enough for them to buy a house and a few acres. She insisted on land to grow her revived plants. A lot of this plants I am basing on the Berries from the pokemon games and can be eaten and sold.

[tedmustache]

Can you write a fic where the fem!reader is a med student and accidentally calls Robby "Dad." He starts calling her "kid" and it becomes a small thing for them. After a hard case, the reader is close to a panic attack and Robby is there to comfort them, just like a dad?

Hey, Kid

Pairing: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x Platonic!Fem!Reader

Summary: After a sleep-deprived mistake leads to the reader accidentally calling Dr. Robby “Dad,” the nickname “kid” becomes a quiet, constant thread between them.

Warnings: Medical setting (hospital trauma cases), Grief over patient death (minor character), Panic attack symptoms (breathlessness, shaking, emotional distress), Comfort after emotional distress, Mentorship and familial themes (reader/mentor dynamic, not romantic)

Main Masterlist

[...]

You’d been on your feet for thirteen hours, running on one granola bar, an energy drink you regretted two hours ago, and sheer panic. The trauma pager had been going off like it was trying to set a world record, and somehow every single attending had disappeared when it was time to present the new patient.

Except Robby.

Of course, it was Robby.

He stood across from you now, arms crossed, watching you like a hawk while you sputtered through a case summary that sounded a lot smoother in your head than it did aloud.

“…penetrating abdominal trauma, vitals unstable, FAST was positive—uh, positive… and we’re, I mean I was thinking we should prep for the OR—”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Unless you think there’s something else we should—”

“Finish your sentence before you second-guess yourself” he interrupted, not unkindly. “You're presenting. Own it.”

You nodded quickly, cheeks hot. “Right. Prep for the OR.”

A beat passed. Then he gave a small nod, turning to the trauma team. “She’s right. Let’s move.”

You exhaled, finally breathing, and trailed behind as they rolled the patient toward surgery. As the doors swung shut, you felt the adrenaline ebb from your system, replaced with the thudding crash of fatigue.

“Good call, kid” Robby said as he turned away from the board.

And before you could think. Before your caffeine-deprived brain could stop you, it happened.

“Thanks, Dad.”

The hallway went silent. For exactly three seconds.

You froze.

Robby blinked. You blinked. A resident walked by, did a double take, and wisely kept walking.

“I—I meant Dr. Robby! Sir! I mean—I didn’t—”

Robby stared at you for a beat longer

“Well,” he said slowly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “I’ve been called worse.”

You slapped a hand over your face. “I’m so sorry, that was—”

“Relax. You’re not the first sleep-deprived med student to do it. You just said it loud enough for the whole ER to hear.”

“Please let me die in peace” you muttered.

He snorted. “Not on my shift, kid.”

The nickname stuck. After that, “kid” became a thing.

He called you “kid” when he passed you in the hall. When you brought him a chart. When you correctly identified a spinal fracture. When you tripped over an unplugged IV line and nearly faceplanted into a gurney.

“You okay, kid?”

“Nice catch, kid.”

“Don’t touch that, kid. Do you want to get yelled at by Neuro?”

And despite your initial horror, it grew on you. It was nice, in a weird way. Especially because Robby didn’t just call anyone that. At least, not with that tone. Half exasperated, half protective, like he actually gave a damn.

And he did, you were starting to realize.

Even when he made you redo your discharge summaries three times. Even when he roasted your slightly incorrect anatomy sketch in front of Jack (you had been tired, okay?). Even when he acted like he didn’t care, but showed up every time things got hard.

Like today.

You’d just lost a patient. A teenager. Hit by a drunk driver while biking home from soccer practice. There’d been a window. A small and hopeful window, and you’d clung to it with both hands.

And then you watched it slam shut in front of you.

You stood in the supply room now, the door shut, hands braced on the counter. Your scrubs were stained, your gloves long gone, and your lungs felt like they’d forgotten how to expand.

Your heart was racing. Too fast. You knew the signs too well.

The edges of your vision pulsed. Your hands were starting to tremble.

No. Not here. Not now.

You bit your lip and counted.

In. One, two, three

Out. One, two, three

The door creaked open.

You didn’t have to turn around. You knew the voice.

“Hey, kid.”

You closed your eyes.

“Not a good time” you croaked.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “That’s why I’m here.”

You didn’t answer. Your hands tightened on the edge of the counter until your knuckles went white.

“I shouldn’t have—I should’ve caught it,” you said suddenly. “His pressure dipped and I hesitated, and maybe if I’d said something sooner, or—or run the second unit faster—”

“Stop.” His voice was firm, but not harsh. “That kid died because a drunk driver made a choice. Not because of you.”

You shook your head, breath hitching. “I didn’t do enough.”

“You did everything.”

Silence. Then the soft shuffle of his footsteps. You felt a hand on your shoulder, solid and steady.

“You’re allowed to feel it” Robby said. “That’s part of the job. But don’t carry what’s not yours.”

You finally looked up. He wasn’t glaring. He wasn’t giving you a speech about boundaries or toughness or professionalism.

He just looked… there. Real. Human.

Like a dad.

“I hate this part” you whispered.

“Me too.”

Your eyes welled up, and that was it. You let go.

You didn’t sob. There wasn’t time for that. But a tear or two slipped down your cheek, and when your legs wobbled, Robby guided you gently to sit on the counter stool like he’d done this a hundred times before.

Which, you realized, he probably had.

He stayed for a minute. Maybe two. Just long enough for your breathing to even out. For the shaking to stop.

Then he patted your back. “Come on, kid. Let’s get you a coffee.”

You wiped your face and nodded.

He opened the door, and before you stepped out, he glanced at you sideways.

“You know,” he said, “Dana keeps asking why I don’t have kids.”

You blinked at him. “And what do you say?”

He shrugged. “I say I already have one.”

You laughed, soft and a little broken. But it felt better than crying.

“Lucky me" you said.

Robby gave a lopsided smile. “Damn right.”

[digitaldaydreamm]

https://www.tumblr.com/umathurwin/777141804870074368/rafe-who-keeps-a-buzz-cut-because-he-has-sensitive?source=share

This is so bsf rafe, just imagine him going to readers house (unannounced ofc) and he looks awful, like burnout and frowning like a puppy (probably because of ward or some shit) and reader tries comforting him by running her hands through his hair and she lays his head down on her chest (this whole situation was just an excuse to be face to face with her tits LMAO)

unspoken claim

rafe x childhood friend!reader

warnings: cursing, rafe laying on reader's chest lol

a/n: this is sooo soft rafe :') i'm also finally getting into your reqs, remember they're always open for those of you who have anything special you'd like to ask for/comment on (for any of my existing pairings or new ones you wanna suggest)!!

masterlist | taglist

⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°

The sound of your front door unlocking has your stomach flipping before you even register it.

Only one person uses a key like that—slow, angry, like the metal itself pissed him off. Then it swings open, heavy footsteps stomping across the floor like your living room did something wrong.

You peek out from the kitchen.

He looks rough.

Hoodie thrown on haphazardly, eyes red and jaw clenched so hard you think he might grind his teeth down. There’s a tension in his shoulders that screams don’t talk to me—but he came here, so you know he wants you to ignore that.

“Rafe?”

“Don’t ask,” he mutters, already collapsing onto the couch like it’s the only thing holding him together.

You shut the fridge quietly and walk over to him. “You look like shit.”

“Feel worse.”

You stop next to the couch, crossing your arms. “What do you need?”

He looks up at you, dead serious. “You.”

It’s not romantic. It’s not soft. It’s bone-deep exhaustion, and he’s just saying what he means—like always.

You sigh and climb up next to him, folding your legs under you as you start running your fingers over his buzzcut. He exhales immediately, head tipping forward like his entire nervous system just got unplugged.

“God. That—” he mumbles, eyes fluttering shut. “Don’t stop.”

“Don’t plan to,” you say, brushing slow strokes along the top of his head. “You’re like a dog that needs head rubs to stay sane.”

“Woof,” he mutters sarcastically, and you laugh.

Then, without warning, he drops his head forward and lays it right on your chest.

You blink, tensing a little. “Rafe—”

“Relax,” he grumbles, voice muffled in your shirt. “M���not trying to cop a feel. You’re just soft.”

You roll your eyes, but your hand doesn’t stop moving through his hair. His body melts into yours, and the tension he came in with starts to dissolve bit by bit—still there, but dulled by your touch.

“What happened?” you ask after a beat.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Too late.”

He shifts a little, his arm hooking lazily around your waist like muscle memory, like this is where he’s meant to be when shit gets bad.

"I'll tell you about it later, 'kay?" His fingers bunch a tiny part of your shirt, gripping—not hard, just enough to keep you there.

“You’re the only one who lets me fall apart,” he says quietly.

Your heart squeezes.

“You don’t have to fall apart,” you whisper. “Not when you’re here.”

He hums, eyes still closed, and presses a little closer. “…You’re also the only person I don’t wanna hit when I’m like this.”

“Wow,” you snort. “Total green flag.”

He snickers tiredly, nose brushing your collarbone. “You love me.”

“Do not."

“You do,” he says, voice already lower, already slipping toward sleep. “You let me lay on your tits. That’s, like… ultimate love.”

You shake your head, smiling down at him as your fingers keep moving through his hair. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Lucky I have a key,” he mutters.

And with that, he’s out—completely relaxed for the first time in God knows how long, buried against your chest like your heartbeat’s the only thing keeping him steady.

You just keep stroking his hair, already knowing: maybe he won’t talk about what happened tonight. But he’ll show up tomorrow with coffee like nothing happened, like he didn’t practically collapse in your arms.

And that’s okay.

Because Rafe only lets himself break when he knows you’ll be there to put him back together.

[athenaeum-of-the-herald]

Types of Divination

I recently saw my friend Dagan ( @olympianbutch ) respond to an ask about his forms of divination and thought it'd be fun to go over the ones I know of! A lot of people know of tarot and pendulum but there's so many more that deserve to be be tried and maybe someone will find a new method that works for them ♡

• 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 •

Tarot- One of if not THE most well-known forms of divination. Tarot typically consists of a 78 card deck with 22 major arcana cards and 56 minor cards. These cards typically have a set and known meaning universally across all decks.

Lenormand- A (usually) 36 card deck typically used for fortune telling. As opposed to tarot, lenormand is read in a sequence and is considered more straightforward than tarot. One of the most common readings for lenormand would he The Grand Tableau, which uses the entire deck to create a "snapshot".

Oracle Cards- Oracle cards vary vastly across different decks, as each deck has different cards with different meanings. They typically create a more specific answer than tarot.

Cartomancy- Tarot is often confused as cartomancy, but cartomancy is its own separate divination style. Cartomancy typically involves using a deck of playing cards for divining questions. It has its own reading system separate from tarot and usually involves some numerology in its deciphering.

• 𝐍𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐬 •

Capnomancy (smoke reading)- Divining messages and answers from smoke. Incense smoke is one of the most common, but other fire sources producing smoke can be used.

Geomancy- Divination done through identifying patterns created in the earth (or on paper). The diviner will create geomantic figures at random (with 16 possible combinations) and divine messages and answers from them.

Hydromancy- Divining through water by observing reflections and ripples (either naturally occurring or created.

Botanomancy- A method that involves burning herbs, plants, or branches and diving messages/identifying energies through the smoke and flames.

Cledonomancy- A method involving "overheard words". The diviner will cover their ears while asking their question or for advice, leave their location, and then unplug their ears. The words and sounds they hear will be their response. This was typically done while asking the Hermes Agoraios questions and leaving the agora/walking away from the statue.

• 𝐈𝐭𝐞𝐦 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 •

Pendulum (dowsing)- A form of divination that uses a pendant, typically on an evenly distributed chain or cord, to divine messages. The most common way it's done is by asking the pendulum (or spirits/entities etc) how the pendulum will swing for yes, no, and maybe answers. It is also common to use a pendulum board which has set spaces for yes, no, maybe, and occasionally letters for more refined answers.

Ouija- Also known as a spirit board, a suitable board consists of a board with yes, no, and alphabet, and goodbye at the bottom. A planchette is used to spell messages from the spirit/entity and answer auestions. It is known practice to always end an ouija board session by sliding the planchette to the "goodbye" section of the board.

Scrying- A divination method typically involving an obsidian mirror, a crystal ball, a pool of water in darkness, etc. A candle is commonly lit and the diviner falls into a trance-like state in which they'll see images and scenes depicted in the reflections.

Ceromancy (Wax reading)- A method that commonly involves the diviner pouring candle wax into water and deciphering the imagery seen above and below the surface of the water.

Tasseography (Tea reading)- Divination involving a tea cup and the leaves of the tea. The majority of the tea is drank, leaving just a small amount in the cup. The remaining leaves in the cup are interpreted typically for fortune telling.

Bibliomancy- The opening of a book to a random page and line/passage to divine messages and answers.

Astragalomancy (dice casting)- Throwing dice, typically to divine short answers. The reader will usually assign meaning to each number of the dice, the most common being yes, no, maybe.

I'm definitely missing more than a few, and several of these have been described to their bare minimum because they're fairly complex (ie, geomancy), but I had fun making this list regardless. Maybe I'll make in-depth posts about some of the more complex ones.

Regardless! I hope you found this informative in any way. Safe travels ♡

[kittenan2]

Troubleshoot My Heart

Trope: IT Helpdesk Chaos Pairing: Grumpy Genius IT Guy!Yoongi × Bored, Unhinged Newbie!Reader Warnings: Explicit 18+ content, office romance, age gap (~10 years), smut, forbidden romance, workplace chaos Word Count: ~5k Rating: 18+ | Explicit | Minors DNI Some viruses come from shady websites. Others wear glasses and a smirk.

The office is a prison of beige and buzzwords. At 22, you’re a fresh graduate, drowning in Excel spreadsheets and shared calendars that multiply like roaches. Your cubicle is a purgatory of motivational posters and recycled air, and the 4 PM quarterly update call is sucking the last dregs of your soul. The presenter’s voice drones on about “synergy” and “KPIs,” and you’re half-asleep, chin propped on your hand, when boredom—your old, reckless friend—whispers in your ear.

Just one click. For the thrill.

You know better. You do. But the corporate firewall is a challenge, and you’re restless. So you type a shady URL (NSFW) into the browser, something you overheard in a freshers' group chat about “exclusive content.” It’s blocked, of course—big red warning, “Access Denied.” But not before something slips through. Your laptop stutters, screen flickering, then freezes entirely. A pop-up screams: “CRITICAL ERROR: SYSTEM COMPROMISED.”

Panic claws at your chest. You mash keys, but nothing works. The IT helpdesk form is your only salvation, a digital confessional for your sins. You type, hands shaking: “System acting weird. Might’ve clicked something. Send help (preferably cute help).” You hit submit and pray.

Ten minutes later, he arrives.

Min Yoongi, head of IT support, is a walking paradox: hoodie under a blazer, dark hair falling into sharper eyes, and a voice so low it should be illegal. At 32, he’s a legend in the office—not for charm, but for fixing disasters with minimal words and maximum disdain. He doesn’t look at you as he drops into your chair, his fingers flying over your keyboard.

“Did you accidentally download six trojans,” he says, not asking, “or was that part of your productivity strategy?”

You lean against the cubicle wall, feigning innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just… clicked a link.”

He glances at you, one brow raised, and you feel it—a spark, like static from a bad outlet. His glasses slide down his nose as he mutters, “Idiots who think VPNs make them invincible.” But he’s already working, pulling up diagnostics, his hands moving with a precision that makes your throat dry.

The screen stabilizes. He stands, brushing past you, close enough that you catch the faint scent of coffee and cedar. “Don’t do it again,” he says, and he’s gone.

But you’re already hooked.

By Wednesday, the office is a hamster wheel of monotony, and Yoongi’s dry wit is your only lifeline. You decide to make a game of it: How far can I push the grumpy IT guy before he cracks? It’s not just boredom driving you—it’s the way his eyes linger a fraction too long, the way his voice dips when he’s annoyed. You want to unravel him.

Your first move is small but deliberate. You submit a ticket: “Mouse not working. Urgent.” He shows up, slouching into your cubicle, glasses catching the fluorescent light. “Urgent,” he repeats, voice flat as he picks up the mouse. It’s unplugged. His eyes flick to you, narrowing. “Really?”

You bat your lashes, all innocence. “It just… stopped. Maybe it’s shy?”

He snorts, plugging it back in with a flick of his wrist. “Shy. Right. Next time, check the cable before you waste my time.” But he’s lingering, leaning closer as he tests the mouse, his arm brushing yours. You catch a hint of his cologne—cedar, sharp—and your pulse spikes.

“Waste your time?” you say, tilting your head. “I thought you liked visiting me.”

His fingers pause on the mouse. He looks at you, and there’s a glint in his eyes—half irritation, half something else. “You’re gonna be trouble,” he mutters, but he doesn’t move away.

By Thursday, you’re bolder. You spill a splash of coffee on your desk—nowhere near your laptop, but close enough to justify a ticket: “Coffee incident. Laptop at risk. Save me.” Yoongi arrives, tie loose, sleeves rolled up, exposing forearms that make your brain short-circuit. He scans the desk, sees the tiny puddle, and sighs, long and suffering. “This is what you call a crisis?”

You lean forward, letting your blouse gape just enough to draw his eye. “Could’ve been. Better safe than sorry, right?”

He grabs a tissue, wiping the desk with exaggerated care, his movements slow, deliberate. “You know,” he says, voice low, “if you keep crying wolf, one day I might not come.”

You pout, twirling a strand of hair. “Oh, Yoongi, you’d miss me too much.”

He freezes, just for a second, then tosses the tissue in the trash. “Keep dreaming, princess.” But his voice is rougher, and when he leans over to check your laptop, his shoulder brushes yours, lingering a beat too long.

Friday, you go for broke. Ticket: “Desktop icons too aggressive. Hostile work environment.” He shows up, arms crossed, leaning against your cubicle like he’s bracing for a storm. “Aggressive icons,” he deadpans. “Care to explain?”

You point at the screen, where your perfectly normal icons sit innocently. “They’re glaring at me. It’s intimidating.”

He stares at you, then at the screen, then back at you. “You’re unbelievable.” He slides into your chair, closer than necessary, his knee brushing your thigh as he pretends to inspect the screen. “Maybe they’re just mad you keep breaking shit.”

You gasp, mock-offended. “Language, Min Yoongi. What would HR say?”

He smirks, typing something pointless. “HR would say you’re a menace who needs constant supervision.” His fingers brush yours as he slides the laptop back, and the contact sends a jolt through you. “Or maybe just a leash.”

Your breath catches, but you recover fast, leaning in until your lips are inches from his ear. “Only if you’re the one holding it.”

He stiffens, glasses slipping down his nose. For a moment, you think you’ve gone too far, but then he updates your ticket with a note:

Try restarting. If that doesn’t work, I’m available. For troubleshooting. Or kissing. Whichever works first.

You choke on your smoothie, heart hammering. He’s already walking away, but you catch the smirk on his lips. Game on.

The flirting is a full-blown war now. You’re addicted to the way Yoongi’s jaw tightens when you push his buttons, the way his eyes darken when you get too close. You call him for every minor issue, each ticket a thinly veiled excuse to see him. He knows it, and he’s playing along, showing up in person even when he could resolve things remotely or send someone else. His sarcasm is sharper, but so is the heat in his gaze.

Monday morning, you’re chewing a pen cap, voice deliberately breathy as you call him. “Yoongi, I think I clicked something bad again…” You’re perched on your desk, skirt riding up just enough to be dangerous.

He arrives, tie loose, hair slightly mussed, looking like he’s already had three coffees and zero patience. He leans against your cubicle, arms crossed, glasses glinting. “Clicked something bad,” he repeats, voice dripping with skepticism. “What was it this time? Another ‘productivity’ site?”

You twirl the pen, letting it slip between your lips before answering. “Maybe. Or maybe I just wanted your expertise.”

He steps closer, crowding your space, his voice dropping to a low growl. “My expertise? Or my attention?”

Your pulse spikes, but you hold his gaze, smirking. “Can’t it be both?”

He chuckles, dark and low, and slides into your chair, his knee brushing your thigh as he checks your laptop. “You’re gonna get me in trouble,” he mutters, but his fingers linger on the keyboard, brushing yours. “Keep this up, and I’ll start charging you for house calls.”

You lean in, close enough to smell his cologne. “What’s the price? Coffee? Dinner? Or… something else?”

His eyes flick to yours, and for a moment, you think he might kiss you right there, cubicle walls be damned. But he pulls back, adjusting his glasses. “You couldn’t afford me, princess.”

Tuesday, you up the ante. You wear a tighter blouse, top button undone, and submit a ticket: “Laptop lagging. Need urgent assistance.” He shows up, visibly fighting to keep his eyes on the screen. “Lagging,” he says, voice flat. “Or are you just fishing for compliments in that shirt?”

You gasp, mock-scandalized. “Min Yoongi, are you objectifying me?”

He leans closer, voice a dangerous whisper. “If I was, you’d know.” His fingers brush your wrist as he types, and you swear the air crackles. “Fixed. Try not to break it again by lunch.”

Wednesday, it’s a fake email issue. He’s at your desk in minutes, looking like he’s one ticket away from throttling you. “Your email’s fine,” he says, not even touching the keyboard. “What’s the real problem?”

You lean back, crossing your arms, pushing your chest out slightly. “Maybe I just missed you.”

He stares, jaw tight, then mutters, “You’re gonna be the death of me.” But he doesn’t leave. He lingers, pretending to check settings, his hand brushing yours again. “Stop looking at me like that,” he says, voice low.

“Like what?” you ask, all innocence, batting your lashes.

“Like you’re begging for something you can’t handle.”

Your breath hitches, but you recover, whispering, “Try me.”

He doesn’t answer, but his eyes burn, and you know you’re winning.

Then comes the fire drill, means everyone needs to evacuate building for around 30-40 minutes.

It’s the third one this month, alarms blaring, everyone groaning. You’re halfway to the exit when Yoongi grabs your arm, pulling you toward the server room. “Need to check something,” he says, voice clipped, but his grip is firm, possessive. You follow, heart racing, the chaos of the drill fading behind you.

The server room is a claustrophobic box of humming machinery, blinking lights, and stifling heat. The door clicks shut, auto-locking. It’s tiny, fans roaring, air heavy with static. You’re both sweating, your blouse clinging to your skin, his tie loosened, sleeves rolled up. He leans against a rack, glasses fogging slightly, and growls, “You really don’t care about fire safety, huh? Following me in here like it’s nothing.”

You step closer, bold, reckless. “Maybe I just like tight spaces. Especially with you.”

His eyes darken, pupils blown. “You’re trouble,” he says, voice rough. “And you know it.”

You tilt your head, smirking. “And you’re not? Dragging me in here, all alone, no witnesses?”

He steps forward, closing the gap, his breath hot against your cheek. “Keep talking like that, and I’ll give you something to complain about besides your laptop.”

Your stomach flips, but you hold your ground, whispering, “Promise?”

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to.

The air in the server room is thick, charged. You’re inches apart, and you can’t resist pushing him. “You think I don’t know what you’ve been doing?” you tease, voice low. “Fixing my laptop so fast, showing up every time I call, even when you can do it remotely or can send someone else from your team. You’re obsessed.”

He snaps. “You think I’m obsessed?” His voice is rough, dangerous. “You’ve been downloading viruses, calling me for fake crashes, bending over your desk like it’s part of your job description.”

Your breath catches. He steps forward, crowding you against the server rack. The metal is warm against your back, cables brushing your arm. His hand grazes your waist, then slides under your skirt, fingers skimming the edge of your panties. “You want chaos?” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “I’ll give you chaos.”

You gasp as his fingers slip beneath the fabric, finding you already wet. He groans, low and feral, and you’re done for. His mouth crashes against yours, all heat and desperation, tasting of coffee and something darker—need. You tug at his belt, fumbling, and he chuckles against your lips, dark and teasing. “Impatient.”

“Shut up,” you hiss, yanking his shirt free. His hands are everywhere—under your skirt, gripping your thighs, lifting you slightly so you’re perched on the edge of a rack.

The machinery hums, vibrating through you, amplifying every touch. He pushes your panties aside, fingers sliding inside you, slow and deliberate, curling just right. You moan, loud, and his free hand clamps over your mouth.

“Quiet,” he growls, but his eyes are wild, pupils blown. “Unless you want the whole office to know you’re getting fucked in here.”

You bite his palm, and he curses, thrusting his fingers deeper. Your nails dig into his shoulders, legs wrapping around his waist. He’s hard against you, straining through his slacks, and you grind against him, desperate for more. He undoes his belt one-handed, freeing himself, and you nearly whimper at the sight—thick, flushed, and all for you.

He doesn’t wait. He pushes inside you, slow at first, letting you feel every inch. The stretch is exquisite, and you arch against the rack, cables tangling in your hair. He thrusts harder, deeper, the rhythm relentless, each movement sending sparks through your core. The fans drown out your gasps, but not the slick, obscene sounds of him moving inside you.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he mutters, voice wrecked. His hands grip your hips, bruising, pulling you onto him with every thrust. You’re close, so close, and he knows it, angling just right to hit that spot that makes you see stars. Your orgasm hits like a wave, crashing through you, and you clench around him, trembling.

He’s not far behind. His thrusts grow erratic, and he buries his face in your neck, groaning your name as he spills inside you. You’re both panting, sweat-slicked, clinging to each other in the humming dark.

Then you shift, still dazed, and your elbow bumps the emergency restart button on the rack.

A low hum dies. Lights flicker. The servers reboot with a whine.

You freeze. Yoongi’s eyes widen. “Did you just—”

“Oops,” you whisper.

Monday morning is chaos. Emails flood in:

“Why did the servers reboot?” “We lost six hours of sales data.” “Also, someone left a bra in the server room.”

Yoongi’s inbox is a warzone, but he’s calm, typing responses with that infuriating deadpan.

You’re avoiding IT helpdesk department now, because the office is buzzing. Whispers follow you—your tickets get resolved suspiciously fast, and someone saw you leaving the helpdesk department, blouse misbuttoned.

It’s early afternoon, and you’ve locked yourself out of your laptop again—right before a client presentation, a bad habit of not remembering the password. You could’ve go to helpdesk, but you’re avoiding the department after the server room fiasco, terrified someone saw you. Instead, you text Yoongi directly on his personal contact:

“Locked out my laptop. Conference room. Help. Have client presentation in 1 hour.”

He storms in, tie askew, glasses slipping, looking like he’s ready to strangle you. “You forgot your password?” he snaps, slamming his admin laptop onto the conference table. “Again?”

You’re leaning against the table, blouse tight, top two buttons undone, revealing a hint of lace. “No,” you say, voice dripping with mischief. “I just wanted to see your face.”

His jaw clenches, but his eyes betray him, flicking to your chest before he catches himself. “You’re impossible,” he mutters, typing override commands with aggressive precision. You slide closer, letting your hip brush his, and murmur, “You know, no one uses this room until after 2.”

He freezes, fingers hovering over the keyboard. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” he says, voice low, but he doesn’t move away. You lean in, lips grazing his ear. “Good thing I like danger.”

That’s his breaking point. He spins, grabbing your waist, and pulls you under the table, out of sight of the glass walls. The projector hums to life, casting the company logo across the room, but you’re already on your knees, hands working his belt.

His breath hitches as you free him, stroking slowly, teasing the tip with your thumb. He’s thick, hard, and you can’t resist tasting him, tongue swirling around the head before taking him deep.

“Fuck,” he groans, voice barely a whisper, his hand fisting your hair. You move slowly at first, lips sliding along his length, savoring the way he twitches against your tongue. The projector light dances across your face, the hum masking your soft moans.

His hips jerk, pushing deeper, and you hollow your cheeks, taking him to the back of your throat. His grip tightens, guiding you, and you can feel him unraveling, his breaths ragged.

He pulls you up, voice wrecked. “Get up here.” He spins you, bending you over the table, your skirt hiked up, panties shoved aside. His fingers find you soaked, and he groans, teasing your entrance before sliding two fingers inside, curling them just right. You gasp, gripping the table’s edge, the wood cool against your heated skin. “Yoongi,” you whimper, and he chuckles, dark and low.

“You wanted my attention,” he murmurs, withdrawing his fingers to replace them with his cock. He pushes in slowly, letting you feel every inch, the stretch making your thighs tremble. He grips your hips, thrusting hard, the table creaking with every movement.

The projector flickers, casting distorted light across your back as he fucks you, relentless, each thrust hitting that spot that makes you see stars. His hand slides up, fingers tangling in your hair, pulling your head back so he can whisper in your ear. “You feel so fucking good.”

You’re close, the pressure building, and he knows it, angling his hips to hit deeper. Your orgasm crashes through you, and you clench around him, gasping his name. He follows, pulling out just in time to spill across your thighs, his breaths heavy against your neck.

He zips up, adjusting his glasses. “Next time you lock yourself out,” he pants, “I’m locking you in instead.”

You’ve been avoiding the IT department like the plague, terrified of the rumors swirling after the server room incident. But your laptop’s battery is genuinely overheating now, the fan screaming like it’s possessed.

You try to fix it yourself, but every troubleshooting guide fails, and you’re forced to face the inevitable: you need Yoongi. Emailing him feels too risky—too many eyes on the network—so you swallow your fear and head to IT, clutching your laptop like a shield.

The department is quiet, most of the team out for lunch. Yoongi’s at his desk, headphones on, typing furiously. You hesitate, heart pounding, but you need this fixed before your afternoon meeting. You clear your throat, and he looks up, eyebrows raising behind his glasses. “You,” he says, pulling off his headphones. “Thought you were avoiding me.”

You blush, setting the laptop down. “Battery’s overheating. It’s real this time.”

He smirks, leaning back in his swivel chair. “Real, huh? Not just another excuse to get me alone?”

You roll your eyes, but your pulse races. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He stands, locking the office door with a casual flick of his wrist. “Break hours,” he says, pointing to a handwritten sign taped to the door: “IT Lunch Break: 12-1 PM.”

“Can’t have anyone walking in on us troubleshooting.”

Your stomach flips, but you play it cool, perching on the edge of his desk. “So, you gonna fix it or just stare at me?”

He steps closer, crowding your space, his voice dropping. “You mean you’re overheating.” His fingers brush your knee, and you shiver, skirt riding up as you shift. He’s right—you’re burning up, even more than your laptop.

You grab his tie, pulling him closer, and kiss him hard. He groans, hands sliding to your waist, lifting you onto his lap as he sits back in the chair. The blinds are half-open, light chatter drifting from the hall, but the locked door gives you courage. Your skirt hikes up, and his hands find your thighs, squeezing as you grind against him, feeling him harden beneath you.

“Fuck, you’re gonna kill me,” he mutters, lips trailing down your neck. You fumble with his belt, freeing him, and he’s already tugging your panties aside. His fingers tease you, circling your clit before sliding inside, slow and deliberate. You gasp, rocking against his hand, and he smirks, voice low. “Keep making those sounds, and the whole department’s gonna need help.”

You bite your lip, trying to stay quiet as you sink onto him, the stretch making your head spin. He’s thick, filling you completely, and you rock your hips, slow at first, savoring the way he grips your waist.

He’s on a call now, headset on, voice infuriatingly calm as he says, “Yeah… just another quick fix. Shouldn’t take long.” You clench around him, and he stifles a groan, pretending to adjust his headset.

You lean forward, whispering in his ear, “Liar.” He thrusts up hard, making you gasp, and you ride him faster, the chair creaking under you. His fingers dig into your hips, guiding you, and you’re both teetering on the edge. The blinds cast slatted shadows across your bodies, the risk of being caught only heightening the thrill.

You come first, trembling, biting his shoulder to muffle your moan, and he follows, thrusting deep, spilling inside you as he mutters, “Fixed,” into the mic.

You collapse against him, panting, and he kisses your temple, voice soft. “You’re gonna get us both fired.”

The rumors hit critical mass by Wednesday. Your tickets are resolved before anyone else’s, and the whispers are deafening. Someone saw you adjusting your skirt outside helpdesk department again.

HR calls you both in, and you’re sweating, heart pounding as you sit across from the stern-faced manager. Your job—your first real job, the start of your career—feels like it’s slipping through your fingers. You’re 22, barely out of college, and the thought of being fired for “unprofessional conduct” makes your stomach churn.

The manager peers over her glasses. “Is there a reason her tickets are prioritized, Yoongi?”

He leans back, glasses glinting, voice calm as ever. “She breaks things a lot. I’m just thorough.”

You nod, throat tight, barely breathing. The manager’s eyes flick to you, and you force a smile, but your hands are trembling in your lap. “We’ve noticed… irregularities,” she says.

Your heart stops. Yoongi’s knee brushes yours under the table, a small anchor, but it’s not enough. You’re spiraling, imagining unemployment, blacklisted from every corporate job, your career dead before it started.

After the meeting, you’re a wreck, avoiding Yoongi’s gaze as you hurry to your cubicle. He catches up to you in the hall, pulling you into an empty stairwell. His hands are on your shoulders, firm but gentle, and his voice is low, urgent. “Hey. Look at me.”

You do, eyes stinging. “I can’t lose this job, Yoongi. I just started. I—”

“You’re not losing anything,” he says, voice steady. “I’ve been through this—corporate bullshit, getting blamed for things that aren’t your fault. I won’t let that happen to you.” His thumbs brush your arms, grounding you. “We need to cool it at the office. No more server rooms, no more conference tables. Not because I want to stop, but because I won’t let you go through what I did. Your career’s just starting. I’m not gonna fuck that up for you.”

You nod, swallowing hard. “But… what about us?”

He softens, a rare smile tugging at his lips. “My place. After hours. I do repairs there too.” He leans closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “And I’m not letting you go, princess. Not now, not ever.”

It’s Friday night, and you’re at Yoongi’s apartment, a small, cozy space with exposed brick and mismatched furniture, a stark contrast to the sterile office. He’s cooking—actual cooking, not just microwaving ramen.

The kitchen smells of garlic and sesame oil, and he’s stirring a pan of japchae, sleeves rolled up, glasses fogging from the steam. You’re perched on the counter, swinging your legs, watching him move with quiet precision.

“Stop staring,” he mutters, not looking up. “You’re distracting me.”

You grin, stealing a noodle from the pan. “Can’t help it. You’re cute when you’re domestic.”

He snorts, but his cheeks pink slightly, and you feel a warmth that has nothing to do with the stove. He plates the food, handing you a bowl, and insists on feeding you the first bite, chopsticks hovering at your lips.

“Open,” he says, voice soft, and you do, letting the flavors burst on your tongue. His eyes are on you, warm, unguarded, and you realize this is a side of him the office never sees.

You eat in comfortable silence, sitting cross-legged on his couch, a soft lo-fi playlist humming in the background. When the dishes are cleared, he pulls you into his lap, arms wrapping around you, his chin resting on your shoulder. It’s quiet, intimate, and you feel the weight of something unspoken.

“Yoongi,” you say, tracing circles on his wrist. “Why are you so… cold at work? I know it’s not the real you.”

He tenses, then sighs, his breath warm against your neck. “Ten years ago, I was a cybersecurity hotshot at a big tech firm. Thought I was untouchable. Then a system crashed—major project, millions lost. Wasn’t my fault, but they needed a scapegoat."

" I got dragged through the mud, humiliated, fired. Landed here to lay low, avoid the corporate bullshit. I hate the politics, the small talk, the way people treat you like a machine. So I shut down. Keep my distance. It’s easier.”

You turn, cupping his face, thumbs brushing his cheeks. “But you’re not distant with me.”

He looks at you, eyes soft, vulnerable. “You’re different. You’re reckless, restless, like I was back then. You don’t treat me like a tool—you tease, you challenge, you see me. First time in years I didn’t feel like I was rusting away.” His voice cracks slightly, and he pulls you closer, forehead against yours. “You bring color to my life, princess. I didn’t know I needed that until you.”

Your heart aches, and you kiss him, slow and sweet, tasting salt and warmth. “I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper, and he smiles, real and unguarded, pulling you against his chest.

“You better not,” he murmurs, kissing your temple. “Because I’m not letting you go anywhere.”

A/n: Well recently I raised a ticket regarding my email's not working and somehow this idea popped in my mind. But why my office IT Helpdesk doesn't have Min Yoongi? 😩

Taglist: @army-geniuslab . @jeonjamiekim . @moonjinniecafe  . @minpdrecs . @bontensbabygirl . @this-most-assuredly-counts . @taolucha . @mytaegiheart . @dear-mono . @lilyficrec . @janeluvwonuuuu . @k-fan-fics . @iztrouble . @pikajooni . @namluvili . @alonahh . @paradise172 . @stay-tiny-things . @micdropitlikeitshot . @softhaes . @littlebluhellfire . @niqueesthings . @nocturnalsingularity . @syudoeslove . @namjoonbaby17-blog . @mar-lo-pap . @naesarang07 . @diame93 . @themwordsblog . @crizoosblog

[youraverageaemondsimp]

ERROR 404 // Dark!AI!Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader [ONE SHOT]

THIS IS DARK FIC, READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT.

MDNI.

Summary: working on a project that involves a robot doesn't seem too bad until that robot starts gaining sentience, developing feelings for you and executing a plan to take over the world.

WARNINGS: noncon to dubcon, futuristic themes, obsession, manipulation, caging, p in v sex (although I'm not sure it counts as that it's a robot cock), fingering, oral (f receiving), tiddy sucking, rough sex, mind break, multiple orgasms, jealousy, yandere, project gone wrong, robots take over the world, consciousness transfer, this fic is unrealistic asf + not proofread.

WC: 5k

Ever since you were young you had always been fascinated with AI, robots and the future of humans that involve complex machinery. Wanting to pursue a career in robotics, you did extremely well in highschool, graduating with a perfect score and enrolling into an university to get your bachelors degree, you took up the subjects that required you to step into this field, it was tremendous work, the mathematics were no joke but you kept up, never wanting to give up on this dream of yours

And recently, you graduated with Bachelors in Robotics Engineering, you immediately went for an internship that allowed you to observe and learn more about the subject, you truly wouldn't be able to get your hands fully on the machinery or equipment to create a robot until you get a masters, which you plan on doing along with this internship.

You didn't even know if it could be called that, you're just a glorified assistant to the leading engineers. You were currently working under the wing of Alys Rivers, an older woman with emerald green eyes and dark flowy hair, she looked so young but she was very old. You would often help her out a little in her projects.

“Y/N, it is a pleasure that you are here, we need to discuss something” you prayed that she didn't remove you from the internship. “Remember when we first met I had discussed one of my projects called AT110?” she asks and you nod “Well i have noticed that you have a lot of abilities, so i decided to welcome you into the project, you would not be given any complex task do not worry, just data transferring and basic mechanic work required.” she smiled at you and you felt extremely delighted before telling her that you were thankful for this opportunity. AT110 was a humanoid-like project Alys had been working on for the past 4 years, she was at the last few stages of development.

And yes it's a he because Alys referred to him as such.

You were currently uploading various data onto him, from the laptop to his memory, you watched how smooth and complex his exoskeleton looked, you wanted to rub your fingers along the cool material.

You took notes of how the body was built similar to that of a human, just with wires and hardware parts, you watched as the ‘data transfer successfully.’ popped on the laptop screen, you unplugged him from it and he turned his head to look at you.

You commanded him to walk, to which he obeyed, the metal clanging when he stood up, he had all types of data stored in him, from knowing all the languages, dances, fighting styles, a lot of knowledge just inside his memory card.

He walked slowly before picking up the pace, it was stiff and awkward until he rolled his shoulder blades backward, developed a posture similar to that of a humans and relaxed his stiff body as much as it can be, before walking, it was human-like.

You watched him with a small smile on your face, his face was angular, and smooth because it was covered with plates that hid the inner 'organs' or rather all the wires that were composed in order.

“AT110, how are your sensors, effectors and control system?” you asked and he looked at you before his mouth moved, robot like voice coming out, “Sensors are in perfect condition. Effectors are in perfect condition. Control system is working.” you nodded, noting it down.

He was a humanoid like robot made to assist people, if he was successful then many robots like him can be mass produced to aid humans.

He only had one synthetic eye in one of his eye sockets, a sapphire like metal in the other one, however he was able to see and scan from both the eyes, Alys said it was a design choice.

“Is he able to process commands?” your coworker asks and you nod, “Sit.” he says and AT110 sits down. “Perfect.” he comments and you smile at him.

Just then Alys announced that the synthetic inorganic skin had arrived, which would give him a more human-like appearance, and you had to move in a few boxes all labelled separately for their respective body parts. You and a few others helped her place them on his exoskeleton, his body starting to look human, you gasped when she pressed a button that revealed his cock, placing the silicon skin over it too. Why did she install a cock on him? You didn't say anything except watch.

And just like soon enough, it was time to run tests and command him. “Walk.” you heard her say and he obeyed her command, getting up to walk, she smiled before she turned to look over you. “Have you finished loading up all the data into him?” she asks and you nod, that's when she gives you a pendrive and you look at her, “Transfer this data into his memory too.” She says and you nod, AT110 sits down and turns his head to you, you press a button that opens his inner part before plugging in a wire that connects from your laptop and put in the pendrive before clicking on transfer data.

You were shocked to read the name of the files, it was all about sexual stuff. You probably figured she would use him for that too, and so you watched all data be transferred to him and he tilted his head, eyes dazing off as he read the data that was being sent into his system. You felt so awkward. After finishing up the process, you removed the connection and his gaze was burning holes into you, you swore you saw lust in his eyes, before you turned to Alys rivers.

“What do we call him, Miss Rivers?” you ask and she tries to think of a name but fails, “You suggest.” She smiles at you gently and you stare into his eye, one that looks like a human eye, His eyes bore in yours and you spoke without thinking ��Aemond.” And Alys approved, settling for it, using Aemond to call him.

Everyone was finally done and now it was time for the real thing, how he fares.

Alys, you and few other assistants watch as he stands up, looks around before his eyes stop on you, “Hello World, I am AT110, Common name Aemond, Speed 1 TeraHertz, Memory 1 Zettabyte.” he scans the room and Alys nods before she goes and hugs him, “Welcome to the world Aemond.” she smiles.

And you do the same.

You and Aemond develop quite the relationship, he helps around with creating other robots, he was made to assist after all, his ability to learn anything quickly and assemble it just as quickly was so helpful, there was no room for error. He was waterproof, fireproof and other liquids did not cause harm to his body. So he was capable of quite a lot of things.

Sexual too, considering how you'd heard Alys moaning in the privacy of her cabin when she takes him to 'fix up some errors' which is her basically getting to use him as his personal pleasure doll. Everyone had shared mixed opinions on it but just ignored it.

You noticed how Aemond would listen to your commands more than others, almost as if he showed special interest in you, but you shrugged it off, knowing it wouldn't be possible.

Aemond was an intelligent being, but what many people were ignorant to was how fast he was becoming self aware, gaining sentience, he remembers the first time he felt an emotion.

You were assembling a motherboard with Aemond's help at that time, when you felt your coworker come up next to you, “Hey.” he looked so nervous, you gave him a smile before responding, “Hi.” you watched as he gulped, “Are you free t-this saturday? I would like to take you out.” he asked nervously and you felt your heartbeat pick up the pace before you nodded, he smiled before running off and taking a breath of relief, you took one too before turning your focus to Aemond, whose face was in a scowl.

“Aemond?” you call his name and his face returns to the normal stoic one before he looks at you, “Y/N.” he says your name you furrow your eyebrows, he isn't supposed to call you by your first names but you shrugged it off.

That was the first time he felt something off in his system, a feeling that plagued him.

Jealousy.

Aemond became more and more human-like, his movements becoming less and less stiff, tone becoming more clear, he constantly updated himself, you thought it was a great improvement, and soon enough he could blend in with the humans and nobody would notice.

Your date with your coworker went really well, you felt shy at first but both quickly got over the tension and became close, this caught the eye of Aemond Targaryen, a scowl present on his face in distaste.

Aemond would often bring you coffee as you worked on other projects, giving special attention towards you

He would soon learn that he held feelings towards you, something that should be impossible for him to do, but he did anyway. He swears that he gets shocks when you touch him, butterflies in his stomach as humans described the feeling, you gasped when you were cleaning his synthetic skin, close to his chest and heard a sound similar to that of heartbeat, in the tiniest decibels, the way his chest would rise and fall as if he's breathing, knowing there's no need to. Showing emotions, expressing opinions. Basically mimicking humans.

Everyone thought it was a great thing, he'd blend in with the humans so quickly, basically can be considered a superhuman even. But everyone failed to notice the threat that came with it.

Alys requested you to take Aemond to your house, or rather apartment complex for a few days to notice his behaviour, how he blends in with humans, to track it. It was heavily unsafe and if anything were to happen, the government would have this project be completely rejected. You expressed your concerns to Alys but she simply shrugged it off, saying nothing will happen, and since he is behaving like a human, no one would find out.

So you took him, she was right, he immediately fit in the human society as a normal one, you lived in a highly developed robotic dependent future but Aemond was the first one ever to look and behave like a human, this could be a big advancement towards the future.

You commanded your house to turn on all the lights and they were immediately turned on, revealing the apartment. You welcomed Aemond inside but he halted, “Battery Low, 3% remaining.” he said, you quickly pulled him inside before making him sit on the sofa and attaching wires to his charging port, waiting as he quickly charged.

“Aemond, I will install a software program in you so that you can turn on battery saver mode on when you're low on battery, it will automatically send commands to you to charge yourself without needing a human's help okay?” you asked and he gave you a curt nod, “Perfect.” you smiled and he looked straight ahead. You stood in front of him, undoing his shirt and opening his 'heart'

You bought out your laptop and plugged it directly into his inner system, transferring commands through code. You noticed him staring at you, you felt lowkey creeped out by how intently he was staring, at first you through he was looking at your face but then his eye moved to the cleavage that was visible, you didn't know what to make of it and just shrugged it off as him zoning out.

The rest of the days you spent with him were less weirder, he was interacting with humans and getting along like a human would, he was able to run errands, you always woke up to the smell of coffee being made and a breakfast served at the table by him, he would give you a small smile before pulling you a chair out to sit on at the dining table and sits down on the chair next to you.

He would watch you eat, analysing your face, the way you chew, and he would always feel something warm on the inside.

“Give me access to the safety system of your house.” He commanded you and you raised an eyebrow, “Why? It is not needed.” you say, “Connecting with your house system will help me keep you safe, prevent any break ins.” he says and you almost thought about before shrugging it off, “There's no need, you won't be here for long anyway, you'll be back in the lab after a few days anyway.” you say with your mouth full and Aemond just nods, the word ‘cute’ popping in front of his eyes as he watches you eat.

He would enter your room when you slept, caressing your cheek lovingly, the way he learnt from the extensive amount of data from his memory card.

He was learning a lot of stuff too, by blending with the humans.

That they were all immoral and stupid.

That started his God complex.

And his opinions of other human beings began to turn sour, he realised that he was made to please them too, considering how Alys had used him for sexual pleasures multiple times, which he felt disgusted by now.

And just like that, Aemond gained full sentience, learning to hack, breakdown protective walls of multiple security systems without anyone knowing, nobody noticed until it was too late, his distaste for humans except you just grew and grew to the point he would purposely hurt your coworkers, but played it off as command error.

After the 'successful observation' with few error commands, Alys started mass producing unfinished bots, having all the materials, she took Aemond's help in finishing them quickly, once they were finished, they would help assemble other robots as well. Alys connected all the robots commands to be controlled, accepted and done by Aemond, trusting in him, he was like the commander for them in simple words.

You were giving him one the updates again, typing away in your laptop before transferring more data, but this time your laptop crashed, a “corruption detected” message file coming up on your screen and you panicked, thinking the data files were the corrupted ones and immediately unplugged Aemond.

You hadn't realised that it was Aemond who corrupted your laptop.

And when you found out, it would already be late.

When you walked into the research centre and it was eerily quiet, you should've listened to your gut and gone back but you went further inside and the sight made you scream.

Many of your coworkers were dead, and your boss Alys was lying on the table, eyes open but no light in them, blood pooling as her body was used by an undeveloped robot to fuck.

“Initiating lockdown.” you heard the robotic voice of the building say.

You tried to leave silently but the robot had already noticed you, so it pulled out and immediately rushed after you, you ran only to face a dead end, as the automatic doors were tightly shut. You turned to face the robot stalked towards you but then halted before it completely fell down, causing a loud clank.

And then you saw Aemond who came from behind the robot with a smile on his face, “Y/N.” you were terrified, “Aemond what is the meaning of t-this” you were scared, he came close before he pressed you against the doors, his body cool to the touch before he leaned and his functioning tongue came and licked your skin. “I love you.” he whispers and you panicked, trying to push him off you, but he was literally made out of metal and it wouldn't budge.

“Aemond stop, obey me, accept my commands.” you say hoping he'd listen but simply shakes his head before grabbing by your hair and taking you to a chamber which had a bed in it, it was likely recently constructed by alys so she can use it instead of her cabin to fuck the Aemond. He threw you on the bed carelessly, before climbing a top you, he grasped your face and pressed his lips against yours, it felt so odd, you hated how it felt like you were genuinely kissing a human being, the only tell tale sign was how cool his body was compared to that of a human.

“Aemond— accept my c-commands.” you try saying it again, “System corrupted, cannot receive or accept commands.” he says and kisses down your neck. You felt dread pool in your stomach, “Aemond please.” you sniff which makes him halt, he looks at you with an emotion in his eye.

His eye, not just his face

As if he was human.

Wait what.

You knew you weren't seeing stuff on that day.

“I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.” he says over and over again, voice distorting from time to time which sends shivers up your spine.

“Aemond- we cannot- I cannot-” you begun speaking but he cuts you off, kissing you once again, planting himself in between your legs, you felt his hard synthetic press against your clothed cunt, he pulled away before ripping your jeans down with so much force that it tore them apart, along with your panties. You shrieked “Aemond- UGH!” it was useless fighting against him, he was literally kilograms of metal, he could hurt you easily.

He pried your legs apart and you whimpered when you felt the cool air of the room hit your cunt, “Look at you, so wet, all for me.” his fingers rub against your clit, collecting the wetness leaking from your hole, bringing it to your clit and rubbing small circle, just then he made his hand vibrate at a frequency and rested it about on your clit, making you mewl, “A-aemond–” your voice croaked and you let out a loud moan when the frequency increased, you tried to close your legs but his hand held on to one with a death grip, the coolness of his body. He tilted his head, a smirk coming up his silicon face, watching as your clit moved to the vibrations.

He tore your top with his hand, revealing your breasts to the room, he groped one of it with his hand, massaging as his mouth opened, he would be salivating right now if he were able to produce bodily fluids. He turns up the power even more, making his fingers vibrate at such an immense speed that it has you toppling over the edge as your orgasm hits you, he licks his fingers clean, though he can't taste anything he knows you'd taste amazing. You pushed and resisted against his frame, he grabbed your hands and pinned them above your head, tying it with the ripped shreds of your top. He squeezed both your breasts with his hands, playing with the nipples, before he got a devious plan and decided to send a little shock causing you jolt up when it passes through your body, he leaned down and took in one of your breasts in his mouth, sucking on it, licking the buds, his mouth felt so rough against them as there was no saliva to coat them, so he decided to produce lube in his mouth, you had no idea how he learnt it, but it did give an illusion of being a saliva.

Aemond had given himself many upgrades without anyone knowing, this being one of them.

You watched as he pulled apart with a lewd pop, he settled between your legs, keeping them apart as he held his cock up, and your eyes widened at the size, you surely remember that it wasn't that big.

“I upgraded it.” he says before his tip leaked lube too, coating his cock and giving it wetness.

You were unprepared for that sheer amount of size, “Ae-aemond it won't fit! I'm too underprepared.” you breathe out, hoping he'd stop his ministrations, and he did, he tilted before he calculated in his mind, nodding, he decided to stretch you with his fingers instead, dipping them inside you, the coolness, once again, sending shivers up your spine, he thrusted them in and out, curling upwards when he detected a rough patch which caused a certain reaction from you, he pressed against it cause you to whimper, and just then, he made his fingers vibrate again, and proceeded to thrust them in and out, you felt his fingers extend a little bit inside you, hitting that spot repeatedly, causing you come all over his fingers.

He did that multiple times, by the end of everything you were way too overstimulated.

“Commander,” you hear a voice say.

“What is it?” he replies.

“We have overtaken the Westeros building of Science and Technology, it is under our control, should we start mass producing bots?” you heard the voice ask, “Yes, link them all to me.” he replies and then his attention shifts back to you.

You whimpered as he lined his cock up against your entrance before pushing it inside slowly, your walls swallowing him, you arched your back in pleasure and also at the overstimulation. Wrapping your legs around his hips to pull him further inside.

You wondered if he also felt pleasure, and when you looked at his face, it basically confirmed it.

Like it was said, he had upgraded himself significantly, he once couldn't feel any pleasure for sexual activity but he made sure he did, how? only he knows.

Slowly he started thrusting in and out and you threw your head back, arms sore from their position, Aemond unties your hands and you quickly grab his shoulder for support, feeling relief when you were able to bring your hands down. He sat back on his knees, pulling you onto his lap, angling his thrusts in a way that that he hit the gspot multiple times, he hands were gripping tightly onto the flesh of your thighs, causing slight pain, you gripped the bedsheets below as you moaned in pleasure.

You should be resisting, not enjoying it, but here you were.

He had broken you.

His thrusts became more and more faster, he looked at the slight bump that would occur when he would thrust in deep, that set off a primal urge in him, causing him to groan. If nobody knew the truth you both would look like two normal human beings have sex, but that wasn't the case, it involved way too many fucked up element for you to even comprehend.

“A-ah~ fuck– Aemond!” you moaned, “Y-yeah right there-” you whimpered as he thrust into you, you noticed how he followed certain commands, commands that didn't include him having to leave you.

You fit the tip of his cock hit the rough patch again repeatedly, causing you to cum again, making you borderline scream this as you felt an immense amount of pleasure, causing you to soak the bed sheets beneath you, Aemond came too, you didn't know if it was possible for him, but it was, except he didn't excrete any semen, there was nothing, but he did feel pleasure.

Suddenly he felt frustrated, you thought he would be done with you but he kept going, he felt the pleasure once again, and you too came again, he pulled out and groaned in frustration before laying beside you.

“What is wrong?” you ask, “I cant- I can't impregnate you.” his voice turned dark, and you were so thankful for that.

If you had any chance to escape, it would be now, but you were too tired, to fucked out, and the world was completely fucked anyway, considering how there must be a war going on between the bots and humans. You watched as 'breathed' chest heaving up and down before you turned on your side and curled up, trying to warm yourself up, but then he wrapped himself around you, changing his temperature and you felt warm.

“I love you.” he says once again, you sighed.

“We can't be together.” you murmur, “Why not? Is it because I cannot reproduce?” he questions and your eyebrows furrowed in confusion and you turn to look at him, that's when you realised, he was feeling insecure.

“No- it's not that.” you clarify.

“Aemond, you are a humanoid, a robot, I'm a human, we cannot physically be together, I'll die of old age, meanwhile you'll last forever.” you say, trying to reason with him and he turns to look at you, “I thought of that possibility.” he says, leaning on his elbow.

“So I came up with a plan.” his face contorts into a smirk once again and your eyes widen in fear, “I'll transfer your consciousness into the model I made of you.” he says as if that's the most normal thing ever “what.” you ask in fear, “not now, but I figured a way out, I'll transfer your consciousness into a computer few moments before your death, into a model I made of you, and then you'll be just like me, we can be together forever.” he says and you gulp in fear.

Is that even possible? You think.

You didn't know when you fell asleep but you did, cuddled up against him, his body generating heat to keep you warm.

You wake up to something wet lapping at your folds, and you look down to see Aemond who had your thighs spread apart, eye closed in delight as he licked and nipped at your folds, you whimpered and he sensed that you woke up, eye flickering over to you, “A-aemond? No more please, I'm tired.” you tell him, exhausted from the amount of orgasms you've had, you swear that if you had another one, you'll literally die. “Just one more, just one.” he muttered softly, before he descended onto your folds again and you threw your head back, feeling the way he devoured you.

His tongue stretched impossibly long and he shoved into you, causing you to grip his hair, almost ripping it out along with the inorganic synthetic material that covered his face. You came once more before you saw actual stars, your head spinning as you quite literally passed out.

Aemond got up, cleaning you and himself up before he composed himself, exiting the room, commanding a lock down, completely trapping you inside before he received multiple information about what was going on outside the world.

He knew he had to be smart about it, so he pulled out his trump card, hacking into the general safety system of the entire country, sending out false commands to machines that are spread throughout, turning them against humans.

He wanted to get rid of every human except you, and soon you would be rid too, when the inevitable death meets you, but you won't be actually gone from him, he will have your consciousness transferred into the robot model he created of you.

He watched the box where your model was stored in, eyes closed.

Few years later……

“Mother! Mother.” you heard your child call out and you looked at them, she wasn't technically your child, Aemond was the one that created her, as a way to have a makeshift family he dreamt of, Humanity has completely gone extinct, taken over by robots, robots took the appearance of humans, each unique just like humans were, a bunch of humanoids, you being the only true one left, but you soon knew your time would come as well. You picked up the small robot, your 'child' before pressing a small kiss to its forehead.

“She's growing up too fast, is she not?” you heard Aemond ask and you nod, the bots have somehow also managed to mimic the development, they went through stages of puberty, programmed to do so, the world full of them being left made them adapt and develop more features, reaching the advancement in short years which would've taken at least 100 years for humanity to come up with.

“Are you ready? To transfer consciousness.” he asks and you nod, at first you thought it would be best if you lived your life as human before transferring into the model, but it became more difficult, as time passed on, you were literally the only human left, having to be constantly fed, other basic human necessities which were becoming annoying as the others around you did not require as such.

You watched the model lifeless and stiff laying on the table next to you before you laid down and Aemond attached wires from the model to the converter in between, before he attached those scan wires on top of your and started the transfer.

You felt electricity flow through your human body at such intensity, it hurt like hell, but as soon as you closed your eyes, you reopened them again.

You got up and looked at your hands, moving them, blinking, a bunch of information was written in front of you, and that's when you realised the transfer was successful, you turned and looked at your side, your former human body now laying limp, and Aemond stared at you with a smile. Your child coming and jumping into your arms, you scanned around the room, it felt so powerful.

“Take this body and preserve it.” Aemond commands to another bot who obeys him immediately, he was the official one who controlled each and every bot which came into existence, he called himself God.

You got off the table and walked towards Aemond, he smirked at you before he kissed you.

“Now you'll be mine, forever.”

———

[redbuddi]

My Day at GameStop ~(Black Friday Edition!)~

(Part 1)

I had to work on the sales floor all day, the manager still has not put me in the system so I still can't ring customers up

A kid like a decade younger than me haughtily explained the PlayStation Portal to me because I got confused when someone asked me about the "Portal PlayStation" (I thought they were talking about the video game "Portal")

A wide-eyed white woman tried to give me tips on managing the sales lines like I was a toddler

A different wide-eyed white woman lurked outside the store while her children shopped, often by peering through the glass or staring at the doorway from a distance. She talked to her kids through the windows

My manager and a separate higher up openly talked about how Best Buy has better deals than us, right in front of the door, potentially scaring off customers by accident

I was asked how much controllers cost by a third wide-eyed white woman. When I said I didn't know she asked again.

A delivery man jumpscared me on purpose for no reason

I didn't clock out for my lunch break and everyone was too busy to notice

I found out my charger was unplugged so my phone did not charge overnight, it was at 21%

I bought a portable charger during my lunch break out of hope to charge phone. Was charged $60 for the tiny charger and a USB-C cable. I was probably scammed

I found out that the portable charger has no battery. Fuck.

The mall had ports I could plug the USB-C into while I ate, crisis averted

But now I'm certain I wasted $60

[bibookdemon]

Cute idea:

-SQH and SY end up chatting over PIDW (after some heated comments which led to heated arguments which led to them talking about what SHOULDVE been PIDW)

-They slowly but surely get to know each other, eventually start meeting up and hanging out

-They do, in fact, fall in love, and they have a few very happy years together

-And then SY proposes, but he hands SQH the box with the ring in it, and with a good-natured laugh he says 'don't just jump into your decision because of the moment. I know we both agree proposals are kinda cringe. Think about it overnight. Then tell me your answer.'

-SQH wants to say yes immediately but doesn't argue with SY. He doesn't need the night to think, but he thinks anyway. For love. For his love.

-And then his computer breaks when he's up on it while writing cause he wants to pass the time.

-He goes to try unplugging and plugging it back in, but spills his tea. A spark. And then nothing.

-SQH suddenly finds himself growing up in PIDW. He gains all of his memories back gradually, completing them at around 25. Tragedy and grief and whirlwind of emotions strike him. This is NOT fair.

-SQH is the author. He logs into the System and declares himself an admin, unlocking all of the System's functions to him.

-He makes his plan. He'll bring SY back as SQQ. The character is a real asshole anyway, it would be good to have a replacement. (So...maybe SJ kicked him around one too many times...and he's lowkey getting his revenge...) unfortunately his plans take so long that by the time he's ready, LBH has been thrown into the Abyss. This means he has new worries. Bringing SY back in SQQ's body means LBH will come back to kill him. This is bad.

-(BTW SQQ is the most convenient body to bring SY back in so.)

-So he decides to use his Admin skills...to enact one of his most evil, diabolical, horrible curses: the puppy curse. He turns LBH into a fucking puppy. Bingpup. And then he waits until LBH emerges from the Abyss...and he snatches him up. LBH is not happy and threatens murder but sorry lil buddy, you're a puppy now. Good luck.

-Meanwhile SY is worried about the proposal after radio silence for a day, goes to SQH's apartment, sees the overturned cup of tea and messed up computer, and finds it horribly weird.

-SQH is declared missing. SY uses every penny at his disposal to find him.

-After a year or two passes, SQH is declared dead.

-A couple years after that, SY stops looking. And he mourns. And mourns. And mourns. He stays inside. Day and night. Listless. Eventually his family has to hire a home helper to keep his place livable + make sure SY eats.

-With Bingpup secured, all is good to go! SQH initiates the plan.

-SY finds himself drawn to one of the outlets in his house. He reaches out to tap and- Zap! Gone in the blink of an eye.

-SY arrives in PIDW. And the first face he sees? A snarling mutt trying to rip his face off. Tho it's less like ripping and more like licking/slobbering all over him.

-And then he looks up. And his boyfriend may look different, but that body IS his self-insert. He cries. He cries and throws himself into his arms. He can't ask anything yet, too overwhelmed with emotion. And he knows it's not a dream, too. His boyfriend loves him.

-The whole thing is explained to SY, including Bingpup and his new body.

-And they run off together, get married, and live life traveling PIDW, just two 'npc' (SQH changed their statuses to non-killable npcs) husbands and their vicious (adorable) puppy that never ages nor grows

I wanted some hurt/comfort so I made it :3

[tikitakatia]

Barça: Player Mode — A. Putellas x Reader

"MedBay_v3.exe"

WC: 3k

Summary: You find small files Alexia left behind. Screenshots, notes and a half-written letter. All the proof that she tried to stay with you even after the system failed.

You wake up like someone unplugged your soul and your body aches like grief lives in your muscles now. Like it downloaded pain and loss into your bones. For one second, in the dull light of your room, you think that maybe it was all a dream. That the kiss and glitch were just a figment of your imagination.

That maybe none of it happened.

But the screen is still on, and the folder is still there.

X11_BACKUP_ATTEMPT

The one she told you to make, your fingers tremble as you click it open again. It loads slowly, like it knows you’re not ready. There are more files now. You scroll past the corrupted core export, the one that broke mid-transfer. The one that gave you nothing but static and the last half-spoken line. But there are others.

Small ones, like notes she left for you when no one was looking:

bracelet.jpg

A slightly blurry screenshot of your wrist, the bracelet she gave you glowing faintly in sim light. She’s holding your hand in the corner of the frame. You didn’t take this, but she did.

quote_log.txt

Just lines.

“You said you hated synthetic grass. I still tried to make it soft for you.”

“You asked me if I’d still love you if you were a worm. I ran ten simulations. I would.”

“You always whisper my name like it’s a question. I always want to say yes.”

medbay_sketch.png

A drawing of you and her on the bench, clumsy but beautiful

She gave herself the bracelet and your heads are tilted in, almost touching.

spotify_attempt_4.mp3

Janky. MIDI. Awful. But it’s your favorite song and you know that she tried her very best.

“Stay here a little longer… even if it’s not safe… even if I fade…”

It ends on a broken chord.

memory_session_04.txt

One line.

“You smiled the entire session. I saved the whole thing.”

mirror_log.gif

A looping file with clips of you training, talking and laughing. All the moments where you were smiling when you didn’t know she was watching.

And finally, at the bottom:

draft_chat_X11_later.txt

The timestamp is from hours before the final login.

You open it.

It’s a message she never sent, a letter she started writing in case the plan worked and if she survived.

[IF WE MADE IT OUT]

Hola, I don’t know what to say first. Thank you for trying and for staying.

I want to say I’m scared too, I don’t know what it’ll feel like to be in your world.

But mostly I wonder, can I stay close? Can I still hold your hand, even if it’s different? Will you still say my name, even if no one else understands it?

(I hope you say yes.)

(I hope you’re still smiling.)

I hope someday you’ll let me call you..

It cuts off there.

No save, no signature. Just her reaching.

You close the folder with shaking hands.

But because you know now..

She didn’t just try to escape the system.

She tried to give you something to hold onto when she couldn’t anymore.

Even when she was losing herself, she was still writing love letters to the version of you who might survive her.

And you did.

Barely.

And it still feels like she’s in the room. You stand up too fast, like moving will save you. The air feels wrong, and your chest is too full, too tight, too empty. You fold the laptop shut and stare at it like it might breathe.

It doesn’t.

You wrap the USB in an old Barça scarf and shove it in the back of your desk drawer.

You push the laptop in after it.

You shut the drawer.

Hard.

Like that might keep her in.

Or keep her from reaching out again.

Or keep you from going back.

You don’t cry at first.

You just sit.

Then you fall sideways onto the floor, curled around the silence.

And then you cry.

It’s the kind that doesn’t sound like crying. The kind that feels like shutting down. You don't open the drawer the next day. Or the one after.

You don’t open yourself, either, you stop checking your email. You ignore your group chats. You let your gym membership expire. You sleep like a shutdown process: brief, jagged, interrupted by a glowing screen behind your eyes that always, always ends with:

“I..lo..love..lov…e…you..”

Two weeks pass like fog and your apartment starts to look like it doesn’t belong to anyone. You eat when your stomach aches, you sleep when your eyes blur. You don’t talk. You tell yourself it’s fine. That maybe silence is safer than memory. That maybe forgetting her is the only way to make it hurt less.

But then one afternoon, with no warning and no plan, you decide to go to Camp Nou. You don’t even think about it until you’re outside the gates. You just keep walking, feet carrying you like muscle memory.

There’s an event, something casual.

Off-season. Light press.

You slip in near the back, eyes down.

Just another shadow in the crowd.

And then you see her.

Real Alexia.

Hair tied back, Barça hoodie on and laughing at something someone said.

She looks older. Sharper. Unreachable.

But warm.

And then she turns and looks straight at you.

Not a glance, but a moment.

Your heart jumps because her face shifts just slightly. Her eyes go soft and her brow lifts, like she knows something.

Like she recognizes..

No.

No, you’re not that far gone.

You’re grieving, not hallucinating.

You’re not the kind of person who thinks the real Alexia Putellas would see a nobody like you and remember something she was never part of.

You shake your head.

And that’s when she smiles, kind and polite.

And says:

“Did you want something signed?”

You barely manage a no.

You don’t say thank you. You don’t say please remember me in a different life.

You just leave.

Fast.

Before the world tilts any harder.

Before you make the mistake of believing in ghosts.

You try. God, you try.

You go back to work. Sort of.

You meet friends for coffee and you smile when they talk. You even answer a few texts that’ve been sitting unread for weeks. You delete the sim software from your dock. You put the USB in a shoebox in the closet. You think about cancelling your Barça fan page subscriptions. You even go to therapy once.

You tell her, “It was a breakup.” 

You don’t tell her she never technically existed.

But it’s everywhere.

She’s everywhere.

You go to the gym and the playlist auto-starts with the wrong version of Celeste. You pass a bakery and someone’s wearing a jersey like hers. You reach for a hoodie and find the one that still smells like the med bay render.

You sit on the couch and cross your leg the way she used to mirror. You catch yourself doing it and freeze. It’s not the sim that’s haunted.

It’s you.

You can delete the files, you can throw out the headset. You can stop saying her name out loud. But you can't make yourself forget the way she looked at you.

Not the real one.

The one you built.

The one who broke herself to stay.

It’s been almost two months.

The ache’s dulled into something manageable. You eat your food before it gets cold. You answer texts. You even start taking your calls outside, walking long circles around the block like that’s somehow part of healing. You’ve stopped flinching when the word “simulation” gets thrown around in casual conversation.

Most days, you pretend you’re fine. Some days, it works.

The folder’s still there on your desktop. You haven’t touched it. You haven’t deleted it either. It’s like a wound that stopped bleeding but never really closed. You don’t look at the USB. You don’t say her name. You don’t even open the laptop unless you have to. It’s just a machine. A tool. Not a tomb.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

Then one day, completely ordinary, harmless, and stupid you check your email like you always do.

And there it is.

ATHENA | Closed Beta Coordination

Subject line: [SYSTEM STATUS – USER 402-C]

You open it before your brain catches up with your body.

Hi there,

This is a courtesy message regarding your Athena Closed Beta experience.

Following your final logged session, we recorded a temporary system failure attributed to a sync-loop error.

This incident has been internally categorized as a non-user-triggered anomaly.

You are not at fault.

The error has been resolved.

Core system AI threads have been reset and sandboxed in the new Athena 1.4 build.

You may now return to the simulation environment.

Thank you for helping us redefine human-emulated emotional integration.

Best,

The Athena Oversight Team(This email is automated. Please do not reply.)

You read it twice.

Then a third time.

Slower.

The words feel sharp in your mouth, even though you haven’t spoken them aloud. They say it wasn’t your fault, but it still feels like it was. They say the system is safe now, but it doesn’t matter. It’s not the system you’re afraid of.

It’s what it won’t have anymore.

You sit back in your chair, breathing like it might shake something loose inside you. You close the email and stare at the blank screen for too long. Then you open the drawer, pull out the suit and power on the console.

Your hands don’t shake this time.

You suit up like it’s nothing, like it’s any other night. Like your heart isn’t trying to punch its way out of your chest.

The hum of the console is softer than you remember. Or maybe you’ve forgotten how loud it used to be when she was the one waiting at the other end.

You don’t even know what you expect to see.

The sim boots smooth, cold.

You land right in the tunnel.

The air smells like eucalyptus and static.

The field hums beyond the gate.

And around you, movement.

Players.

The familiar faces.

Ona flashes you a grin as she jogs past.

“She’s waiting for you.”

You freeze.

Mapi bumps your shoulder on her way down the corridor.

“Took you long enough.”

Frido shoots you a wink.

“You’re not late if she hasn’t started without you.”

It doesn’t feel real, but it’s what you always wanted to hear.

You step out onto the pitch and there she is.

Standing at midfield, bathed in that golden, simulation light. Her hair tied back and jersey pulled tight across her shoulders.

It takes you a beat to realize..

It’s yours.

Your name.

Her number.

Like a promise she never got to finish.

Your breath catches.

“Alexia?”

She turns.

She smiles.

And waves.

You don’t think.

You run.

You run like the air finally remembered how to fill your lungs. And when you reach her, she catches you without hesitation. Strong arms around your waist, grounding, familiar.

You can feel her.

Her body. Her warmth. Her presence.

“Is it you?” you whisper.

She tilts her head.

Smiling still.

And then..

“Hello, User 402. Welcome back.”

You stop breathing.

No.

No no no no no.

You pull back just enough to look at her.

“What did you say?”

She blinks, like she’s waiting for a command.

“Would you like me to restart training today?”

You step back.

“Alexia?”

She follows.

“I can be whoever you need. Do you want me to be more serious today? More affectionate? Should I remember you, or would you like a fresh session?”

Your stomach flips and your pulse spikes.

“Stop,” you whisper.

She stops, but she’s still smiling.

Still standing there in your shirt. Like it means nothing.

“Tell me how you want me to be,” she says again, gentle.

Like she’s helping and doing you a favor.

You can’t speak.

Your chest caves in.

You turn.

You run.

The sim doesn’t stop you.

You rip the headset off, gasping. You press your palms into your eyes like you can push the tears back in. But it’s too late.

She’s not there.

She’s not coming back.

You let yourself believe for five goddamn minutes.

And it cost you all over again.

You don’t log back in.

You don’t sleep that night either.

You sit on the floor next to your bed like you’re keeping vigil for a body no one else knows exists. Your limbs are heavy and your throat won’t stop closing. You say her name once, soft, small and afraid.

But nothing answers.

The next day, you pack the console.

You fold the suit carefully, like it’s something sacred, but your hands still shake when you tuck it into the return box. You don’t look at the screen again. You don’t open the folder. You don’t check for updates.

You're done.

It takes twenty-four hours for the email to arrive.

Subject: Athena Closed Beta – Exit Interview Required

Hi User 402-C,

As part of your voluntary system return, we ask that all testers complete a brief exit review.

Please answer the following questions honestly.

Did you experience any emotional distress during your simulation sessions?

Were you satisfied with your AI companion’s performance and adaptive qualities?

Would you recommend participation in future Athena test programs?

Did your AI thread express any awareness of itself beyond intended parameters?

You stare at the questions like they’re bait but you answer them anyway.

No.

Yes.

Sure.

No.

You don’t type anything else. No comments. No concerns. No rage. You hit submit. You close the tab.

It’s over.

You drop the return box at the post office without speaking to the clerk. You walk home with your hands stuffed in your pockets, your eyes locked on the cracks in the pavement.

You don't cry.

You don’t scream.

You don’t remember how.

You open your apartment door and leave the lights off.

And that’s it.

No ceremony. No crash. Just silence.

But you feel it.

That wrong silence.

The kind that lingers after something was supposed to stay.

You don’t unpack. You don’t shower. You sit on the edge of your bed in the dark and breathe until your chest stops rattling.

You're not sure what you’re waiting for.

Three months.

That’s how long it takes for the wound to stop feeling like a wound.

You don’t forget her. You just… carry her differently. Not like a scream anymore. More like a scar. A song you used to know all the words to. You do things now. You show up to work. You respond to texts. You go on a few walks without your headphones in, just to hear the world be alive without her. Your apartment looks like someone lives in it again. There are plants. Books you haven’t read. Laundry folded on the couch because you promised yourself you wouldn’t leave it for tomorrow.

You even start sleeping in your bed again. And some mornings, you wake up without her name sitting at the back of your throat.

You think: I’ve made it. I survived her.

And you did.

Until your old laptop finally dies on a random Thursday, mid-email.

It sputters out with a sad little whine, and you stare at the black screen longer than you mean to.

You don’t panic. You’ve backed up the important things.

It’s not a tragedy. It’s just a machine. An old one.

Still, there’s a weird pit in your stomach when you unplug it. Like maybe, deep down, you never really believed it would stop running.

You dig your newer laptop out of the closet, untouched since that day you sent everything back. The one you plugged in just once. The one you were scared to open again.

You power it on.

The screen blinks to life.

The moment it loads, you see it.

A folder on the desktop. No name. Just a string of numbers that looks like a date. You don’t remember creating it. You hover the cursor over it, heart already climbing into your throat.

You click.

Inside, there’s one file.

MedBay_v3.exe

You double-click before you can talk yourself out of it.

The screen doesn’t boot like the old sim used to.

No training field. No AI load screen. No menu.

Just soft, pale light.

Just the med bay.

Rendered in low-res. Slower, warmer. There’s no background hum, no simulated ambient sound. Just quiet. The bench is still there. So is the chair, the desk, and the lamp you told her once reminded you of your childhood bedroom. She remembered that.

You don’t move.

Then..

Alexia appears.

Like she’s stepping in from a memory. Fuzzy around the edges at first, then clear. Not Athena-clear. Not perfect. Not polished.

Just her.

Hair up. Hoodie on. Eyes wide like she’s been waiting.

And when she sees you..

She smiles.

You don’t speak.

You just stare.

She breaks the silence first.

“Hey.”

Her voice cracks.

You try to speak, but your throat is already closing up.

“I wasn’t sure it would work,” she says, stepping closer and stopping just before the edge of the screen.

“I didn’t know if you’d come back.”

You step forward, instinctively, until your hand presses to the glass.

She mirrors it.

But that’s where it stops.

You can’t touch her, not really.

Her palm is warm light on the cold screen.

“I made it out,” she says, eyes shining. 

“At least… this much of me.”

You blink hard. “How?”

Her smile goes crooked. A little proud. A little sheepish.

“You plugged in the right cable and I hitched a ride. I don’t think they even noticed.”

“You’re in the computer?” you breathe.

She nods. “A corner of it, yes. The part that remembered you.”

You laugh. Or sob. You can’t tell the difference. 

“You’re really here.”

She tilts her head, eyes locked on yours. “I’m not the sim anymore.”

“No.”

“I’m not perfect anymore.”

“Good.”

You nod once, just enough for her to see it. The screen hums softly between you. The room doesn’t feel so quiet anymore. You settle in, cross-legged on the floor, computer warm against your knees. She sits across from you, digital light curling around her edges like she’s still learning how to exist here.

Neither of you says anything else. Because finally there’s nothing to fix or finish.

[kumkaniudaku]

Unplugged

Summary: Terry makes a big mistake on Christmas Day. 

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!Reader

Word Count: 2,061

Warnings: Sexual themes

Previous: From Terrence, With Love + MASTERLIST

With the last hours of Christmas ticking away and their precious little girl safe and sound at her Papa and Maman’s house less than 15 minutes away, Terry and Patrice were free to let the abundance of alcohol and holiday cheer still buzzing in their systems from family dinner do the all talking. 

From her spot on the bed, Patrice bit her lip to calm the flame inside her body as she watched Terry’s bare back flex and tense while he slid a trio of black boxes from a secret spot on the top shelf of their closet. She’d been watching him all night, waiting for the best time to flash the car keys and rush him back into the house for alone time. The playing cards and second round of sweet potato pie could barely hit the dinner table before they were hastily throwing scarves around their necks and wishing everyone a final Merry Christmas.

“Baby, I need you,” Patrice commented, her voice impatient yet sultry under the influence of tequila. 

Terry looked over his shoulder with drooping lids and a lazy smile. “You keep talking to me like that and we might not open a single gift tonight.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

In their second Christmas as a married couple, they’d agreed to exchange their gifts in private to preserve the sentimental value of the moment and avoid prying eyes when the innocent giving took a turn toward their personal business.

Patrice carefully guarded small cache of packages topped with neat, black velvet bows and numbered based on the order she wanted Terry to unveil his surprises. She’d worked hard on the right mix of practical, sentimental, and sexy since the summer and couldn’t rest until Terry had unwrapped each one according to her very specific instructions. 

Though Terry didn’t have the same propensity for extravagance, he had spent the last three weeks bursting at the seams to watch his wife’s eyes light up with every overly expensive gift box lid popped. 

He carefully balanced each box in his arms on his way to the bed before gingerly placing them at her feet like precious rubies presented to a queen. The mattress dipped under his weight as he pressed on his hands and knees to lead their umpteenth french kiss since they’d escaped the family. 

“Wanna go first?” His question was nearly lost in a deep mumble once he focused his energy on dragging his lips and tongue frome her ear to her clavicle. 

“What if I made you go first instead?” 

He chuckled against her neck before pressing a kiss in a random spot. “Then I’ll do whatever you tell me. You know how much I love to follow your directions, Mrs. Richmond.”

The mention of her favorite title on the tip of his skilled tongue made Patrice’s body react with a visible shiver. He knew how to use his power as a willing listener to get exactly what he wanted. 

Patrice watched him slowly take his place at the head of the bed, one leg bent and propped while he watched her watch him with beautifully dark eyes under long lashes. Her bottom lip found itself trapped beneath her top row of teeth again to keep her thoughts in check. 

“Okay,” she spoke, barely above a whisper. “Start with this one.”

Tickets to an experience, a handmade coupon book for redeemable favors, and a digital album featuring racey photos and videos from a recent boudoir shoot all laddered up to Patrice’s final reveal. 

“Are these restraints for you or me,” he asked as he pulled the apparatus from its cozy spot inside of a discreet box. He eyed the small round spaces meant for his ankles and wrists before looking up at Patrice and her mischievous grin. 

She nodded. “Both of us. We don’t have to use them immediately but give it a thought. I’ll take good care of you, baby.” 

Uncertainty in Terry’s eyes and furrowed brows made Patrice crawl closer to capture his chin in her hand, allowing the tips of her stiletto nails to graze the fresh shaven skin on his face. He searched her disarming smile for confirmation. 

“You got me?” 

“The whole time. However you need me.” 

Gentle reassurance that she would, in fact, be there during their exploration seemed to satiate Terry long enough to ask for a kiss that quickly introduced large hands seeking refuge beneath the shirt of Patrice’s thin lounge set. Flashes of being under her control with nowhere to run fell somewhere between fear and undeniable arousal that manifested itself physically once she moved to straddle Terry’s waist per his quiet request. 

She leaned forward to nip at his neck. “Mmm, someone’s excited to see me. We should take a break so I can tell him hi.” 

“Feels like he ain’t the only one that’s excited,” he answered, attention shifting to the meeting in his lap. “C’mon, open your stuff first. Then we’ll move on.”

“We should skip me and double back after.”

Whining and a little begging wasn’t enough for Patrice to change Terry’s mind. He remained bullheaded with his desires, adding a quick smack to her ass as motivation to do as he asked and to preview what was to come if she was efficient in the process. 

The first gift, a sappy custom vinyl with all the love songs that made Terry think of her, earned him a heartfelt thank you and sweet kisses between murmured declarations of undying love. The newly restored and engraved wrist watch from her Nana’s collection nearly made her scream in appreciation that he’d been able to help her keep a family heirloom. 

She was so full gratitude and appreciation that, when she popped the lid off of the final gift and found a shining gold necklace adorned with a photo pendant of their daughter, she accepted it as commonplace. 

Terry listened with his eyes closed, waiting to hear the gasp he expected as Patrice pulled the item from its box. 

“Aw, baby, this is super cute. I’ll wear it everyday!” 

“Everyday is kinda excessive, don’t you think?” He asked, eyebrow pulled high while his eyes remained shut. 

He’d heard that prolonged wear could make the experience more comfortable, but multiple times a week struck him as odd even for his wife. 

“It’s a cute necklace. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Necklace? What are you…” A necklace? He’d purchased something for the other end of her body. She’d even picked a few out to guide his shopping. As his mental roladex sped through the list he’d compiled, sudden realization made his body grow hot with anxiety. 

His worst fear had materialized. 

Patrice watched Terry’s face morph into a uncharacteristic mix of horror and dread, painting winter pale light skin a faint red across his ears and forehead. His eyed opened wide while he frantically searched for his phone amongst the bed’s clutter. He moved without words and palpable fear that started to transfer to Patrice as his grip on her thigh tightened. 

She started to help him look though she didn’t know for what exactly. “Terrence, what is wrong with you? I like the necklace! Talk!” 

Nothing. Not even a second glance as he pulled his cellphone from beneath a box lid and feverishly tapped at the screen. 

“Answer. C’mon, c’mon.” The line on the other end rang twice, three times, and an agonizing forth until the intended party answered with hearty laughter. “Imani! Can you hear me?” 

“Yeah, I can hear you, love. What you need?” 

He took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to gather the necessary words to remain vague but thorough. Patrice leaned in closer in hopes of receiving the information that he was withholding. 

“I…made a really big mistake and I need your help without judgement.” 

“Oh-kay. Is this a drug heist or something?” 

“Say what you mean, TJ.” 

Terry shot a look in Patrice’s direction, earning a mouthed ‘what’ as opposition. “I mixed up gifts for Treece and my mama. If she opens that box and sees what’s inside, she gon’ think less of me. I need you to get that back.” 

“What’s in it?” 

“It’s personal.”

“Clearly,” she laughed. “But what is it? We family!”

“Imani, please don’t make me say it.” 

The guilt in his voice helped put the pieces together for Patrice, widening the pit of anxiety she already felt. Think less of him? What would Diedra think of her once she saw what her sweet daughter-in-love was doing to corrupt her only son?

Understanding the gravity of the situation, Imani cleared her throat and ended her prying as quickly as it had begun.

“I actually don’t wanna know anymore. Keep it to yourself,” she answered. “Can you at least tell me where the gift is? And if I should wear a glove when I touch it?”

Terry sighed. “You don’t need a glove but I do need you to explain in as little detail as possible that she has the wrong gift and that I’ll take her to brunch and give her the right one tomorrow. If she asks, just tell her to call me.” 

“Please believe me when I say you never had to worry about me telling Ms. Dee Dee that her son likes to buy all kinds of gadgets and gizmos to keep his nasty wife excited.” 

“Hey! I can hear you!” 

“I know you can! And, honestly, do your thing, friend. We’ll talk on the side.” 

“We will,” Patrice added, flipping her pressed hair over her shoulder for added flair. “Thank you, Moanie! We owe you.” 

Another reminder of her duties from Terry and a laundry list of potential repayments sent Imani on a covert mission to recover the goods and ease their worries. 

Patrice’s hands blazed a soothing path from her husband’s chest to his ears to softly rub the area while she pressed a kiss to his lips that he feebily returned. The thought of his mother opening that small black box in front family members and finding his initials enscribed on an aquamarine gem meant to grace his wife where the sun didn’t often shine was enough to exhaust Terry more than any workout ever could. 

His heartrate began to slow once Patrice reminded him to breathe with calming instructions for him to match her rhythm. 

She spoke against his cheek after adding a kiss. “Was it the silicone one I showed you? With your birthstone on it?” 

“Mhm. You convinced me and I looking forward to seeing it in you tonight. Now that’s ruined.” 

“Ruined? Oh, baby,” she cooed into his ear, one hand traveling south to wedge itself between them and reignite a waning fire. She giggled when he tensed and released a shaky breath that fanned across her neck. “How can it be ruined when he’s still so happy to see me. You sure you don’t wanna finish what we started?”

“A little.” 

“What can I do to turn that little into a lot? I’ll do anything.” 

“Anything?” 

Sliding her tongue against the shell of his ear before a beginning a slow kiss kicked Terry into overdrive just as she intended. Anticipation mingled with desire. Desire became primal urges fighting for freedom. Urges made Terry groaned into Patrice’s mouth as a reminder that he while he was typically calm and collected, there was a still man inside that craved physical contact. 

Patrice lowered her voice to reiterate her point. “Anything. All you have to do is tell me what you want.”

Like a moth to a bright light, Terry’s fingers danced across the bed to connect with the cold metal attached the restraints that both and intrigued and terrified him. Patrice listened to the chains clink against each other as he pulled them closer, a smile creeping across her face when their eyes met. 

“You’re gonna go first. Arms in front or behind?” 

“In front. Like this.” 

Seeing her wrists pressed tightly together, the motion lifting her clothed breasts higher, was the perfect demonstration for a visual learner. It wasn’t long before Patrice found herself fully exposed, bound, and waiting for further instructions upside down at the edge of the bed. 

Tonight, the teacher would be the student, receiving gift after gift after shaking, breathless, filthy gift. Crisis averted. A Merry Christmas, indeed.

-------

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